Chapter 6

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the Donato estate. 

Then, a yellow cab pulled up to the expensive mansion. 

Delilah, seated in the back, gazed out of the window, her eyes widening in surprise at the grandeur of the property. It was the first time she had ever seen a mansion so intimidating, so luxurious. 

Her aunt, Mary, sitting beside her, noticed the look on Delilah's face and smiled warmly. "It’s quite a place, isn’t it?" she said, her voice gentle but encouraging. "Your grandfather’s best friend, Elder Donato lives here."

Delilah nodded, not saying a word as they stepped out of the car and were escorted inside. 

The mansion was just as magnificent on the inside, with tall ceilings and marble floors gleaming under the soft lighting. 

They were led through the grand halls, their footsteps echoing, until they reached the dining hall where the Donato family’s patriarch, the old man who was her grandfather’s best friend, sat waiting.

When they entered the room, the old man looked up from his seat at the head of the table, his face breaking into a smile. "Ah, Delilah," he greeted, his voice warm. "I’ve heard so much about you. Please, sit."

Delilah greeted him respectfully, recalling how Mary had told her that this man was close to her grandfather, a friendship forged long ago. "Thank you for having us," she said softly before taking her seat at the table. Mary followed suit, sitting beside her niece.

The old man’s expression softened even further, and with a glance toward the empty seat beside him, he spoke, "I apologize that my grandson, Marco, hasn’t arrived yet. He’s been busy with work, but he should be here soon."

Delilah exchanged a glance with Mary, the older woman sensing her niece’s relief at Marco’s absence. 

Mary knew how hard it had been to convince Delilah to come tonight—her niece had been reluctant, almost stubborn in her refusal to visit. 

After much persistence, Delilah had finally agreed, and now, the girl looked pleased that Marco wasn’t around.

They waited for some time, but as the minutes stretched into an hour, the grandfather’s patience began to wear thin. His face tightened, though he hid his frustration well. With a tight smile, he finally said, "Why don’t we begin? Marco will join us soon."

Dinner was served, and the three of them ate in relative silence, though the old man did his best to engage Delilah in conversation. 

Mary, however, was growing increasingly uncomfortable with Marco’s absence.

She knew the kind of man Marco was—perhaps stubborn, just like Delilah—but surely, he would show up. 

After all, this was an important family occasion.

As the dinner progressed, Delilah grew happier with every bite. Maybe Marco’s absence meant that he wasn’t interested in this arranged marriage either, she thought. 

The idea brought her a strange sense of comfort, even though she didn’t want to admit it to herself.

Just as they were finishing their meal, the doors to the dining hall creaked open. Marco entered, followed closely by Gino. 

He had come deliberately late, hoping his absence would force his bride to reconsider the marriage. 

But when he saw the scene in front of him—the old man seated at the head of the table, with Mary and Delilah eating quietly—he realized he had walked into something much more orchestrated than he had anticipated.

The old man looked up sharply, his eyes locking onto Marco with a glare that could have frozen a lesser man in place. It was a silent command: Come sit with your bride.

Marco hesitated, his disinterest clear. He had no intention of playing along, and as he turned to leave, something caught his eye. 

A flash of auburn hair, a familiar presence—her. 

He paused mid-step, his gaze narrowing as he tried to place where he had seen her before.

From the side of the table, Delilah was too engrossed in finishing her meal to notice Marco at first. She had barely moved since he walked in. 

The dim lighting of the room and her angle made it difficult for Marco to see her face clearly, but he knew there was something oddly familiar about her.

The old man cleared his throat, breaking the silence. "Marco, you’re here," he said loudly, pretending as if he hadn’t noticed Marco earlier, though it was clear he had been watching the entire time.

Delilah and Mary both turned at the mention of Marco’s name. 

Mary smiled politely, pleased to see the man who was supposed to marry her niece. 

He looked responsible, well-dressed, and exactly like the type of man who could take care of Delilah.

But when Delilah’s gaze landed on Marco, her entire body went rigid. Her heart raced in shock. She knew that face. "Wasn’t that the client who had dared to remove her mask?"

Marco, meanwhile, was equally stunned. His eyes widened slightly as the pieces clicked together in his mind. "If it isn’t the mysterious woman I’ve been searching for."

Afterwards, Marco quietly walked to the table, his steps steady, though inside his mind was racing. 

Delilah’s heart sped up as he approached the table. A flood of questions filled her thoughts. 

"Would he reject me now, face to face?" She thought. 

A smile tugged at the corners of her lips, imagining the sweet disappointment she would feign if he rejects her, eager to leave with her aunt and forget about this arranged marriage. 

But, to her surprise, instead of rejecting her, Marco sat down next to his grandfather.

Delilah blinked, taken aback. Why is he sitting down? 

Mary, on the other hand, was inwardly thanking her stars. She saw Marco’s gesture as a sign he was slowly warming up to the idea of marrying Delilah, a good omen for the future.

What neither Delilah nor Mary realized was that the sole reason Marco had sat down was because of one thing: he had never expected Delilah, his betrothed, to be the same mysterious dancer who had captivated him, igniting a spark that had refused to fade.

As soon as Marco sat, he cast a smirk in Delilah's direction. She noticed it out of the corner of her eye but kept her focus on her meal, pretending not to see him.

Marco leaned back slightly and turned to Mary, greeting her in Italian. "Come stai, Zia della moglie?"

("How are you, Aunt?")

Mary beamed, responding with warmth. "Sto bene, Marco. È bello vederti."

("I’m well, Marco. It’s good to see you.")

Delilah paid no mind to the exchange. Her Italian had always been weak, despite her parents being Italian. She had grown up surrounded by English and rarely practiced the language of her heritage.

The pleasantries went on, a light conversation, until Delilah heard Marco say something that caught her ear. "Tua nipote è molto bella, Zia. Proprio come te."

("Your niece is very gorgeous, Aunt. Just like you.")

Mary chuckled softly, her laughter drawing Delilah’s attention. 

Slowly, she replayed the words in her mind, trying to piece together their meaning. 

Then it hit her. "He just called me gorgeous!"

Delilah's head snapped up, her eyes landing on Marco, who was now staring right at her. 

For a brief moment, their gazes locked before he casually turned his attention back to his plate, as if nothing had happened. 

Just then, the maid came by to serve Marco his food, but Delilah couldn’t stop the heat rising in her cheeks. 

"No," she thought firmly, "I can’t be swayed by this." She quickly reminded herself that she didn’t want this marriage. It was never part of her plan.

"I need to ruin this meeting," Delilah muttered to herself, "so this whole thing falls apart before it even begins."

But as her thoughts whirled, the moment passed, and Delilah realized she had already finished her meal. 

Marco, on the other hand, had barely touched his meal. 

Just as she was considering how to get out of the situation, the grandfather, noticing the subtle exchange of glances between them, jumped in with a suggestion.

"You two should talk," he said cheerfully, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Get to know each other better."

Delilah’s mind raced. She needed an excuse, something, anything to delay this "getting to know each other" session. She gave her most innocent smile and said, "But Marco hasn’t even started eating yet. He must be starving."

The old man waved off her concern with a smile. "Oh, I’m sure Marco isn’t starving." 

He turned to Marco, shooting him a discreet but sharp glare. "Or are you, Marco?"

Marco, catching the mute command, smirked again. "No, Nonno is right. We should get to know each other better."

He pushed back his chair and stood, walking around the table toward Delilah’s side. 

Delilah felt a rush of frustration. 

"He ruined my plan!" She cursed inwardly. "What’s his problem?"

Marco extended a hand toward her, motioning for her to move. 

Mary flashed a quiet, reassuring smile at Delilah, as if to say "You’re safe." But safety wasn’t Delilah’s concern. 

Whether or not she was safe didn’t matter. If danger lurked, she would make sure it trembled in her presence.

With a sigh, Delilah gave a quick nod. "Alright," she muttered, rising from her seat. 

She followed Marco out of the dining hall, her heart pounding but her mind calculating. 

Whatever Marco or his grandfather had planned, she would find a way to make sure this meeting didn’t end in a wedding.