Episode Seven
1451 Words
Marco led Delilah to a spacious room with rich, dark wooden floors and tall windows that bathed the space in a soft evening glow.
On one side of the room, a grand library stretched from floor to ceiling, filled with books that looked untouched.
The room smelled of leather and old paper, adding to the quiet intimacy of the setting.
Once they reached the center of the room, Marco turned toward her, a faint smirk playing on his lips.
In his mind, he recalled their last encounter.
He had told her they would see each other again, and now here they were.
The thought made him feel a spark of excitement, one he couldn’t quite suppress, despite his cool demeanor.
Even though he had ordered Gino to dig up information on her, Gino had come back empty-handed. No matter. He’d discovered her secret himself.
"So," Marco began, almost mockingly, "the Holy bride works in a club, huh? As a pole dancer. And quite the experienced lap dancer too."
Delilah stiffened but refused to show any reaction. She knew he was referring to that night in the club.
Inwardly, she thought, "Marco is such a self-righteous hypocrite."
Ever since her encounter with him, she had felt like she was being watched, stalked even.
The same man who had walked in with Marco tonight—Gino—had been lurking around the club every night after their encounter, always waiting by the door.
Thankfully, Delilah had never given anyone at the club her phone number or home address for security reasons.
That had made it harder for Marco’s man to track her down.
"He must’ve done all that because he wanted to have me in his bed," Delilah thought bitterly, "like all the other VIPs."
Not one to stay silent, she shot back, "And to think the so-called responsible and nice man would be at a club, getting involved with other women." She raised an eyebrow, her tone biting.
They were both right in their accusations, but Delilah wasn’t about to let him lead the conversation. She had her own agenda.
Without missing a beat, she diverted the conversation to the real reason she had followed him to this room. "Since you're not interested in marrying me, why don’t you just call off the wedding?" Her voice was calm, but inside, her nerves tingled with anticipation.
She wanted him to end it.
It would save her from rejecting him herself, which would break her aunt’s heart.
Marco’s response wasn’t what she expected.
He let out a dark chuckle, the kind that made a shiver run down Delilah’s spine before she quickly composed herself.
The look in his eyes was dangerous, amused, like he was enjoying the game they were playing.
He raised an eyebrow and stepped closer to her.
Delilah stood her ground, refusing to back away.
She was interested in his response, determined to hear him say he didn’t want her. She needed him to reject this marriage.
But instead, Marco’s words caught her off guard. "I won’t stop the marriage," he said smoothly, his voice low.
Delilah's brow furrowed, and she raised an eyebrow in confusion.
Marco continued, his eyes glinting with something darker. "I was thinking about stopping it, actually. I thought my bride would be a flat, boring woman who wasn’t my type." His gaze roamed over her body, taking in every curve, and his lips curled into a predatory smile. "But now that I’ve seen you in person, you’re exactly what I want. Well-endowed, confident… I’ll marry you."
Delilah’s breath hitched, heat rising in her cheeks.
His gaze was intense, and his words made her heart race.
Marco raised a hand to brush her cheek, but before he could touch her, Delilah slapped it away, hard.
"Don’t touch me," she snapped, her voice sharp.
Marco took a step back, his eyes narrowing slightly as he shoved his hands into his pockets.
The sting on his hand from Delilah’s slap still lingered, but he masked it with a calm expression. There was no point in pushing her further—at least not yet.
"You think I want this any more than you do?" he said coolly. "I’m only doing this for my own reasons. I’m just as stuck in this marriage as you are. I can’t back out of it, even if I wanted to."
Delilah crossed her arms, her gaze steady and firm.
Marco’s words didn’t surprise her.
Of course, this marriage was about convenience for him, just like it was for her. But the fact that he wasn’t willing to call it off still irked her.
Without saying another word, she turned on her heel and walked out of the room, her footsteps firm and determined.
Marco watched her go, his eyes lingering on her retreating form.
His thoughts drifted back to the slap—how her hand had connected with his, leaving it slightly red.
It had stung more than he’d expected, not just physically, but because no woman had ever dismissed him like that.
Every other woman he had ever touched had practically melted, eager to submit to him. But Delilah? She slapped him away like he was nothing.
"Interesting," Marco muttered under his breath, glancing at his hand again. She was unlike anyone he’d ever met.
Delilah, meanwhile, strode toward the dining hall to find her aunt.
She was done with Marco’s games for the night, and there was no point in staying longer when he wasn’t willing to call off the engagement.
As she neared the hall, she heard voices—Mary and the grandfather talking in hushed tones.
The grandfather’s voice, though calm, carried an edge of finality. "Delilah sarà al sicuro con noi." ("Delilah will be safe with us.")
Delilah couldn’t quite make out the words. Italian was always difficult for her to fully translate, despite her heritage. She was raised more in English, and translating Italian in her mind was slow. But the grandfather’s voice trailed off the moment he noticed her presence by the door.
Mary was about to respond when the grandfather coughed abruptly, cutting her off.
The sound filled the room with an awkward tension.
Mary turned and saw Delilah standing there, and quickly plastered on a fake smile.
"Oh, Delilah, you're here," Mary said, her voice a little too bright. "We were just starting to talk about the wedding preparations."
Delilah raised an eyebrow, sensing that something was off.
She knew her aunt well enough to tell when she was pretending, and right now, Mary was hiding something.
But Delilah played along, a smile curling her lips. "It’s getting late. We should head home."
Mary blinked, caught off guard by the sudden suggestion. "So soon? What about Marco?"
Marco approached them from behind, his expression neutral as always.
The grandfather glanced down at his wristwatch and nodded. "È vero. Sta facendo tardi." ("It’s true. It’s getting late.") He turned to Marco. "Marco dovrebbe accompagnarti fuori." ("Marco should escort you out.")
Mary smiled, clearly relieved. But Delilah caught the fake enthusiasm in her aunt’s expression, matching it with a forced smile of her own.
She stepped closer to the grandfather and politely kissed the back of his hand. "Good night, sir," she said politely.
The grandfather smiled warmly, though there was depth behind his gaze. "Buona notte, Delilah. Dormi bene." ("Good night, Delilah. Sleep well.")
"Good night," Delilah replied.
Afterwards, Delilah and Mary made their way out of the mansion with Marco following closely behind.
When they reached the car, Marco gestured to his driver and gave an order in Italian. "Portale a casa loro." ("Take them to their house.")
The driver nodded. "Sì, signore." ("Yes, sir.")
Delilah, still irritated, didn’t pay much attention to the exchange.
She was far more concerned with the conversation she had overheard between her aunt and the grandfather.
What exactly had they been talking about?
Something about her and the word 'safe'.
Why?
Mary, too, seemed lost in her own thoughts as she stepped into the car.
She quietly thanked Marco, who responded with a polite smile.
"Good night, Aunt Mary," he said smoothly in English. His tone was calm and professional.
As Delilah moved to step into the car, Marco leaned forward, intending to plant a kiss on her cheek as a parting gesture. After all, she was his fiancée, and such a gesture would seem appropriate.
But before he could, Delilah swiftly slipped into the car, slamming the door shut before he had the chance.
Marco stood there for a moment, his smile faltering, while Mary gave him an apologetic yet friendly wave from inside the car.
He waved back, watching as the vehicle pulled away from the mansion.
- Writer
