Page 69 of Isle of Seduction

When we get to the Moretti’s estate, my uncle Pietro and my father Umberto welcome us with open arms, elegantly dressed in their custom-made three-piece suits. Does anyone wear anything else but suits in this country? After being around Nico and Andrea, who only wear laid-back outfits except at functions, it just feels unusual, almost too-much.

I embrace Pietro first, our host for this week. Every time I see him, it’s like watching a male and older version of Lana with his dark green eyes and dark thick hair.

I turn to my father, a carbon copy of Pietro, and clench my jaw as I kiss his round cheeks. Then, I introduce Andrea.

When he shakes my father’s hands, his face is sombre and I don’t miss the slight flinch on my father’s face. I drop my gaze to their hands. Of course, Andrea’s crushing my father in his.

“Behave,” I whisper low enough only for him to hear.

“Thank you for having us, Mr. Moretti.”

He addresses my uncle but doesn’t spare a glance in my father’s direction in clear disrespect. With his hand on my lower back searing my flesh, he settles next to me, waiting for me to enter the house first.

“Go on, I’ll be with you in a second,” I tell him.

I’d rather have the painful conversation that I know is coming up now.

Andrea doesn’t say a single word, but his eyes move to my father then, a promise of retribution behind the hazel colour swirling with violence.

“One word and I’ll slip something in his drink, Gigi,” my father offers, using the nickname I hate once Andrea’s out of earshot.

“You didn’t seem to care for the past four months, I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you now.” Sarcasm drips from my tongue though I already know it’s useless.

“What was I supposed to do? Lana said you were fine, and she’s a sister to you.”

“It wouldn’t have hurt to check in. Do I mean so little to you?” I’m getting agitated. I don’t want to have this conversation on the front steps of my uncle’s house—I don’t want to have this conversation at all—but inside with every ear trained on us would be worse. The Morettis gossip like old women at the Sunday market.

My father takes my face in his hands, his eyes shining with rare honesty. I’m not sure I can stand it right now. After dealing with confusing emotions for my husband, I don’t need to do the same with my father. That wound has barely healed.

“Mia cara zitella, you mean everything. I don’t check in because I know you can take care of yourself. You always have. You’re closer to Lana than to me. I believed her when she said you were fine. Is there something you want to tell me about him?”

“No. Everything’s fine.”

“You’re always doing fine, Gigi.”

He kisses my brow and I don’t chase after him to yell that he didn’t give me a choice. It’d be useless, anyway. My father believes I was always able to take care of myself and he’s not ready to face the fact that I had to because he prioritised Dom in everything. Not that my brother wanted to be in our father’s spotlight.

I suspect he stayed in Mallorca on purpose, avoiding our family gathering and my father’s hopes and dreams for him. It doesn’t mean he gets a free pass from me, but I understand.

I enter the old house renovated with modern furniture, and greet my aunt Colomba, Lana’s mother. She’s looking as gorgeous as she always does, with her brown hair cascading in waves on her shoulders. Seeing her in her usual modest blue dress that highlights her emerald eyes should feel like coming home, but I just notice her. Just like I just notice Alessio Bartoli, Pierce’s father, and his wife Bea, lounging with wine glasses in their hands.

Every step I take in the house should settle my nerves like it always did, but it just makes me miss the cottage in the British countryside. Makes me miss the silence and solitude. Everything is modern and sleek here, lacking the rugged surfaces of raw wood we have everywhere around our house. And it’s so… loud and busy.

We. Our. Complaining about loud noises and too many people. Who am I and what has been done with Giulia Moretti?

Oh, right, she became Giulia Capaldi.

I shake my head as if it’ll diffuse the emotions swirling in my chest. I’m having an identity crisis and I don’t need that right now.

Mammona is in the kitchen as usual, giving orders like a commander to the staff that look both amused and terrified.

“Zitella,” she shouts as she embraces me. She’s not really my grandmother. She’s Julian’s and Pierce’s, but I grew up in the Bartoli household as much as I did in the Moretti. Our two families are close-knit; we might not share blood but we’ve chosen each other over and over again. “And who’s this handsome young man?”

I catch Pierce rolling his eyes and smile while I introduce Andrea as my husband.

“Pleasure to meet you,” he says, a sultry tone in his voice, while he dips down to kiss Mammona's hand.

“Oh, I like him.” She winks at me.