Page 12 of Claimed At First Sight

I’ve seen what the position demands. Smiling beside her husband while he makes every important decision. Hosting dinners and producing heirs while armed men follow her everywhere in the name of protection. Elegant, agreeable, and never truly free.

No, thank you.

It’s a gilded cage I have no intention of stepping into. Raised for this world or not, I’m not interested in playing anyone’s obedient little spouse.

He’s looking for a wife?

Keep searching.

I’m not on the menu.

Chapter Four

Mialina

Gualtiero De Marco’s estate is exactly what I expected. Polished surfaces, sharp lines, and not a woman’s touch in sight.

Which makes sense. Even though our former Don found love, he kidnapped his girl. And from what I’ve heard, escaping mattered more to her than making this place a home.

I wonder what will happen to it now. Mari said Mateo has no intention of moving in, preferring his house over his brother’s.

Voices begin to filter up from below, and I adjust a loose strand of hair threatening to escape my carefully pinned updo before smoothing my hands down the front of my dress. It hugs my curves in all the right ways despite its conservative cut.

I glance once more at my reflection, a small smile tugging at my lips.

I look good. Not that I’m trying to get anyone’s attention.

Or maybe I am.

Downstairs will be full of overconfident, arrogant men. Teasing them with something they can’t have has its appeal.

And I’m not thinking about one man in particular. I’m not.

I step out into the corridor and move toward the staircase, the low murmur of conversation growing with every step. When I reach the top, I peer down into the foyer. It’s full of people in black suits and dark dresses.

My gaze drifts automatically to the center of it all, where Don Gualtiero De Marco’s memorial display dominates the foyer.

Candles flicker against the dark, their glow catching on glass and polished surfaces. The white roses and lilies frame everything beautifully. It’s structured and balanced.

A small, quiet sense of satisfaction settles in me. I did well.

Then I look past it and find Mari. She stands exactly where she’s supposed to, beside Mateo, who’s positioned slightly ahead, where the flow of guests naturally turns toward him.

People approach in a steady rhythm, offering their condolences, their respect, and their allegiance. And he receives it all like he was born for it. Calm and controlled, he carries an authority that seems entirely natural to him.

Mari is included in every exchange. Her posture is flawless, her chin lifted, her shoulders set in a way that appears relaxed. But I can see the tension beneath it, the way she holds herself just a little too still.

Hosting an evening like this is far outside her comfort zone. If she could, she’d be anywhere but here. But she’d never do that to Mateo. He’s her world. For him, she’ll endure anything.

So she smiles. It’s perfect, practiced, and… wrong.

Then something shifts in the room. Conversations soften, and people subtly make way. I crane my neck to see who arrived to draw such attention.

Butterflies suddenly go haywire in my abdomen.

Wow.

The thought slips through before I can stop it.