Chapter 4 SHADOWS IN THE VINEYARD

Lucia awoke to birdsong and the faint rustle of curtains fluttering in the early morning breeze. The room around her glowed with the warm hues of dawn. Gold spilled across the white sheets, turning the edges of the silk comforter into sunlight itself.

But there was no warmth in her chest.

She was alone in the room-his room now, though Matteo hadn't stayed. She had listened for the sound of footsteps returning last night, some indication that the man she had married might reach for her. That he might even pretend.

But he hadn't.

She sat up slowly, her body still aching from the stiffness of the gown she'd worn until long past midnight. It now hung like a defeated ghost across a nearby chair, replaced by a simple cotton robe one of the maids had laid out.

The diamond ring on her finger caught the morning light, throwing tiny stars across the marble floor.

Lucia stared at it.

So this is marriage.

The kitchen wing of Villa De Luca was nothing short of a culinary palace. Marble countertops, gold accents, and walls of glass framed the rolling vineyard hills in the distance. A long breakfast table had already been set when Lucia arrived-fruit, cheeses, bread, pastries she couldn't name. It was a meal fit for royalty.

She expected silence.

What she got instead was the thin, artificial cheer of conversation. Several board members lingered in linen suits, sipping espresso and reading stock reports. Staff flitted around like silent shadows. But at the center of it all, sitting with her legs crossed and a green silk scarf loosely tied around her throat, was Carla.

Lucia faltered.

Carla looked up, and a slow, feline smile spread across her face. "Buongiorno, Signora De Luca," she purred. "How was your wedding night?"

Lucia forced a smile. "Quiet."

"Mm. That sounds... appropriate," Carla said, taking a delicate bite of a croissant.

Lucia crossed the room and reached for the coffee, pouring herself a cup slowly. Her hands didn't shake-but only because she wouldn't let them.

Carla didn't stop.

"I remember when Matteo used to bring me espresso in bed. Of course, that was before he got so... serious."

Lucia turned. "Some men mature. Others just move on."

The table went quiet. A few glances were exchanged behind napkins. Carla's smile flickered.

Before the woman could respond, footsteps approached. Matteo entered the kitchen in a crisp navy suit, looking like he had slept just fine.

"Lucia," he said. "A word?"

Carla stood abruptly, placing her cup down with a click. "I was just telling your wife about the villa's rich history."

Matteo didn't even look at her. "Don't."

Carla's eyes narrowed. "Of course. I wouldn't dream of stepping on anyone's... vows."

She swept past them and disappeared down the hall like a vindictive breeze.

Lucia exhaled. "She's charming."

Matteo gave a humorless smile. "Charming like a loaded pistol."

Lucia followed him to the veranda that overlooked the vineyard. Outside, the sun warmed her skin, but Matteo stood in the shade.

"I'll be leaving for Milan tomorrow," he said. "There's a quarterly meeting with the board. You'll come with me."

Lucia blinked. "You want me to travel with you?"

"We're married. Publicly, we have to act like it. My wife makes appearances, smiles at the cameras, supports the foundation. Pretend, remember?"

"I remember," she said. "What exactly am I supposed to wear to these things? I didn't pack a billionaire's-wife wardrobe."

"You'll have everything you need by tonight. My assistant will send someone."

Lucia folded her arms. "And I assume you'll expect me to stay in your suite again? Smile and nod and kiss you on cue?"

He turned to her then, eyes hard. "That's the agreement."

"Right," she said, her voice tight. "The agreement."

But something in her expression made him pause.

"I'm not trying to humiliate you," he said more softly. "This isn't easy for me either."

"You have a funny way of showing it."

Their eyes locked. His were stormy, unreadable.

"I warned you what I was," he said. "Don't expect softness."

Lucia bit the inside of her cheek, willing herself not to react. "I'm not asking for softness. Just... something. Honesty. Basic decency. I didn't come here to be a prop."

"You came here to save your family."

The words struck like a slap. True. Brutal. Unforgiving.

Lucia looked away.

The silence stretched between them until finally, she turned to go. "I'll be ready for Milan."

By late afternoon, her new wardrobe arrived-designer gowns, tailored suits, shoes wrapped in tissue paper. Lucia tried not to feel overwhelmed as she sifted through the boxes, each more expensive than anything she'd ever touched.

A personal stylist had been sent ahead of time, a sharp-eyed woman named Chiara who barely blinked as she sized up Lucia's figure and complexion before arranging garments in color-coded order. She spoke quickly, efficiently, with a clipped Milanese accent.

"You're tall, lean, olive tone-you'll wear emerald, crimson, midnight. No pastels, no prints. The De Luca name is timeless, not trendy."

Lucia just nodded, letting the transformation happen to her like she was watching it through someone else's eyes.

Later that evening, she wandered into the private garden terrace just behind the south wing of the house. It was quiet, fragrant with jasmine and honeysuckle. She needed the silence-away from Carla's eyes, Matteo's coldness, the endless rehearsed smiles.

She sat on a stone bench near the fountain and stared at the moonlit water.

"I thought I might find you here," came a voice.

Lucia looked up. It was Giulia, wrapped in a shawl despite the warmth of the evening.

Lucia stood quickly. "You shouldn't be out in the night air-"

"Nonsense," Giulia waved her off. "It's the only time this place breathes."

She eased herself down onto the bench beside Lucia. They sat together for a moment without speaking.

"You've had a hard day," Giulia said softly.

Lucia nodded. "Your grandson doesn't like surprises. Or company. Or me, apparently."

"He's built walls because every time he let someone in, they left. His mother. His father. Carla. Friends who became enemies. Women who wanted only his name."

Lucia turned her face toward the stars. "What if I become another wall?"

Giulia smiled faintly. "Then at least you'll be the first one he didn't build himself."

Lucia looked at her. "Why do you believe in this... in me?"

"Because I watched you yesterday," the older woman said. "You didn't flinch. You didn't beg. And you didn't pretend. Matteo needs truth. You are truth."

Lucia's eyes stung.

Giulia patted her hand. "It will get worse before it gets better. But that man... my grandson... he has a heart worth saving. Even if he's buried it deep."

Lucia exhaled slowly. "Then I'll just have to dig."

That night, Lucia returned to her room to find a small envelope on her pillow. No name. No handwriting.

She opened it.

Inside was a single sentence, typed on rich, cream paper.

You were flawless today. - M.

Her heart thudded.

It wasn't a confession. Or an apology. Or even affection.

But it was something.

A crack in the marble.

And for Lucia, that was enough-for now.