Seven Years as a Substitute

I had been the hidden woman of my brother's best friend for seven years, and we were planning to marry.

I followed his location to the social club on Mulberry Street and found his gathering in the back room. But as I reached the door, heavy oak left slightly ajar, I overheard their conversation.

"Dominic Marchetti, your Cinderella is back. What are you going to do about that stand-in little sister?"

He didn't reply.

The atmosphere became tense and another man laughed, the sound loose with whiskey. "It's impressive how bold Dominic is. He dared to go after Marco's sister. Now he's used her up and yet, Serafina is back…"

"She left so decisively back then. She deserves to have a stand-in to irritate her!"

The next day, Dominic took me to Serafina's welcome dinner at one of the Family's restaurants, showering me with affectionate gestures the way a man does when he's performing for an audience instead of a woman.

But when Serafina ran out crying, he pushed me aside and rushed after her in panic.

I returned to the townhouse covered in spilled soup and burns and opened the door to the study, one he never allowed me to enter.

On the desk, their photo together was so conspicuous. Him and Serafina. Framed in silver, placed where he could see it every time he sat down.

My heart turned to ash and I called my brother overseas.

"Marco, I've made up my mind about the arranged marriage. I agree!"

——

"Bianca Valente, have you been wronged?"

My brother paused on the other end of the line for a moment before his voice filled with deep concern. I could hear the weight of it, the particular stillness of a man accustomed to solving problems with his hands trying instead to listen.

I forced a lighthearted smile, despite the bitterness rising in my throat. "No, I've just figured it out. I'm going to get married anyway, so does it matter to whom?"

"Besides, I trust Mom and Dad's judgment. Even if it's an arranged marriage, I'm sure the candidate has been thoroughly vetted by you all."

Only then did my brother let out a relieved sigh. His tone softened. "I'm glad you've figured it out. When are you coming back? Do you want to meet him before making the final decision?"

"No need. The sooner we agree, the sooner the Family crisis can be resolved. You can start preparing for the wedding and let's set the date for a month from now."

"Got it! By the way, do you still have contact with Dominic? I heard his goddess is finally back. You should reach out to him, maybe he'll have time to come celebrate with you and bring some good luck."

I was surprised that my brother knew about Serafina. No wonder Dominic had always insisted I keep our relationship a secret from him. Seven years of closed doors and separate cars and never once standing beside him at a funeral or a Sunday dinner, and now I understood why. It wasn't caution. It was design.

I lowered my gaze to hide the pang in my heart. My thumb found the ring on my right hand and turned it, slow, deliberate.

"Marco, don't bother him. I'm not close to him."

Just then, I heard the sound of the front door. The particular way the deadbolt turned, the heavy click of a lock meant to keep certain people out and certain people in. I said my goodbyes and hung up the phone.

I looked up to meet Dominic's smiling eyes.

"Not close to whom?"

"Not close to you!"

I said honestly, but Dominic raised an eyebrow and mischievously pulled me into his embrace.

"Really? Then tell me how you're not close to me. Are we not close enough, or have we not shared enough nights together, hmm?"

His breath was warm against my ear. The faint scent of cigarette smoke and someone else's perfume clung to his collar.

Our once intimate behavior that made my heart race now only made me feel uncomfortable and repelled.

As I struggled, I noticed the lipstick stain on his shirt collar. A color I didn't own.

The burns on my body ached and I didn't know where the pain came from, but it was so sharp it brought tears to my eyes.

"Bianca, what's wrong? Are you feeling unwell?"

Dominic panicked as soon as he saw my tears.

He rolled up his sleeve and saw the large red marks on my wrist, his voice trembling with concern.

"How did this happen? When did you get burned? Why didn't you tell me?"

It seemed like he had completely forgotten what had happened at the dinner. The soup, the chaos, the way he had dropped my hand like dead weight the moment Serafina's tears hit the tablecloth.

I remained silent, unsure whether I should remind him and shatter his mask of feigned affection. The ring on my right hand had gone still.