Chapter 6 - The UltimatumSunday morning arrived with a gray, misty Atlantic drizzle that cast a melancholic mood over the sprawling Southampton estate.
By contrast, the atmosphere inside the Ricci family breakfast room was anything but subdued. Rumors of Julian Vance’s late-night eviction by Marco had evidently circulated among the cousins before sunrise, turning me into an object of intense, albeit respectful, fascination.
Throughout breakfast, Uncle Salvatore kept offering me extra pastries with booming declarations of approval, while Aunt Rosa peppered Marco with pointed questions about when the engagement party would officially take place in the city.
By Sunday evening, however, the heavy weekend schedule was winding down. Most of the extended family members had packed their luxury vehicles and headed back toward Manhattan, leaving the main villa remarkably quiet.
At 8:00 PM, a sharp knock echoed on the heavy oak door of the master suite.
When I opened it, Elena Ricci stood in the hallway, looking immaculate in a tailored charcoal blazer and silk scarf, holding a porcelain teacup.
“Emily,” Elena said smoothly, her dark eyes sharp. “May I come in?”
My heart skipped a beat. “Of course, Mrs. Ricci. Please.”
Marco was nowhere to be seen—he had been summoned to his study ten minutes earlier to take an urgent transatlantic call regarding a port acquisition in Italy. I offered Elena the seating area by the balcony while I nervously poured a fresh cup of tea.
Elena sat down, setting her cup on the glass table without touching it. She looked around the master suite, noting the two distinct sleeping areas we had awkwardly maintained—or tried to maintain—over the past forty-eight hours.
Then, she turned her full, formidable attention back to me.
“Let’s dispense with the pleasantries, Emily,” Elena said, her voice calm, measured, and entirely unyielding. “For two years, Marco has been a ghost. He works himself into the ground, he refuses attachments, and he uses his work as a fortress to keep everyone—including his own mother—at arm's length.”
I swallowed hard, keeping my hands clasped tightly in my lap. “He cares deeply about his family, Mrs. Ricci. He just… protects his circle.”
“He protects his isolation,” Elena corrected sharply. “Until this weekend.”
She leaned forward, her dark eyes locking onto mine with terrifying precision. “I watched him on the boat. I watched him in the garden with Julian Vance last night. And more importantly, I watched the way you look at him when you think no one is paying attention.”
My breath hitched. The blood drained entirely from my face. She knows. She had seen right through our elaborate, fabricated romance from the very beginning.
“Mrs. Ricci, I can explain—”
“Silence, child,” Elena interrupted, though there was no malice in her tone—only ironclad authority. “You think this was a game? You think my son brought you here just to put on a show for his mother?”
“It started as a favor,” I whispered, lowering my gaze in defeat. “He needed someone his family would believe.”
Elena let out a soft, dry laugh. “Marco does not ask favors of women. He commands, he delegates, or he ignores them. The fact that he asked you—that he brought you into my home, into his private suite, into his world—means he has been in love with you for a very long time, even if his stubborn, prideful head refused to admit it.”
I looked up, stunned.
“He’s terrified, Emily,” Elena continued softly, leaning back in her chair. “Men like my son don't fear enemies with guns or rivals with capital. They fear losing control. Loving someone is the ultimate loss of control. And he’s afraid that if he fully admits how much he needs you, he’ll destroy you.”
Before I could process her words, the connecting door to the study swung open.
Marco stepped into the room. He had discarded his suit jacket, his shirtsleeves rolled up, his expression a mix of dark frustration and raw intensity. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw his mother sitting across from me.
“Mamma,” Marco said, his voice dropping into a low, warning register. “Leave her out of this.”
Elena stood up smoothly, smoothing down her blazer. She walked past her son, pausing at the threshold to place a warm, heavy hand on his broad shoulder.
“I didn't do anything, Marco,” Elena said quietly, looking up into her son’s stubborn green eyes. “I just reminded her of what you’ve been too cowardly to say out loud.”
With that, she walked out of the suite, closing the heavy oak door behind her with a soft click.
The silence in the bedroom was deafening.
Marco stood frozen by the doorway, his chest rising and falling beneath his white shirt. The raw vulnerability in his expression was something I had never seen in two years of working for him.
“What did she say to you?” Marco asked, his voice rough and uneven as he walked toward me.
I stood up from the sofa, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. All the corporate walls, all the professional boundaries, all the carefully constructed lies completely disintegrated between us.
“She said you’re a coward,” I said quietly, meeting his gaze head-on.
Marco flinched as if he had been physically struck. He stopped inches from me, his green eyes burning with an agonizing intensity. “She’s right.”
“Marco…”
“I couldn't sleep on the other side of that bed this weekend, Emily,” he confessed, his voice breaking slightly as his hands reached out to gently cup my face. “Every second I spent pretending you were mine, I was dying because I knew that on Monday morning, we were supposed to go back to being boss and assistant. And I can’t do it. I won't do it.”
Tears pricked the corners of my eyes, but I didn't look away.
“Then don't,” I whispered.
May you like
Marco let out a ragged, breathless sound—half laugh, half groan—before pulling me flush against his chest. His lips crashed down onto mine with a fierce, desperate hunger that swept away every remaining doubt in the universe.
It wasn't a lie anymore. It never really had been.
