Chapter 4: The Family Dinner

The Bianchi villa sat on Lake Como like it owned the water. Stone walls, ivy crawling up centuries-old gates, and a gate that cost more than Giulia’s mom’s hospital bill. Two security guards scanned the car before it opened.

Giulia gripped her clutch until her knuckles went white. “I’m not ready for this.”

Marco met her at the gate, still in CEO mode. Navy suit, watch that probably paid rent for a year, no smile. “You don’t have to be. Just breathe and let me handle Contessa Isabella.”

“Your mother hates me already,” Giulia whispered as the driver took their coats. “She hasn’t even met me.”

“She doesn’t hate you,” Marco said. But his jaw was tight. He didn’t believe his own words. “She hates change. And you’re change.”

The dining room was a war zone disguised as pasta. Crystal that caught the chandelier light, silver that had probably been in the family for 100 years, and Contessa Isabella Bianchi at the head of the table. Eyes like Marco’s, but colder. Sharper. She didn’t stand when they entered.

“So,” Contessa said, setting down her wine glass. The sound echoed. “You are Luca’s sister. The one who suddenly became my son’s fiancée.”

Giulia forced a smile. “Yes, ma’am. Giulia Romano. Event management.”

“Event management.” Contessa said it like a disease. “And your education?”

“Bocconi University. Graduated top 5%. Then I worked in hospitals to pay for my mother’s treatment.” She didn’t mean to add the last part. It just slipped.

Marco’s cousin, 19-year-old Sofia, snorted from down the table. “Bocconi? Smart girl for a project manager’s sister.”

“Sofia,” Marco warned. His voice cut through the room.

“What? I’m just saying.” Sofia twirled pasta, bored. “It’s cute that Zio Marco is dating down for once. Daddy said you were supposed to marry the De Luca girl.”

Giulia’s face burned. She opened her mouth to lie, to defend herself, to say this was all fake, but Marco’s hand found hers under the table. His thumb brushed her knuckles. Once. Grounding.

“Giulia is mine,” he said quietly, but loud enough for the whole table. In Italian: _“Giulia è la mia ragazza.”_ 

The table went silent. Contessa’s eyes narrowed. Sofia blinked. An older uncle set his fork down.

Giulia’s heart stumbled. _Mine_. Not “my fake fiancée”. _Mine_. The words sat in her chest like something real.

Dinner dragged on. Contessa asked about Giulia’s mother. About Luca. About why Giulia wasn’t wearing diamonds yet. Each question was a test. Giulia answered them all. Polite. Steady. Marco answered the rest for her when her voice got too thin.

After dessert, Giulia escaped to the terrace. Lake Como was black and endless. Cold air hit her face. She gripped the stone railing, trying not to cry. She wasn’t good at this. At pretending. At being judged by people who had never worried about a hospital bill.

“Hey.” Marco’s voice behind her. Softer now. No CEO. 

She didn’t turn. “They think I’m using you.” Her voice shook. “Maybe I am. Maybe this whole contract is me using you.”

“You’re not,” Marco said. He stepped closer but didn’t touch her. “You’re saving my company. You’re saving your mom. And you’re doing it while my mother treats you like dirt. You’re stronger than me, Giulia. I would have walked out an hour ago.”

Giulia turned. Tears were on her cheeks before she could stop them. “I hate lying, Marco. I hate sitting there and letting them look at me like I’m nothing.”

“I know.” He reached up, thumb wiping a tear from her cheek. Just one second. One rule broken. His skin was warm against her cold face. “But you’re not lying. You’re protecting someone you love. That’s not fake. That’s the most real thing in this house.”

Giulia closed her eyes. For 3 seconds she let him touch her. Let herself believe, just for a second, that _mine_ meant something. Then she stepped back. “We should go in.”

When they returned, Contessa was already standing. “The merger signing is next week in Rome,” she announced. “The whole family will attend. To meet this _ragazza_ properly. The press will be there.”

Marco stiffened. Giulia’s stomach dropped. Rome. Cameras. More questions.

“Wonderful,” Marco said, voice flat. “We’ll be there.”

In the car home, neither of them spoke for a long time. Just the sound of rain and tires on wet road.

Finally Giulia stared at the lake disappearing behind them. “Day 14. I can’t quit before Day 30 now, can I?”

“No,” Marco said. He looked exhausted. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think she’d move the date up.”

“Don’t be.” Giulia surprised herself. She was tired of being scared. “Just… teach me how to survive your family. Teach me what to say. What not to say. What they’ll throw at me next.”

Marco glanced at her. For the first time that night, he smiled. Small. Real. Tired, but real. “Deal, piccola.”

Giulia looked down at her hand. His thumbprint was still warm on her knuckles.

Day 14 of 30. And surviving the Bianchi family just became part of the contract.