"Watch where you're going!" A growl ripped from my throat, the sound a low rumble against the thrum of the crowded Rome street. My shoulder slammed into something, or rather, someone, hard enough to send a small, brightly colored object skittering across the ancient cobblestones.
"Me? You were practically steamrolling the entire piazza!" A voice, sharp and undeniably female, shot back, laced with a surprising amount of venom. "And now look! My gelato! On the ground! Do you have any idea how long I waited in that line?"
I glanced down, my eyes narrowing. A splat of vibrant pistachio-green now adorned the worn stone, a stark contrast to the muted tones of the historic square. A girl, probably no older than eighteen, stood glaring up at me, her hands on her hips, a smudge of green on her cheek. Her eyes, a striking shade of emerald, sparked with genuine fury. A high schooler, by the looks of her uniform peeking out from under a light jacket. Pathetic.
"It's just ice cream, principessa. I'll buy you another. Or ten. What's the big deal?" I folded my arms, a smirk tugging at my lips. Her outrage was almost amusing.
"It's not *just* ice cream! It's the principle! You think you can just barge through life, knocking everything over, and then throw money at it to fix it?" She pointed a finger at me, her voice rising in pitch. "You're infuriating!"
"And you're overreacting. Are you always this dramatic?" I stepped closer, my shadow falling over her. She barely came up to my chest. "Relax. Take a breath. It's gelato."
"Oh, I'm dramatic? You're the one who looks like he's auditioning for a villain in some B-grade action movie!" She scoffed, her gaze sweeping over my dark suit, lingering for a fraction too long on the tailored cut. "Seriously, what's with the permanent scowl?"
A low chuckle escaped me. "A permanent scowl? That's rich, coming from someone who looks like she's about to spontaneously combust over a melted dessert." I pulled out my wallet, extracting a crisp fifty-euro note. "Here. Go buy a new one. And maybe a personality that isn't quite so... abrasive."
She snatched the money, her fingers brushing mine, sending a jolt I immediately dismissed as irritation. "Keep your charity. I don't need your blood money." She crumpled the note in her fist. "And for your information, my personality is just fine. It's yours that needs an overhaul. Learn some manners!" With a final, withering glare, she spun on her heel and stalked off, her bright green backpack swaying with each indignant step.
"Feisty," Vincent murmured, appearing at my side, a faint smile playing on his lips. "You always did have a knack for attracting the spirited ones, boss."
"She's a child, Vincent. And annoying." I watched her disappear into the crowd, a strange, unfamiliar flicker of something in my chest. Annoying, yes, but those eyes... "Let's go. Father expects us."
***
"Amelia, cara, you're home!" My mother's voice, warm and melodic, drifted from the kitchen. "How was school?"
I tossed my backpack onto the antique armchair, the thud echoing in the grand, unfamiliar foyer of Sebastian's villa. "It was... school, Mama. Same as always." I tried to inject some enthusiasm, but the truth was, everything felt different. Sebastian's house. Sebastian's staff. Sebastian's *life* that was now ours.
"Come, help me with dinner. Sebastian will be home soon." She emerged, wiping her hands on a floral apron, her smile bright. "He's bringing his son, you know. Damien. He's just returned from a business trip."
My stomach lurched. "His son? I didn't realize he had a son. You never mentioned it." My voice was flat. Another new variable in this already overwhelming equation.
"Oh, I must have! He's a busy man, Amelia, very successful. I'm sure you'll get along splendidly. He's a bit older than you, of course, but Sebastian says he's very charming." She squeezed my arm, her eyes sparkling with the hope only a newlywed could possess.
"Charming, huh? I'm sure." I rolled my eyes, picturing some stuffy, self-important businessman. Just what I needed. Another person to pretend to be polite to.
***
The scent of Mama's lasagna filled the dining room, rich and comforting, but it did little to ease the tension coiling in my gut. Sebastian, impeccably dressed as always, sat at the head of the polished mahogany table, Mama beside him, glowing. Two other places were set.
The doorbell chimed, a deep, resonant tone.
"Ah, they're here!" Sebastian boomed, rising. "Come, cara. Let's greet them."
I followed Mama, my heart thudding a nervous rhythm against my ribs. The heavy oak door swung open, revealing Sebastian's broad smile and...
My breath hitched.
Standing next to a man I assumed was Sebastian's associate, was *him*. The scowling, arrogant man from the piazza. The one who'd ruined my gelato and called me dramatic. The one with those piercing, dark eyes that had somehow already imprinted themselves on my memory.
He looked just as surprised, his dark brows drawing together in a familiar, irritated frown. A muscle in his jaw twitched.
"Damien, my son!" Sebastian clapped him on the shoulder, completely oblivious to the sudden, charged silence that had fallen. "And this is my beautiful new wife, Vanessa, and her daughter, Amelia."
Damien's gaze, sharp and assessing, moved from Mama to me. A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face, then settled into a mask of cool indifference.
"Mother," he inclined his head to Mama, his voice smooth, a low baritone that sent an unexpected shiver down my spine. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you." His eyes, however, were still locked on me.
"Amelia." His voice was devoid of warmth, a mere acknowledgment.
I felt my cheeks flush. "You." The word escaped my lips, a strangled whisper.
"Amelia!" Mama nudged me, a gentle reprimand. "What a way to greet your new stepbrother! Damien, this is my Amelia. She's a bit shy sometimes." She laughed, a nervous, tinkling sound.
Shy? I wanted to scream. I wanted to throw something. This infuriating, condescending man was my *stepbrother*? Fate had a truly twisted sense of humor.
"Stepbrother," he repeated, the word sounding like a curse on his tongue. His dark eyes, which had held a spark of something almost like recognition, now hardened into cold steel. "Charming." The same word he'd used earlier, but now laced with a bitter irony that made my skin crawl.
"Well, come in, come in!" Sebastian ushered them into the foyer. "Dinner is ready. Vanessa has outdone herself."
The dinner was an agonizing ordeal. Mama and Sebastian chattered happily, filling the silence, but the air between Damien and me was thick with unspoken animosity. Every time I glanced up, I found his eyes on me, a predatory glint in their depths. He didn't say much, offering only terse, polite answers to Sebastian's questions about his "business trip."
"So, Amelia, you're still in high school, aren't you?" Sebastian asked, trying to bridge the chasm. "Almost finished, I hear."
"Yes, Sebastian. Final year." I kept my gaze fixed on my plate, acutely aware of Damien's eyes burning into me.