Chapter 2 Night

Maeve sat alone in the vast dining room, her fingers tracing the rim of her untouched coffee cup. The morning sun flooded through the towering windows, casting a golden glow over the sleek marble floors, but it did nothing to warm the cold emptiness of the mansion-or the man she had married.

She heard footsteps. Steady. Unhurried.

Luca entered, his hair slightly tousled from sleep, his dark eyes still heavy with the remnants of the night. His crisp white shirt was carelessly untucked at the edges, and there was a faint trace of cologne-unexpectedly floral, almost sweet. It made something twist in Maeve's stomach.

He didn't stop. Didn't acknowledge her.

Straight to the coffee machine.

Maeve exhaled slowly, pressing her palms against the cool surface of the table. She wasn't going to be ignored.

"Did you sleep well?" she asked, her voice steady despite the awkwardness curling in her chest.

Luca didn't look up as he poured his coffee. "What's the point of asking?" His tone was flat, disinterested.

Maeve bristled but kept her composure. "Because we're married."

That made him glance at her. Just briefly. A flicker of amusement crossed his face, but it was gone before she could grasp it.

"You're free to sleep wherever you want," he said coolly, lifting his mug to his lips. "But I don't need company in my bed."

The sting of his words settled deep, but Maeve refused to let it show. She tilted her chin, studying him. "Is that how this is going to be? We ignore each other until it's convenient?"

Luca set his cup down with a quiet clink. "It's how it is, cara." His voice was smooth, unreadable. "You agreed to this arrangement. That doesn't include playing house."

Maeve held his gaze for a moment longer, then pushed back her chair. Fine. If he wanted distance, she'd give it to him. But she wouldn't be invisible.

As she turned to leave, Luca's voice cut through the silence.

"Pack your bags."

Maeve paused, glancing over her shoulder. "Excuse me?"

Luca took another slow sip of coffee, his eyes cool and detached. "We leave in two hours."

"For what?"

"A villa." He adjusted his cuff, barely sparing her a glance. "My father arranged it. A honeymoon, for appearances."

Maeve folded her arms. "And what do we get out of it?"

Luca smirked. "A week of pretending."

Then, just like that, he walked away.

Maeve clenched her jaw, the coffee in her cup long gone cold.

Upstairs, Maria was already folding Maeve's clothes into a suitcase.

Maeve stood by the window, her phone pressed to her ear. She needed to hear Justin's voice.

"Hey, Maeve," he answered softly.

"Hey." She swallowed. "How's Dad?"

"Still no change. Stable, but... it's going to take time." He hesitated. "I miss you."

Maeve's grip tightened on the phone. "I miss you too. I'll send you more money, okay? Just take care of yourself."

Justin exhaled. "You don't have to keep doing this alone, Maeve."

She smiled faintly. "I already am."

After hanging up, Maeve turned to Maria, who zipped up the last of her bags.

"Do you think he'll ever warm up to me?" Maeve asked, surprising herself with the question.

Maria hesitated. "Luca... isn't heartless. But he's also not easy to understand."

Maeve let out a quiet laugh. "That's an understatement."

The car ride was silent.

Maeve watched the city blur past the window, arms folded as Luca scrolled through his phone. He spoke in rapid Italian, his tone controlled, authoritative. He barely acknowledged her presence.

Fine. Two could play that game.

She turned to him, breaking the silence. "Have you been to this villa before?"

Luca glanced at her. "A few times."

"Do you plan to work the whole time?"

He finally put his phone down. "Why wouldn't I?"

Maeve met his gaze, refusing to back down. "Because this is supposed to be a honeymoon."

His lips curved, but there was no warmth in it. "You don't actually believe that, do you?"

Maeve inhaled sharply, then let it go. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing he was getting under her skin.

A moment later, Luca spoke again-unexpectedly.

"Your father." His voice was quieter this time. "How is he?"

Maeve blinked. He hadn't mentioned her family since the wedding.

"Still in a coma," she said cautiously.

Luca nodded once. "I'll handle the hospital bills."

Maeve stiffened. "You mean your father will."

Luca's expression didn't change. "Does it matter?"

Maeve looked away, pressing her lips together. It did. But she wasn't going to say it.

The villa was breathtaking-perched on a cliff, surrounded by an endless blue ocean. The Mediterranean air was thick with the scent of salt and citrus, but despite the beauty, Maeve couldn't shake the cold weight in her chest.

Inside, the space was equally stunning-high ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows, the kind of luxury that should have felt intoxicating. Instead, it felt empty.

"I'll be in the study," Luca said, already walking away. "Maria will join us tomorrow."

That was it. No instructions. No conversation. No acknowledgment that they were supposed to be here together.

Maeve exhaled sharply and dropped her bag on the floor. If he thought she was going to tiptoe around this arrangement like some obedient pawn, he had another thing coming.

After dinner, Maeve retreated to the room she had been staying in-only to freeze in the doorway.

Two suitcases sat near the foot of the bed.

One was hers.

The other-Luca's.

Her heart jumped.

"This is where you're staying?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Luca, who had just loosened his tie, barely glanced at her. "It's what the organizers arranged."

Maeve's throat went dry as he shrugged off his jacket, moving with that same effortless confidence that irritated and intrigued her.

She turned away, fumbling with her suitcase just to have something to do.

"Don't overthink it," Luca muttered, unbuttoning his shirt. "It's just one night."

One night.

Maeve clenched her jaw. He was right-she shouldn't overthink it.

But the problem was, she already was.

And the way Luca stood across the room, casually peeling off his shirt, wasn't helping.

Not one bit.