Taste of unwavering Faith

Chapter Eleven

Aliya

"Congratulazioni, signor e signora Eduardo." 

I muster a weak smile, murmuring, "Grazie," pressing my lips together in a half-hearted attempt to appear grateful until the woman leaves. Another face among the endless sea of well-wishers, all speaking in rapid, melodic Italian. I hardly know a word of it, save for the basics Tia taught me—'per favore,' 'scusi,' and 'grazie'— just enough to navigate the niceties. I cling to English as a lifeline, keenly aware of the subtle sneers from the Italians. They don't say it out loud, of course; the Eduardo name holds the top of the elite ladder. The untouchables. 

Months have passed since the wedding, and tonight, it's not really our party but a celebration of Adam's new role as the president of Eduardo Empire. I'd imagined a traditional Italian wedding affair—endless dancing, loud laughter, and celebrations into the early hours. Instead, it's more of a high-stakes corporate gathering, filled with muted conversations and guarded glances. Groups of two or three whispering in corners, a slow murmur of gossip punctuated by polite chuckles. It's more like a power play than a celebration.

I turn my gaze towards Adam, who's comfortably slouched on the sofa, engrossed in a game of chess on his Samsung Flip. It's as if the hundred-odd guests staring our way don't even exist. Two hours, and he hasn't looked up once, while I've been stuck smiling at strangers I'll never see again. 

"You've been staring. Is there something on your mind?" he says, still not bothering to look up. 

"No," I reply, trying to sound casual, though my mind is racing with questions. Everything feels like a web I'm tangled in, with no clear escape. I must be losing it.

Since we landed in Rome three days ago, I've been paraded like a doll, trailing after Adam, meeting new faces, and barely catching a breath. There's been no time for sightseeing. Whenever I think I might sneak away, Tia appears with her makeup and styling team, insisting that I must look the part of the president's wife. And if this is how I'm treated, I can only imagine the weight on Adam's shoulders. Yet, he doesn't falter—moving through each meeting with the same calm authority that runs in the Eduardo blood, second only to Zio Raf. 

I can't shake the feeling that Adam is constantly on edge, like he's anticipating some unseen threat. He tastes my food before I do at times and keeps a watchful eye on me whenever I stray too far. I'm glued to his side most of the time, tethered by an invisible thread of caution. 

I yawn, my eyes drifting to Adam once more, still absorbed in his game. I envy his detachment. How does he manage to block it all out? Does the word "fun" even exist in his vocabulary? Despite his aloofness, he's brilliant, with walls of accolades to prove it, and his language often leaves me grasping for a dictionary. There's no doubt he's earned every bit of his success—it isn't just about the Eduardo name. 

"Are you conducting some kind of psychological study on me?" He finally sets his phone down, his gaze piercing. 

"You think too much of yourself," I scoff lightly, recalling Tia's repeated reminders to show respect in public. 'This is Rome, not London, bambina' she'd said, warning me that reputation is everything here. 

"Well, you keep looking at me. I've got to believe I'm that captivating." 

"I'm just wondering how you can sit there playing a game while I'm out here entertaining every guest." 

"I told you to ignore them." Adam's voice is matter-of-fact, entirely unconcerned. 

"And what image would that present?" I counter, exasperated.