Azalea Faye Larau - The sweetheart socialite with a fire underneath and an up and coming ballet dancer in London striving to stay afloat in an ocean of sharks, all the while dealing with heartbreak and loss.
Harlan Emeric Marchetti - The Italian Maf...
"Good on paper, picture-perfect, chased the high too far, too fast."
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"No, you are not sleeping in the same room." Ella said firmly, her hands on her hips as she glared at her son, who glared right back.
"Mamma, she is already my—"
"Fiancé," Roberto spoke suddenly, his eyes narrowing towards Harlan who tilted his head to a side in question, "Your mother is right. She is not your wife yet."
"Right," Harlan spoke in a clipped tone, glancing briefly at me but I kept my gaze away from him, aware of the ring that burned my skin, placed delicately on the chain around my neck, "My point still stands."
"We value tradition, son, and so must you," Ella spoke more gently now when Harlan let out a slow breath and she looked towards me, "Azalea, tesoro, tell him."
"No, you will not use her to get to me," He spoke in a low tone, his eyes narrowing in anger, "You want to say something, say it to my face. Do not use my woman"
"Harlan—" I started, stepping forward but he held his hand up. I paused only for a moment but didn't let that stop me as I walked over to him and took his hand between mine.
"Let's go upstairs?" I asked, cupping his cheek with my free hand when he leaned into my touch in the slightest.
"Hm, where?" He spoke quietly as I intertwined our fingers.
"Your office? I like it there." I told him and saw him look at me for a moment too long before he sighed and lowered his head to look at me better.
"Very well." He muttered and tugged at my hand, pulling me towards the stairs. I briefly looked back to see a worried Ella and a smirking Roberto, nodding towards them to let them know I'd handle it before looking forward.
We walked into his office and he closed the door, pulling me towards the desk. He sat down on the chair, pulling me to sit sideways in his lap.
"Why are you so angry?" I asked, putting an arm around his neck and playing with the hair in the back of his head.
"They're trying to separate us," He spoke, looking ahead and not at me as his jaw clenched, "We are already married, there's no point in keeping up with tradition anymore."
"But they don't know that, don't they?" I asked, turning his head so he would look at me, his eyes softening slightly.
"Papa knows."
"But your mum doesn't," I said, placing my hand on top of his and squeezing it lightly, "You've upset her. I'm sure you didn't mean it, did you?"
He kept quiet for a little while before sighing in resignation.
"No," He murmured, looking down with a small frown before glancing at me again, "But papa can just tell her and we don't have to do anything—"
"Harlan," I cut him off, looking at him pointedly, "It's just one night, not forever."
