Chapter 1

My fiancé and my best friend are talking about their affair. In a language they think I can't understand.

Lorenzo DeLuca is my fiancé. He's also the Don of the DeLuca Family.

Him and my best friend, Isabella Romano — those two can't stand losing. Not to anyone, not about anything.

In our world, they argue over everything.

Which bottle of wine is better for dinner.

Who handled the latest family deal better.

Even who gets to decide what I eat at the table.

Neither of them will back down.

Tonight is no different.

We're sitting in a private room at the back of the DeLuca Family's private club.

Quiet enough that all I hear is silverware, clinking.

Lorenzo picks up his wineglass and looks at the dessert the waiter just brought over.

Then he switches to French.

"Pourquoi tu as commandé ce gâteau ? Alessia fait attention au sucre, tu le sais bien? (Why did you order cake? Alessia's cutting back on sugar. You know that.)"

Isabella cuts off a small piece and puts it on my plate.

She looks straight at Lorenzo.

"C'est un dessert en édition limitée. Ça fait un moment qu'elle en a envie. (This is a limited-time dessert. Alessia's been wanting it for a while.)"

Then she gives him a cold look.

"T'es beaucoup trop coincé pour être son fiancé. (You're way too uptight to be her fiancé.)"

I lower my head and take a bite of cake.

I can't help smiling a little.

Two idiots.

They're both fighting over me, but neither of them actually wants to put me in a bad spot.

That's why they never argue in English around me.

They switch to French instead.

Thing is, I taught myself French months ago. In secret.

I understand everything.

I just never told them.

I thought tonight would be like all the other nights.

Until Lorenzo suddenly switches languages.

He asks in fluent Spanish, his voice calm.

"¿No soy lo bastante bueno para ser su prometido... pero sí para ser tuyo? (Not good enough to be her fiancé... good enough to be yours, though?)"

My hand freezes.

Lorenzo looks at Isabella and keeps going.

"Anoche no sonabas así. En la cama. (You weren't singing that tune last night. In bed.)"

"¿Te pones la ropa y de repente eres puro hielo? (Clothes go back on and suddenly you're all ice?)"

My fingers slowly tighten.

Isabella hears it and doesn't even flinch. Just sits there, calm as ever.

She answers him in Spanish too.

"Tienes el descaro de decir eso con Alessia aquí sentada. (You've got some nerve saying that with Alessia sitting right here.)"

Lorenzo raises an eyebrow.

"Qué gracioso. Tuviste bastante descaro para acostarte conmigo en el cuarto justo al lado del suyo. (Funny. You had plenty of nerve sleeping with me in the room right next to hers.)"

He pauses.

Then he gives a low laugh.

"Tranquila. (Relax.)"

"Ella solo aprendió francés. No sabe español. (She only learned French. She doesn't know Spanish.)"

My heart sinks.

So that's it.

They've known for a long time that I can understand French.

Those fake little arguments.

All those childish fights.

They were never meant for each other. They were meant for me.

Whatever they actually needed to hide from me — that's what they saved for Spanish.

Too bad.

They made one mistake.

I lived in Spain for three years when I was a kid.

And all these years, I've never told them I speak Spanish.

I force the cake down.

The cream suddenly tastes so rich it makes me sick.

I'm done pretending I don't know anything.

I look up at them.

"When did this start?"

The room goes completely silent.

They both look at me at the same time.

Isabella's caught off guard.

She forces a smile.

"Alessia, what are you talking about?"

"What could there possibly be between us?"

I look at her.

Then I repeat myself in Spanish, word by word.

"Vosotros dos. (You two.)"

"Juntos. En la cama. Engañándome. (Sleeping together. Cheating on me.)"

"¿Cuándo empezó? (When did it start?)"

Their faces change at the same time.

Isabella blurts out.

"You've known Spanish this whole time? You hid it from us?"

Lorenzo frowns.

"Alessia, you gotta make this awkward for everyone?"

Same old sync, these two.

One jumps straight to me hiding the Spanish.

The other flips it around, says I'm the one being harsh.

I lower my head and let out a bitter laugh.

Then I pick up my glass and take a drink.

The water's cold. Washes the sweet out of my mouth.

I put the glass down and look at Lorenzo.

"What? Feeling sorry for her?"

"So saying it out loud is the ugly part now?"

"That just means what you did was ugly to begin with."

Then I turn to Isabella.

Her face has already gone pale.

"I never went out of my way to hide it."

"I just never brought it up to show off."

"You were the ones who looked down on me and assumed I couldn't understand."

"When I couldn't understand French, you spoke French."

"Once I learned French, you switched to Spanish."

I laugh. Can't help it.

"Was that fun?"

Isabella's lips move.

She's clearly trying to explain herself.

I don't give her the chance.

"Was it because you didn't want me caught in the middle?"

"Or was it just easier? Talk about your dirty little secret, and leave me out of it?"

Every word out of my mouth feels like it's ripping my chest open.

But I hold it together.

"I even thought you two were really fighting over me."

"That was part of the dirty little plan too?"

Isabella's whole face drops.

She closes her eyes for a second, then reaches for me.

"Alessia, don't do this. Just calm down."

Something inside me snaps.

I shove her hand away.

"Don't touch me!"

"I can't calm down!"

"My best friend and my fiancé betrayed me. How the hell am I supposed to calm down?"

Isabella stumbles backward.

She catches the table edge, hard, right in the side.

She doubles over.

"Isabella!"

Lorenzo's expression changes.

He rushes over and catches her.

"Are you hurt? Where?"

There's real worry in his voice.

His hands are already on her, careful, fast. Like he can't get to her quick enough.

Like he used to worry about me.

Only now, he's worried about Isabella.

I stand there and watch them.

Suddenly the whole thing feels ridiculous. Doesn't even feel real.

When did they become like this?

Then Lorenzo turns on me.

The slap catches me across the face.

My ears ring.

For a few seconds, I don't even understand what just happened.

Lorenzo slowly pulls his hand back.

His face is cold enough to scare me.

"Are you calm now?"

"Alessia, are you done?"

Done?

Tears run down my face.

Lorenzo used to hate it when I went quiet.

Now he's asking if I'm done making a scene.

I wipe my face. Smile. No warmth in it at all.

"Making a scene?"

"Wasn't it you two? Competing over me every day. Pretending to care?"

"Just a minute ago, you were arguing over whether I should eat dessert."

"And now you can't even be bothered to pretend?"

I slowly lower my hand.

I can still feel his fingers on my cheek. Burning.

Lorenzo looks at me.

Something in his face shifts.

Without thinking, he reaches toward my face.

Just like he has so many times before.

I step back and avoid his hand.

Then I look straight at him.

"Lorenzo."

"We're done."