The café had emptied as the Roman afternoon slid into golden light. Yet Isabella's pulse refused to calm, not with Marco De Luca sitting opposite her like a man who owned not only the table but the air she breathed.
She tried to steady her voice. "What kind of proposition?"
Marco leaned back, stretching long legs beneath the small table. His presence was magnetic, overwhelming, but it wasn't the careless charm of Alessandro. This was different—controlled, calculated, every movement designed to unsettle.
"My board of directors is restless," he said smoothly. "They've been pressing me to settle down. They think stability in my personal life means stability for the company. Tiresome, really. I don't have the patience for marriage, but I do understand appearances."
Isabella blinked. "And what does that have to do with me?"
A spark lit his eyes. "You need protection. I need a fiancée."
Her chair scraped as she shifted back. "You can't be serious."
"I am always serious," Marco replied, his tone clipped. "Think about it. Romano will not stop hunting you. On your own, you're vulnerable. But under my protection, with my name attached to yours, he would think twice before causing trouble. The press will spin the story into something glamorous: the runaway bride finding passion with another billionaire. Your family will be too busy saving face to drag you home."
Isabella stared at him. A pretend engagement? With Marco De Luca of all people? It was absurd. Dangerous. But, God help her, it made a kind of twisted sense.
"And what do you gain?" she asked cautiously.
He gave a careless shrug, though his eyes gleamed with calculation. "I silence my board, prove I can play the game of appearances, and perhaps amuse myself in the process. Everyone wins."
Her heart thudded in her chest. Everyone wins, except me. The thought curled bitterly in her mind. She had fled one cage; was Marco simply offering her another, gilded differently?
"I don't even know you," she said softly.
"You know enough," he countered. "You know I can protect you. You know I won't beg you for love or obedience, only partnership. And you know I am not Alessandro."
The last words struck something deep inside her. He was right, Marco was not Alessandro. Alessandro was cold ownership disguised as marriage. Marco was something else entirely: a risk, a storm, a man who could burn her alive if she let him too close.
"You're insane," she whispered.
"Perhaps." He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a velvet whisper. "But insanity is often survival. What's your choice, Isabella? Run alone until Romano finds you… or stand beside me?"
Her pulse hammered. Every instinct screamed danger, but another voice, the one that had urged her to leap from her balcony on Lake Como, whispered yes.
She swallowed hard. "If I agree… this is only pretend?"
"Entirely," Marco said, though the flicker in his eyes told her it might not remain that way. "We announce an engagement. We attend events together. You smile for the cameras. When the time comes, we part ways. Clean. Simple."
Her hands clenched in her lap. Nothing about this felt simple. Yet what choice did she have? Alone, she was a hunted woman. With him, she might just survive.
Finally, she whispered, "All right. I'll do it."
Marco's smile was slow, like a lion pleased with the hunt. He extended his hand across the table. "Then it begins."
Isabella stared at his hand, hesitation swirling like a storm inside her. And then, with a trembling breath, she placed her fingers in his.
The deal was sealed.
But in the depths of her soul, Isabella feared she had just stepped into a game she did not know the rules of one where the stakes were her freedom, her heart, and perhaps her very life.
The sun dipped low over Rome, painting the skyline in shades of amber and rose. Isabella sat at a small café table in Trastevere, her veil gone, her hair unpinned and falling loosely over her shoulders. The taste of freedom lingered on her tongue with every sip of strong espresso. For the first time in years, she wasn't being told where to go or who to be. She was simply a woman in hiding, breathing in the life she had long been denied.
But she wasn't invisible. Not to him.
Marco De Luca leaned casually against the door frame of the café, his tailored suit drawing as many stares as his chiseled features. His dark eyes found her instantly, as though he had known all along where she would be. Isabella's heart gave a nervous flutter. She had seen his face before, in glossy magazines and financial papers Rome's most eligible billionaire, a man with empires at his fingertips and a reputation for being untouchable.
"Signorina Conti," he said smoothly, as though they were old acquaintances. "Or should I say…the runaway bride?"
Isabella stiffened. "Please. Don't say that out loud."
Marco raised a brow, unbothered. He stepped closer, his presence commanding, his cologne a subtle mix of cedar and spice. He took the chair opposite hers without asking, as though the entire café were his personal boardroom.
"You've caused quite the scandal," he remarked, resting one hand on the table. "Your family is furious. Alessandro even more so."
Her stomach twisted at the mention of her almost-husband. "I don't care what they think. I won't go back."
Marco studied her, his gaze sharp but not unkind. "And where will you go instead? You think you can hide in Rome forever? A Conti doesn't simply disappear. Not when half of Italy is searching for her."
She glanced down, clutching her cup. "I'll find a way."
He leaned in then, lowering his voice, his tone shifting from mockery to intrigue. "Or…you could let me help you."
Her eyes snapped up. "Help me? Why would you do that?"
A faint smile played at his lips. "Because you and I share a problem. You're running from a marriage you don't want. And I…" He paused, as though considering how much to reveal. "…I am expected to marry to keep my board of directors content. Investors like the image of a family man. They want stability. But I have no intention of chaining myself to someone for the sake of appearances."
She blinked. "So what are you suggesting?"
Marco leaned back, folding his arms. "A deal. You pretend to be my fiancée. Just long enough to quiet the rumors circling me. In return, I'll give you protection. A new identity. No one—not Alessandro, not your family would dare drag you back if you were under my name."
Isabella's breath caught. The words sounded outrageous, yet the offer glimmered like an escape hatch. "Pretend to be your fiancée?" she echoed, half incredulous, half tempted.
"Yes." His gaze never wavered. "You'll have freedom. I'll have peace. No strings attached."
She shook her head slowly. "You make it sound so simple. But what happens when people expect more? When they start asking about the wedding, about children?"
Marco's lips curved into a knowing smile. "We'll handle it. Together. You underestimate how convincing two determined people can be."
Her heart thudded, a mix of fear and something far more dangerous curiosity. She should walk away. She had sworn never again to let herself be trapped by a powerful man's schemes. Yet Marco was nothing like Alessandro. Where Alessandro had sought to control her, Marco was offering her a choice.
She hesitated, weighing her options. "And if I say no?"
His expression hardened slightly. "Then you'll be found. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow. But soon. Alessandro is not a man who lets go of what he believes is his."
The thought sent a chill down her spine.
Marco reached across the table, his hand brushing against hers. The contact startled her, not because it was unwelcome, but because it sparked heat where there should have been none. His touch was firm, steady, grounding.
"You don't have to decide right now," he murmured. "But think about it, Isabella. Think about what it would mean to finally be untouchable."
Her pulse quickened. His words settled deep inside her, stirring both relief and unease. To be free under Marco's protection sounded dangerously close to another kind of cage, but what if this cage had a door she could open herself?
"Why me?" she asked softly. "You could have any woman in the world pretend to be yours."
His eyes darkened, and for the first time, his polished mask slipped. There was a hint of vulnerability beneath. "Because none of them understand what it means to run. None of them know the cost of choosing freedom."
The silence stretched between them, heavy and charged. Around them, the café buzzed with laughter and clinking cups, but for Isabella, the world had narrowed to the man across the table.
Finally, she exhaled. "All right. I'll think about it."
Marco's smile returned, slow and triumphant. "That's all I ask."
As he stood, adjusting his cufflinks, Isabella felt as though she had just stepped into a game far larger than herself. A game where love, power, and freedom collided. And though she didn't know the rules yet, she sensed Marco De Luca never played to lose.