Catherine’s POV
Marco climbed out of the driver’s seat, circled the car, and pulled open the back door for me.
“Catherine, Isabella said she wanted to come celebrate Mom’s birthday too, so I brought her along.” He leaned in close, dropping his voice.
“But my parents still don’t know about me and her.
Don’t slip up, okay?”
I got it immediately.
Of course.
My darling little sister couldn’t wait to start greasing the wheels with her future in-laws.
“Maybe warn your side piece not to slip up herself,” I said sweetly, then slid into the back seat.
I glanced at Isabella riding shotgun.
She’d dressed to the nines tonight, done up like she was hitting a gala instead of a family dinner.
The makeup was troweled on thick, layer over layer, like she was trying to smother something underneath.
It buried whatever soft, girlish thing she usually had going for her and left behind something stiff and overworked.
She felt like a knockout, though.
I could tell.
She fluffed her fresh blowout and twisted around to face me.
“Sis, since you and Marco broke up, maybe keep it low-key in front of his parents tonight, hmm?”
Translation: don’t steal my spotlight.
And stop bending over backwards trying to charm Marco’s mom and dad.
I widened my eyes, all innocence.
“I’m plenty low-key.
I didn’t even put on makeup.”
She gave me a long once-over, and I watched her jaw clench.
Because yeah.
Bare face.
Hair thrown up in a messy bun.
And I still had her beat, standing next to all that paint she’d layered on.
Two seconds ago she’d been strutting around like a peacock.
Now she was wilting fast.
I bit back a grin.
“Isn’t your place the other way?” I asked, noticing we weren’t heading toward the Conti estate.
“Where are we going?”
“Mom heard you love the food at Rosewood,” Marco said.
“So she booked us in there instead.”
Rosewood.
The most exclusive restaurant in the city.
Gold on the walls, a waitlist a mile long, a menu that cost more than my daily wage.
Isabella made a small sound in her throat, somewhere between jealous and smug.
I could read her like a billboard.
Furious that Marco’s mother was rolling out the red carpet for a woman she thought was on her way out.
Comforted knowing that soon enough, “she’d” be the one soaking up all that love.
At the private room door, Marco shrugged Isabella’s hand off his arm and stepped over to me, offering his elbow.
“Take my arm.”
I didn’t budge. Find the original chapter at g.com.
“We still have to play happy couple in front of my parents for now,” he muttered.
I caught Isabella’s pout out of the corner of my eye, lips shoved out far enough to hang a bottle on.
So I looped my hand through Marco’s arm, nice and slow, and shot her a look loaded with challenge.
Tonight, I decided, I was going to make my sweet little sister absolutely miserable.
Marco’s parents—Rosa and Benjamin—were already seated.
The second we walked in, they shot up out of their chairs.
Rosa, his mother, rushed over and grabbed my hands, beaming.
“Cat, honey!
When I called Marco yesterday, he said you couldn’t make it, scared me half to death.
I thought you two lovebirds had a fight.”
Marco cleared his throat.
“Mom, couples argue sometimes.
It’s completely normal.”
Isabella jumped in right on cue.
“Exactly, ma’am.
Fighting’s nothing.
Sometimes people even break up, and that’s normal too.” She tilted her head, dripping fake sympathy.
“My sister’s got a bit of a temper.
Marco’s put up with a lot, honestly.”
Rosa finally turned and actually looked at her.
Really looked.
Whatever she saw, her expression cooled a few degrees.
Where on earth had this girl learned to talk?
Sensing the shift, Isabella scrambled, thrusting out a shopping bag.
“Ma’am, happy birthday!
I picked this scarf out just for you.
I hope you like it!”
I watched Rosa’s eyes fall to the logo.
Hermès.
Something flickered across her face, and she accepted the gift with a smooth, unreadable smile.
“Marco,” she said lightly, “I saw the charge on your card.
If you want to get me a gift, sweetheart, just hand it to me yourself.
No need to funnel it through Isabella.”
Isabella’s caked face went blotchy under all that powder.
Marco leapt to explain.
“Isabella wanted to wish you happy birthday, said she couldn’t come empty-handed.
She spotted the scarf right away.
She’s short on cash, so I covered it.”
“Right,” Isabella said quickly, nodding.
“That’s what happened, ma’am.”
I turned to her with my best big-sister frown, dripping disappointment.
Marco and I were together six years and I ‘never’ once put anything on his card.
And here you are, swiping it already.”
She flushed, mouth opening and closing, nothing coming out.
“Sis, I’m sorry,” she finally managed.
“I just wanted to make a good impression.” Then her gaze flicked to my empty hands, and a nasty little gleam of delight lit up her face.
“Oh, that reminds me.
What did *you* get her, sis?” She pressed her fingers to her lips, faking a gasp.
“Don’t tell me you showed up to a birthday dinner with nothing at all?”
Marco’s face darkened.
“Catherine.
You came to my mother’s birthday and didn’t even bring a gift?”
Rosa shot her son a glare, then patted my hand.
“Oh, hush.
We’re family, honey, none of that matters.
Having you here is gift enough for me.”
I smiled.
“Actually, ma’am, since your heart’s been giving you trouble, I talked to a specialist today.
I had a sleep monitor custom-built for you.
It’ll be delivered in a few days.
Tracks your heart rate through the night, your blood oxygen, watches for any signs of ischemia.
All of it.”
“Oh my goodness, they make something like that?” Rosa lit up and pulled me toward the table, practically clinging to my arm.
“Cat, you are just the most thoughtful thing.
You have no idea, ever since this heart condition, I lie awake terrified I’ll drift off one night and never wake up…”
“Don’t say that, ma’am.
You’re going to live to a hundred,” I said, patting her hand.
That was when I felt Marco’s eyes on me.
Sticky, lingering, soft in a way that made the hair on my arms stand straight up.
Was he seriously looking at me like that?
After everything?
My stomach turned over.
Across the table, Isabella dropped into a chair, chewing her lip, glaring daggers at me.
She’d shown up dolled up to the nines, and Rosa hadn’t spared her more than a passing glance.
Every ounce of attention in that room was aimed squarely at me, and I could practically feel the steam coming off her.
After all, “she” was supposed to be the future daughter-in-law.
I met her eyes, tilted my head, and gave her the sweetest smile I owned.
“You know, ma’am,” I said, loud enough to carry, “I’ve been thinking about you all week.
Some people just bring gift bags.
I wanted to bring you something that actually mattered.”
I watched Isabella’s knuckles go white around her water glass, and honestly?
It was the best I’d felt all night.