The De Luca Name
The De Luca mansion was glowing that evening.
Cars filled the long driveway, one after another arriving beneath the golden lights that lined the entrance.
Music floated through the open doors.
Laughter filled the halls.
Waiters moved between guests carrying trays of champagne and expensive appetizers while members of the De Luca family welcomed their guests.
Upstairs, Purvi stood before her mirror.
She had spent nearly an hour staring at the dresses hanging inside the enormous wardrobe.
She didn’t know how to wear the skimpy dresses that seemed to be common at parties like this.
So she had chosen what made her comfortable.
A black sequined sari.
Silver jewelry rested against her neck and ears, sparkling whenever she moved.
Her long, wavy hair fell freely down her back.
Her makeup was flawless but elegant.
She looked at herself one final time.
“Okay.”
She smiled.
Then she walked downstairs.
The moment she appeared at the top of the staircase, conversations began fading.
One person looked up.
Then another.
Then almost everyone turned.
Purvi slowly descended the stairs.
Alessandro’s eyebrows lifted.
Isabella smiled immediately.
Lucia’s face brightened.
Even Serafina looked up.
But there was one person who stared longer than everyone else.
Vincenzo.
He stood near the bar, a glass in his hand.
His eyes remained fixed on his wife.
The black sari fitted her beautifully, the silver jewelry contrasting against the dark fabric.
Her hair fell over one shoulder in soft waves.
For several seconds, Vincenzo forgot the conversation happening beside him.
He simply stared.
Alessandro noticed.
He leaned toward his brother.
“You should probably close your mouth.”
Vincenzo immediately looked at him.
“My mouth is closed.”
“Your eyes aren’t.”
Vincenzo gave him a warning look.
“Don’t start.”
Alessandro grinned.
Purvi reached the bottom of the staircase.
Isabella hurried toward her.
“You look gorgeous!”
Purvi smiled.
“Thank you.”
Lucia called her over.
“My child, come here.”
Purvi walked toward her.
Lucia kissed her forehead.
“You look beautiful.”
“Thank you, Grandmother.”
Then Purvi’s eyes met Vincenzo’s.
He looked away first.
“You took your time,” he said.
Purvi frowned.
“I came down at seven.”
“It’s seven fifteen.”
“That’s not late.”
Vincenzo looked at her.
“I didn’t say it was.”
“You sounded like you did.”
His jaw tightened.
“Forget it.”
Purvi smiled.
“Okay.”
She walked away.
Vincenzo watched her disappear into the crowd.
He had no idea why the sight of her had unsettled him.
He especially disliked the fact that he had noticed every detail.
The party continued.
Purvi moved through the room greeting guests and accepting blessings from older members of the family.
She was beginning to relax when a familiar voice caught her attention.
“Purvi.”
She turned.
A tall man with dark hair and a confident smile stood before her.
“Arman?”
He smiled.
“Finally.”
Purvi laughed softly.
“You remember me?”
“Of course.”
Arman De Luca was Vincenzo’s cousin.
Unlike Vincenzo, Arman carried himself with an easy charm.
Everyone knew his reputation.
He was a player.
A man who rarely stayed interested in one woman for long.
Yet he seemed genuinely interested in speaking with Purvi.
“You look beautiful tonight,” he said.
Purvi smiled politely.
“Thank you.”
“You know, I was beginning to wonder if Vincenzo had hidden his wife from everyone.”
Purvi laughed.
“He’s not exactly the social type.”
Arman chuckled.
“That’s putting it mildly.”
They continued talking.
Purvi didn’t see anything wrong with it.
Arman was family.
And she was simply being friendly.
Across the room, however, Vincenzo noticed.
His eyes narrowed.
Alessandro followed his gaze.
“Don’t.”
Vincenzo looked at him.
“Don’t what?”
“Whatever you’re thinking.”
“I’m thinking nothing.”
Alessandro smiled.
“Sure.”
Vincenzo’s attention returned to Arman.
Arman was making Purvi laugh.
For some inexplicable reason, Vincenzo disliked it.
He didn’t understand why.
He had told Purvi this marriage was a contract.
She was free to live her life.
So why did he suddenly want to walk over there and interrupt them?
He took another drink instead.
Later that evening, the atmosphere changed.
Several guests gathered near the dining area, speaking in low voices.
Purvi happened to be nearby when she heard someone say,
“I still don’t understand Vincenzo’s decision.”
Another woman laughed softly.
“Neither do I.”
Purvi stopped.
She didn’t turn around.
“Why would a man like Vincenzo marry someone from such a low-class family?”
Her fingers tightened around the edge of her sari.
Someone else replied.
“Perhaps it’s temporary.”
A quiet laugh followed.
“Of course it is.”
Then Monisha’s voice entered the conversation.
“She is only temporary.”
Purvi’s heart sank.
Monisha continued.
“Vincenzo knows what he’s doing.
There’s no way someone like Purvi could become a permanent member of this family.”
The words cut deeper than Purvi expected.
Someone asked, “But she’s his wife.”
Monisha smiled.
“Being his wife doesn’t mean she belongs here.”
Purvi slowly turned.
The room suddenly seemed too bright.
Too loud.
Too crowded.
She looked toward Vincenzo.
He was standing several feet away.
He had heard them.
She knew he had.
Their eyes met.
Purvi waited.
Surely he would say something.
Surely he would tell them to stop.
After all, she was his wife.
Even if it was only a contract.
Vincenzo’s expression remained unreadable.
He said nothing.
Purvi’s heart sank further.
She looked down.
Her eyes burned.
She refused to cry.
Not here.
Not in front of them.
She closed her eyes for a moment, desperately trying to hold the tears back.
Lucia had heard everything.
Her walking stick struck the marble floor.
Once.
Twice.
The room fell silent.
Lucia stepped forward.
“What did you just say?”
Monisha’s smile disappeared.
“Grandmother, I—”
“No.”
Lucia raised her hand.
“I heard you.”
Everyone became silent.
Lucia looked around the room.
“Every one of you.”
Nobody spoke.
She turned toward Purvi.
The young woman was standing quietly, her eyes lowered.
Lucia’s expression softened.
Then she looked back at the guests.
“Purvi is my grandson’s wife.”
She struck her cane against the floor.
“That makes her a De Luca.”
No one dared interrupt.
Lucia continued.
“I don’t care where her family came from.”
She looked directly at Monisha.
“And I certainly don’t care whether any of you think she’s worthy.”
Monisha swallowed.
Lucia’s voice became colder.
“The De Luca name does not make a person better than anyone else.”
Serafina looked uncomfortable.
Lucia continued.
“What makes a person worthy is character.”
She glanced at Purvi.
“And this girl has shown more character in a few days than some people in this room have shown in years.”
Purvi’s eyes filled with tears.
Lucia walked toward her and took her hand.
“Lift your head, child.”
Purvi slowly looked up.
“You have nothing to be ashamed of.”
Lucia turned back toward the room.
“And if anyone has a problem with my grandson’s wife, they can leave my house.”
Silence.
No one moved.
Lucia looked toward Vincenzo.
“Do you have something to say?”
Every eye turned toward him.
Vincenzo’s gaze shifted to Purvi.
Her eyes were still wet.
For a moment, something inside him tightened.
He hated seeing her like that.
He hated even more that he had remained silent.
His jaw clenched.
Finally, he spoke.
“Grandmother is right.”
The room froze.
Vincenzo’s voice was cold.
“Purvi is my wife.”
He looked around the room.
“Anyone who forgets that can leave.”
Purvi stared at him.
Their eyes met.
For the first time that evening, she felt a tiny warmth in her chest.
It wasn’t love.
It wasn’t even forgiveness.
But it was something.
Vincenzo looked away.
He had no idea why defending her suddenly felt so natural.
Perhaps because she carried his name now.
Perhaps because his grandmother had demanded it.
Or perhaps…
He simply didn’t like seeing anyone hurt her.
He refused to examine that last possibility.
Not yet.