After the meal, Salvatore Martinelli, the family patriarch, made his appearance. Wheeled in by his nurse, the old man was a commanding presence despite his frailty. His eyes were sharp, missing nothing.
"Ah," he said, his voice a gravelly whisper, "the bride."
Ivy stood and offered a polite nod. "Sir."
"Call me Nonno," he said jovially. "That's what my grandchildren call me. You're family now, aren't you?"
"Yes, Nonno," Ivy responded dutifully.
"Welcome to the family, Ivy," Salvatore said after taking his place at the head of the table.
"You carry our name now," he continued in his raspy voice. "That comes with privileges and responsibilities."
Ivy nodded, unsure if she was expected to reply.
Salvatore continued. "I have a gift for you, my dear. A small incentive, if you will."
Silence descended on the room. You could hear a pin drop.
Salvatore continued, "If within a year you give this family an heir, you will receive my late wife's jewelry box."
There was a sharp intake of breath. Olivia's wine glass paused mid-air, Isabella's fork clinked loudly against her plate, and Giulia rolled her eyes dramatically.
Ivy's heart thudded. "That's... very generous," she stuttered.
Salvatore smiled thinly. "Family is everything. We must ensure our legacy."
Lorenzo's jaw tightened. "Nonno, this isn't necessary."
"It is," the old man snapped. "It's tradition."
The rest of dinner was a strained affair. The food was exquisite, but Ivy could barely taste it. Every word from Olivia and her daughters was laced with veiled insults.
"So, Ivy," Isabella said, dabbing her lips with a napkin, "where did you say you went to school?"
"I didn't," Ivy replied, trying to keep her voice even. "I dropped out at sixteen."
"Ah," Giulia said with mock sympathy. "Such a shame, but not everyone's cut out for academics, right?"
Olivia interjected coolly. "We'll have to work on your etiquette. A Martinelli wife should reflect the family's status."
Ivy felt the heat rising in her cheeks, but she forced a smile. "I'm a quick learner," she said tightly.
Lorenzo stayed quiet through most of the meal, occasionally offering her a glance that could have meant anything. Ivy wasn't sure whether he was embarrassed by his family's treatment of her or simply indifferent.
After dessert, Salvatore raised his glass. "To our new bride. May she bear the next generation of Martinellis."
Ivy sipped her wine automatically, aware of all the eyes watching her. The moment the toast ended, Olivia stood.
"Come, girls. I believe we've endured enough formality for one evening," she said frostily.
The three women rose and swept out of the room, heels clicking on marble. Lorenzo remained seated, swirling his wine.
"You handled that well," he said quietly.
Ivy looked at him, her expression guarded. "They hate me."
He didn't deny it. "They'll get used to you. Or not. Doesn't matter."
"It does to me," Ivy said.
He met her eyes for the first time with something close to vulnerability. "Try not to take it personally. In this family, respect is earned."
Ivy nodded slowly. "Then I'll earn it," she vowed.
A flicker of something crossed Lorenzo's face: respect? Surprise? Ivy couldn't tell. He stood and offered his hand.
"Come. I'll show you to your room."
---------------
Ivy's suite was on the third floor of the west wing. It was ornate, enormous, and suffocatingly silent. A fire crackled in the marble fireplace.
A king-sized canopy bed dominated the room, draped in silk. French windows overlooked the vineyard. Lorenzo showed her around without much ceremony.
"This is yours," he said. "If you need anything, ring for Anna. She'll take care of it."
Ivy followed him as he turned to leave. "Wait. Are you not... staying?"
Lorenzo hesitated at the door. "No. I'll be in my room. It's across the hall. We'll take this one step at a time."
Ivy nodded, though disappointment twisted in her chest.
"Goodnight, Mrs. Martinelli," he said before closing the door behind him.
Ivy stood there for a moment, in a room filled with luxury but cold as ice.
One step at a time, she thought.
I'll survive this, she assured herself. Just like I've survived everything else.
---------------
The next morning, sunlight seeped through the floor-to-ceiling windows like liquid gold, coaxing Ivy out of a restless sleep. She blinked at the unfamiliar ceiling, ornate with subtle molding and bathed in soft white.
For a moment, she thought it was all a dream - until she turned her head and saw the velvet chaise lounge, the fresh bouquet of white orchids on the nightstand, and the faint outline of her wedding dress hanging in the closet.
She was in the Martinelli estate. She was married. And she was alone.
The suite was unnervingly silent. Ivy sat up slowly, the silk sheets gliding off her skin like water. She had never slept on anything this soft, never known what it felt like to be surrounded by such extravagance. Even the air here smelled expensive, like lavender and money.
As her bare feet touched the warm floor, Ivy felt the echo of her old life tug at her. In her tiny apartment, she'd wake to the creak of the ceiling fan and the distant wail of the neighbor's baby. Here, silence was its own kind of noise... too clean, too calculated.
A soft knock interrupted her thoughts. Ivy quickly grabbed the silky robe draped over a nearby chair to cover herself.
"Come in," she called, wrapping the plush robe tighter around herself.
The door opened gently, and in stepped a petite woman with salt-and-pepper hair neatly pulled back into a bun. She wore a navy-blue uniform and a warm, practiced smile.
"Good morning, Mrs. Martinelli. I'm Anna. I'll be your personal maid," she said with a respectful nod.
Mrs. Martinelli. It still sounded strange.
"Hi, Anna," Ivy said, offering a tentative smile. "You don't have to call me that. Ivy is fine."
Anna's smile remained professional. "That is not allowed, ma'am. I must refer to you by your title."
"Oh, I see," Ivy said quietly.
"I've drawn a bath for you, and breakfast will be served shortly," Anna said. "Mr. Martinelli has already left for the day, but he asked me to make sure you're comfortable."
He left without saying goodbye?
Ivy's face faltered for a second. "Did he... say where he went?"
"I'm afraid not," Anna replied. "He rarely discusses his schedule with the staff."
Right. Of course, he didn't.
Ivy followed Anna into the adjoining bathroom, where an enormous marble tub gleamed beneath a crystal chandelier. Steam rose from the water, infused with rose petals and something herbal. It looked like a scene from a spa commercial.
"This is... nice," Ivy said, stepping closer.
Anna gave a small nod. "Would you like me to assist you with anything?"
Ivy shook her head quickly. "No, no. I've got it."
She wasn't used to this: being pampered, being waited on. It made her skin itch a little. Ivy had always done things for herself. Asking someone to pour her a bath felt like cheating at life.
Anna seemed to sense her unease. "Take your time, ma'am. I'll lay out your outfit and wait outside."
Ivy sank into the bath once Anna left, letting the warmth envelop her. She closed her eyes and exhaled slowly.
Everything felt surreal. The soft jazz music playing through hidden speakers, the way the bathroom had heated floors, the monogrammed towels that were fluffier than any pillow she'd ever owned.
It was paradise... but it wasn't home.
When she emerged thirty minutes later, Anna had laid out a pale-yellow designer dress with delicate lace sleeves. Ivy touched the fabric like it might disappear beneath her fingers. There were tags still attached, probably brand new, chosen for her before she even arrived.
She dressed in silence, then let Anna guide her to the dining hall. The hallway was a grand showcase of polished floors, gilded sconces, and cold portraits of stern-looking men with the same angular jawline Lorenzo had inherited. Their eyes followed her as she walked.
"They were all Martinelli men," Anna said quietly, catching Ivy's gaze. "Mr. Lorenzo's ancestors. Powerful, ruthless, but respected."
Ivy swallowed. That wasn't comforting, she thought.
This dining room was different from the one they'd had dinner in last night. This one was massive and formal, with a long glass table that could seat thirty. Only six places were set, but it felt like a performance all the same.
For a split second, Ivy toyed with the idea of turning around and running out of the mansion, but she knew that wasn't possible. This was what she signed up for. And now, it was time for her to face the music.
