Alessia's POV
I shot Marco an annoyed look. He smirked.
I hated that it made me grin, even if just a little. It annoyed me, but at the same time, there was something fun about the way he was messing with his sister.
Dante…no, Marco (why was I thinking of Dante?) insisted we head inside first. Isabella was still buzzing with questions about our supposed relationship, and Marco was spewing all kinds of ridiculous nonsense.
I didn't care. All I wanted was to sleep. Tomorrow, I'm leaving very early.
A maid was assigned to me, and she guided me to a guest room. The moment I stepped inside, I hesitated.
It was luxurious. Too luxurious.
For a second, I felt like I'd stepped back into my old bedroom in my father's mansion, same elegance, same warmth.
A lump formed in my throat. I wasn't going to cry. This was just a reminder.
A reminder that I still had something to fight for.
I changed into one of the fresh clothes the maid had left on the bed, sighing in relief as I climbed under the covers.
I was exhausted. Just as I was about to fall asleep, a knock echoed at the door.
I groaned. "Go away." I already knew who it was.
The door opened anyway.
I sat up, already annoyed. "Did you not hear—"
Marco stepped inside. I blinked.
He was wearing a plain white polo and grey joggers. Simple and casual. But it did not help that his build was ridiculously perfect.
I didn't even like him, and yet my eyes shamelessly took in his toned arms and defined chest before I could stop myself.
He smirked, and I looked away immediately.
"What do you want?" I muttered.
He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms.
"That's not how you greet your fiancé."
I shot him a glare. "Excuse you?"
He chuckled. "That's what Isabella thinks, isn't it?"
I groaned, rubbing my temples. "You're insane"
"And yet, you're still here."
I narrowed my eyes. "Not by choice."
Marco shrugged, stepping further into the room.
I watched him warily. "What are you doing?"
He walked over to the chair beside the bed and sat down, making himself comfortable.
"Just checking in."
I scoffed. "More like making sure I don't run off."
He smirked. "Would you?"
I hesitated. But for some reason, I wasn't rushing out of this place, at least for the night.
Instead, I crossed my arms. "You lied to your sister."
Marco gave me an innocent look. "I wouldn't call it lying. More like…entertaining."
I rolled my eyes. "You think this is funny?"
"Extremely."
I let out an exasperated sigh. "Do you realize what she's thinking right now? She probably thinks we're engaged. Engaged!"
He grinned. "Exactly."
I groaned, falling back onto the bed dramatically. "You're actually very annoying."
Marco chuckled. "Relax. It's not a big deal."
I sat up again. "Not a big deal? You do not play with marriage like that. Do you know how many women would kill to be in your sister's position? To have a brother who actually cares about who he marries?"
He arched his brow. "Sounds like you're more upset about this than she is."
I huffed. "She's excited because she believes you. You're going to have to tell her the truth eventually."
He leaned back in his chair. "Or I could just let her believe it for a while."
I gaped at him. "You're serious?"
He smirked. "You should try smiling more. You're cute when you're mad, but I think you'd be prettier if you were relaxed."
I threw a pillow at him. He caught it effortlessly, still grinning.
"I hate you," I muttered.
"You're warming up to me," he countered.
I scowled. "You wish."
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
"You're right, though. I probably should've told Isabella the truth."
I blinked. "Wait. You're actually admitting I'm right?"
He shrugged. "Stranger things have happened."
I crossed my arms. "Then tell her."
He smirked. "I will. Eventually."
I groaned. "You're infuriating."
He chuckled. "And yet, here you are, talking to me instead of kicking me out."
I opened my mouth, then shut it. Damn it, he had a point.
I sighed, rubbing my temples. "Why are you even here?"
"I told you. Checking in."
"On what?"
"You."
I frowned. "Why?"
He studied me for a moment before responding.
"Because I wanted to."
I stared at him. "That's not an answer."
He smirked. "It's the only one you're getting."
I exhaled sharply. "Whatever. I'm going to sleep."
He stood up, stretching lazily. "Sweet dreams, fiancée."
I grabbed another pillow and threw it at him. He dodged it easily, laughing as he stepped out of the room. I groaned, flopping back onto the bed.
I hate him. I hated how he got under my skin. I hated that he made me forget, just for a little while, that my life was a mess. And I really hated the small, ridiculous part of me that wasn't completely annoyed by him.