Dad only raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t say anything.”
“But that’s their boat.”
“Your eyes are still working fine.”
I clicked my tongue. That wasn’t the answer I wanted. But there was no point arguing when Dad clearly didn’t feel like explaining.
The small boat finally pulled alongside our yacht. Two people got off first. Both were dressed in black.
They didn’t look like ordinary bodyguards. They didn’t talk much. They didn’t look around. They showed no awe, even though they had just boarded a D’Averrano family yacht.
Then someone stepped off.
A man. Tall.
Dressed in simple black.
No tie, like the sons of the Five Great Families liked to flaunt. No flashy jewelry, either. No watch deliberately put on display.
He didn’t even look like the son of one of the Five Great Families. Maybe that was the point. He was nobody.
I watched him from a distance.
The man walked toward us. His steps were calm. Not hurried. But not deliberately slowed, either. When he reached Dad, he stopped.
“Don Valerio.” His voice was low. Flat, even.
Dad nodded. “Lorenzo.”
So this was him. Now I knew his name. Lorenzo Veretti.
I looked at him. He didn’t look back at me right away.
Strange.
Almost every man I’d ever been introduced to did the same thing. They would stare at me for too long.
Trying to make a first impression. Trying to show that they weren’t impressed. And usually, that was exactly what made them look impressed.
This Lorenzo did nothing.
He simply stood there. Quietly and calmly. As though being aboard a D’Averrano yacht, in the middle of the sea, in front of Don Valerio, wasn’t something worth thinking about.
I didn’t like him.
Or maybe I just didn’t like that I couldn’t read his personality yet.
“Alessandra,” Dad said.
I didn’t move.
“He’s your prospective husband.”
Lorenzo finally turned toward me.
Our eyes met.
I waited for something. There should have been something, anything.
Surprise.
Interest.
Fear.
Anything.
But there was nothing.
His gaze was cold. Not artificially cold. Truly cold. As if I were merely someone he needed to identify because my name appeared in an agreement.
I lifted my chin and looked at him the way I always looked at new people. “So you’re Lorenzo Veretti.”
“Yes.”
That was it? I frowned.
“And you know who I am?”
“Alessandra D’Averrano.”
At least he knew my name. My reputation still preceded me.
“Then you know why I don’t like this situation.”
“Yes.”
I was silent for a moment, confused. “Are you always this brief?”
“Yes.”
That answer almost made me laugh. Almost. Fortunately, I didn’t. My reputation would be ruined if I laughed in front of him now.
I glanced at Dad. “Why did you choose a man who doesn’t even like talking?”
“That’s one of the reasons I chose him.”
“Are you joking with me, Dad?”
“I never joke about family matters.”
Of course. I knew that. But this was hard to believe.
Dad then walked toward a small table near the yacht’s railing. Three glasses were already waiting on it. I looked at the glasses.
So everything had been prepared. Even before I was told.
I pulled out a chair and sat down. Lorenzo sat across from me. Dad took the place beside us.
For a while, no one spoke.
I looked at the man in front of me. I tried to remember everything I’d ever heard about the Veretti family.
Not much. Almost nothing, actually. That was precisely the problem. They existed, but it was as if they didn’t. I hated anything I couldn’t control.