The library of the Moretti villa was colder than the balcony. Rows of leather-bound books climbed to the ceiling, and a single marble table sat in the center. On it lay a thick stack of papers—the marriage contract.
Marco sat at the head of the table, his silk tie loosened. He looked like a king deciding the fate of a prisoner. Eimi sat opposite him, her back straight. She had spent the last hour in the guest room splashing cold water on her face. She wouldn't let him see her cry.
"My lawyers have drafted the basics," Marco said, sliding a gold pen toward her. "But I think we should add our own... personal clauses. To ensure we don't end up in a headline for domestic battery."
Eimi picked up the pen. It was heavy. "Agreed. I have my own conditions."
Marco leaned back, crossing his arms. "Ladies first, Princess. What does the fallen heiress want?"
Rule 1: No Physical Contact
"First," Eimi said, her voice steady. "This is a business merger, not a romance. There will be no physical intimacy. No touching, no shared beds, and certainly no 'husbandly duties'."
Marco let out a dry, mocking laugh. "Don't flatter yourself, Eimi. You're beautiful, yes, but I prefer women who don't look at me like I'm a piece of rotten meat. Consider that rule signed in blood. We sleep in separate wings of the house."
Rule 2: The Public Mask
"Second," Marco countered, leaning forward. "In public, you are the doting wife of the Moretti heir. You smile when I speak. You hold my arm at galas. You make the world believe that the Takahashi and Moretti feud ended in a whirlwind romance. If the press suspects this is fake, your father's debt stays on his shoulders."
Eimi swallowed hard. Acting like she loved him would be harder than any exam she'd ever taken. "Fine. But only when the cameras are on. The moment the car door closes, the mask comes off."
Rule 3: No Interference
"Third," Eimi added quickly. "You don't get to control my life. I want to continue my own projects. I am a writer, Marco. I won't spend my days being a trophy wife who just hosts tea parties."
Marco shrugged. "As long as your 'projects' don't embarrass the family name, I don't care if you spend your days writing poetry or counting the stars. Just be ready when I need you for a corporate event."
Rule 4: The One-Year Deadline
"And finally," Marco said, his voice dropping an octave. "365 days. Not a day more. On the 366th day, we file for a quiet divorce. You get a generous settlement, your family's company is fully restored, and I get my seat as the Head of the Board. We go back to being strangers."
"Strangers who never have to see each other again," Eimi clarified. "Deal."
The Hidden Clause
As Eimi began to read through the fine print, her eyes stopped on a paragraph near the bottom.
"Section 8.2: Family Expectations. Both parties agree to reside in the Moretti Ancestral Villa in Lake Como for the first three months of the marriage to satisfy the observations of the Elders."
"Lake Como?" Eimi looked up, panicked. "That's in the middle of nowhere. It's a private estate. We'll be trapped there."
"My grandfather lives there," Marco said, his expression darkening for the first time. "He's the one holding the checkbook for your father's debt. He doesn't trust modern marriages. He wants to see us 'bonding' in the family home. If he's not convinced in those three months, the deal is off."
Eimi felt a trap closing around her. It wasn't just about pretending at parties; she would have to live under the same roof as her enemy, in a secluded villa, under the watchful eye of a traditional Italian patriarch.
"Is there a problem?" Marco asked, a smirk playing on his lips. "Are you afraid you might actually start to like me if we're stuck in a romantic villa together?"
"I'm afraid I'll throw you off a balcony into the lake," Eimi snapped.
"Good," Marco stood up, straightening his jacket. "Keep that fire. It'll make the 'passion' look more realistic for my grandfather."
The Signing
Eimi looked at the line at the bottom of the page.
If she signed this, she was no longer Eimi Takahashi, the independent woman with dreams of her own. She was Mrs. Marco Moretti. She was a shield for her father and a pawn for the Morettis.
She thought of her brother Kenji's tired face. She thought of the employees back in Japan who would lose their jobs if the company folded.
With a shaky hand, she pressed the pen to the paper. The ink bled into the fibers, black and permanent.
Eimi Takahashi.
Marco took the pen from her fingers, his skin accidentally brushing hers for a split second. A spark—sharp and unwanted—shot up her arm. She pulled away instantly.
Marco didn't flinch. He signed his name in a bold, aggressive script.
Marco Moretti.
"Welcome to the family, Princess," Marco said, his voice cold and devoid of any welcome. "Pack your bags. We leave for the wedding in Florence tomorrow morning. And Eimi?"
She looked up at him.
"Try to look a little less like you're going to a funeral. It's supposed to be the happiest day of your life."
He turned and walked out of the library, leaving Eimi alone with the ghost of her signature and the crushing weight of the year to come.