Sofia stood barefoot on the cool marble floor of the dressing room, arms outstretched like a doll. A stylist flitted around her, cinching a blood-red gown at the waist while another pinned soft curls into her hair.
She said nothing as they pulled and poked and stepped back with frowns, then re-approached with new fabric swatches or more glittering jewelry. Her opinion wasn't asked, and she didn't offer one.
This wasn't for her, anyway.
It was for them—the photographers, the media, the people who'd see the images in glossy spreads and think perfect couple. Not awkward. Not arranged. Not barely speaking.
She exhaled quietly as someone clipped diamond earrings onto her ears.
"Face forward," a voice said from behind.
Alessandro.
He'd entered without a sound, as usual.
Sofia straightened reflexively. He stepped into view, dressed in an obsidian suit with a watch that likely cost more than her old apartment. His eyes swept over her once.
"That'll do," he told the stylists.
Just like that, she was deemed ready. A prop approved.
---
The car ride to the seaside was silent.
Sofia stared out the window as the landscape blurred past—hills, vineyards, glimpses of crumbling villas with chipped paint and old souls.
Alessandro finally spoke.
"There will be paparazzi near the piazza. This is all arranged."
She turned slightly. "Arranged how?"
"I tipped off the right people. They'll think they're catching us in a spontaneous moment. All you have to do is smile and hold my hand."
She nodded, fingers fidgeting in her lap.
"And laugh, if you can manage it," he added dryly.
She almost said something back—something sharp, something that reminded him she wasn't a puppet—but she bit her tongue instead.
---
The town square was bustling, golden sunlight draping the cobblestones. A fountain bubbled in the center, tourists sipping espresso at scattered café tables.
They stepped out of the car, and the flash of cameras was immediate.
Alessandro slipped his hand around hers, warm and firm. She followed his lead as they strolled through the square, passing by a gelato stand and a street violinist.
"Smile," he murmured without turning his head.
She did. A soft, practiced expression that didn't reach her eyes.
He looked down at her suddenly. "You're too tense. Loosen your shoulders."
"I'm trying," she muttered through her teeth.
They paused at the edge of the fountain. He leaned in slightly, as if whispering something sweet. To the cameras, they probably looked like any couple in love.
He spoke from the side of his mouth. "Don't make me repeat myself."
Sofia forced a laugh, quiet and hollow.
A few more photos. A few more perfect angles. Then he led her back to the car, dropping her hand the moment they were out of view.