That evening a handwritten envelope arrived at the mansion.
No sender name needed.
The seal alone said enough.
Moretti family crest.
Inside was a single card:
Dinner tomorrow. Family estate. 8:00 p.m.
Emily looked at Alexander.
"Your mother invited me?"
Alexander's jaw tightened.
"She summoned you."
"That sounds worse."
"It is."
The next evening they arrived at the Moretti estate outside Milan—
A historic stone villa surrounded by iron gates and cypress trees.
Inside, the dining hall felt colder than marble.
Isabella sat at the head of the table like royalty.
Dinner was immaculate.
Conversation was not.
Halfway through the meal Isabella placed down her wine glass and said:
"Tell me, Emily. What exactly qualifies you to stand beside my son?"
Silence.
Emily felt every servant in the room pause.
Alexander was about to intervene—
But Emily answered first.
"I don't need to qualify for marriage the way I qualify for employment."
Isabella's eyes sharpened.
Emily continued calmly:
"You may dislike me. But I am not temporary."
A long silence followed.
Then Isabella smiled faintly.
Not warm.
Not kind.
But almost impressed.
Later, in the car home, Alexander said quietly:
"That was dangerous."
Emily looked out the window.
"So is your family."
Alexander almost smiled.