His and Ours

Shot 3: The Dinner

Stefano's POV:

As his footsteps faded, I waited. I got up and opened my drawer, looking for something to wear; dinner with my father wasn't a time for me to wear my shirt and old trousers. I took out a collared long-sleeved shirt I wore under my coffee-coloured sweater vest and wore a sort of pecan-coloured waistcoat. I threw on a black pair of brogues. I styled my chestnut hair as I looked at myself in a mirror. Was this good enough to please my father? Hah.. who was I kidding? I always looked good.

'Parent expectations are nothing to me,' I mocked as I leave my room speedily, minding the time.

I leisurely walked into the dining room, taking a seat opposite my father. At the wooden dining table, we sat across from one another. An awkward feeling ran across my spine. My father stared into my soul, his face as stern as a brick. The grand chandelier hung from the centre of the patterned ceiling. Feeling almost royal, I fidget with my buttons awkwardly. I kept my eyes fixed on the floor: well aware of my father's gaze.

The metal cutlery shined blindingly. As usual, there was the same dining etiquette: 5 forks, 4 knives and 2 spoons and cups. At first, it was hard to get used to, memorising which silverware was for what but now it has seemed to become easier, and when I am incorrect my father is absurdly quick to point me out. I feel as if he is always watching me and my every move.

Lazily drooping curtains draped the rather large windows and whitewashed walls were as white as ever. I tensed my hands on top of the crimson tablecloth that allowed the white plates to stand out. Some days, it feels like a blessing to be here, but other days, it feels like a curse, a never-ending misery that has engulfed me like a tumbling rock.

A tenderloin of steak was served with vegetables and a rare, succulent gravy.

"Hello, Fath-" I started by saying.

"Stefano." My father's voice seemed bitter, but it sounded like he had something to say that I couldn't take. I was confused but I still spoke like I knew what was going on. I didn't.

"Yes?"

"You are to marry Bianca Russi, Marco Russi's organisational heir."

I was speechless.

The fact that he did not stall was appreciated, but I could not imagine getting married. The heirs marrying for what purpose? To build an empire that will eventually collapse? I felt my nose flair with anger. I tried to make myself civil, but rage overtook every cell in my body.

"No!" I yelled, "No, I can't get married-"

Father crashed his fist against the table. I could feel my dilating as I flinched. I could see the anger in his eyes. Once he said something, he said it and there was no debating.

"And why not?" My father enquired, slightly frowning.

I stayed silent knowing better than to challenge him.

"There will be a ball meeting I have hosted with a few weaker organisations and some of the top ones that accepted our invitation. You are to be respectful and courteous towards them. You will also meet Signorina Bianca, maybe exchange a few words and have a dance." And with that, my father began eating. I was shocked, he expected me to take it in like that. No, I would fight back; justice would be served.

I was practically fuming at this point. However, my father just glared at me. A slick, black hairstyle reflected his bad mood: straight and tough. I didn't know whether I was more mad at the idea itself or the fact that my father had said it without a care in the world. Just like that.

"Is Mother aware of this?" I yelled, alarmingly loudly, "Is she aware that you're planning my marriage? That you want to use me to build some stupid empire?" My father just tutted like I was a disgrace, maintaining his calm manner.

"That is quite enough!" he argued. "You're lucky I even stuck to our traditions otherwise this could have happened years ago." My father spoke with such diligence it was hard to decline. He took a sip of his Cornetto, "However, I care about my son, contrary to what you may think."

No matter what he said I couldn't permit it. I would not get married. To demonstrate this, I abruptly left the table and tipped over my wine-filled glass as I did so, turning the crimson red into a magenta hue. Angrily, I strutted away, making sure to take large, violent steps as my shoe thud on the harsh ground.

"I am not arguing with you over such petty topics. Honestly Stefano, grow up." He spoke loudly so I could hear over my steps. "He'll understand. I suppose it is rather shocking to hear the news quite suddenly. However, I have raised him well, it's for the family and he knows it." My father spoke to Giovanni. "It has been hard for him ever since Aurora fell ill," His voice drifted as if he was bringing back unwanted memories.

My father had no shame in talking about my mother openly as if she wasn't injured after protecting him.

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Hmm, how interesting! I wonder what happened to his mother, Aurora? Do you have any ideas?

As always, if you are enjoying the story make sure to vote, no pressure, of course :)

Happy Reading!

-Fate