30. DAHLIA HARPER

The party was going smoothly.

Champagne flutes clinked gently in the background, soft laughter filtered through the warm lighting, and the scent of orchids lingered in the air. Our home's grand hall—clean-lined, filled with soft gold accents and framed family photographs—held just sixty people tonight. Each of them was either a friend or family. No strangers, no over-the-top fanfare. It felt intentional. Personal. Safe.

My social anxiety, for once, was quiet.

I'd been firm about not wanting a spectacle, and thankfully, Marco agreed. I didn't want a glittering guest list curated for PR rather than love. This gathering was everything I'd asked for: intimate, celebratory, real.

But tomorrow was another story.

The Russo-Harper legacy demanded a proper affair for the Manhattan elite. Josephine had insisted on planning the entire event, even after I gently told her to take a break. She'd waved me off with a familiar grin. "Let me be useful," she'd said. "Planning's just a fling anyway. My real love lies in canvases and marble."

She couldn't help herself. Josie came alive when she had something to design—be it a gala or a sculpture.

Having greeted nearly every guest and accepted a dozen heartfelt congratulations, I finally drifted toward the drinks corner, where Josephine and Sofia were in conversation. Or, more accurately, sipping their way toward mischief.

Camilla, couldn't make it tonight. The parliamentary elections in Eldorra were in full swing, and as next in line for the throne, she had no choice but to stay. Royal training waits for no one—not even love. But her parents were here, apparently pissing my dad off. Not aunt bridget, but my dear godfather.

Duh.

Sofia wore a cobalt-blue column dress that shimmered with every step. Sapphires hung from her ears like drops of midnight, her neck sparkling with matching stones. Josephine, in contrast, looked like she'd walked out of an Edith Wharton novel—her silver-gray gown embroidered in intricate beading, pearls at her neck and wrists, her hair pinned in soft waves. She was the picture of old-money elegance, but her eyes gave her away. A flicker of something quiet and unspoken lived behind her lashes.

"Hey, girls," I greeted, wrapping them both in a quick hug. "How's the gossip circle going?"

"Lia!" Sofia beamed. "Congratulations again. You and Marco look disgustingly in love."

"Congrats to you and Mickey Mouse," Josie added with a smirk, raising her glass.

"You'll go to any lengths to annoy your brother, won't you?" I said, pouring myself a drink.

"This is prime time. My brother's a goner. The man is deep in love," she teased, finishing her glass before promptly reaching for another.

I arched a brow. "Josie, slow down. You know Aunt Vivian hates when you drink too much."

"It's only my second," she said airily, pink already blooming on her cheeks. "I'll stop after the third. Cross my heart."

Sofia leaned in conspiratorially. "Don't believe her. She had two before you even walked over."

"Let me live!" Josephine huffed, flipping her hair dramatically. "A friend can't celebrate her bestie's engagement with a little too much champagne?"

"No more for tonight," I warned gently, taking the bottle from her reach.

"Fine, Captain Lia," she grumbled, pouting before retreating to a nearby seat.

Sofia rolled her eyes, then leaned close again. "Speaking of headaches, who the hell invited Taehyung freaking Young?"

I followed her gaze to the far side of the room, where Taehyung stood in his usual blazer and loosened tie, talking animatedly with a few guests.

"He's Marco's best friend. And mine, sort of. Plus, his father is Josephine's godfather and basically Uncle Dante's soul twin," I explained.

Sofia grimaced. "Ugh. He's always at Valhalla when I go there to write. Thinks it's fun to challenge me to piano duels or mock my lyric sheets."

"That sounds... flirty," I noted.

"It's not. It's obnoxious." She grabbed a canapé from a tray and popped it into her mouth. "He's like a splinter I can't get rid of."

"You two remind me of Josh and Jules before they realized they were in love," Josephine piped in from her chair.

"Except I'm not in love, and he's not my friend," Sofia snapped, then looked embarrassed by the intensity in her voice.

I smiled behind my glass. "Noted."

Josephine tried to rise again—likely for another drink—but I caught her wrist gently.

"Josie," I said softly. "Enough."

She met my eyes, and for a moment, the façade cracked. Her lips twitched in protest, but she sat back down without a word, her eyes drifting toward the guests with a wistfulness I couldn't ignore.

"I'm fine, Lia," she murmured after a pause. "Don't worry."

But I did worry. I'd seen the difference. The quiet sadness. The lingering fragility. She was still our brilliant, snarky Josephine—but beneath the pearls and designer gowns, something felt like it was slowly unraveling.

Sofia glanced at her, then leaned in toward me. "She's not okay, is she?"

"No," I whispered. "But she's trying to be."

We stood in silence for a moment, watching as Marco laughed with his father across the room, wine glass in hand, his smile wide and genuine. My man.

"I hope tomorrow isn't too overwhelming," I said quietly.

Sofia scoffed. "You mean the Manhattan Rich People Parade? I plan to spike the champagne and fake an urgent phone call halfway through."

Josephine chuckled faintly. "I'd pay to see that."

I looked between the two women—so different, yet so constant in my life. My heart was full, even with the storm of tomorrow on the horizon.

For now, this moment belonged to us.

"Tomorrow's party is going to be a blast," Sofia said, sipping from her glass as her earrings caught the light. "Josephine's gone all in. I caught a glimpse of the setup when I stopped by Valhalla—looked like something out of Vogue Weddings."

"I know. When she's in charge, I don't worry about a thing," I replied, resting a hand on Josephine's arm. "It's like having a creative director and a general rolled into one."

Josephine gave a half-smile, her gaze slipping past us to someone across the room.

"Thanks," she murmured, distracted.

I followed her line of sight, about to ask who she was looking at, when a warm hand slid gently across the small of my back.

"Excuse me, ladies," came Marco's smooth voice. "But I might have to steal my fiancée for a family photo."

Sofia raised her glass in surrender. "By all means, take her. Just don't smudge the lipstick—it's working."

Marco grinned, then turned to Josephine. "Jo, you're up too. Mom wants everyone in the frame."

Josephine blinked slowly at him.

"You're tipsy again," he said gently, offering her a hand. "If Mom finds out—"

josephine blinked slowly at him. "I'll stand beside Dad. He'll save me from Mom's wrath."

Marco chuckled under his breath. "Someone still needs to keep an eye on her. I'll ask Niko. He's probably dying of boredom anyway."

Minutes later, we were posing near the fireplace for a round of family shots. Marco's arm was firm around my waist, steadying me as the photographer gave direction.

Josephine stood, as promised, beside her father—Uncle Dante, who casually placed a protective hand on her shoulder, murmuring something that made her smile faintly. Across the room, Aunt Vivian was watching, expression unreadable. It always amazed me how Josie could dance between chaos and grace in a single evening.

After a few formal shots, the photographer gestured for a solo portrait.

"Lia, let's get a few of just you."

I nodded and stepped forward, smoothing the soft satin of my golden-beige gown. The dress, with its delicate spaghetti straps and low back, shimmered under the chandeliers as I shifted into a few practiced poses. I smiled, turned, glanced over my shoulder—all the while aware of Marco's gaze following every movement.

When I returned to his side, he was deep in conversation with my father. They both looked serious, but their eyes were calm. No tension, just... understanding.

"You're finally warming up to your soon-to-be son-in-law, I see," I said playfully, pressing a kiss to my dad's cheek.

He raised a brow at me. "Maybe. I was simply explaining the consequences of what would happen if he ever hurt you."

I rolled my eyes affectionately. "Dad..."

"I'm just saying," he said with mock innocence. "It's good to remind him of the stakes."

"She's in the safest hands possible," Marco said, sliding an arm around my waist. His fingers brushed the bare skin of my back in a familiar way that sent a small shiver down my spine.

Dad gave us a long look, then nodded. "I believe you." He glanced over my shoulder. "Your mother's calling me over to meet Alex and Ava. Behave."

As Dad disappeared into the crowd, Marco turned to me with a sigh.

"These parties wear me out, even if it's just family," he murmured, dipping his head close. His lips grazed the shell of my ear, the hint of a smile in his voice.

I smiled. "Is there any way to make you feel better?"

"Oh, definitely," he said, his voice low and lazy against my skin. "But let's start with something simple."

"What do you have in mind?"

"Kiss me," he whispered.

And so I did.

His mouth met mine, unhurried and warm, a kiss that didn't need to prove anything. It was soft and sure—full of the quiet comfort that came from knowing we had nothing to hide and no one to impress. Just two people in love, standing in a room full of people who'd finally stopped watching.

The music shifted, and just as Marco and I pulled away from our kiss, I felt a familiar presence at my side.

"Ah, there you are, Lia," a deep, commanding voice drawled from behind me.

I turned, recognizing him instantly.

Uncle Dante.

Even though he wasn't technically my uncle, he had always been like a father figure to me. His olive skin glowed under the party lights, and his dark hair, streaked with a touch of silver at the temples, only enhanced his striking good looks. He stood tall, exuding strength and confidence, a perfect blend of power and grace. No one could enter a room like Dante Russo. His very presence commanded attention.

Dante placed a hand on my shoulder in a gesture that was both familiar and protective. "Looking radiant as ever, Lia," he said warmly. His touch was comforting, as it always was. I leaned into him briefly, grateful for the safe space he provided in the whirlwind of the party.

"Thank you,  Uncle Dante," I replied, a smile tugging at my lips. "You're looking good yourself."

 uncle Dante laughed softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He stepped back and gave Marco a firm, affectionate clap on the back before pulling him into a brief but meaningful hug. "Take care of her, Marco," he said, his voice laced with the weight of unspoken years of friendship and family-like bonds. "Or I'll have to take care of you."

Marco grinned, a lighthearted response to the warning. "I'll keep that in mind, Dad," he teased, but I could see the respect he had for Dante in the way he stood.

uncle's eyes softened as he looked between Marco and me, his gaze full of understanding. "I am happy for you two."

"Listen," Dante continued, placing a hand on Marco's shoulder in a gesture of care, "you're marrying Lia. And I can see how much you love her. But you're going to need to work to keep it that way. You're in a partnership now, not just a relationship."

Marco nodded, the seriousness of the moment sinking in. Dante wasn't just his father; he was a man who had lived through decades of love, marriage, and everything that came with it. His words carried weight.

"Your mother and I, we've been through it all," Dante said, his eyes distant for a moment, as if reminiscing about his own journey with Aunt Viv. "Marriage isn't always easy. There are highs, and there are lows. But the key, Marco, is to never stop putting in the effort. Never stop showing her that you care—every single day."

Marco's brow furrowed as he listened intently. "I get it, Dad. But how do I make sure I'm always doing it right?"

Dante let out a soft chuckle, his expression softening. "You don't always get it right, son. Trust me. There'll be moments when you screw up. There'll be times when you don't understand her. But the key is listening. Always listen to her, especially when it feels like you're at odds. Pay attention to her needs, her wants, even the things she doesn't say out loud."

"Like what?" Marco asked, clearly invested now.

Dante sighed, looking over at the lively party in the distance. "It's the little things, Marco. Don't just show her love on the big days—the anniversaries, the holidays, or the obvious moments. It's about showing up for her when she needs you most, even when she's not asking. It's making her feel safe, heard, and valued every day. That's how you keep her happy."

He paused for a moment, eyes steady on Marco. "And when she's upset? Don't fix it right away. Don't try to solve it. Just be there. Sometimes, she won't want you to 'fix' anything. She'll just want to know you're by her side, no questions asked."

Marco absorbed every word, nodding slowly, clearly processing his father's advice.

Dante placed both hands on Marco's shoulders now, a more solemn tone creeping into his voice. "Don't get me wrong. You'll have your disagreements. But no matter what, always choose to respect her. Don't let your pride get in the way of showing her how much you care."

He gave Marco a pointed look. "And don't forget to tell her you love her, even when it feels like you're doing it too much. Because in marriage, there's never too much. Let her know how much she means to you. Every day."

Marco exhaled slowly, as if releasing a breath he hadn't known he was holding. "Thanks, Dad," he said, his voice filled with sincerity. "I needed that."

Dante smiled, his eyes softening with affection. "I know you do. And one last thing," he added with a wink. "Never, ever forget the power of the surprise date night. Trust me, it goes a long way."

Marco chuckled, the tension in his shoulders easing. "Got it, Dad. I'll remember."

Dante gave him a firm clap on the back. "Good. Now, go on and enjoy the rest of the night with your bride-to-be. You're in for the best journey of your life."

 He paused, letting the moment linger. "It's just... it's good advice. He's a great father."

"I know, he is." I peck him on his cheek.

I turned to find Aunt Jules standing behind me, her fiery red hair cascading down her back like a burst of flame. Her striking beauty hadn't faded over the years; in fact, with her radiant skin and confident smile, she looked even more stunning than I remembered.

"Well, well, look who finally decided to join the fun," I said, grinning. "You made it!"

Aunt Jules smiled mischievously, her green eyes glinting with a playful spark. "I wouldn't miss it for the world," she said, her voice as warm and inviting as ever. "But I must admit, I had a little trouble getting past all the photographers outside."

"That's just the chaos of having the Russo name attached to a party," I said, giving her a light nudge. "You know how it is."

She laughed, a rich sound that made everyone around her smile. Then, her gaze flickered over to Marco, and she gave him a nod of approval. "Looking sharp, Marco. I see Lia's got herself a keeper."

Marco smiled, his posture straightening slightly at her praise. "Thanks, Jules. Glad you could make it."

Before we could say much more, Aunt Jules shifted her attention back to me, her eyes narrowing with a knowing smile. "I have to say, Lia," she began, her voice now tinged with mischief, "I'm just now putting the pieces together."

I raised an eyebrow, a little confused. "What do you mean?"

Her lips curled into a teasing smirk as she leaned in slightly, lowering her voice. "I think I finally know who gave you that hickey a few weeks ago."

I felt my cheeks flush instantly, the heat spreading across my face as I realized exactly what she was referring to. My heart skipped a beat, and before I could respond, Aunt Jules laughed out loud, her amusement ringing through the air.

"You two are a walking firestorm," she continued, nodding toward Marco, "I should've known. It all makes sense now. Who else could leave a mark like that, huh?" Her wink was playful and full of affection, but it was also one of those moments where you couldn't quite hide your embarrassment.

Marco, who had been standing there quietly, chuckled, his hands slipping casually into his pockets. "Guess I'll take the credit for that one," he said, giving me a quick glance, the hint of a grin tugging at his lips.

I rolled my eyes, trying to mask the embarrassment with a quick laugh, but I couldn't help the warmth that flooded my face. "It was a mistake, Aunt Jules," I said, trying to play it off with a shrug. "It's not like it was planned."

"Uh-huh, sure," Aunt Jules said with an exaggerated eye roll. "Look at you two, trying to act all innocent. I know better than that."

"Can we move past this now?" I groaned, my face still burning with heat. "It's a bit embarrassing."

"Oh, no," she said with a wicked grin. "This is too good to pass up." She took a long sip of her drink, clearly enjoying herself. "But seriously, I'm happy for you both. You've got something special here."

he said softly, her eyes twinkling as she gazed at me. "I just want to see you happy. And I can tell Marco is the one who'll make that happen."

I smiled back at her, touched by her words. "I know he will."

Aunt Jules winked again and patted Marco on the shoulder. "Good job, Russo," she said with a smile that was half teasing, half approving. "Now, no more leaving marks, alright?"

With that, she sauntered off to join the rest of the guests, leaving me standing there, slightly embarrassed but also feeling a deeper sense of belonging in this family. Marco, standing beside me, gave me a knowing smile.

"I guess we can't hide anything from your aunt," he said, his voice low with amusement.

I rolled my eyes, but my smile was full of affection. "Apparently not."

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