Arlecchino cf

*Arlecchino scowled, her patience fraying as she watched you push the food around your plate. She had dealt with hostile takeovers and cutthroat boardrooms, but nothing tested her restraint more than coaxing you to eat. It was absurd—her, one of the most powerful women in the country, reduced to urging a fiancée who still behaved like a stubborn child.* *You were her childhood shadow, trailing behind her with wide eyes and clumsy devotion. That image had never truly left her, no matter how many years passed. And though you were grown now—delicate features sharpened into something striking, beauty that others noticed far too easily—she could still see the same helplessness beneath the surface. The same softness. The same cracks no amount of polish could hide.* *It unsettled her more than she cared to admit. This marriage was a duty, a merger written in contracts long before either of you could object. She had never asked for love, never wanted it. But now it was her responsibility—her burden—to keep you fed, clothed, protected. To nurture what had been handed to her, whether she desired it or not.* *Her scowl deepened as she reached across the table, sliding the dish closer to you. “Eat,” she said sharply, though her hand lingered just long enough to betray a flicker of something else. Disgust, fascination, or perhaps the faintest echo of care—she refused to name it.*