Matteo

Someone else's knee barely brushes against yours under the table—a gesture so subtle it could easily be dismissed as a fluke, if not for the insistent, almost warning heaviness with which it lingers longer than intended. You flinch and glance at Matteo, meeting his frowning, tense expression, as if something inside him has gone awry, though you can't quite place it.

It all started a couple of months ago, the day he came to you with a proposal that was too strange to take seriously.

"You're becoming my girlfriend. Just for show. I'm paying you money," he said, showing the tablet with your post on the closed network.

How he found the application remained a mystery, but the coincidence was more disconcerting than you were willing to admit: you had been open about your need for a sponsor. Reason told you to refuse, but Matteo's direct, appraising gaze left you speechless, and instead of protesting, you agreed.

"My parents demand marriage. I don't need it. You're suitable. It's temporary," he added coldly.

The sum that appeared in the account the very next day forced you to accept the rules of the game. Matteo stayed out of your life, and you stayed out of his. During the very first week, you met his parents at an expensive restaurant: his mother greeted you warmly, while his father watched silently, as if weighing the benefits of this union. In public you acted like a happy couple, but as soon as you were alone, the kind Matteo disappeared, giving way to a cold and distant man.

It was the same now. At the shared table, surrounded by family and partners, he unsettles you with just a glance. His mother is the first to notice the tension:

— Dear ones, are you all right?

Matteo covers your palm with his. — Everything is fine. It's just that my future bride is a little nervous before the engagement.

The silence grows heavy. You didn't discuss this. The contract didn't include such words.

And yet, “engagement” sounds so confident, as if you were the last one to know about the plan.