CHAPTER 137: MUSEUM GALA

When the clock struck 4 PM, Maya and Zia Arianna left the book café and headed to a nearby restaurant before returning home to get ready for the fundraising gala at the museum. They met some of Zia Arianna’s colleagues from the university where she teaches, and Maya had a great time hanging out with them. They were as kind and welcoming as Zia Arianna.

Maya has grown closer to Zia Arianna, as she feels most comfortable around her. However, she can’t fully trust her yet because Zia Arianna hasn’t made an effort to ask about Maya’s life back home. To Maya, it feels as though Zia Arianna knows that Vico kidnapped her and brought her to Italy, but doesn’t care about it at all.

Maya struggles to bring up conversations about her marriage, her friends, and her career as a chef because Zia Arianna only talks about the life Maya will have here in Italy during their conversations. In fact, she doesn’t even seem concerned about why a young woman like Maya, in this technological age, doesn’t have a phone.

Yeah, she can’t trust anyone here. It’s just her against this rotten world she has stumbled into.

But this rotten world isn’t just about guns, blood, sex, drugs, and money; there is also glitz and glamour as Maya stood on the red carpet of the fundraising gala event in a gown designed by a renowned Italian fashion designer. She felt like a Hollywood celebrity as she posed for the cameras. The flashes were blinding, but she could only smile. After all, this was her debut, she being introduced to the Italian elites as Vico’s daughter. Lord, when will this hell be over?

Maya finds it amusing that the Italian general public perceives Vico as just a famous, wealthy billionaire who owns many successful companies. It is so ridiculous; it is obvious that Vico made his wealth through illegal means, yet everyone is turning a blind eye, even though the evidence is right in their faces. Well, Vico has ensured that they can’t prove anything.

Maya did a final solo post before Vico joined her on the red carpet. Although she was squirming inside, she smiled widely and took pictures with her despicable father with his arm around her shoulders.

The last batch of red carpet photos she took included Zia Arianna and her husband, as well as Vico. When it was over, Maya could finally breathe. She hates this kind of spotlight; she wants to be famous for being a super chef, not because she is the daughter of Vico.

Maya wished she could be left alone to wander around and explore the cultural and historical artifacts that Italy has to offer, especially those from the Roman Empire and the age of the gladiators. However, swarms of socialites insisted on engaging her, wanting Maya to form superficial friendships with them. Zia Arianna wasn’t helping either, as she was dragging Maya to interact with every renowned person in the room. For an English professor, she seemed to enjoy the spotlight a bit too much.

After half an hour of being the object of attention and scrutiny from these famous wealthy Italians, Maya finally managed to escape to admire a collection of historical paintings that are masterpieces. Astonishingly, her bodyguard did not follow her.

She feels nostalgic as she stares at these paintings. Aside from cooking, she is an art lover; she used to visit art galleries when she was studying in Paris.

One painting caught her eye, and she halted to study it.

"It isn’t surprising at all that Chef De Lucca will be fascinated by the famous ’boy with the fruit basket painting’."

Maya cracked up, giggling into her palm, but her smile froze when she pivoted her head to the left. "Marcello?" Her lips pursed.

"What...?" She paused, not knowing what to ask.

"What am I doing here?" His charming grin was on.

"Yes, what are you doing here!"

"Questa è casa mia, sono italiano, ricordi?"

Maya rolled her eyes, immediately understanding what Marcello said. "Yes, I know you are Italian and this is your home, but it surprises me that you are at this fundraising gala."

"Wow, just a month here and you understand Italian perfectly," he clapped. "I’m impressed; you have Italian blood flowing in your veins after all."

"I’m very famous here. When I’m not collecting dead bodies, I star in movies. You should watch more Italian movies."

Maya narrowed her eyes, amused. "Wow, you are a movie star. Interesting. But it’s not shocking; you have the Italian looks that the movie industry loves," Maya complimented him.

Maya went silent for a moment before asking, "How is Dalton doing? And can you please help me escape?" Her eyes were pleading.

Marcello shrugged. "I haven’t seen Dalton since the wedding, and I’ve been in Italy since then, but we do communicate..." He paused.

"And what tell me?" Maya groans, impatient.

"He thinks you conspired with your father to kill him, and he believes you left him because you are tired of pretending to love him." Marcello’s voice turned gloomy." He wants a divorce," he said, confirming Maya’s fears.

Colour drained from Maya’s face as a sharp pain struck her chest. She wobbled and couldn’t stand, but Marcello caught her in his arms before she could hit the floor.

She pulled away from Marcello and dug her fingers into her long black hair, raking through it as A quiver shook through her whole being; her world was breaking apart. Her eyes were stained as tears glistened in her blue eyes.

"Don’t hold back; let it out," Marcello urges her.

"Oh, he hates me," Maya sobbed. Dalton loathes her. Her already shattered heart is being torn apart again.

She cried hard. "No, this can’t be happening! Dalton has stopped loving me; he hates me!" She sank down to the floor as her sobs got louder

She is sinking, drowning, and wants to die. How can she live in a world where she is loathed by Dalton? A world without him, where her only option is to become a monster like Vico.

Marcello suddenly gathered her in his arms. "It’s going to be okay," he said softly and reassuringly as he held her and coddled her.

The pain she was experiencing was so unbearable that she didn’t care that she was crying over the loss of Dalton in another man’s arms."