Love at First Night: The Billionaire's First Love-Chapter 68: Have some dignity

>Mallory

"Dopotutto, non tutti parlano italiano."

(After all, not just anyone can speak Italian.)

Venz’s gaze fell on me when she said those words, his expression dark and unreadable.

His eyes lingered longer than needed, as if he were trying to see through me. He’s not dumb and I know he was aware what this woman did.

But I can’t take that much disrespect.

I took a napkin and elegantly wiped my mouth. Then I took a slow breath, steadying myself, then turned and smiled at Lola.

Her expression looked like she had just won something important. The corners of her lips were lifted just enough to look polite, but her eyes held triumph. I turned my head toward the chief, choosing to ignore her.

"Nessun problema, la capisco perfettamente." I said calmly, my voice steady as I spoke in flawless Italian.

(No problem, I understand you perfectly.)

When I lived in New York and deleted my social media, life had become unbearably boring. Days blurred together with nothing exciting to fill the hours.

And as a woman with no hobbies—aside from reading books I no longer had access to—I found other ways to keep my mind busy.

I learned languages.

Italian was one of them.

"Si," the chief replied, his eyes widening slightly. He bowed politely before excusing himself and leaving the room.

The moment he turned away, I noticed Lola’s smile stiffen. The confidence she wore earlier cracked just a little. I cheered internally, keeping my face calm as if nothing had happened.

"Forgive my wife," Mr. Seymour said kindly, placing his wrinkled hand over Lola’s. "Her heart was innocent. She only wanted to help."

I wanted to roll my eyes but I stopped myself.

"It’s fine," I replied, reaching for my utensils.

The silverware felt cool against my fingers. Then I added, casually, "I mean, it’s only right that a woman deserving to be my husband’s wife can speak that much."

I lifted my fork and took a bite of the food, chewing slowly. The taste was rich, but my attention stayed on the tension across the table.

"Si! I expected much from Mr. Archeval!" the old man laughed, lifting his wine glass. "He sure landed himself an amazing wife." He took a sip of the white wine, clearly pleased.

"Of course." Venz agreed. My face blushing slightly but I didn’t let it show.

Honestly, seeing them together gave me some PTSD. The way he spoke proudly, the way Lola leaned slightly into him—it reminded me of things I would rather forget.

Still, I couldn’t judge. Love could take many forms.

The meal grew quiet after that. The silence wasn’t comfortable. It only took me two bites to finish the appetizer. Venz and Mr. Seymour spoke about business matters, amusing themselves in topics I don’t understand while Lola and I simply exchanged glances.

Her looks weren’t friendly at all. Each glance she throw my way felt sharp, almost challenging. Lucky for her, I’m competitive.

I wasn’t really sure if I should start a conversation, especially when I didn’t even like her.

Suddenly, the old man’s phone rang. The sound broke their conversation. He frowned slightly, pulled it out, and checked the screen.

"Excuse me. I have to take this," he said, standing up. My husband gave a short nod of approval before he walked away from the table.

The space he left behind felt noticeable.

"Did you like the food?" my husband finally asked when the silence stretched between the three of us.

"I did," I replied simply.

"Excuse me," Lola said after a brief pause. "I just have to use the restroom." She stood up smoothly, her chair scraping softly against the floor. Her heels clicked as she walked away, the sound fading down the hallway.

I cleared my throat, shifting slightly in my seat.

"Just to be clear," I said, lowering my voice. "Do I have to get along with her for this business meeting or not?"

I didn’t like forcing myself to be polite, especially when she had been hostile toward me since the beginning. Her eyes alone made that clear. But if it risked a million-dollar deal, I could make an exception.

"Does she make you uncomfortable?" he asked in his baritone voice.

I turned my head toward him—and almost choked.

How long had he been staring at me like that?

His eyes were focused, intense, as if he had been watching my reactions the whole time. I quickly looked away, my hand reaching for the wine glass an employee had just poured.

I lifted it and gulped the wine, feeling the liquid burn slightly as it went down.

"Just so," I replied. "I just don’t feel like it."

"No worries," he said calmly. "I don’t care about the deal, so you can act however you like. I’ll take care of it."

My brows furrowed.

Was he serious? Then why did I even bother attending this dinner?

He chuckled.

"I just told you to come here because that old man told me something," he added as if he can hear my thoughts.

I turned to look at him, annoyance creeping into my expression.

"And what is that?" I asked.

He leaned closer, closing the space between us. I could feel his breath against my skin, it woke something in me.

"He said no one was prettier than his wife," he whispered before pulling away. His hand moved slowly, swirling the wine inside his glass. A smirk formed at his lips.

"I wanted to prove him wrong." then he simply took a sip of the wine.

"Huh? No, you did not!" I snapped.

That woman was literally one of the highest-paid models under Brave Entertainment. If I were prettier than her, I’d be making that kind of money already. And alas, I wasn’t. I was just an ordinary citizen.

He was about to say something when Lola suddenly appeared in front of us. She glanced at the empty wine glass near me before smiling politely and returning to her seat.

"I apologize for taking so long," she said, her voice awfully cheerful. "Is my husband still not here?"

Her eyes weren’t on me. Not even for a second. She was looking only at my husband, as if I didn’t exist. It struck a nerve.

"As you can see," my husband replied coldly, gesturing toward the empty chair across from him. His voice held no emotion.

Lola’s face turned red, and I found it quite satisfying.

"I-I see," she said stiffly. "I’m pleased to finally meet your wife." Her gaze swept over me. "I didn’t know your type was the simple ones. I guess you learn something new every day."

I wasn’t dumb. I caught the insult immediately.

"Watch your words, Mrs. Seymour," my husband snapped, his voice sharp and cold.

"Come on," she replied, waving it off. "I was just telling the truth."

Then I felt a faint movement beneath the table.

My husband’s body stiffened beside me.

I looked down and saw her heel slowly sliding toward his ankle.

Anger surged through me instantly. My jaw clenched.

I slammed my hand on the table. The sound was loud enough to make the utensils rattle and the glasses shake.

Then I lifted my gaze to Lola, my eyes burning as I stared straight at her.

I had a feeling but now I confirmed it—I would never get along with her.

"¿No te da vergüenza?" I said in Spanish, my voice cold and sharp.

(Aren’t you ashamed?)

Her eyes widened slightly. I remember her now, Lola Rave – a half - Colombian model.

"Ten algo de dignidad," I added.

(Have some dignity.)

If I was going to sit at this table anyway, I wouldn’t let anyone look down on me.