ABSOLUTE INSANITY: A forbidden bond

Chapter 274: Time for dinner

Chapter 274

KATYA POV

It was almost time for dinner.

The house had shifted into that quiet, anticipatory stillness it always adopted before important evenings.

The kind where footsteps softened, voices lowered, and even the air felt heavier—as if it knew something was about to happen and was waiting politely for permission to breathe.

I stood in front of the mirror in my room, barely recognizing the girl staring back at me.

Red.

The dress was red. Not just any red, but deep, the kind that didn’t ask for attention yet commanded it anyway.

It hugged me in a way that felt unfamiliar—intentional. The fabric clung to my waist and hips before falling smoothly, the diamond designs sewn into it catching the light every time I shifted even slightly.

They weren’t loud or excessive, just enough to shimmer subtly, like the dress was alive and responding to movement.

It fit too well. That was the problem. I lifted my hands slowly, smoothing them down the sides of the dress like maybe, if I touched it enough, it would stop feeling so real. So him.

This was the dress.

The one Michael had bought me six months ago.

Before Italy. Before I disappeared. Before everything quietly rearranged itself without asking my permission.

I remembered the day we saw it at the mall, the way he had pick it out and handed it to me like a present, like he hadn’t put thought into it. Like he hadn’t known exactly what would suit me.

I hadn’t worn it then. I hadn’t been ready. And somehow, in the chaos of leaving, I’d brought it with me anyway. Folded carefully. Tucked away at the back of my closet like a secret I didn’t want to explain to myself.

And then Chiara happened. The past hour replayed itself in my mind as I stared at my reflection.

Her sudden invasion of my closet. Her dramatic rummaging. Her bored dismissal of nearly everything I owned.

And then—stillness. The exact moment her eyes landed on the red fabric.

I remembered how she’d pulled it free, how the hanger had caught the light, how her entire energy had shifted instantly.

How curiosity had sharpened into something dangerous the moment I admitted—carelessly, stupidly—that Michael had bought it.

That had been the end of the discussion.

This wasn’t a fancy restaurant. This wasn’t an event. This wasn’t even a real dinner in my mind.

It was Nonna’s dining room. Family. Formal, yes—but familiar. None of that had mattered.

Once Chiara decided something, reality politely stepped aside.

I exhaled slowly, eyes tracing the way the dress molded to me, the way it accentuated curves I usually ignored or hid beneath safer fabrics. It didn’t feel inappropriate—just exposed. Like wearing a thought I’d never said out loud.

My lips were another betrayal.

Deep red.

Chiara had applied it with ruthless precision, the color bold against my skin, impossible to ignore. Every time I pressed my lips together, I felt acutely aware of them, like they no longer belonged to me.

My hair had been handled with the same intention. Styled carefully, not overly done, but undeniably deliberate. Soft waves framed my face, polished without being stiff. Like effort without the appearance of trying.

Like a date. I swallowed. This was not a date. I told myself that again as my gaze drifted past my own reflection—to Chiara’s.

She stood behind me, arms crossed loosely, already dressed. Her blue gown was elegant and fluid, complementing her skin tone perfectly. She looked relaxed. Pleased. Like an artist admiring her work.

She’d done this on purpose. Not maliciously but knowingly.

I shifted my weight slightly, the diamonds on the dress catching the light again, and my stomach tightened at the realization that this was the first time I’d ever worn something Michael had chosen for me.

And it was for dinner with him.

Under Nonna’s roof. Under her scrutiny. Under her quiet, terrifying intelligence.

The timing felt deliberate in a way that made me uneasy. I leaned closer to the mirror, searching my own eyes. There was no panic there. No excitement either. Just something quieter. Something unsettled.

This dress wasn’t about impressing him. It was about acknowledging something I’d spent months pretending didn’t exist.

That he hadn’t disappeared from my life just because I’d crossed borders. That his presence still lingered—in fabric, in memory, in the way my chest felt just a little too tight as dinner crept closer.

I straightened slowly. Dinner was just dinner. Nonna was just being Nonna. And Michael was just a man invited out of gratitude.

I repeated that to myself as the house began to stir beyond my door, as footsteps echoed faintly down the hall, as the clock ticked closer to the moment I’d have to leave this room.

Still, as I took one last look at myself, one thought refused to quiet. This dress had waited six months to be worn. And somehow, it had chosen tonight.

There was a knock on my door before it was opened and a maid stepped in. "It’s time for dinner." The words lingered in the air for a second longer than they should have.

It’s time for dinner.

They felt less like an announcement and more like a summons. Chiara moved first, reaching for my hand briefly—not to pull me along, just a light squeeze at my wrist, grounding and insistent all at once.

Then she turned and headed for the door, blue fabric whispering softly with every step.

I followed. The hallway felt longer than usual. Or maybe I was just more aware of every footfall, every breath, every brush of fabric against skin.

The house had fully awakened now, but in a restrained way—soft lighting glowing along the walls, the faint clink of cutlery drifting from somewhere below, voices low and measured.

We descended the stairs side by side, our heels tapping gently against marble. I could feel eyes on us before I saw anyone—staff pausing just a fraction too long, guards straightening subtly as we passed.

Too dressed. That was the thought that followed me all the way down. The dining hall doors were already open.

Nonna was seated at the head of the long table, exactly where she always sat, her presence anchoring the entire room.

The chandelier above cast warm light down onto polished wood and pristine china, the table set with careful precision but not fully occupied.

Elena was already there. She sat a few seats down from Nonna, cradling her newborn against her chest with practiced ease, her husband close beside her, one hand resting protectively at her back.

The baby was swaddled in soft white, impossibly small, sleeping peacefully despite the low murmur of the room.

For a brief second, the scene almost felt normal. Then Nonna looked up. Her gaze landed on Chiara first.

Paused. Then shifted to me. And stopped.

Her eyes moved slowly, taking in the red of my dress, the shimmer of diamonds, the styling that clearly went beyond a casual family dinner. Then back to Chiara’s blue gown, elegant and unapologetic.

If she was shocked, she didn’t show it the way most people would. She showed it by saying nothing at all.

Her brows lifted just slightly. One corner of her mouth twitched. Not displeased.

I braced myself until I saw HIM!

Michael was already there.

Seated. Comfortably. Right where Chiara usually sat—opposite ME! nonna’s left.

For a moment, everything inside me stopped. My steps slowed instinctively, my body reacting before my mind could catch up. I hadn’t expected this.

I hadn’t prepared for this. The idea of him arriving later had been a quiet comfort I hadn’t realized I was clinging to.

But he was already here. Waiting.

His posture was composed, formal without being stiff, dressed simply but well. And when his eyes lifted—

They found me instantly. And stayed there. Not flickering. Not polite. Not distant. Just... fixed. Like he was seeing someone entirely new.

Heat rushed up my neck before I could stop it, a sharp, unwelcome awareness blooming in my chest.

My mind raced uselessly, spiraling into questions I didn’t want answers to. Was this too much? Did I look ridiculous? Did he recognize the dress immediately?

I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. His expression didn’t change much—still calm, still controlled—but something in his eyes had shifted. Darkened. Sharpened.

I forced myself to keep moving. Chiara reached her place first—Nonna’s left hand—and stopped.

Then paused. Then adjusted.

Because Michael was already there. Without hesitation, Chiara simply redirected herself, sliding into the seat beside me instead, her movement smooth and unbothered, like this had always been the plan.

Which meant— I took my place at Nonna’s right hand. Exactly where I was supposed to be.

The chair felt suddenly too solid beneath me, the table too close, the space across from me far too occupied.

I kept my gaze downward, aware of Michael’s presence in the periphery of my vision, like a gravitational pull I refused to acknowledge.

Nonna’s eyes moved between us again, sharper now. Not disapproving.

Interested.

Dinner hadn’t even begun yet, and already the room felt charged—subtle, quiet, heavy with unspoken things.

I folded my hands neatly in my lap, the red fabric pooling around me like a confession I hadn’t meant to make.

Whatever tonight was going to be.....It was already nothing like I’d imagined.