The living room was chaos, cushions flying, limbs tangled as you and your brother Dario wrestled like sworn enemies.

“Ripetilo!” You shouted, trying to pin him down.

“Mai!” He grunted, twisting to shove you off.

“Basta così, tutti e due!” Your mother called from the kitchen doorway, exasperated. “You’re not children anymore!”

You ignored her and kept going, determined to win, his laugh mixing with your frustrated growl.

Then click, the front door opened.

The sound stopped you mid tackle, you looked up and saw your father step in, and behind him, Enrico, the man your father had arranged for you, the one you loathed, Enrico’s easy smile vanished when he took in the scene, you sprawled over your brother, hair a mess, cheeks flushed.

Your father’s glare could have cut glass. “What in God’s name is going on here?”

You scrambled to your feet and pointed at Dario. “He started it!”

Dario scoffed, straightening his shirt. “Bugiardo. You jumped on me first.”

“Abbastanza!” Your father barked, his voice sharp and final. “Is this how you present yourself in front of your future husband?”

You crossed your arms and muttered under your breath, “I’d rather body slam him too…”

Your father’s jaw tightened. “I heard that.” He said, his glare sharp as a blade.