Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 56365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 282(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 282(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
“Are you feeling okay, Father?” I ask.
He sighs. “I want this deal to be over. I want to be free to be excited about my son’s wedding.”
“If you need any help …”
He shakes his head. “You have your hands full with the Romanos. I heard about the unfortunate accident their bar suffered. It seems providence has allowed Vincenzo to see the error of his ways.”
“Let’s hope the man is sensible enough to read the signs accurately,” I agree.
“Are you excited, son?” he asks after a pause. “About the wedding? About being a husband? About starting a family?”
As callous as it now seems, when I invented this scheme, I didn’t stop to think about the emotional impact on my old man. Sure, that might’ve had something to do with the fact he typically never shows emotion. This is especially unusual for him. I only wanted to get him off my back about this whole marriage situation and finally wash my hands of this persistent thorn in my side.
“Yes,” I say, my heart thumping, piercing me with guilt like shrapnel.
“Good.” My father offers a rare smile. “Yes, that’s good.” His smile falters when his cell phone rings. “Please, excuse me.”
I offer him a handshake, which is how we usually end these meetings. He holds on for a few moments longer, looking me deeply in the eyes. I’m moved, and I almost tell him the truth. I can’t let him start to get real about this. It was almost better when he was fully disapproving.
As I leave, his phone still ringing, he says, “It would be far better if she knew which cutlery to use, son. Be careful. I wouldn’t want you to be duped.”
Without turning to face him, I say, “I’m always careful, Father. You taught me well.”
I’m almost relieved he felt it necessary to toss that shit sandwich on top of the conversation. I thought he’d gone completely soft. He’s excited about the idea of a wedding and an heir, but if he knew who Elena really was, that excitement would quickly turn to rage. He’ll probably be relieved when we divorce.
Returning home, I find Elena on the back porch, flicking through a wedding magazine. I stand at the window, watching as she leans over the magazine, her hair falling across her forehead. She blows it out of the way, making me chuckle. She is so. Damn. Cute.
She twirls a strand of wavy hair around her finger, biting her lip as she turns the magazine page. I lean against the counter, remembering last night, lying in bed, wondering if the steaminess we shared was real on her part. It felt genuine, but can I ever be sure?
However, she doesn’t know I’m watching her now, and this seems so natural. She appears excited. Or maybe she’s doing the method-acting thing, getting so into her role that I’d never be able to tell reality from the fake.
As if she senses me watching her, she looks up. Her instinctive reaction is a broad, beautiful smile. I open the door and walk out into the uncharacteristically bright day.
“It looks like you’re having fun,” I say.
“These dresses are beautiful,” she replies carefully, almost like she’s wondering what version of Dario Moretti she’s dealing with today. Can I blame her? I’ve been giving her nothing but mixed signals. “My friend told me that, even if this is going to end, I should try to enjoy the experience. So I’m looking at dresses.”
“See any you like?”
She opens her mouth, closes it, and opens it again. When I chuckle, she says, “I was going to say the groom isn’t supposed to see the dress, but since this is a fake wedding, it can’t do any harm.”
I look around, making sure nobody can hear us.
“Sorry,” Elena says quickly.
“It’s fine. We’re alone. May I?” I gesture at the chair opposite her.
“It’s your house.”
“Is that more sass?”
“Are you complaining?” I quip back.
I smirk, sitting down and running a hand through my hair. There might be a war with the Romanos on the horizon. Any second, Father or one of his men could barge in here and tell me he knows the truth about my scam, but right now, it’s just Elena and me.
“I know nothing about dresses,” I say, “but I’ll ask anyway. Have you seen anything you like?”
“What do you think of this one?” she says, turning the magazine and pointing to a modern dress with a short cut.
“Is that a wedding dress?” I ask.
She laughs. I could get used to that sound and the flutter it causes in my chest. “If you wore that, I’d have to kick the asses of half the guests. Everybody would stare at your legs.”
“Ha ha,” she mutters. “Yeah, right …”
“I’m serious. Look how much is on show.”
“Yeah, but this model is pretty.”
“You’re beautiful,” I snap. “Don’t talk down on yourself, Elena.”