Page 37 of Fiancée for the Cameras

Her cheeks heated at that word. “No, nothing on the social calendar. I already cleared the rest of your week, beginning tomorrow. I knew you wouldn’t want to work on Friday and...”

“What’s Friday?”

“It’s the...twenty-third of September. You...usually don’t work that day.”

He reared back from her so fast that it was like whiplash. He had forgotten the significance of the date, she realized with a belated sort of horror, and that was exactly what was reflected in his face now.

He looked horrified that he had forgotten. And fast on the heels of that came guilt that filled his eyes.

Monica stood up, wanting to follow him, some knot of fear and guilt trapped in her throat making it hard to breathe. He walked away from the sitting lounge, his moments lacking that economic grace that made him a pleasure to watch. When he reached his desk, he rubbed a hand over his face, his shoulders tight with tension.

“Andrea, it’s a small oversight. We’ve been busy with this merger and you—–”

“I do not need you to assuage my guilt, Monica,” he said, without turning around. But she saw his reflection in the windows and how he rubbed the heels of his palms against his eyes. It was a rare gesture of vulnerability that he never showed the world, not even his family. And definitely not her.

Monica, he’d called her. Notbellaorcara mia. And in that particular tone that he rarely used anymore. She swallowed the sliver of hurt it invoked. This wasn’t about her or their relationship. But somehow, she couldn’t swallow that lie. “I’dnever tell you to feel one way or another, Andrea. Just as you can’t tell me to not care about you.”

Her words landed in between them, creating a minefield she couldn’t cross without it exploding in her face.

“I do not need your care. Definitely not in this and not in any area of my personal life. I thought you understood that.”

She nodded even though he couldn’t see her and rallied herself into acting as if the vast room wasn’t suddenly swathed in tension. Gathering her files and folders, she started stuffing them into her laptop bag. “What you suggested earlier is a good idea. A weekend at the resort, I mean. I’ll make arrangements for your stay. Anything that comes up, I can manage easily.”

“What a thoughtful assistant and lover you are,bella, easily shifting from one role to the other, not making any demands in either,” he said now, turning around, his mouth wreathed in a cynical twist he rarely showed her anymore. It was almost as if the Andrea from those beginning years of their acquaintance was back, and she was nothing but one of his dutiful sheep.

“I’m thinking of you,” she said, a reckless kind of boldness sweeping through her. “I know you don’t let anyone, not even Flora or Romeo, do that, but I do. And I won’t apologize for it.”

“And yet, you’re not insisting on accompanying me on the trip.”

“Not this time, no,” she said, each step she took toward him feeling like an obstacle course she was jumping over. “I have a feeling anything I suggest will only rile you up right now.”

“What a good little rule follower you are, always weighing your risks.”

His words landed like a punch to her gut, given they carried so much truth in them. That he would taunt her for what she thought was her weakness...hurt on so many levels. “You’re...not in a good place now and I have no problem being your target,”she said, anger coming to her aid. “But don’t presume to know how I feel or what I want.”

“Tell me what you want, then,” he said, the words full of some craven demand. “Tell me what the perfect assistant, perfect lover, perfect fake fiancée, Monica D’Souza, truly wants.”

“I want to go to the chalet with you. I want to be with you and give you the space to talk about anything and everything. I want to give you companionable silence. I want to go to bed with you. I want you to tell me about that awful day. I want you to not struggle with your grief alone. I want to hear about what kind of man your father was, in your own words, because I know he must have been amazing to have raised you and Romeo to be who you are. I want to watch over you as you do for everyone that comes into your sphere. I want you to be not alone because every moment you are, I’ll be thinking of you.”

His gaze lost the dark humor, icing her out. His chin reared down as if she’d attacked him instead of offering a short respite from his grief and his guilt. “I don’t need to talk about it,bella. There’s no big emotional resolution I’ll achieve by talking about how I drove Papa into crashing our car. There’s no big breakthrough I’ll get by talking about how Romeo almost died because of my selfishness. There’s nothing you can do that will change that day and what it stole from me. Or what it turned me into,” he said, turning away. “You’re one of a kind,bella, I’ll give you that. But you cannot change me. And if you’re beginning to think that...”

“Oh, don’t worry, Andrea. That kind of arrogance has never been my strength. As for wanting to change you or claim you...even I’m not that naive. But—”

“I think you should leave. Before I say something I cannot take back.”

Monica had known this was coming, this clearly drawn line in the sand that would shove her back beyond that boundary. Herentire life had been about lines like this that told her she was wanted only if it was convenient, only if she behaved well, only if a foster family was faring well financially, only if she behaved perfectly, only, only, only...

Something that had been forever yoked to that fear, that she might have a family or love if only she stayed behind that line and didn’t ask much, splintered. Suddenly, it felt as if she had been set free from a huge weight and it was both terrifying and liberating.

With that came a kind of recklessness, even as she dutifully walked back to the other side of the line. She had a question to ask. And it flew from her mouth like a bullet. “Are you angry that for the first time in a decade, you were so happy with your own life that you forgot the relentless grief you carry as some kind of shroud? Or are you angry that it is our fake relationship that made you forget? Or is it that you have decided you cannot be happy at all?”

His shoulders tightened enough for her to know that her question had landed exactly as she’d intended it to. But she didn’t wait for his answer because Andrea Valentini was an honorable man and she didn’t want to make a liar out of him. Though there was little satisfaction in knowing she was right.

Her heart felt heavy in her chest as she walked out of his office and closed the door, even as every inch of her wanted to stay, wanted to be strong enough to withstand his misdirected anger and guilt and hold his hand through the pain that came later.

CHAPTER TWELVE

ITWASAfull two days before Monica returned to his family home, a huge bunch of wild lilies clutched in her hand. The moment she saw him, wariness turned the corners of her lush mouth down.

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