Page 12 of The Marriage Contract

“It’s all an act,” I tell her. “It’s not real. I’m pretending to be his fiancée. It’s short-term. Soon, you’ll be healthy, and I’ll be home. We’ll be able to go on with our lives.”

She sighs, then winces as if it hurts her. “I love you, Elena, but can I be alone? I’m just glad you’re home. Please don’t go traveling again.” She lets her eyes fall closed, and the discussion is over.

Leaning forward, I gently kiss her forehead and then leave the room. Giulia approaches me and pulls me into a hug.

“I’m okay,” I say as tears prick my eyes.

“If you need to cry, cry,” she says gently.

“She called me a Mafia man’s whore,” I mutter, letting out a sob before getting myself under control.

“She’s not herself.”

“I know, but …” I giggle, sounding unhinged. “Is she wrong? I’m taking his money?—”

“Forher,” Giulia reminds me. “Anyway, it’s not real. It’s all going to be over soon, right? Just play your part, and you’ll be free of him.”

“Free of him,” I repeat.

Giulia lengthens her arms, allowing her to look at me in her classically searching way. “What does that mean?”

“I’m rehearsing for my role as a parrot.”

“Ha ha,” she says humorlessly, a fair response to my lame joke. “Are you catching feelings for him?”

“No,” I say quickly. “How could I? I don’t even know him. I met him yesterday, but …”

“But what?” she presses when I trail off.

I go to the couch, sit down, and rest my head in my hands. “He’s not like how I imagined him at all. When Allessio came to me and made the offer, I assumed Dario would be some gross old guy.”

“He’s our age?”

“No, he’s thirty-seven, but he’s not gross. Thirty-seven isn’t old. I don’t know. It’s weird. He doesn’t seem as big and bad and mean as I expected.”

“He’s only going to show you the parts of himself he wants you to see,” Giulia says lightly. “It’s not like he’s going to go full Mafia-boss mode on you the first night.”

“I knowthat,” I say.

“I’m just trying to help.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to snap. It’s just confusing. I think it’d be easier if he were a bad person.”

“He probably is,” Giulia says. “You know nothing about him.”

Yes, I do. What the hell am I thinking? I push that thought down, down, down. “I’ve been under a lot of stress: abandoning the play, agreeing to this, Aunt Rosa. The one thing that’s clear is that I’m not thinking clearly. Sorry. My head’s all over the place. One second, I was planning a fake wedding. The next, the person I love most is calling me a whore.”

“She didn’t mean it,” Giulia says softly. Sitting beside me on the couch, she places her hand on my shoulder. “Can I offer you some advice?”

“Always. You don’t have to ask.”

“If you start developing feelings for this man, be careful. You have little experience with dating. I’m not trying to be a bitch; I’m just saying it like it is.”

“I know you’re coming from a good place.”

“You need to remember that you don’t know who he is. Men are good at showing women only what they want us to see. I bet a Mafia man is ten times better at it. If he seems charming, it’s because he’sputting on a show. Don’t let yourself get swept up in it. Keep your eye on the prize.”

“It doesn’t matter, anyway,” I tell her. “Even if I actually liked him, nothing could ever happen. His parents would never let him be with a girl from the wrong side of the tracks. Aunt Rosa, when she’s better, would never approve. Honestly, this is business.”

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