Page 31 of The Marriage Contract

“Yes, I just have work, that’s all,” I say, turning to leave, but then I turn back. “Elena, I want you to know that I’d never assess your worth based on how you speak, how you dress, the books you like, or any of that crap. My opinion of you comes fromyou.”

“Then you’re an odd one out among the Morettis, Dario.”

“I’ve felt that way my entire life—the outsider who also lives within.”

“Thank you,” she says, “for not judging me.”

“You’re a good person,” I tell her. “When this is over, you’re going to do amazing things. One day, I’ll look up at a billboard, and there you’ll be, the star of the show. I’ll have to wait in line to get your autograph.”

She looks hurt that I’ve referenced the end of this so-called relationship. “Yeah,” she murmurs, returning to the magazine. “What a scene that’ll be.”

I turn away, hating I caused that hurt in her eyes. “Anyway, I’ve got to get to work.”

With my back turned, she grumbles, “Work.” There’s bitterness in her voice. I wonder if she’s trying to make a point, maybe away to get back at me for reminding her this entire thing has an expiration date.

I turn to face her again. “Is there something you want to say to me?”

“No, except … have a good day. Try not to stress too much. I hope you have lots of fun conversations next to the water cooler.”

Even with the tension between us, I enjoy her sassiness and bravery. Few women would ever dream of talking to the Moretti prince like she does, and Elena does it so naturally, as though speaking to me in any other way has never even occurred to her.

“I know what you’re getting at,” I growl.

“Do you always care this much about the opinions of your employees?”

“You’re not my employee,” I snap.

She closes the wedding magazine with an air of finality. “What am I, then?”

The only woman I’ve ever given a damn about. I look at her for a long moment, deep into her perfect eyes, wanting so badly to lean down and kiss her again. Yet I hold myself back. She’s right; our worlds can’t coexist for long—maybe for a short time, maybe for a scam, but not forever.

Without replying, I leave her there.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

ELENA

“Iwould just like you to give me a concrete reason I can’t visit the theater,” I tell Rocco, my driver and mafiosi bodyguard.

The lean man frowns at me from across the roof of his car. We’re in the front courtyard of the townhouse, the vehicle gleaming after a recent wash. “There are several issues, ma’am,” he says, clearly uncomfortable with challenging the soon-to-be Mafia princess.

Since Dario left around two hours ago, I’ve felt more restless than I have since I agreed to this deal. I let myself fall into a false sense of intimacy, let the sass hint at something real. However, earlier, and let’s be honest, I played my part, too. He made it clear that was a mistake.

“Are you seriously telling me?—”

“Is something wrong?”

We both turn at the sound of Maria Moretti’s voice. She walks toward us in a long, flowing dress that makes her appear to floatelegantly. Rocco stands a little straighter, his hands behind his back.

“I was telling Miss Esposito that we can’t, at this time, take her to the theater.”

“I’ve got keys,” I tell Maria. “The manager let me rehearse there any time I wanted. I know I’m not in the play anymore, but …”

Maria stops a few feet from us, gesturing to me. I approach her, moving out of earshot of Rocco. She lowers her voice. “In this life, my dear, sometimes you have totell: notbeg, notask, but tell. If you can do that, I’m sure we can accommodate this.”

I get what she’s telling me. I need to be firm in my resolve. Demand that my orders are complied. I wonder if this is some sort of test.

Returning to Rocco, I try to ignore that little voice inside that tells me he’s just doing his job. I forget about the times I was chewed out at work by assholes who thought they could talk to me any way they wanted.

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