Page 55 of The Prince's Green Card Scheme

And she does. To my relief, she doesn’t talk any more about pregnancy or babies or anything like that. Instead, she tells me more stories about Paolo as a child, about all the stupid antics he got up to. It just about takes my mind off the whole thing.

At least it does so enough that by the time Paolo knocks on the door to tell me it’s showtime, I feel a little calmer.

Not completely, but enough to be able to face this.

After all, what choice do I have?

CHAPTER 26

PAOLO

The silence is deafening. I keep glancing between everyone at the table. My mother, my father, Chloe, and Maria stood in the corner.

I don’t think I’ve ever felt more stressed in my life. I can feel myself growing wrinkles in real time from the pressure of it all.

I just need them to believe this one thing. I just need Chloe to play the part of a convincing wife for an hour.

She promised that she would, but she’s sitting here looking so miserable I almost want to kick her under the table and beg her to start smiling. She is being polite at least, but her beautifully happy face has been marred by a frown.

I can’t understand why. Maybe it’s the nerves.

If I wasn’t doing my very best acting, I would probably be frowning like that too. God knows I’m nervous enough. But this seems kind of unlike her. I want to ask her what’s wrong, but I can’t do that now. Not while my mother and my father are holding a magnifying glass to us, scrutinizing our every move.

“So, Chloe,” says my father, breaking the silence with the promise of an awkward question. “Paolo here tells us that you are a working woman.” I wince. Why did he have to say that like it’s a bad thing? “What is it that you do?”

Chloe takes a large sip of her glass of water then forces a smile on her face. It looks fake. “I work in a bar,” she says.

“You own it?” asks my father.

“No,” she bites out, her entire body tensing like she knows she’s being led into a trap.

I wish I could have told my parents not to do this. Not to humiliate her in front of them. Not to make her feel like she’s worth so much less than she is.

I know what they’re doing. I’m sure Chloe can see it too. They’re trying to assess if she has any sort of dowry, if she comes from any sort of important family, any sort of money. I already told them that she doesn’t, but asking them to listen to me is like asking a fish to start breathing and walking.

“No, I don’t own it,” she says quietly, not quite able to look my father in the eye. “I am one of the more senior bartenders, though. The next time there’s an opening, I think I’m probably going to be promoted to manager.”

“Well, that’s good, isn’t it?” sneers my father, and I see Chloe wilting like a flower in the sun.

I clench my fists under the table. Screaming would do no good now, but it would make me feel better. There’s too much riding on this, though. We have to keep our composure.

Even if it kills me, we have to keep this together.

“You met while Paolo was on one of his business trips?” says my mother, spitting the words “business trip” to make it really clear to each and every one of us exactly what she’s insinuating.

Yeah, yeah,I want to say,we all know you think I’m useless. We all know you think I’ve never had any sense of responsibility in my life. You all think that I spent my entire year in exile acting like an idiot — and you’re probably right. After all, what have I got to show for any of it?

Suddenly Chloe feels so far away. If I could, I’d reach out and take her hand.

“Yes. He was in New York for work and he happened to come into my bar. I can’t explain why but we really hit it off. We went out a couple of times, really got along, and then he popped the question. It was sudden, but it felt right.”

I release a shaky breath. At least she got that pitch-perfect. She nearly sounded convincing.

“You know,” says my father, his face unchanged, “when Luca got married, people were partying in the streets. Everyone in the country was out celebrating. And Miguel?—”

“Yes, Father,” I interrupt with a sigh. “Everyone knows about Miguel’s wedding.”

“Does your wife?” he spits, staring me down.

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