Page 18 of A Sinner's Truth

“Okay, no one else. It’s fine. I don’t even like sex,” Aria says. “What about a prenup?”

“What do you mean you don’t like sex? Everyone likes sex.”Is she fucking with me right now?

“Not me. It’s highly overrated. So prenup?”

“I don’t need a prenup. You don’t have anything I want, darling,” I tell her.

“What if I take half your shit?” She smirks.

I raise my eyebrows. “You’re welcomed to try.”

“I don’t need your money, Santo. I just need to not be forced to marry Oliver.” Aria sighs. “Okay, how do we do this?”

“Do what?”

“Get married? How do we actually do it?” She leans over and places her now-empty glass into the sink.

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning. I have an associate who can process the paperwork for us.”

“Okay.” Aria nods her head. She looks really unsure about this.

“You do know this was your idea, right? You don’t have to do this,” I remind her.

“I know. I want to. I just… What if we do this and it doesn’t work? What if my father finds a way to annul our marriage or something? I don’t know what he’s getting out of this deal with the Denspers, but he’s determined to make sure it happens.”

“What is he holding over your head, exactly?” I ask her. “Your inheritance?”

“My trust, but it’s not exactly the trust I want. My mother died when I was seven. There’s a necklace in a safe deposit box that I can’t access without my trust. I want my mother’s necklace.” Aria’s eyes water up.

That wasn’t what I was expecting. I figured it was money or some materialistic shit. I should tell her I could get that necklace for her. It’s not hard to get into a safe deposit box.

“I can guarantee your father won’t challenge our marriage, darling. I’ll be back at eight in the morning.” I don’t wait for a response before walking out of her apartment.

Chapter Ten

Ididn’t sleep for a minute last night. It’s normal to be nervous when you’re about to marry a complete stranger, right? And considering the stranger I’m marrying is also allegedly Melbourne mafia royalty, I think that earns me a few extra jitters.

Am I really doing this? Yes. Because being fake married to Santo De Bellis for a year has to be better than beingforcibly married to Oliver Densper. Argh, my body shivers at the memory of his hands touching me. At least Santo doesn’t want to have sex with me. Which I’m grateful for, but also his flat-out declaration that he doesn’t want me like that has me wondering why…

I get that he’s probably the type of guy who has had a string of supermodels at his beck and call. Of course he wouldn’t want to sleep with me. Don’t get me wrong. I consider myself blessed in the looks department, but I’m also a realist and very aware I’m no supermodel.

I’m not going to lie. Santo saying he didn’t want to sleep with me was a hit to my self-esteem as much as it was a relief. Especially after having Oliver practically tell me I’d be in his bed by choice or not.

I can do this.Giving myself a mental pep talk, I take one last look in the mirror. I know this whole marriage thing isn’t real. But real or not, I will be wearing white when I get married. It’s not a wedding gown, though. Far from it.

My lace dress has a square neckline with sleeves that flare and end at my elbows. The hem ends just above my knees and has a small split at the back. It’s tight, hugging all of my curves perfectly. I’ve paired the dress with some nude pumps and pinned the top half of my hair back, letting the different lengths hang in loose waves.

I creep past Drew’s door as I exit my apartment. I might be going with the wholebetter to ask for forgiveness than permissionthing with him right now. He didn’t react well at all when I told him about my drunken proposal to Santo. Which is why I’m sneaking out at 7:40 in the morning. I want to meet Santo downstairs. I don’t want to risk him running into Drew.

Once I’m outside, I don’t have to wait long. Santo steps down from the blacked-out SUV that’s already parked in front of my building. “What are you doing out here?” he asks.

“Waiting for my pumpkin carriage?” I smile at him. Butterflies fill my stomach. I’m telling myself it’s because I’m about to marry a stranger and that it has nothing to do with the fact that that stranger is the mould of the perfect male.

Santo is dressed in a well-fitted suit. I can tell it’s custom made by the way it fits him like a second skin. His dark hair is tousled, with loose curls hanging down his forehead while tattoos creep up from under the collar of his shirt and down onto his hands. When I take a step closer, I get a whiff of his cologne. He smells like rosewood and vanilla. All I can think isI want more. Obviously, it’s just my nerves.

“A pumpkin carriage?” Santo parrots.

“Never mind. Are we doing this?” I take another step closer to his car.

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