Page 32 of Convenient Mafia Vows

“Caleb wouldn’t let anything happen to us.” I glance at Abigail who is sitting upright in her seat and following the conversation, her eyes bright and wide. I would protect her with my life, and something tells me that Caleb Murray would do the same.

Sienna releases a heavy sigh. “I only hope you’re right.”

Abigail sits on every seat in the back of the stretch limo that Caleb sends to my apartment to collect us. She talks the entire time, peering out of the tinted windows at the people and buildings we pass, and sipping orange juice with lots of ice cubes from the mini bar in the back.

Lauren greets us when we step out of the elevator and into Caleb’s penthouse apartment. Miss Ingram’s lips are pinched together like this situation is highly irregular, and she’s only going along with it for Caleb’s sake.

I stare, open-mouthed, at the living room which is like something out ofGossip Girl. It’s huge, bigger than my entire apartment, and filled with large squashy sofas strategically arranged around glass-topped coffee tables the size of a king-sized bed. The paintings on the walls are huge and vibrant, splashes of tangerine and violet and cerulean bringing life to the understated, carefully chosen furniture. The rugs look as ifI could bury my feet in them. But the focal point is the feature window wall with an unobstructed view of the city.

Abigail pulls away from me and, ignoring Lauren who gives off unmistakable don’t-touch-me vibes, runs past her to Caleb who appears from somewhere within his cavernous penthouse apartment. In one fluid movement, she jumps up, wraps her arms around his neck, and expects him to hold her. And he does.

I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t for him to walk closer to the window with Abigail in his arms and point out various buildings on the New York skyline.

Miss Ingram discreetly backs away and into the elevator, leaving me standing in the entrance feeling like the antelope who wandered into the lion’s den.

“Auntie Vicky, come and look,” Abigail squeals.

Sometimes I think that Abigail must be an old soul with all the information that she astounds me with every day, but I’ve never seen her attach herself to Mason the way she has instinctively done with Caleb. Does she sense that he can offer her stability, security, and protection also? Or has she been missing a strong father figure from her life, an alpha male, a label that would never stick to Mason even though I love him dearly?

I feel a fresh stab of guilt in my chest. Should I have done more to knock Mason into the kind of father that Abigail needs rather than following him around and clearing up his mess? Sienna would remind me that Mason isn’t my responsibility, but still, I can’t help feeling that I’ve been too passive when it comes to my little brother.

I navigate my way around the furniture, breathing in the showroom-smell of new carpets and furniture polish, and mystomach twists at the vision in my head of how this room would look after twenty-four hours of me and Abigail living here.

“There’s the Empire State Building.” Abigail points at the window.

I smile. “It’s okay, you can put her down now,” I address Caleb. “She’s just excited after the limo.”

Caleb lowers her to the polished wooden floor gently, and I pray that the soles of her boots are clean. I meet his gaze, and my cheeks start burning. He’s even more beautiful outside of his office if that’s possible.

“Will you show us to our room so that we can unpack our stuff?”

The limo driver offered to get our bags sent up, and as I can’t see them, I assume that they’ve already been sent to whichever hotel room Caleb has allocated to us.

He nods. “This way.”

It feels awkward now that we’re here, even though this was his idea, and I feel swallowed whole by the enormity of what we’re doing. I don’t belong here. I’m not this person; I don’t know how it feels to not worry about paying the rent, or not to have to search the bargain counter in the grocery store, or to relax on a couch that looks as if no one’s butt has ever touched the cushions.

We’re pretending to be married like little kids who are role playing in their parents’ wedding outfits, but this is real life, and we’re not kids. Will he want to spend time with me, or will I only be his wife for social engagements? Will I have to ask permission to leave the room, or will I be free to come and go as I please?How can we pretend to be in love if we know nothing about each other?

We haven’t even scratched the surface of what this means to both of us in practical terms, and now that I’m here, I’m worried that I’ve bitten off way more than I can chew. Or swallow. However the saying goes, my mind instinctively drifts to stroking my hands across Caleb’s naked chest as I follow him along a hallway as wide as my living room.

He opens a door and stands aside. “Main bathroom.”

Mainbathroom? Where the hell does he hide the other bathrooms?

I peek inside from the doorway and allow my eyes to roam around the room that’s as large as a swimming pool. The tiles are marble—I’m guessing, not that I’ve ever seen real marble tiles—in shades of blue that make it feel as if I’m underwater. Abigail runs inside, squealing, and I swear the tiles actually ripple.

“The bath is a swimming pool, Auntie Vicky.”

“Not quite.” Caleb inclines his head. “It’s a jacuzzi. There’s a sauna through the door at the end,”

Jacuzzi… Sauna…O-kay.

The strange thing is that he isn’t gloating. He’s just showing us around before he takes us to our room; maybe he’s going to test me on his apartment later before he introduces me to his acquaintances. I’d best stop gaping and start paying attention.

Further along the hallway, he opens another door—why are the doors all shut? –and says, “Your room.”

My room?

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