Page 33 of Convenient Mafia Vows

I poke my head around the doorway and take it all in, vaguely aware that my mouth is still open, and that I’m acting like a child who just discovered the real Santa in the magical North Pole.

It’s huge—I’m already starting to realize that everything in this apartment is huge, including the bed in the center of the room—painted in delicate shades of green. A potted plant in the corner touches the ceiling, its branches draping gracefully towards the floor like a willow. The silk comforter on the bed is a dark mossy green. The mountain of silk cushions is emerald trimmed with silver to coordinate with the lampshades dotted around the room.

I step inside. There are no wardrobes, no furniture at all other than the bed and nightstands complete with a stack of books in various genres.

“I’ve always wanted to have a bed in the middle of the room.” I turn around to face Caleb who is watching me with a curious expression on his face.

He comes in, crosses the room, and opens another door that I hadn’t even noticed since I’d been so excited about being able to walk all the way around the bed. “Dressing room.”

“No freaking way.”

I don’t even realize I said the words out loud until he laughs.

Abigail is already inside the dressing room, running her hand across racks of clothes and picking up shoes with heels that I’d break my neck in if I ever tried to walk in them. “Look at this bag, Auntie Vicky.” She spins around to show me a pink bag with BALENCIAGA printed across the front in bold black font.

“Abigail put the bag down.” I hold my breath, praying that her hands are clean. I can’t even begin to imagine how much that bag would cost, and I can’t afford to replace it.

“There are other bags if you don’t like that one,” Caleb says. “I think the clothes are your size.” His eyes roam my body, and goosebumps immediately pop on my skin.

“I…” I shake my head. “I brought my own clothes.”

“Victoria, I need you to look like Mrs. Caleb Murray.” The soft expression is gone; professional Caleb is back.

My heart is still racing at our forced proximity, but I remind myself that I need to keep a clear head. Sienna is right, I can’t afford to let him get under my skin.

I nod once, not trusting myself to speak.

“Abigail’s room is next door.” He keeps his green eyes on me, and I hate that I already know how difficult this is going to be.

“I’ve got my own room?” Abigail sets the bag back down on a polished shelf and runs after Caleb.

I find her in a room that’s almost as big as mine, spread eagled across a pink sleigh bed, surrounded by soft toys. An easel has been set up in one corner. There’s a huge flatscreen TV on one wall, a Barbie dollhouse as tall as Abigail, and a desk complete with a laptop and various other devices that I’m certain no child should be allowed in control of.

“Caleb, I…” Jeez, where do I even begin? “Who does this stuff belong to?”

Because it’s so ingrained in me that we don’t live like we just bought out FAO Schwarz, that I can’t bear to think of Abigail’s disappointment when we have to walk away from this life.

Caleb furrows his brow. “It belongs to Abigail.”

“You bought it for her? How?” He only met Abigail a few hours ago. Unless he’s lying to me, and he has a secret child somewhere.

A shudder travels down my spine. I don’t know anything about him, and yet I’ve introduced Abigail into a world that doesn’t exist in real life, at least not for people like us, and who knows the kind of trauma she’ll be left with when this is over.

“I don’t think that she should…” Deep breath. “The computer equipment…”

“Is child restricted.” Caleb arches an eyebrow as if offended that I think he’s clueless about children.

“What else can I see?” Abigail is standing between us, and I didn’t even hear her move.

“There’s a rooftop garden.” Caleb watches me carefully like he’s waiting for my reaction.

“You have trees on the roof?” Abigail wrinkles her nose. “How do they grow?”

“They grow in pots.” Caleb answers Abigail’s questions with more patience than I’d have given him credit for. “There’s a swimming pool on the roof, and a sundeck.”

“Can I go see?” Abigial turns to me. “Auntie Vicky, can we go swimming on the roof?”

“I’m sorry, sweetie, but I didn’t pack your bathing suit.”

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