Page 72 of Convenient Mafia Vows

Too late for that, I think as I head back inside the restaurant.

After the Titan, Moira takes me shopping on Fifth Avenue, ignoring my protests that there are enough outfits in my dressing room in Caleb’s apartment to clothe me for an entire year.

“This is your wedding reception, Victoria.” We’re passing the Prada store as she says this. “You deserve to wear something special.”

I’ve never shopped on Fifth Avenue before. Sure, I’ve walked along here plenty of times, I’ve even window shopped, staring open-mouthed at ball gowns that cost more than I earn in a year, and diamond rings that would feed an entire country fora month. But I’ve never been here knowing that I could buy whatever I want.

It’s a giddy feeling. It’s like having an out-of-body experience and watching myself from above. Moira peers in windows, oblivious to the bodyguards trailing us at a discreet distance, then comes to an abrupt halt outside Vivaldi.

“What color are you thinking?”

“I-I haven’t thought about it.”

I follow her inside and wait while she speaks to the store assistant. It’s like a scene fromPretty Woman—my favorite scene—where Julia Roberts sits down, and the assistant brings her gown after gown to get her approval.

It feels surreal trying on outfits that feel expensive even without looking at the price tag. Maybe it’s my imagination, but the fabric is heavier, it lays differently against my skin, and when I peer at my reflection in the mirror, I barely recognize myself. I look like the kind of woman I would expect to see on Caleb Murray’s arm in a glossy magazine.

Moira studies each gown with a critical eye. When she eventually raises her eyes and smiles, I know we’ve found the right dress. It’s floor length, fitted, in soft wine-red fabric, with a plunging neckline offset by bold ombre petals on either side of my exposed flesh.

“This is the one.” Moira stands and circles me, examining the dress from every angle.” You look beautiful, Victoria.”

I undress in a daze and accept the bag containing my dress from the assistant with a polite thank you. After everything else that has happened, this is the most surreal, shopping on Fifth Avenuewith my fake mother-in-law for an outfit to wear to my fake wedding reception.

“I need a coffee,” I mutter to myself when we’re standing outside the store.

“Oh, I think we can do better than that.” Moira covers my hand with hers. “I know you probably dreamed of shopping for a white wedding gown with your mom, Victoria, but I just want to say thank you for letting me be a part of your experience.”

There are tears in her eyes, and for one wild crazy moment, I allow myself to believe that this is really happening.

20

CALEB

Lauren handsover two tickets to seeWickedat the Gershwin Theater on Broadway.

“Will she enjoy this show?”

Lauren’s eyes flit between me and the tickets in my hand, and her customary pursed lips soften into a smile. “She’ll love it. I’ve seen it five times.”

“You have?” I’ve never thought of Lauren’s life outside the Wraith, never even considered that she might be married or have a partner, kids even. How does she find the time?

“Mr. Murray.” After all these years, we’re still on formal terms. “I apologize for yesterday, for letting your … well, for allowing Mrs. Murray to interrupt the family meeting. It’s just that you said to bring family straight through and I didn’t… That is to say, I didn’t know if I should…”

“It’s fine, Lauren. Victoria is family now.”

Lauren closes the door to my office on her way out, and I stare at the tickets. If I’m being honest with myself, Victoria is more thanfamily. She’s everything that I ever imagined I wanted in a wife. Beautiful. Sexy. Affectionate. Feisty. I can’t help smiling when I think of her with Abigail. She’s everything that I would want the mother of my kids to be too.

Perhaps there’s a reason why she stumbled into the Wraith when she did. I don’t pay much attention to motivational quotes and all that ‘Trust the universe’ shit, but there has to be a reason why she was there when I needed her. I can’t even imagine asking anyone else to pretend to be my wife, and yet she has settled into the role as if it was always destined to be hers one way or another.

I hide the tickets inside the desk drawer and stare at a spreadsheet on my screen. The figures merge into one fuzzy gray mass in the background when I think about Victoria lying on the edge of the rooftop pool with her legs open. My cock grows inside my pants. I could ride the elevator up to the rooftop now and fuck her until she begs me to stop, and it still wouldn’t be enough.

I’m insatiable for her. Like a drug, the more I have of her, the more I want, and I don’t know what’s going to happen when this is all over.

I open the drawer again and check the start time for the show. 7 p.m. We’ve got a couple of hours to kill, and I’ll achieve nothing while my brain is occupied with the soft groans of Victoria reaching an orgasm on my tongue.

I stand, adjust my cock inside my pants, and tell Lauren to finish early for the day as I pass her desk on my way to the elevator.

“Early? But, Mr. Murray, what about?—”

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