Page 19 of The Mafia's Fake Wife

Easy for her to say. I haven’t danced since my senior prom, and that was with a friend. He’d been my lab partner in biology and was a gangly guy, who was just as awkward as me, We’d both had two left feet and spent most of the night stepping on each other’s toes.

Anton leads me back to Damir, who stands near the orchestra. The music shifts, transitioning to something slow and romantic. The crowd parts, forming a circle around the dance floor.

“I should have warned you,” says Damir as he takes my hand. “This is expected.”

“A lot of things about today were unexpected,” I say.

His lips quirk, almost a smile. “Fair point.”

He leads me to the center of the floor, one hand on my waist, the other holding mine. The orchestra begins to play something classical that I vaguely recognize.

“I’m not much of a dancer.”

“Just follow my lead.”

And surprisingly, I do. Damir moves with the same confidence he does everything else, guiding me across the floor in smooth, measured steps. His hand is warm against my back, his body close enough that I catch the scent of his cologne. “You’re doing fine,” he murmurs.

I look up at him, really look at him for the first time today. He’s handsome in a severe way. His dark suit fits him perfectly, emphasizing broad shoulders and a trim waist. “Why all this?” I ask quietly. “The ceremony, the reception. Wouldn’t it have been easier to just sign the papers?”

“Appearances matter in my world. A courthouse wedding would raise questions, but this silences them.”

“It’s a lot of trouble for a fake marriage.”

His hand tightens slightly on my waist. “Is it fake? The certificate is real. The vows were real.”

“You know what I mean.”

He spins me gently, bringing me back against his chest. “Yes, I do, but others don’t need to know our arrangement.”

The music swells, and other couples join us on the floor. I spot Carletta dancing with a tall, distinguished man, watching us over his shoulder. “Everyone’s staring.”

“Let them.” Damir’s voice is low and intimate. “They’re curious about the woman who captured my attention.”

“Is that what I did?”

His gaze holds mine. “You know you did.”

Heat rises to my cheeks, and I look away. This is dangerous territory. I can’t forget this is a business arrangement and nothing more. The fact that my body responds to his proximity is irrelevant. Chemical and biological, but nothing to do with emotion.

The music ends, and I step back quickly, breaking contact. “Thank you for the dance.”

He inclines his head. “The pleasure was mine.”

I retreat to the edge of the dance floor, where Liv waits with a fresh glass of champagne. “That looked cozy,” she comments.

“It wasn’t.” I take a long sip. “It’s all for show, remember?”

“Mmhmm.” She doesn’t sound convinced. “Well, your fake husband sure knows how to throw a real party.”

I glance around the room, at the elegant decorations, the expensive food and drink, and the orchestra. “It’s not exactly how I pictured my wedding day.”

“No?” Liv bumps my shoulder gently. “What did little Elena dream of?”

“I don’t know. Something small but with a huge dress. Outdoors, maybe. With people who actually know and care about me, not a room full of strangers who look like they could order a hit on someone between appetizers.”

She snorts. “Fair point.”

“Dr. Clarke.” Anton appears at my side again. “Damir asked me to inform you the car is ready whenever you wish to leave.”

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