Page 26 of My Pucking Enemy
As far as secrets go, it’s not a very good one.
“That’s it?” I ask, tucking my trembling hands under my arms, staring up at him andhatinghow fucking handsome he has to look right now. Of course, the man is impeccably groomed. And he smells like fresh cotton. And he’s staring down at me like I’m a pop quiz question heknowshe remembers the answer to. “A loveless marriage? You’re a heterosexual man, Luca. Is that supposed to surprise me?”
Maybe it’s stupid, but more than the fact that he had me followed, I’m upset withmyself. How in the world did I not catch that I was being watched?
Dad and I used to make a game of pointing out private investigators. Cops. Undercover agents who really thought they were doing something, trying to pull it over on us. We were always one step ahead of them.
I got used to checking my blind spots, always being aware of the other cars on the street. Picking out the unmarked vehicles and the shifting, suspicious eyes every time. We’d laugh with each other when they’d eventually leave, frustrated that we hadn’t done a single incriminating thing.
Laughing with my dad is something I miss from that life, even as I know I’m not supposed to miss a single thing. Even as I know I’m supposed to ignore his calls without even a twinge of remorse, I justcan’t. This morning, he called me three times from different numbers while I was standing in line, waiting for Luca’s flat white.
My mind flashes back to the coffee shop, and I try to figure out if I was aware of my surroundings, or if I was so caught up in the idea of getting Luca a coffee, of seeing him this morning, that I forgot myself.
An entire childhood dedicated to a certain way of living, and what? Some hockey player hires a half-wit detective from fuckingMilwaukeeof all places, and suddenly I’m a doe-eyed, oblivious idiot?
I know part of the voice running through my head is my father, taunting me, scaring me with the fact that I might lose my edge.That if this whole “civilian” life thing doesn’t work out, I’ll never be able to fall back on what I know.
And still, even knowing it’s his voice in my head, I can’t stop it from running rampant, adding to the hurt and betrayal flooding my brain.
But betrayal forwhat? Luca played the game better than me. How can I be frustrated with him for being better, more strategic?
Yet even as I’m thinking that he’s won, the look on his face tells me that he thinks he’s losing.
Luca shakes his head, clearly frustrated, runs a hand impatiently through his hair. His cheeks are red, his eyes dark, and he looms tall enough over me that he blocks the rising sun from my eyes. Around us, dead, leafless bushes rustle in the breeze, and when I shiver, he steps close to me, like his radiant heat might be enough to save me from the biting November wind.
“No,” he grits out, looking pained. “That’s not it. Mandy and me, we were never in love. Our marriage was contractual.”
I almost laugh, “Luca,allmarriages are contractual, that’s literally—”
“No,” he steps forward earnestly, like I’m still not getting it. When he looks down at me, his eyes dart over my face like he’s looking for any hope there. I try not to show him any.
“Mandy and I met online, when I was just graduating from college. I knew that I was going to want a family, want kids someday, but I didn’t have time for dating. For…romance, and everything that comes with it. So, I looked for a woman who might be interested in a mutually beneficial relationship.”
I blink at him. “An arranged marriage? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Yes.” He winces when he says it, glances around again, like he’s nervous Callum or his sister might be lurking in the bushes. “I knew that my career was going to blow up, and I didn’t want to deal with people who might just want to marry me because of that. I didn’t want a wife who was looking for a hockey player husband. I just wanted someone dependable, smart, and interested in having kids with me.”
“…and Mandy was?”
“Yes,” Luca sighs, shaking his head, and there’s something like genuine heartbreak on his face. Even if he was never in love with her, he was looking forward to building a life with her. Or building that life, period. “At least, that’s what she said in the beginning. She said she was okay with having an agreement like that.”
I bark out a laugh. “And it’s shocking to you that she decided she was actuallynotokay with a husband who didn’t love her? Living the rest of her life with a partner like a business arrangement?”
He sucks in a breath, then, as though something is occurring to him for the first time, he steps even closer to me, so I have to crane my head back to look at him.
“That’s my secret,” he says, staring me down, and I’m astounded at the way his eyes shape shift between colors. Sometimes cinnamon, sometimes caramel. It all has to do with the light, with the expression on his face. “Pleasedon’t tell Sloane.”
“Tell her what? That you’re getting a divorce, or that you tried to hire a wife?”
He winces again, choking out, “Either.”
Despite it all—despite the fact that heliterallyhad me followed—I can’t help but feel sorry for him. Feel some sense of pity for the guy who just wanted simple and ended up with a divorce instead.
It might be kind of unhinged, but I can relate to that. My entire life has been unhinged.
“So?” he asks, his voice rough, and I realize he’s close enough to me that I can basically feel the vibration of his chest as he speaks. I take a step back.
“So, what?” I ask, fingers working over the edge of the manila envelope still tucked under my arm.
