Click, click, click.

He counted down how many steps were left until she rounded the corner.

Click, click, click.

His heartbeat accelerated, which caused him to ball his fists in frustration. Tonight was an obligation. They’d get in, say their hellos, and get the hell out. No different to how he normally approached social occasions.

Click, click, click.

It was like Nico was standing in a flat field in the middle of a lightning storm. He was seconds away from being shocked. All he could do was hold his breath and hope that the bolt of electricity missed—

“Hi.”

Zap! There was no avoiding it. The sight of Marianna in a knee-length dress, pale cream linen with small yellow flowers embroidered at the hem, had his entire body buzzing.

“Marianna.” He nodded stiffly.

She smoothed her hands over the full skirt as if checking to see whether her bump would show. It wouldn’t. There was barely anything to see, but she touched it constantly. The baby reassured her, he assumed. Or else she was reminding herself why she was here.

“You didn’t come to bed last night,” she said. “I’m starting to think you’re ghosting me.”

“I had to work late.”

She raised a brow. “And today?”

“I had to work early.”


Her expression was a mix of frustration and wariness. “You work very hard.”

“Thank you.”

That earned him an amused smirk. “Well, I guess I can’t fault you for that. But you don’t have to worry about waking me by coming to bed late. My brothers always said I’d sleep through the apocalypse.”

“I figured that out around 3 a.m.,” he said. “You snore like a chainsaw.”

“I do not!” She folded her arms across her chest. “And how would you know that if you never came to bed?”

“I came in to use the bathroom,” he lied.

She’d fallen asleep with the lamp on, a book open on her chest, and one arm flung over her eyes. She’d barely stirred as he’d removed the book and pulled the blanket up over her.

Of course, she hadn’t been snoring, but teasing her was too good an opportunity to pass up.

“Did you know three out of every ten women snore?” He managed to get the question out with a straight face. He had no idea if the stat was true, but that wasn’t the important bit.

“You’re teasing me.” Her lip twitched.

“Never.”

“I don’t mind. It’s a sign that you are actually human.”

Shots fired. “As opposed to what, cyborg?”

“I would have said gargoyle. You know, miserable. Stony.” She offered him a saccharine smile. “The word gargoyle actually derives from the French gargouille, meaning ‘throat’ or ‘gullet.’”

“Of course you have a fact for this conversation.” He shook his head.

“I have a fact for every conversation. Anyway, I thought you didn’t do parties,” she said, changing the topic. Her hands were knotted in front of her, and she tilted her head in a way that made her look like a curious puppy. Long, dark hair swished as she moved, like a band of silk.

He wondered whether he would ever get to feel the smooth lengths slip between his fingers again.

You won’t. Ever.

“I don’t,” he replied, heading to the door and holding it for her. “But my business partner seems to think you’re distracting everyone.”

“Me?” She frowned.

“Well, news of you. Our marriage has stirred up some gossip in the office, and Dion thinks the best way to deal with it is to take you to a party so everyone can see you’re not some story that’s been made up.”

“Ah. I see.” She walked past him, a small bag tucked under one arm and a trail of light perfume billowing behind her like clouds of orange blossoms. It reminded him of the trees that used to grow near the orphanage. His pulse quickened.

“It’s a waste of time.”

“Aren’t all parties? I’d much rather be at home with a glass of wine and a book.”

His driver was already waiting for them, holding the door for Marianna and offering her a genuine smile. In the short week she’d lived at his house, the staff had taken a shine to her. She spent most of her time in the garden, her nose in a book, but she always made time to stop and say hello to anyone who came near her.

Nico slid into the back of the town car and buckled himself in. Marianna’s skirt draped over her legs, and her feet were encased in a pair of gold sandals with a low heel. She looked like she’d stepped out of one of those old black-and-white movies he’d grown up watching. Reruns of Rear Window and Casablanca had been favorites of the sisters, and so he’d watched them all.

“Are we going to get our story straight this time?” she asked. “Or do you want me to tell everyone you knocked me up and that’s why we’re married?”

“We’re not telling people about the pregnancy yet.”

They needed to leave it another month or so, to make it plausible that she’d gotten pregnant after the wedding and not before. They could fudge the timelines when the baby was born, say that he or she arrived early. Nico was fiercely private, so him suddenly having a wife could be explained away by stories of a long-distance relationship and a low-key engagement.