Page 11 of Single Malt Drama

“My mother would be so ashamed of me.” I blurted out the first thing that popped in my head. I’d never known my mom, but now that I thought about it, I couldn’t imagine she would be proud if she could see what I’d become.

He pulled me close and kissed the top of my head. “I’d like to think that you wouldn’t be in this situation if she was around. Then again, my mother is pushing Enzo to go through with the wedding, so who knows.”

The sadness in his voice was contagious. Rather than allowing either of us to wallow, I decided to lighten the mood. Holding back a smile, I jerked away from him. “This is how you comfort me? Insulting my dead mother?”

Marco’s eyes widened. “No. I’m sure Vittoria was a saint.”

“Gotcha.” Laughing, I poked the ticklish spot on his side. I’d discovered it when we were in grade school and had used it to my advantage ever since.

He wrapped his arm around my neck and scrubbed his knuckles across my scalp.

“Owe! Hey! No nookies.”

Cracking up, Marco released me. “It’s noogies.”

“That is what I said.”

He shook his head slowly, and that sexy grin of his returned. “You said nooky, which is American for sex.”

“Minchia.” I swore under my breath. Of all the words to misuse. Even my tongue is thinking about Marco’s body.

He nudged my shoulder. “Seriously, though. What’s wrong? And don’t tell me you’re thinking about your mother. If you’re worried about driving sixteen hours, take the jet to New Orleans…or I could come with you.”

Sixteen hours? Is he kidding?My mouth went dry. “It’s better if I go alone.”

Marco sighed and pulled his phone out. After typing and scrolling silently, he turned the screen toward me. “Look. The jet is scheduled to be in New Orleans in a few days. There’s no sense in the pilot bringing it back to Sicily to turn around and fly back. Nor is there any reason for you not to be on it when it lands in Louisiana.”

I eyed the calendar. “How do I know you didn’t just type that in?”

“You don’t.” He dropped the phone in his pocket next to the fake passport. “Do what you want, but as long as you’re on my plane, I can protect you.”

The thought of my father’s men finding me caused my heart to race. “No. I can’t risk being spotted. I will drive.”

“This is ridiculous.” Frustration deepened his voice. “I understand you want to be independent, but you’re taking unnecessary risks.”

“I’ll be fine.” I forced a smile. “What is that American saying? ‘My lack of emergency is not your plan?’”

Laughing, Marco shook his head. “What am I going to do with you?”

“You’re going to put me on a plane in Comiso and forget about me.”

“Never going to happen, Piccolina. I couldn’t forget you if I wanted to.” He winked when he used my childhood nickname. “This situation is temporary. In fact, I have a solution that doesn’t involve you roaming the globe alone.”

I had the feeling I wouldn’t like his so-called solution. “Does it involve you coming with me?”

“Yes and no.” Marco cleared his throat. “Marry me.”

I laughed because what else could I possibly do? Cry? Yes, I could cry that this sweet, beautiful man asked such a thing. “You want me to marry you, so I won’t have to marry your brother?”

He dipped his chin. “I know you’re not in love with me or anything close. It wouldn’t have to be real.”

An overwhelming sense of disappointment tightened my throat. Rather than diving into the cause of my sudden emotions, I stuck with the facts. “If you mean we wouldn’t be married in a church, my father would claim it was illegitimate.”

“We can do it in a church in front of a priest. As far as the world was concerned, we would be man and wife…”

“But we wouldn’t be?” I swallowed back my unexpected emotions. This is Marco. He doesn’t actually want to marry me—or anyone else.

“Not unless we consummated the marriage.” He scrubbed his jaw. “We could play house until it’s safe to have it annulled. Platonic house.”

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