Page 54 of My Fake Italian Marriage

That evening, while Luca was in the shower, Cleo called Moira. It had been days since she’d last checked in with her friend, and she felt guilty, especially since the main reason she was calling now was less out of concern for her friend and more to distract herself from imagining her “husband” naked in the shower.

“Stop it,” she muttered at the exact moment Moira answered the call.

“What?” Moira asked.

“Nothing! I was just thinking about … work.”

Moira sighed despairingly. “How did I land up with such sad, workaholic friends? You’re in one of the most beautiful places in the world on a Friday night. Why are you thinking about work? Go out and have some fun! You’re supposed to be having your wicked way with a sexy Italian, remember? What happened to that man you went to the wine show with? Sarah said he’s really hot.”

Thank heavens this was a voice call and Moira couldn’t see her blush. She’d sworn Sarah to secrecy, so Moira didn’t know about her pretend marriage or current living arrangements. “And what happened to you not wanting me to meet anyone so I wouldn’t leave like Sarah did?” she teased.

When Moira didn’t answer right away, her antenna went up. “Is something wrong?”

“Oh no, nothing. I thought I heard someone at the door.”

“Are you okay there on your own?” Guilt flared again. Moira appeared to be handling her prolonged absence just fine, but she wasn’t used to living alone, and the house must feel very big and empty with it all to herself.

“Of course I am.” Moira sounded reassuringly indignant. “In fact, I’ve been feeling inspired and painting a lot lately.”

That made Cleo feel marginally better, but Moira could completely lose herself when she was painting. She was likely to lose track of time and forget to eat. It was one of the reasons she and Sarah had insisted Moira move in with them after her divorce, so they could take care of the everyday stuff and leave her free to create, something her unsupportive ex-husband had certainly never done for her.

“You’ll let me know if you need anything, won’t you? I can always call Kevin again. He owes me big for all this extra time I’m spending here to fix this mess.”

“There’s really no need. I’m capable of looking after myself.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—” The sound of the doorbell echoed on the other end of the line. “Are you expecting someone?”

“That’ll be my date come to pick me up.” Moira sounded breathless now, almost schoolgirl-giddy, and more excited than Cleo had heard her in a long time. Was this mystery date the reason Moira was feeling so inspired to paint? And how well did she know him that she’d trusted him with their home address?

“Who is he? Where did you meet him?” Oh good lord, Cleo sounded just like her own mother!

“I can’t talk now. Gotta go.”

“Text me if you need an exit—” But Moira had already hung up. Cleo frowned at her phone. She should be there for her friend. What if the date didn’t go well? What if Moira needed a shoulder to cry on, or someone to gossip and eat ice cream with?

She texted her friend.

Text me if you need me to call with a fake emergency to get you out of there.

And text me when you get home, so I know you’re okay.

“Everything alright?”

She looked up to see Luca standing in the doorway, his hair still damp, shirtless, his unbelted jeans hanging low on his hips, low enough that she could appreciate the view of his oblique muscles tapering in a V beneath his waistband.

“You looked worried.”

She forced her gaze higher, warmed by the concern in his voice. Definitely, that sudden heat was caused by his concern, not at all because she was lusting for him. “I’m fine. My friend Moira is going out on a date, and she hasn’t had the greatest taste in men in the past.”

“And you have?” He said it with a smile, his eyes crinkling, which took the sting out of his words.

She shut her laptop and rose from the dining table where she’d been working. “I have excellent taste in men. I married you, didn’t I?”

He laughed. “If I remember correctly, I had to beg you to marry me.”

Her phone pinged with a text.

Don’t wait up. I hope to be too occupied later to think of texting!!

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