“Good morning.” He grinned, sweeping me with his gaze. “Running late?”
I smoothed a hand over my hair and smiled back. “Wild morning. I hope it’s not a sign of what’s to come for the rest of the day.”
He tucked his hands in his trouser pockets and rocked back on his heels. “It seems like maybe you had a wild day yesterday too.”
I paused with my hand on the back of my chair. “Really? What do you mean?”
“You, with Luca Rossi. Amelia and Niddhi were talking about pictures of the two of you. Did the paparazzi really chase you?”
I rolled my eyes to deflect his interest. “That was nothing. We just happened to arrive at the same time. I feel sorry for actual celebrities. The press will twist the smallest thing to make it seem much bigger.”
Charlie eyed me with something a little less than belief. “I assumed it was something like that. There’s no way someone like you would actually be with someone like him.”
My spine stiffened. “What does that mean?” My question came out slightly sharper than intended, but I didn’t like the undertone of his question.
“No shade on you,” he amended, “but everyone knows what Luca Rossi gets up to.”
“How do you know?”
He jerked slightly at my whiplash question. “Well, I’ve seen the pictures, read the articles—”
“The pictures? We just finished talking about how the press makes things up. Maybe judge him by the content of his character, the type of boss he is, how he runs Rossi—not fictitious stories published for sensationalism.”
I tugged my chair out from under my desk. “I’m sorry, but I have a lot to do today. We can chat later.”
“Oh.” Charlie ran his fingers through his hair. “All right. I’m sorry if I offended you—”
I held my hand up. “No, it’s fine. I’ve had a weird morning. Sorry I snapped.”
He shot me a smile. “No worries, Saorise. Have a good day.”
I collapsed at my desk and groaned. I had a feeling this wasn’t the last I’d be hearing about those pictures.
I didn’t have to wait long. At the start of my lunch hour, Peter, the douchelord himself, texted me.
Peter: Ms. Smythe-Kelly has seen the pictures of you with Mr. Luca Rossi. She would like to add a meeting with you to her calendar within the week. We’ll need to allot an hour. Please let me know your schedule at your earliest convenience. Ms. Smythe-Kelly is waiting.
Peter was a thirty-five-year-old man who made a living kissing my mom’s ass. He also referred to my own mother as Ms. Smythe-Kelly when texting me, which was beyond strange. But that was him.
I did not want to talk to my mother for an hour about the pictures of Luca and me. I’d rather be shot from a cannon into a moat full of hungry sharks during my period than have that conversation.
If Luca and I were married, I could rope him into speaking to my mother. That would have to be a stipulation of our marriage contract. There was no way I would be springing the news on her by myself.
I emailed him my thoughts.
From: [email protected]
Luca,
I have a condition: you will be there when I tell my mom we’re married. Actually, now that I think about it, you’ll have to come to Wyoming with me when I drop the news to my dad and brother. They’re very big, and they won’t be pleased.
Are you rescinding your proposal?
Sincerely,
Your Inconvenient Maybe-Fiancée, Saoirse
When I got back from lunch, there was an email from Luca waiting for me.
From: [email protected]
Saoirse,
First condition agreed to. Mothers find me charming.
As for Wyoming, I look forward to it. We’ll take my bike.
Anything else I can do to make it easier to say yes?
Yours,
Luca
I already knew I was going to say yes.
It was crazy, but now that I’d had a few hours to process everything, Luca’s proposal wasn’t so outlandish.
A year or two wasn’t a long time in the grand scheme of things, and living in Luca’s penthouse wouldn’t exactly be painful.
Getting married had been off my radar for a long time, but now I’d get to have that experience under my belt without all the ties that came with it.
Above all that, when I searched my heart, I came back to Luca’s fatigued expression and his raw admission at buckling under the pressure of his new life. If I could ease some of it and some of my own pressure, it would be selfish not to.
But I had one more condition.
From: [email protected]
Luca,
There’s something else that’s more of a request than a demand.
I want a cat.
Are you opposed?
Sincerely,
Your Inconvenient Almost-Fiancée, Saoirse
His response came swiftly.
From: [email protected]
Saoirse,
I’m not opposed.
You can have a cat as long as it doesn’t shit on any of my furniture or destroy my belongings.
Yours,
Luca
My heart lodged in my throat. I’d wanted a cat since I was a child, but my mother had never wanted one, and when I’d later moved out on my own, I’d traveled too often to really consider adopting one. But I’d be settled here in Denver for a while.
I could have a cat. No, I was getting my cat.
I was smiling.
Luca and I were getting married.
Chapter Ten
Luca
It was my wedding day.
Strange to even think those words in my head.
In a few hours, I would have a wife. I’d be a husband. Fake or not, those would be our titles for the foreseeable future.
Though I didn’t dread entering into this agreement with Saoirse, I couldn't say I’d been looking forward to this day. There was something so inherently wrong with having to do this. But I felt like I’d been left with no choice.
The women Clara had sent me had been so out of line with the type I would be interested in it hadn’t been funny. Just reading their profiles had been unbearable. A lifetime with any of them would have been torture.
And I did view marriage as a lifetime contract, which was why I’d never pursued it. I had never felt ready for that step. The attraction of no commitments and living for moments of passion and excitement was still far too strong to give it up.
Until I’d been forced to.
Saoirse arrived at my condo an hour before our private ceremony was to begin. She stepped out of the elevator, her hand over her eyes.
“If you’re there, don’t look at me, Luca.”
I stared at her. “What are you doing?”
“You’re looking at me, aren’t you?”
“Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”
She stomped her foot, and I took note of her flip-flops. “It’s bad luck, obviously.”
“If this were real, I would agree, but we both know it’s not.” I eyed her feet again. Her toenails were painted like ballet slippers. “Are you wearing flip-flops for the ceremony?”
She held up her arm, which was draped with a garment bag. “I’m not. But if I were, I would expect you to bite your tongue like a good husband.”