Chapter 11
Cece
Standing in front of Rafe's walk-in closet, I stared at my pathetic collection of clothes like they'd personally betrayed me.
The few dresses I'd hastily packed when Rafe had given me nine minutes to gather my life were laughably inadequate for dinner with Italian grandparents who, according to him, cared about appearances.
Fingers trembling, I pushed the hangers across the rack, each sad option was worse than the last. This was hopeless.
I needed backup, and there was only one person I could call who wouldn't judge me—at least not to my face.
Grabbing my phone, I pulled up Izzy number and hit dial. Three rings, four, then five. Just as I was about to hang up, her voice filled my ear.
“This better be important. I'm in the middle of hanging the Morrison exhibit, and you know how the old bastard gets if his landscapes aren't at the perfect viewing height.”
“I need help,” I blurted, my voice cracking embarrassingly. “Emergency fashion crisis.”
“Honey, your whole wardrobe is a crisis.” Her laugh softened the barb. “What's the occasion? Hot date with the husband you forgot to tell me you were marrying?”
I winced as guilt stabbed between my ribs. “I'm sorry about that. It's complicated.”
“Hmm, so I bet it is.” The sound of something dropping to the floor filtered through the line. “But seriously, what's the fashion emergency?”
“Dinner with Rafe's grandparents tonight.” I paced the span of the bedroom. “Apparently they're old-school Italian, and I have nothing appropriate to wear, and I can't show up looking like a trashy American who corrupted their golden grandson, and—”
“Breathe, Cece.” Izzy cut through my spiral with practiced ease. “Meet me at Bergdorf's in an hour. I'll rescue you from this tragic situation.”
The relief that washed over me was so intense it made my knees weak. “You're a lifesaver. I owe you.”
“Yes, you do. Starting with every juicy detail about how you ended up married to Rafael de Luca after claiming for months that he was, and I quote, 'an arrogant dinosaur with daddy issues.'”
“I'll tell you everything,” I groaned. “Just... help me not look like complete trash in front of his family.”
“Challenge accepted. One hour. Don't be late.” She hung up before I could thank her again.
Closing my eyes, I exhaled slowly. If anyone could help me pull this off, it was Izzy.
We'd clicked instantly the first time we met at one of those Sunday dinners at Kate and Tristan's—she was Kate's little sister with the sharp tongue and sharper eye for bullshit.
While Everlee and Kate had been busy cooing over table settings or pregnancy symptoms, Izzy and I had snuck out to the terrace with stolen wine and spent hours talking about everything from art to men to the crushing weight of expectation.
She'd become the friend I hadn't realized I desperately needed in this city—someone who didn't expect me to be anything other than exactly who I was.
Even when that person was a spectacular mess who'd secretly agreed to marry Rafael de Luca after he'd caught her dancing at a gentlemen's club.
Pushing the thought aside, I gathered my things and headed down to lobby. The town car Rafe had offered was waiting when I exited the building.
Settling into the leather seat, I told the driver where I needed to go before leaning back against the headrest. While Manhattan traffic as brutal as it always was, I tried to imagine what Rafe's grandparents would be like.
Were they as cold and calculating as him?
Or were they something else entirely—the source of the vulnerability I'd glimpsed in the music room last night?
My thoughts were interrupted as we pulled up to the store's entrance. Izzy stood on the sidewalk, looking impeccably put-together in high-waisted trousers and a silk blouse with her dark hair pulled into a sleek ponytail.
“Look at you, rolling up in a chauffeured car like Manhattan royalty,” she said, linking her arm through mine as we walked through the revolving doors. “Marriage seems to agree with you.”
“It's not what you think,” I muttered, squeezing her arm in silent thanks. “The car is just part of the arrangement.”
“Mmm, the mysterious arrangement.” She steered me toward the escalator. “We'll get to that. First, let's find you something that screams 'I'm sophisticated enough for your grandson but still hot enough to tire him out every night.'”
Izzy moved through the racks with the confidence of someone who belonged, pulling dresses and holding them against me with a critical eye. “So,” she began, examining a deep blue number before shaking her head and returning it to the rack. “Vegas wedding to a billionaire. Start talking.”
Sighing, I trailed a finger over the delicate fabric of a dress that probably cost more than my monthly rent. “It's a mutually beneficial arrangement. His parents were trying to force him into marriage with someone else, and I... needed a fresh start.”
“Bullshit.” Izzy didn't even look up from the rack she was browsing. “Try again.” She pulled out a sleek black dress with a plunging neckline. “I'm the person who held your hair back when you threw up after six tequila shots and cried about how your dance career was going nowhere.”
Guilt twisted in my stomach. “Izzy...”
“Look, I'm not judging.” She handed me the black dress and a red one with a slit up the thigh. “But I am concerned. One minute you're complaining about him at Sunday dinner, the next you're his wife.”
I opened my mouth to defend myself, then closed it.
What could I say? That Rafe had found me dancing at Vice and Virtue?
That he'd blackmailed me into marriage to keep my secret and save himself from an arranged marriage?
That I'd spent the last two nights building pillow walls between us in bed while fighting an inconvenient attraction that threatened to burn me alive?
“It's complicated,” I finally said, taking the dresses from her hands. “But I'm okay, I promise. This is better for both of us.”
She studied my face for a long moment, then her expression softened. “Fine, keep your secrets. But remember I'm here when you're ready to tell me the truth.”
Nodding, I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Let's try these on.”
The fitting room was a plush oasis, with soft lighting designed to flatter and a three-way mirror that left nowhere to hide. I peeled off my jeans and sweater, avoiding my reflection until I'd slipped the red dress over my head.
“Well?” Izzy called from outside the door. “Are you decent? Or at least covered enough that security won't throw us out?”
Opening the door, I smoothed the fabric over my hips. “What do you think?”
She tilted her head, tapping one finger against her chin. “Too Jessica Rabbit. You look hot, but it's screaming 'I'm sleeping with your grandson' rather than 'I'm a respectable addition to the family.'”
“We're not sleeping together,” I muttered, retreating back into the fitting room.
“Yet,” she called through the door. “Come on, Cece, the sexual tension between you two could power Manhattan during a blackout. Even before this whole marriage thing.”
I fumbled with the zipper as her words hit a little too close to home. “You're delusional.”
“Am I? Because I distinctly remember you watching him at Kate's birthday party last year. He wore that charcoal suit with the blue tie, and you couldn't take your eyes off him.”
“I was watching everyone,” I protested, wiggling into the black dress. “I'm a people-watcher. It's a thing.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
I emerged again, this time in the black dress.
It hugged every curve like it had been made for me, the neckline revealing just enough cleavage to be interesting without crossing into inappropriate territory.
The hemline hit just above my knees, and the fabric had enough structure to make me look polished while still showing off my figure.
Izzy whistled low. “Now that's more like it. Elegant but sexy. Traditional but not boring.” She circled me, adjusting the fabric at my waist. “If this doesn't make the Italian Stallion jump your bones, nothing will.”
Heat crawled up my neck as I turned back to the mirror.
The dress really was perfect. Simple enough to be timeless but with enough subtle detail to show I'd made an effort.
I looked like the kind of woman who belonged on Rafael de Luca's arm, not some desperate dancer he'd rescued from a seedy club.
“Since it's not a real marriage,” Izzy continued, her voice deceptively casual, “you wouldn't mind if I had a turn on the Italian Stallion, would you? Those dimples alone could make a girl consider doing very, very bad things.”
Every muscle in my body tensed, my jaw clenching so hard I heard my teeth grind.
In the mirror, I watched as my eyes narrowed and something primal and possessive flashed in them before I could control it.
The thought of Izzy—or anyone—touching Rafe made something dark and violent unfurl in my chest.
“What did you say?” I managed through gritted teeth.
Izzy's laughter echoed through the fitting room. “Holy shit, your face. Relax, I was kidding.” Squeezing my shoulders, she met my eyes in the mirror. “But that reaction tells me everything I need to know. You've had the hots for grandpa Rafe for longer than you'll ever admit.”
My cheeks flamed as I shrugged off her hands. “I'm not justifying that with an answer.”
“You don't have to.” She grinned, clearly delighted by my discomfort. “Your murderous glare said it all. Now, go change. That's definitely the dress.”
I retreated to the fitting room, my heart pounding with more than just embarrassment. That surge of jealousy had been unexpected and so very terrifying in its intensity. What was happening to me? This was supposed to be a business arrangement, not... whatever this was becoming.
After changing back into my regular clothes, I joined Izzy at the register. The saleswoman rang up the dress, and I handed over my credit card, holding my breath as she ran it through the machine.
Thankfully, the transaction went through without a hitch, and I exhaled slowly as I signed the receipt. Izzy watched the exchange with raised eyebrows but waited until we were outside to speak.
“Call me after dinner. I want to hear all about the grandparents.” She hugged me tightly before stepping back.
“I will. And thank you.” I gestured to the shopping bag. “For everything.”
She winked. “What are friends for? Go get 'em, tiger.”
The ride back to the penthouse passed in a blur, my mind too busy spinning with thoughts of dinner, Rafe's grandparents, and my own unsettling reaction to Izzy's joke.
Edward was waiting in the foyer when I returned, his posture as impeccable as always. But something in his expression made my steps falter. He held a single rose in one hand and a small envelope in the other.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. de Luca,” he said. “This was delivered to the front desk while you were out.”
My blood turned to ice. Not again. I forced myself to step forward, my fingers trembling as I took the items from him. The rose petals felt soft against my skin, almost innocent despite the dread they inspired.
“Thank you, Edward,” I managed, trying to keep my voice steady.
With shaking hands, I opened the envelope, pulling out a small card covered in the same flowing script as before.
You move like water in my dreams.
I watch you dance when others sleep.
Soon we'll be together, my dark angel.
Until then, I'll keep you close to my heart.
What was this? What in the actual hell was this?
“Miss Cecelia?” Edward's voice broke through my panic. “Are you all right? Perhaps Mr. de Luca should be informed—”
“No!” The word burst from me with desperate force. I grabbed his arm, the rose and note were still clutched in my other hand. “Please, Edward, don't tell Rafe.”
His eyebrows rose slightly, the only crack in his professional demeanor. “Miss Cecelia, these communications appear to be causing you distress. Mr. de Luca has resources that could help identify the sender and put a stop to them.”
“I know, but...” I swallowed hard, trying to organize my thoughts. “These letters are unwanted. It's not an affair, I swear. It's just... complicated.”
Edward's expression softened slightly. “All the more reason to inform Mr. de Luca.”
“We just reached a truce this morning,” I said, my voice breaking. “Things are finally...” I shook my head. “I can't risk ruining it with this. Please, Edward. I'll tell him myself when the time is right.”
He studied my face for a long moment, conflict evident in his eyes. Finally, he nodded once, almost reluctantly. “As you wish. But I cannot keep secrets from my employer indefinitely, Miss Cecelia. If these continue, or if they escalate in any way, I will be obligated to inform him.”
Relief washed over me so suddenly it almost hurt. “Thank you. I understand.”
I fled to the bedroom and the moment the door closed behind me, my composure cracked. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking. The silence pressed in heavy and suffocating, the kind that left too much room for thought. For fear. For the whisper of what if.
I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to steady my breathing, but all I could feel was the frantic hammering of my heart. I wanted to call Rafe. I wanted to tell him everything. But I didn’t want to risk our new-found truce.
And dinner with his grandparents was in less than two hours.
So I did what I always did.
I straightened my shoulders.
And pretended I wasn’t falling apart.