Azra
As I walk past the shopfronts of Carlisle, I steal glances at Matteo. His calm yet dangerous composure makes it seem like he’s not hurting. I know better. I see his pain in the tension of his jaw and how he constantly adjusts his stance.
He’s trying to hide how badly I hurt him, but every few steps, pain flashes across his ridiculously handsome face.
I didn’t mean to knee him that hard, or lose control like I did, but the second he put Antonio in the scenario, something inside me snapped.
Don’t give up on me yet. The idea of marrying a man I hate is weird, but it’ll all make sense once I get the chance to explain.
Now isn’t the time.
I thought we were wandering the streets of Carlisle to walk off the pain I inflicted. I didn’t question the motive behind Matteo’s suggestion.
I should have.
We’re standing in front of a bridal shop.
The bridal shop where I am supposed to have my last dress fitting.
I didn’t realize he was guiding me here. The storefronts didn’t register as familiar because every time I was summoned here, I was a bundle of nerves and anxiety.
Matteo led me here without a single stomach flip.
How?
He shouldn’t know about this appointment. I silenced my alarm during my erotic dream. I remember fumbling for my phone, half dreaming, half awake, to shut it off before it could distract him.
Matteo wasn’t present in the same space as me, so how does he know about today’s appointment?
My dream flashes through my mind, vivid and realistic.
Was it real?
Did he… Did we…
No, that’s not possible.
It was a dream. It had to be a dream.
But what if it wasn’t?
What if some of it bled from reality?
What if I said something out loud?
What if he heard me?
My heart stutters painfully.
I can’t demand that he tell me the truth.
I can’t even look at him.
We’re in front of a building that brings me one step away from achieving a goal I set four years ago. Despite the desires of my heart, I can’t give up so close to the finish line. Can I?
The glass storefront gleams in the sunlight, wordlessly daring me to walk inside. I should go get this over with, but Matteo has suffered enough today. I hurt him, so common courtesy dictates that I shouldn’t drag him through this.
He can hide behind his bad-boy persona all he likes, but pushing him to face this challenge with me will hurt him more than it will heal him.
I can’t do that.
I can’t purposely hurt him.
So I lie.
“They, uh… changed my appointment at the last minute.” I force a shrug. “The dress fitter called in sick.”
Matteo’s arched brow announces he knows I’m a big fat liar—which I am—but he doesn’t call me out. He nods once, going along with my ruse.
“The timing couldn’t be more perfect.”
“What do you mean?”
He nudges his head toward the bakery across the street. “If you’re not getting fitted today, you can splurge on a handful of calories.”
Before I can protest, he curls his hand around mine and steps off the curb—straight into traffic. Burning rubber filters into the air as cars instantly halt.
We’re not on a crosswalk, and the traffic lights didn’t change in our favor. Traffic only stops because no one in their right mind would challenge a man as dangerous and unhinged as Matteo Caruso.
I shouldn’t love that he has the power to stop traffic, but I do.
It once again reminds me that I was foolish for ever believing I had to face this ruse alone.
The smell of sugar and butter streams into my nose when Matteo pulls open the bakery door. My stomach growls embarrassingly loud. Brunch was plentiful, but I burned a ton of calories faking that I hated being fused to Matteo’s crotch.
“What do you want?” he asks, scanning the display cabinets.
I stare at all the delicious treats on display, overwhelmed.
It’s been years since I’ve had sugar like this.
I thought Don Adami denied my many requests to meet because he had no interest in giving his eldest child’s hand to someone outside the Cosa Nostra again.
It didn’t occur to me that I had to get rid of a significant amount of baby fat before I could initiate my scheme.
A calorie deficit and I became close friends before Don Adami welcomed a one-on-one meeting.
I thought our friendship would wane once I arrived in Sicily, but it didn’t fade, solely because I was tied to a man who happily told me what I could and couldn’t eat.
Antonio’s diet plan is more on the cusp of starvation than healthy.
Pig.
“Azra?” Matteo murmurs, reminding me that he asked a question.
Everything looks too good and sweet, so I forget that I’ve been feeding myself for years.
“Surprise me.”
He studies me for a moment, nods, then walks to the register, where a staff member stares at him with ogling eyes.
Fighting not to display the jealous twit I unleashed at the gym, I sit at a small table by the window and try not to think about the bridal shop across the street and how Matteo used my dislike of Antonio like he knows my game plan.
I’d give anything to be honest with him, but that could change the outcome of the game entirely.
When Matteo joins me at the table, carrying only one plate, I frown. He must have realized my belly jiggle earlier was too voluptuous.
He sets down the plate in front of me, revealing I still have much to learn about this man.
“Where’s yours?”
Remaining quiet, he pulls a candle out of his pocket and jabs it into a rich chocolate cake. When he lights it, I drink in the flickering flame, lost.
“It’s not my birthday.” I love how thoughtful he is, but I can’t keep lying to him.
“Not for another eight weeks,” Matteo agrees, shocking me. My birthday is in our contract, but I didn’t realize he’d paid attention to the minor details.
“Then why?”
“It’s for Hattie.”
My lungs hunt for air, and tears sting my eyes.
Hattie was my best friend. Today would have been her twenty-third birthday.
I didn’t tell him that, though. Did I?
Too stunned to speak, I wipe at a tear rolling down my cheek.
Mindful that he won’t get much out of me when I’m a blubbering idiot, Matteo slides into the seat across from me. “You didn’t give me all the details. But when you told me you hadn’t drunk alcohol before, you said it was your best friend’s birthday tomorrow, so you’d have a drink for her.”
My pulse thrums in my ears.
He remembered that? From a throwaway comment? From a night I barely remember?
He murmurs, almost to himself, “You had more like ten… but who’s counting?”
Although grateful that his playful comment rids the air of tension, I still kick him under the table.
He grunts, rubbing his shin. “You’re violent today.”
“Don’t act like you don’t like it.”
He winks at me the same way he did earlier when jealousy overwhelmed me. Then he tells me to blow out the candle and make a wish.
Leaning forward, I blow out the candle, close my eyes, tilt my chin toward heaven, and send my best friend a birthday message.
“Happy birthday, Hattie. I promise I won’t stop fighting until everyone knows the truth.”
When I open my eyes, Matteo’s eyes float over my face. His gaze isn’t brimming with pity or curiosity. It’s filled with something softer. Something dangerous.
Something I can’t afford to feel after the promise I just made.