Chapter 22
LENI
“There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you,” I say as I slip into the back of the Maybach next to Romero, my heart already hammering.
This is the first time I’m seeing him since the kiss in this very backseat two nights ago—and that phone call the following morning that left me completely twisted up inside.
I’ve replayed both moments a thousand times, dissected every second until my brain felt like it might explode.
Even when the girls blew up our group chat with their endless chatter, I could only focus for maybe five minutes before spiraling right back to him.
To us. To whatever the hell this thing between us actually is.
So to cut the awkwardness, here’s my brilliant plan: dive straight in and tell him about the bachelorette party.
Avoid talking about what happened in this car…
and the phone call. Better to pretend it was all a fluke.
Water under the bridge. He probably didn’t mean either of those two moments the way I’ve been thinking.
He’s a man. Men do this stuff all the time without it meaning anything earth-shattering.
Right?
Romero glances up from his phone, and I inhale sharply at finally having those striking green eyes pointed my way. God, I’ve missed him. It’s crazy, but I really have. “What is it?” His brow arches when I just sit there like a mute idiot, drinking in the sight of him.
I clear my throat, forcing my brain to function. “The girls—Elira, Gia, and Emily—they added me to a group chat,” I start. The words feel clumsy on my tongue. Now that I’m actually saying this out loud, I’m not sure how he’s going to react. He tilts his head, silently prompting me to continue.
“Well, you know how they asked me about the wedding before? Somehow the conversation moved to bachelorette parties, and they were absolutely appalled at the idea of me not having one.”
“Well, it is what it is.” He shrugs. “There’s no reason to have a bachelorette party. I’m not having a bachelor party.”
I lick my lips nervously. Here goes nothing. “Maybe you should look into getting one… because they’re already planning one for me.”
“What?”
“Apparently, none of them got to do that for their weddings, and they’re insisting I must have one.
You know—‘we only get married once’, and all that.
They think this is a love match, like theirs.
” I try a small smile as I point out why I couldn’t just tell them an outright no.
“And honestly… I’m kind of excited about it. They’re really cool women.”
His gaze hardens to flint. “No.”
My mouth falls open. “No?”
“Those parties can get wild. Why weren’t you in the holding cell that night at the police station like everyone else?” He doesn’t wait for me to respond. “A bachelorette party. The answer is no.”
Okay, he has a good point—but still. I lift my chin, giving him my best defiant stare. “Well, I’d love to see you tell Elira, Gianna, and Emilia no. I tried, but it was like I wasn’t even speaking.”
Not that I tried all that hard. Fake wedding or not, they’ve got me genuinely hyped up for this party with the way they’ve been talking about it in the group chat. It sounds like they’ve got something really good up their sleeves.
“Goddamn it,” he mutters under his breath, and I turn to face the window to hide my triumphant smile.
The smile lingers until we arrive at the venue where our wedding planner is waiting. She meets us in the middle of the small event hall, practically glowing with enthusiasm.
“Hi! It’s so nice to finally meet you two in person. I’m Marcy, your wedding coordinator.” She’s wearing a cheerful summer dress, a pink bag slung across her shoulder, and an iPad clutched to her chest.
“Nice to meet you, Marcy.” I shake her hand, surprised by how warm and genuine she feels.
“You two are fast becoming my favorite couple to work with.” She beams at us.
“I know you gave me free rein for everything, but I hope you like the concept I’ve come up with.
Can you believe it? Only a few days away!
” She glances back at us as she leads us towards the back of the hall to a cozy office, her brows knitting slightly as she takes in the obvious space between Romero and me.
Shit. We’re supposed to be madly in love.
“Crazy, isn’t it?” I let out an awkward chuckle, quickly closing the gap between us and lacing my fingers through his. His hand twitches at the contact, and his gaze immediately drops to my face. But he doesn’t pull away.
Instead, he turns a charming smile towards Marcy. “Time flies when you’re in love,” he says smoothly, sending my pulse racing when he brushes his thumbs over my knuckles in the most casual, intimate gesture.
Marcy grins, shoulders relaxing as we walk into her office. “That is so true.” Rather than heading for the neat desk in the corner, she flops into a cushy armchair and waves us towards the sofa across from her. “Okay, let’s get you two up to speed about what I’ve accomplished.”
She waits for us to sit down, but I can feel her watching us like a hawk, cataloguing every interaction, so I practically melt into Romero’s side.
He wraps an arm around my shoulders without hesitation, and I place my palm against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath my fingers.
This is dangerous. The thought flickers through my mind as his warmth seeps into me, his scent invading my senses. This feels too real. I try to pay attention to Marcy as she starts talking, but it’s like trying to focus while standing next to a bonfire.
“The cake has been selected, and I’m going for the tasting tomorrow. You didn’t have a preference, so I went with the classic vanilla flavor.” She taps away on her iPad, then leans over so I can see her screen showing a beautiful three-tier wedding cake design.
“Lovely,” I murmur, and I actually mean it. The cake is gorgeous.
She grins at me. “The catering walk-through is on Tuesday. And we’ve secured the string quartet for the ceremony. They're going to do that instrumental version of your song.”
“Our song,” I echo, glancing at Romero. He picked a song? What song?
“You sure you still want that one?” He looks down at me as if we’ve discussed this a dozen times. “We could change it.”
“No, don’t,” Marcy interjects. “‘Can’t Help Falling in Love’ is a perfect entrance song. Very romantic… it gives me chills every time.” She flashes me a knowing smile, but I can only stare at Romero in complete shock, my heart thudding erratically.
He remembered. I only mentioned it once, during dinner the night he proposed. Just a throwaway comment about how it was my favorite song, and he remembered.
“No, we’re keeping it,” I finally manage to say, glancing at Marcy. “It’s exactly what I want.”
She presses her hands to her chest with a dreamy sigh. “Ugh, stop—you two are making me believe in fairytales again.”
My throat closes up as the weight of our lie sinks into me. If only she knew the truth.
That this beautiful, romantic wedding she’s planning is built on a complete fabrication. That I’m a fraud sitting here pretending to be head-over-heels in love…
But he remembered my favorite song. That has to mean something, right? You don’t remember random details about someone you’re just doing business with. You don’t choose their favorite song for your fake wedding unless…
Unless what? Unless he actually cares?
Don’t be ridiculous, I tell myself firmly. This isn’t real. None of this is real.
The rest of the meeting passes in a blur of seating charts, lighting cues, floral arrangements, vows, and the first dance. When Marcy asks if we’ve started practicing yet, my eyes almost bulge out of my skull.
“Not yet,” Romero answers, leaning in to brush a kiss to my temple. His lips are so warm and soft that, despite my heart trying to escape my chest, I can’t help soaking up the touch like I’ll never get another chance.
This isn’t real, I repeat more fiercely in my head.
“We probably won’t practice,” he continues. “We want it to feel natural.”
Marcy all but swoons, eating up every word. “Of course! That’s so much more romantic than choreographed routines.”
Once she’s satisfied we’ve covered every important detail, she gives us a tour of the place: the bridal and groom suites, the kitchens, the restrooms. She saves the ballroom for last, waving a hand across the spacious room where the ceremony will take place.
“You can’t see it now because it’s still empty, but it’s going to be absolutely magical,” she boasts with a proud beam. After seeing her vision on her iPad, I believe her.
By the time we’re back in the car, I’m both exhausted and starving. The sun has long since set, and my stomach is growling loudly enough to wake the dead. Romero leans forward and tells his driver to take us to a nearby restaurant.
“You did good there,” he says as we pull away. His tone is impossible to read, but there’s a glint in his eyes that makes my pulse trip over itself.
“I didn’t lay it on too thick?” I tease, and his lips quirk up, his gaze roaming across my face. The air between us suddenly thickens, thrumming with tension that makes it hard to breathe, and I quickly look away from him, choosing to stare out the window instead.
Romero doesn’t answer. He doesn’t say another word for the rest of the ride, and dinner is equally silent. I dig into my meal, barely slowing down, but every few bites I catch him watching me before he goes back to his own plate.
It isn’t until we’re back in the car, heading home, that he finally breaks it. “You might not see much of me the next few days. I have a lot to wrap up before the wedding and the honeymoon.”
“Honeymoon?” The word comes out as a squeak. “I didn’t realize we’d go on one.”
“Real couples always go on honeymoons, even if it's just for a couple of days,” he replies matter-of-factly. “And we’re pretending to be a real couple who’s madly in love, remember?”
My heart thuds at the thought of a few days alone with him in a hotel room, forced to play newlyweds. What will we even do?
When my core clenches involuntarily, I have to bite back a whimper. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about what could happen. Don’t think about his hands on your skin or his mouth on yours or—
Stop.
I push the dirty thoughts out of my head and face forward, staring straight ahead until we reach home.
The next couple of days fly by quickly, and before I know it, it’s Thursday—the day of the bachelorette party.
I’m standing outside the front door, twiddling my thumbs, Romero beside me, radiating tension like a live wire. He’s been on the phone for the past twenty minutes, speaking to what sounds like half the city.
“Are you sure you don’t know where they’re going?” The aggravation in his voice is palpable.
He’s talking to Maximo now, trying to fish out information on where the girls are taking me. Safe to say, he doesn’t like surprises, and he’s clearly frustrated that he’s being kept in the dark about this whole thing.
The girls have been completely secretive about their plans, making sure not to mention anything about what we’re doing in the group chat. They definitely have another group where they coordinate.
All I got was a cryptic message last night: Get ready to leave home by 10 am. Wait for us outside. We’re picking you up.
That’s it. No other details.
So mysterious. So terrifying.
Romero mutters something in Italian that sounds particularly creative, and I don’t need to understand the language to know it’s a curse word. He hangs up and immediately starts dialing another number.
That’s when we hear it—music.
A sleek black limo appears in the road ahead, the sound blasting from inside. It’s so loud I can feel it in my chest, and I have to bite back a laugh at the expression on Romero’s face. His jaw goes tight, but before he can say whatever he’s thinking, I place a hand on his arm.
“Don’t. I think you’ll have better luck asking Rafael where we’re going.” I doubt that control freak would let his wife out of his sight for two days without knowing exactly where she would be. That’s right—this bachelorette party is for two whole days.
He gives me a curt nod, and any chance at conversation dies the moment the limo stops right in front of the house and the door opens.
The girls spill out, and I burst into laughter at their outfits.
They’re all wearing matching black silk robes with the word ‘bridesmaids’ emblazoned across the back in glittering letters.
Yup, they’ve officially appointed themselves as my bridesmaids. I can’t even.
I glance up at Romero, but he doesn’t look amused at all. If anything, he looks like he’s about to drag me back inside the house. I poke his arm lightly, and his gaze softens a fraction, though he still doesn’t crack a smile.
“Come on, Leni! We don’t have all day,” Gia calls, waving me over. “We need to leave the country before Michael changes his mind about letting me out of his sight.”
“Leave the country?” Romero latches onto those words just as Elira’s elbow kisses Gia’s ribs.
“Oops.” Gia covers her mouth, but it’s too late.
“It’s nothing for you to worry about,” Emily says matter-of-factly as she jogs up the steps to grab my arm. “Say goodbye to your pretty boy, Leni. You won’t be seeing him for a while.”
Still chuckling, I lean up to kiss a stunned Romero’s cheek, breathing in his intoxicating scent one more time before I’m being dragged away into whatever adventure the girls have planned.