Chapter 21 Marco
MARCO
Valentina was a spoiled brat. Five-foot-two of pure chaos wrapped up by a smart mouth with enough attitude to grind my teeth into dust.
Gratitude? Forget it. The woman couldn’t manage a thank you if it were tattooed on the back of her hand. Hell, I was pretty sure she’d choke on the words before letting them slip out.
And self-preservation? Clearly not her strong suit. If she had any sense of it, she wouldn’t keep testing me, wouldn’t stare me down with that damn challenging look of hers, daring me to react. Like I was some sort of harmless house pet rather than a man barely holding onto his patience.
Spoiled. Ungrateful. Reckless. Pick a word—she checked every box.
But the worst part was that damn silky white dress she had on. Hair done, makeup perfect, looking like she’d actually tried. Like she'd stood in front of the mirror, checked herself from every angle, and put real effort into looking good for someone else. For Jonathan. Jonathan, for God’s sake.
It shouldn’t matter to me. I shouldn't care how she’d dressed for him, nor how much effort she’d wasted on someone who didn’t deserve it. It was none of my business.
Still, it bothered me. More than it should.
So did the smell of vodka on her lips. My foster mother had smelled exactly like that: vodka mixed with the peppermint gum she thought hid everything. She wasn’t a bad person. Not intentionally. But she was a bad mother.
I remembered nights waiting for her to come home from the bar, alone and small, watching headlights pass over the living room wall and wondering if any of them belonged to her.
Sometimes she’d stumble in laughing softly at nothing and then collapse onto the couch.
Other times she'd drift past me like I wasn't even there, murmuring nonsense about her own messed-up childhood, until she fell asleep holding an empty glass.
Valentina’s breath smelled exactly like those lonely nights.
Like confusion, like waiting, like being eight years old and feeling invisible.
The memory irritated me more than it should, made me feel small again.
Powerless. Like no matter what I did, I'd always be that forgotten boy on that worn-out couch, hoping someone—anyone—would finally see me.
“This is the last of it,” Max said, sliding the papers forward. “Once you sign, the money gets released, and we all get to move on with our lives.”
Thank God. The quicker this was done, the quicker I could get some peace. No more babysitting, no more damage control, and definitely no more impulsive late-night rescues for a woman who barely managed an ounce of appreciation.
But then she paused, pen hovering. For once in her life, Valentina was actually hesitating.
I glanced up, following her gaze—not aimed at Max, but straight at me. Great. Of course. Now she’d decided she wanted my input.
“What does all this actually say?” she asked slowly, suspicion bleeding through her voice as she looked between us.
Max blinked impatiently. “It says ‘sign it.’”
I leaned back in my chair, watching her closely. Of course she was dragging this out. God forbid she ever do anything simple. Had to make it difficult. Had to push every damn boundary just to prove a point.
Max was out of patience. “Valentina.”
She ignored him—naturally. Instead she turned straight to me, eyebrows lifted in challenge. “You’re a lawyer. What am I actually agreeing to?”
I rubbed my jaw slowly. This was a test, obviously. I knew it. She knew it. Hell, even Max knew it. The easy option was right there: tell her to just sign the damn paper and move on. But since when had I chosen the easy route where Valentina was involved?
Never—that’s when.
I leaned forward, pulling the first page toward me.
I flipped to the second page and tapped the relevant line with my finger.
“This one’s an asset release form,” I said, explaining everything to her.
“It means, after today, Max can’t hold your inheritance over your head anymore.
” I paused, letting my gaze flick briefly to Max before adding, “Not legally anyway.”
Max shot me a flat look, clearly unimpressed. Too bad. If he wanted a lawyer who didn’t point out loopholes, he should’ve hired someone less thorough.
Valentina nodded slowly and pointed to the next page. “And this?”
I sighed internally, flipping to the section in question. Was she really going to make me do this page by page? Of course she was. Because God forbid Valentina make my life easy for five minutes.
“It’s an agreement stating that if you divorce before the required term, you forfeit the remainder of your assets.”
She frowned, scanning the text. “And what exactly is ‘the required term’?”
“Two years,” I said, leaning back again. “Max originally wanted five.”
Her gaze snapped up to Max.
He just shrugged. “Couldn’t let you run the second you got your check.”
She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. Instead she tapped another line, moving on to the next as if she had all the time in the world. At this rate, she probably did.
And that was exactly how it went. Page after page, question after question, each one pushing my patience further to its limit. But still, I answered every single one. Apparently, I didn’t know how to quit either.
At least one of us was consistent.
Max groaned dramatically, clearly at his limit. “Sign the fucking paper before I change my mind and make it five years.”
Valentina smirked as she picked up the pen and signed.
One last swipe of ink.
One last binding decision.
She set the pen down, and before the ink had even dried, Max reached forward to take the papers, flipping through them quickly to double-check everything.
“See?” he said, leaning back, satisfied. “That wasn’t so hard.”
Valentina glanced over at me, raising an eyebrow. “So that’s it?”
“That’s it,” I confirmed.
Max lifted his glass, grinning. “Congratulations. You’re officially married to the only person in this room more emotionally unavailable than you.”
I ignored that completely. If Max wanted to get a rise out of me, he’d have to try harder than that.
I was done here. No reason left to sit through Max’s twisted sense of humor or Valentina’s endless interrogation. I stood and slid the signed papers across the desk, fully prepared to walk out and finally put some space between me and whatever this mess was.
At least that was what I tried to do.
Then Max spoke again. “So whose place will you two be staying at?”
I froze mid-step, a muscle twitching in my jaw, and turned just enough to glare at him, my fingers flexing at my sides as I processed whatever fresh hell had just fallen out of Max’s mouth.
What?
Valentina—still seated for once, which was practically a miracle—went completely still. For the first time since I’d met her, she didn’t immediately fire back some sarcastic retort. That alone told me neither one of us had seen this coming.
Max, on the other hand, was perfectly relaxed, sipping his drink like he hadn’t just flipped this entire agreement on its head.
I narrowed my eyes. “That wasn’t part of the agreement.”
He set his glass down slowly. “Yeah, that was before Jacob told me he saw Valentina with Sebastian. He also said you knew something about that.”
My jaw tightened. Shit.
The way Max phrased it wasn’t a question. He already knew. Or at least he knew enough to make this uncomfortable.
“You got proof?” I asked flatly, meeting his gaze head-on even though we both knew the answer.
There wouldn’t be proof. No—because I’d spent hundreds on the damn photo Jacob had taken of her with Sebastian.
Worst thing I’d ever spent my money on. And now?
Now that stupid decision had put me in a position I didn’t want to be in.
“Do I really need it?” he asked. “Suspicion is enough.”
“This is ridiculous,” Valentina scoffed, beyond irritated with Max’s games. I was too. “So what, now I can’t even be seen in public without getting interrogated?”
Max gave her a flat look. “No. You just can’t be seen in public with the one man who has the power to ruin this entire deal.”
Her jaw tightened the way it did every time someone told her something she didn’t want to hear. But, surprisingly, she didn’t fight it. Probably because she knew he was right.
Though that didn’t change the fact Max had completely changed our terms without warning. This wasn’t what we’d agreed on. Hell, this wasn’t even close.
“The deal was marriage,” I argued, irritation building in my chest. “Not playing house.”
“You want people to believe this is real, don’t you?”
“They will.”
He arched a brow, clearly unconvinced. “Will they? I’m not an idiot. The Callahans are already watching. Sebastian’s been sniffing around, trying to figure out what’s going on. You really think they won’t notice if you two keep living separately?”
I ground my molars. Of course Max knew what he was doing.
This had nothing to do with appearances or credibility—it was about control.
Control of Valentina, control of me, control of every damn variable he thought might spin out of his grasp.
He didn’t trust Valentina to keep her mouth shut.
Didn’t trust her to behave. And he sure as hell didn’t trust me—not anymore.
He was right about Sebastian though. The guy was annoyingly persistent, like a fly that refused to die, constantly hovering, waiting for Valentina to screw up again so he could swoop in. And, let’s face it, her ability to screw things up was pretty impressive.
But still, living together? That was a disaster waiting to happen.
“Let them think what they want,” I muttered, hoping to God it sounded more convincing to Max than it did to me. “You and I both know this isn’t about making anything look real.”
“Isn’t it?”
Valentina was staring at me again, eyebrows raised, eyes silently demanding I do something.
Maybe I should’ve fought harder. Maybe I would’ve, if my head were on straight. But lately, every thought I had was tangled up in Valentina’s reckless decisions and her smart-ass mouth, making rational thinking nearly impossible.
“So, what?” Valentina finally spoke up. “Am I supposed to be on house arrest or something?”
God, she really had no idea when to stop talking. Or maybe she did and she just didn’t care. Either way, we were both about to find out how deep Max’s patience ran—and judging by the look on his face, we’d already pushed him right to the edge.
“You’re supposed to be smart,” I muttered, letting every ounce of irritation bleed into my voice.
Her eyes flashed to me, anger sparking instantly. Good. I wanted her angry. Hell, angry Valentina was easier to manage than impulsive Valentina. At least when she was furious at me, she wasn’t off chasing trouble—especially not the kind named Sebastian Callahan.
Max stayed quiet. He didn’t need to say anything else. His point was made.
Valentina couldn’t be trusted on her own. She was a loose cannon, reckless and unpredictable, and if this marriage, fake or not, had even a slim chance of working, she had to start acting as if it mattered. That meant staying put, playing house, and not setting our lives on fire.
I clenched my jaw, swallowing my pride as I turned back to Max. “Have her things moved into my place.”
Christ. I was going to regret this. Probably within an hour.
“What?” Valentina protested, rising from her chair. “No. You can move into my place.”
Of course. Because agreeing on literally anything would be too easy, wouldn’t it?
Dragging a hand down my face, I rolled my shoulders, exhaustion suddenly hitting me like a freight train. “Fine.”
Silence. Complete stunned silence.
Clearly, she wasn’t expecting me to give in so easily.
Neither was I.
I glanced over at her. She was already glaring at me like she was planning ways to smother me in my sleep.
So this was marriage: compromise, frustration, and the constant urge to throttle your new wife.
Hell, we were off to a great start.