Chapter 19
FABIANA
The next few days passed in a flash until there was nothing left to plan, no decisions to make, no RSVPs to count.
The only thing left was to get married.
We were about to board Rafe’s private jet and fly to the wedding venue in upstate New York. Elena, who’d arrived from Geneva late last night, dropped into the empty seat beside me and handed me a muffin she’d taken from the breakfast buffet in the corner. “Try this. I’m obsessed.”
We were sitting in the small private lounge, waiting for the pilot’s go-ahead. Cleo was on my other side, engrossed in a copy of Vogue, with Yeti asleep in her lap. Rafe sat in an armchair across from us, talking on the phone in a hushed tone to one of his men.
I bit into the muffin. “Yum. But I shouldn’t have any more sugar.” I handed it back to her. “I’m already jittery, and I have a feeling it’s only going to get worse the closer we get to the ceremony.”
Elena frowned. “Are you afraid of him?”
“What? Who?”
“Cosimo.”
My eyes widened. “No. Why would I be?”
Elena’s lips pursed. “Because guys like him—the ones at the very top—they think they can do anything. And once you’re married, Rafe’s not going to intervene if things go sideways.”
Beside me, Cleo stiffened.
“He’s not like Dad,” I said sharply, annoyance pulsing at my temples. Elena always assumed the worst.
“How do you know? You’ve basically just met him.”
“I know him well enough.”
“Rafe used to hate him until they went into business together. Don’t you remember? He used to call him a stuck-up ass.”
“And what do you think the Ferraros called Rafe? I doubt it was anything flattering.”
We glared at each other for a beat before her expression softened.
She was worried. Immediately, guilt nudged at me.
I reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze. “I’ll be fine with him. I can see why Rafe called him stuck up. He is. Also stubborn and bossy. But he can be…surprisingly gentle. And protective.”
Cleo lowered the Vogue to her lap, not even bothering to pretend she wasn’t eavesdropping on our conversation.
Elena looked thoughtful for a long moment. “Then why are you jittery?”
I laughed. “Elena, I have to kiss a very attractive man for the first time in front of two hundred and eighty guests. Isn’t it self-explanatory?”
Her shoulders lowered. She gave me a crooked smile. “Seriously? You haven’t kissed yet?”
“No, we haven’t.” But that didn’t mean I hadn’t thought about it. Extensively. Especially over the last week.
I’d seen Cosimo in passing a few times since the bachelorette. He’d come over to Rafe’s house to discuss business, and each time I’d seen him, the place where he’d written those letters on the inside of my thigh had flared hot.
My attraction to him had always been annoyingly stubborn, but ever since that night, it had progressed to something worse. I was sure I could keep it under wraps for six months if I thought it was one-sided.
But it didn’t feel that one-sided anymore.
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Cleo said as she gave Yeti a scratch under his chin. “If you freeze up, I guarantee he’ll take the lead.”
“Yeah, you’re right. It’s just a kiss. It’s not like I haven’t kissed anyone before.”
“It’ll probably just be a quick little thing for the audience,” Elena said. “A peck.”
“Uh-huh,” I said, feigning relief, even though that description filled me with faint disappointment.
My phone buzzed.
“Mail. New message from concerned.about.fabiana@ Subject: URGENT.”
I frowned at the screen. It was probably spam, but since when did spam emails include your name in the address?
I opened it.
One glance, and the phone slipped out of my hand.
I lunged to catch it before it hit the floor and nearly knocked over my coffee in the process.
“You are jittery. Here.” Elena lifted the coffee from my hand and replaced it with a bottle of water. “Enough of that, or you’ll have a midday crash. We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”
“Right, of course.”
“Maybe you should try to take a nap on the flight,” she advised.
I used that as the perfect excuse to disappear to the back of the plane as soon as we’d taken off. I climbed under the covers of the double bed and pulled my phone out while everyone else settled in at the front. Blanket up to my chin, I lay like a kid hiding from a nightmare.
The photo stared back at me.
It had been taken at Rom’s club. Cosimo stood beside a woman, his arm draped around her waist, his palm resting possessively over her hip.
The same way he’d held me when he’d walked me out of that same club.
There was something familiar about her, but I couldn’t put a finger on where I’d seen her before.
The body of the email said, “Ask him about Rosa. A husband and a wife shouldn’t have any secrets.”
My grip tightened on the phone.
Who was Rosa? The answer felt obvious enough. A woman he’d been seeing. If the date in the corner of the photo was right, it had been taken just days before I returned to New York. Just days before he handed me my engagement ring.
He’d kept seeing her after our match had been made.
I tossed the phone across the bed. A cocktail of anger and hurt surged through my veins.
It doesn’t matter. This thing between you isn’t real.
Sure, the photo was taken before we’d even met, but we’d still been engaged at the time.
The moment Rafe told me the contract had been signed, I’d committed to Cosimo in my own mind.
When my boss had asked me out in Geneva, the first reason I’d thought of for saying no was the fact that I was engaged. I wasn’t available.
I shouldn’t be surprised. Elena was right.
Men in our world did this all the time. They demanded total loyalty from their wives while holding themselves to no such standard.
Growing up, I’d watched my aunts blame themselves when their husbands strayed.
“I’ve gained too much weight. I look too old. I need to try harder.”
I wasn’t going to do that.
Cosimo had decided to disrespect our match even before he’d spoken to me for the first time.
He went out with someone in public, where people could see him and take pictures, after our engagement had already been finalized.
For once, I wasn’t going to turn inward and ask what I’d done wrong.
If there was anyone at fault here, it was him.
I let the anger burn for the duration of the flight.
It was good I’d seen the photo. Useful. It would keep me from slipping into the softer, stupider feelings I’d been toying with.
I had no idea who would’ve gone through the trouble of making that email address to send it to me, but as far as I was concerned, they’d done me a favor.
By the time we piled into an SUV and Elena placed her hand on my knee and gave it an encouraging squeeze, the fire had gone out and turned into something colder. Harder.
I knew what I had to do. What this deal dictated. I could play the role of the obedient wife, the role for which I’d been chosen right from the get-go.
And I wasn’t going to allow myself to get confused about Cosimo again.
Just a deal.
I stood in front of the mirror in the bridal suite while my friends buzzed around me in a blur of movement, finishing their makeup, fixing their hair, and hunting for shoes.
Well, I sure looked the part. The woman reflected back at me in the mirror wore a wedding dress with long lace sleeves and a sweetheart neckline. A voluminous A-line skirt. A diamond necklace that came alive in the light.
I tried on a smile, practicing for the guests and the cameras. I suppose I looked happy enough.
That is, if you didn’t look too closely at my eyes.
I stepped toward the window. Snow fell in slow, lazy spirals outside. Below, guests were trickling into the church. The wedding was taking place on the grounds of a farmhouse, but the church was a proper Catholic one with a tower stretching toward the sky and arches of stained glass inside.
Mia came up beside me. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
It was. But I couldn’t focus on the beauty. I couldn’t focus on anything but the image of the photo that was burned into the backs of my eyelids.
I needed to clear my head. “I’m going to get some air,” I said, grabbing a shawl.
“I’ll come with you,” Mia offered.
“I just want a few minutes alone.”
As soon as the door of the bridal suite closed behind me, I let out a breath.
And then I ran.
The hallway wasn’t very long. In mere seconds, I burst out onto the balcony at the end of it. Cold air bit into my skin. My palms hit the wet wooden railing. The shawl slipped down my shoulders, and I let it fall all the way to the floor where a thin layer of snow struggled to survive.
I had never loved the cold the way I did right then. It was a balm against my frazzled nerves and the ache that refused to leave my chest.
Calm down. Just six months. Remember why you’re doing this.
I was doing this to free myself from the shackles of duty, so that I’d never have to marry a man like Cosimo again.
A man who lied, cheated, and put men far less dangerous than him in the hospital.
The door creaked open behind me. Somehow, I sensed who it was before I even turned.
Cosimo stood in the doorway, and I could tell from the faint surprise in his expression that he hadn’t expected to find me here.
His hand stayed on the door handle for a moment, as if he was trying to decide how to proceed. And then he made his decision and stepped fully onto the balcony, closing the door behind him.
His gaze drifted over my wedding dress. For once, there was nothing dispassionate about the way he looked at me. Something hungry, almost greedy, ran behind his eyes.
I shivered, and not from the cold.
He wore a tux, his hair brushed back from his face, a white pocket square sticking out. The sight of him in that suit wasn’t for the weak. If I’d seen him in it earlier this morning, my stomach would’ve likely filled with idiotic butterflies.
Now, they lay dead in the pit of my belly.
He swiped his thumb over his jaw. “White looks good on you.”
When I stayed silent, expressionless, his gaze narrowed. He stepped closer, picked my shawl off the ground, and handed it to me. “Having second thoughts?”
It sounded like a joke, but the tightness in his voice gave him away. He was afraid I’d bolt. He needed this more than I did.
His head tilted slightly when I gave him a cool smile. I opened the message on my phone and tossed the fucking thing at him. “I got an interesting email this morning.”
He caught it in one hand and frowned. His gaze lingered on my face a few moments before he looked down at the screen.
A single beat. That’s all it took for him to piece it together. I could see the realization dawn on his expression, and there was a notable lack of surprise there.
He knew exactly what he was looking at.
He handed the phone back. “You’re angry.”
“What made you think that?” I asked. “I just wanted you to know someone’s trying to get you in trouble.”
“It appears they succeeded.”
I laughed. “I’m not going to bolt, Cosimo. Not over receiving confirmation of what I’d already realized long ago.”
“Which is?”
“We’re an awful match. I could never spend a lifetime with a cheater. Good thing I won’t have to.”
His jaw clenched. “It’s not what it looks like.”
I shrugged. “Okay.”
“She and I were never really together.”
I lifted my palms. “Look, I really, really don’t care.”
I began to move past him. His hand shot out and clamped around my forearm. “Fabiana.”
“Let go of me.”
His hand stayed. “You’re obviously upset.”
“Not at all. Maybe I would be if this was still a real engagement, but it’s not. It’s just a transaction. I would’ve preferred some discretion on your part though.”
I could tell he didn’t like how I was reacting. Was he hoping that I’d break down in tears and demand he promise me this wouldn’t happen again?
When I first came back to New York, he’d been determined to do the bare minimum when it came to our engagement. He’d treated it like a job he hadn’t signed up for that he begrudgingly had to do.
Maybe that was the attitude I needed to have. I already thought of this as a job, but for some reason, I’d defaulted to wanting to do it well.
Why bother when I could also skate by doing the bare minimum?
“So just to be clear, for the next six months, I assume we’re both good with sleeping with other people if we’re discreet about it, right?”
His gaze grew very dark. “No.”
“Why?”
“Because in less than an hour, you’ll be my goddamn wife.”
“Your fake wife,” I spat out.
“You seem to be confused.” He stepped closer, one hand still locked around my arm as the other rose to cup my jaw. “Fake or not, for the next six months, you’re mine.”
Anger pulsed inside me even as my skin came alive beneath his touch.
“Those words I wrote on you—are they still there?”
I glared at him as I shook my head. “I washed them off that night.” Lie. I’d scrubbed off the signatures on my arm until my skin had gone pink, but his words had merely gotten a rinse.
Three days. That’s how long his claim on me had stayed.
“That’s too bad.” He leaned in closer, his nose almost brushing against my own. “Maybe I’ll get them tattooed on you instead.”
“Only to have to pay for their removal in six months? I thought you despised frivolous spending.”
“You won’t let another man touch you unless you want him dead. That’s not a bluff, Nettle.”
I gave him a cold smile. “Fine. I guess I’ll have the rest of my life for that.”
Planting my palms against his chest, I pushed him away. “Most of the guests have already arrived. I’ll see you at the altar.”
I walked back inside and didn’t look back.