Page 42 of Our Chaotic Love Affair

“You’re engaged?”

“He is,” Carson said for me. “The announcement has been intentionally kept private. However, his fiancée could attend the gala as a personal favor to the Rossi Foundation, not as a press opportunity. Discreet. Tasteful.”

Rossi was quiet. I could see him doing the math. Calculating the impact. A Bancroft showing up with a committed partner rather than the reputation that usually preceded us.

“If you can deliver this event,” Rossi said finally, “I will reconsider the contract cancellation. You have my word on that.”

He stood. His team stood with him. Hands were shaken again. They left. We didn’t get up right away. It would be awkward to be in the same elevator. Carson closed his folder with the satisfaction of a man who felt like he’d just won a chess match.

I said nothing on the way down in the elevator. Nothing as we walked outside and into our waiting car. It wasn’t until the door was closed and I knew we would not be overheard that I turned a thunderous expression on Carson.

The guy was sitting there with a blissful expression.

“What was that?” I asked.

“A solution,” Carson said, entirely unruffled.

“You told him I have a fiancée.”

“I know. Did you see his face?” Carson laughed.

“I don’t have a fiancée.”

“I’m aware.”

“Tell me you understand the issue,” I said. “We’re missing one very large piece of this little scheme here.”

He shrugged. “This strategy has worked for Bancroft billionaire bachelors no fewer than a dozen times. I’ve personally executed four of them. It creates immediate credibility and reframes the public narrative. It’s exactly what a man like Rossi responds to. Family values. Stability. The sense that the next generation of a business dynasty is building something rather than simply spending it.”

“And when there’s no fiancée?”

“There will be.” He said it with the confidence of someone who considered this a logistics problem rather than an ethical one. “Four days. She doesn’t need to be the real thing. She needs to be convincing. Pleasant. Presentable. Someone who can hold a conversation with Rossi’s wife without embarrassing you.”

“You want me to find a woman willing to pretend to be my fiancée in four days?”

Behind my eyes I saw red flags waving. A little voice was whispering in my ear. The Summer Situation. The Summer Situation.

I was in this mess because I tried the whole fake thing for my brother and it spectacularly blew up in my face.

“I want you to find a woman who can do what I just described. Think of it as casting. We need someone who fits the role. Warm enough to be charming, composed enough not to be a liability. Someone who can read a room.”

Someone who was available in four days and willing to get their ass to Rome. I couldn’t just pick an Italian woman. That would suggest we had just met and she was definitely not my fiancée.

I thought about the various options available to me. There were women I knew who could manage this. Women who would sign an NDA. Professional, poised, and familiar with the kind of performance I needed to sell this stupid story. I ran through the list mentally, assessing each against the requirements.

None of them felt right. I didn’t want anyone that might be likely to read more into the arrangement than I intended. After Summer, I was obviously a little gun shy to try that trick again.

And then I thought of her.

I thought of her sitting across a fire on a beach talking about what she wanted for her life. She would have been with me already if it wasn’t for dress shopping.

Cleo was a master at social interactions. She wasn’t the most traditional-looking woman, but she knew how to work a room. She knew how to position herself and others. She was smart. Savvy.

A woman who could read a room.

But the streak of purple hair. The dark makeup. Crazy amount of jewelry and those black nails. Maybe if we could tone that down she could fit into the role.

CHAPTER 16