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“Good.” Is all I manage.

I turn the scotch in my hand and let the moment stretch out.

"Tomorrow night," I say. "We have the dinner."

She blinks at the sudden change of subject but goes with it. "The one with your business associates?"

Business associates. I can’t help but smile at her innocence.

"Yes. This will be your introduction as my wife."

“That sounds pretty formal.”

“I expect you to uphold your end of the deal. Now that you can see I have upheld mine.”

Her brow furrows, as if my mentioning the deal brought her back to reality with a jolt. But she nods. "What should I wear?"

"Something classy. Elegant."

"Okay," she says, her expression unreadable. "Classy and elegant. I can do that."

"I know you can."

She catches her lower lip between her teeth, then releases it, and it comes back flushed, full, and wet.

Swallowing thickly, I squeeze my fingers hard around the glass in my hand because I want to taste those lips. And if she does it one more time, I'm going to lose my goddamn mind.

She does it again.

I put my glass on the kitchen counter with a louder clunk than I intended, and she looks up, startled.

"Goodnight," I say. "The lasagna was excellent."

I walk away before she can respond and don't look back. In the bedroom, I close my door and lean against it, dropping my head back and closing my eyes.

I need a fucking ice-cold shower.

The kind of cold that kills desire dead.

31

SUNNY

The following morning, Charles arrives at nine armed with a garment rack.

"Good morning, Mrs. Di Zaro,” he says, wheeling it into the living room. "I've taken the liberty of selecting some options for this evening."

Tonight is the dinner with Dante’s business associates.

The big deal where I’m expected to play the dutiful wife, and I’d be lying if I wasn’t feeling anxious about it.

Charles unzips the first bag. Inside is a deep emerald gown with a slit that would show most of my left leg. He hangs it on the rack and moves to the next, a sexy off-the-shoulder gown in shimmering midnight blue.

The third is a black sheath, backless and long-sleeved.

Three stunning reminders of who I need to pretend to be. Feeling even more nervous, I stare at the rack.

"Charles."