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“You were meant to be home almost four hours ago,” I tell him. My eyes take in his crisp and put-together self. “Clearly, you weren’t in an accident. So what made you so late after you said that you would be here on time?”

He sighs dramatically and walks in deeper into the penthouse. “Not now, Maria. I’ve had a long day and I would much rather not argue with you.” He pulls at his tie, trying to loosen the thing from his collar.

I stand from the couch but it seems a little too quickly. Without any support, I lose my footing and almost fall flat on my face.

“Whoa.”

Within seconds, my husband is at my side, helping me to my feet. I allow him to do so for the first five seconds before my brain reminds me that I’m mad at him. I pull my arm from his hold and give him a hard stare.

“Are you okay?”

I shake my head and move away from him. “I’m fine, just a little lightheaded. Where were you?”

The softness on his eyes dissolves and he is back to his pensive self. “I do work, you know that, right?”

“I told you that we had dinner.” I shift on my feet. The pressure in my head increases as I try to blink away the pain in my eyes. “And you told me that you would be here. If you got busy, you should have called so I wouldn’t waste my time making you food.”

He turns his head and looks to the set table. Something flashes in his eyes but as quickly as it came, it flees from his black pupils. He turns his head to me with a straight face. “You expect too much, Maria. I never asked for a wife—I needed a contract. If you thought this would be anything more, that’s on you.”

I ball my fist at my side to keep myself from punching this man square in the nose. The last thing I want to do right now is fight with this man. “We said that we were going to try this for real. This is going to be a real marriage, and real married couples sit and have dinner together.”

He rubs his knuckles against the stubble that has begun to form on his jaw. “You are delusional, after all. You are young, so I cannot fault you for having these fantasies of what this union actually is. This thing,” he gestures between the two of us, “is not a real marriage, nor will it ever be. Beyond us fucking, we have no relationship.”

I want to protest and fight him, but the room spins and I feel lightheaded. I close my eyes, trying to swallow down the nausea that threatens to make its way up my throat. When I open my eyes again, Matteo is in front of me, looking rather concerned.

“You look sick.” He reaches for my forehead to feel my temperature, but I move away from his touch. “Let me call the doctor.”

“Don’t bother.” I swat his hand away again when he tries to reach for me. “I just need to lie down. I’ve had a long day.”

“Come, let me take you to your room.” Matteo holds his hand out to me.

I look between his hand and his face and then back again. “This isn’t a real marriage, remember? No need to play the doting husband. I can make it up the stairs just fine on my own.”

I turn on my heels and make my way to the stairs. I spare a glance at the table I had prepared. All that effort and those wishful thoughts I had of what this could all potentially be.

I don’t look back as I ascend the stairs, but I feel his heavy stare on me the entire time.

“Asshole,” I whisper.

16

MATTEO

Acouple of hours earlier

I never should have said yes. This dinner is a mistake. Sleeping with Maria was an even bigger one. I should have never touched her. But I did. And now, I can’t stop thinking about it.

I left her alone in the bed this morning, and all I have been able to think about is the fact that I was balls deep in her last night.

I’ve had my share of women. I’ve done everything there is to do in bed. So why did last night feel like my first time?

I lean my head against the cool glass of the elevator. This day has been an absolute clusterfuck. From dealing with the aftermath of my son going rogue and then me and Maria… it’s a little much for me.

“If I didn’t know any better, I would think you’re depressed with all that sighing.” Valerio quips beside me. He keeps his eyes trained on his phone as he reads through a file. “Do you want to talk about it? Shall we sit around a fire and express our feelings?”

“Fuck you.” I open my eyes to look at him. He fires a wink my way. “Have I ever told you how annoying you are?”

“Three times this morning, once at lunch, and five times in the car ride back to the office.”