Page 20 of Abducted By the Mafia Don

While she comes willingly enough, and melts into my arms when we’re among the few remaining couples dancing,moving with me naturally, I can see the questions in her eyes that I don’t want to answer.

I’m reluctant to leave. That’s the honest truth.

I don’t like these events, usually. But I love faking with Taggie, and the moment we get home, it’s all over.

8

TAGGIE

We’re almost the last to leave the party, dancing until it was stupidly late, Dom’s hands at my waist, spinning me around then back in for a kiss. I’m utterly seduced by this man playing my husband.

But the second we’re alone, he carefully puts distance between us, and the teasing tone disappears from his voice. He stops flirting with me, and touching me, and instead asks simple questions about whether I’ve enjoyed myself and which of the other wives I like best. I hardly know the answer to the last part, since I spent nearly all evening with him.

He walks me upstairs to my bedroom door, and pauses. “You remember there’s a lock.”

It’s not quite a question, or a command.

“Yeah.” It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask if he came to my room last night, but I swallow it down.

“Good night, Taggie.”

Then he’s gone. No kiss goodnight. No sign of affection.

I really, really thought he liked me. When he kissed me earlier it was the most magical, special moment of my life. Iwas stupid enough to think that maybe what he said about falling in love at first sight was a little bit true. I thought he found me attractive and interesting.

But it was just a show.

I stare around at the beautiful room, with all the things I wanted, and feel hollow. They’re lovely, but unlike spending time with Dom and him touching my waist, and murmuring that I’m his good girl, they don’t make me feel warm and happy.

I feel so stupid.

I’m not tired, merely sad. Pathetic and unloved. I could stay up and read, but I don’t. There’s no way I can fall asleep, though. Apart from anything else, I don’t want to wake up again from a dream that Dom is in my room, unable to tell the difference between what I long for and the bleak reality that he’s not attracted to me.

Why would he be?

All the evidence I gave myself for Dom’s interest seems flimsy now I’ve discovered how easily he can turn off that loving-husband act.

And yeah, I thought I’d seen him before, but he’s not the only tall, dark-haired man with tattoos and black suits in London. I must have been mistaken, just like I was dreaming last night.

I crawl under the bed covers, cold and alone.

I don’t sleep, thoughts circling. The covers are around my shoulders, high and snuggled in, protective against the chill of Dom not wanting me.

It’s the sound of the door handle that I hear first. Thennothing.

“Taggie.” My name is an almost silent breath. “Mia bambola…” There’s a cascade of low words in Italian that I can barely take in, never mind understand.

I can’t believe it. That’s my fake husband’s voice.

Remaining motionless, I listen intently. There are soft sounds of fabric shifting, but I can’t identify them, and my heart is beating so loudly I can’t think.

Could I risk…?

I open my eye closest to the pillow a tiny sliver.

And yes.

My heart bursts.