Page 35 of Scarlet Vows

I plan to invite her to be a witness at the wedding because I trust her with my life. I’m going to have to tell her about the deal with Ilya.

She suddenly hits mute on the TV. “What is it? There’s a look on your face, girl. Spill.”

“Remember that guy who was talking to me?”

“The blond babe with a whole lot of muscles?”

“Santo Barone. He’s a mafia don.”

She gasps. “How did you keep that from me?”

“I was sitting there, thinking about Max, and…I didn’t want to bring the evening down.”

“Sweetie, you always think of Max, and you will for a long-ass time. But what gives? Are you into this guy?”

“No! He hit on me and wouldn’t leave me alone, and Demyan… It doesn’t matter. I kind of told him I was engaged, and one thing led to another. Ilya helped me, and then I found out Ilya needs a fake wife. I said I’d do it. I pushed myself on him.”

She selects a chip with the kind of concentration that would make a bomb defusing expert drool. Then she looks at me, keeping her voice light. “Isn’t that a little much, Alina?”

“I need someone to help me keep Santo off my back.” I get it, the gentle questions under the surface of her tone, the worry that vibrates off her, but it isn’t like that.

At all.

I’ll be okay.

This is Ilya, not a guy with designs on me.

I’m not getting in over my head. I don’t want to touch those memories in me, I don’t want them sullied. So they won’t be. “I’m good. Really.”

“Surely there’s a less…drastic way. It’s…you’ve said it’s too soon for anything, so I’ll stand by you, Alina. Whatever you choose, but…”

I swallow. I get it. I do. “We’re talking Santo. He’s the type that a ring will stop him, but nothing else will.”

She frowns.

“Italian mafia. If I’m married to someone, especially an equal, he’ll leave me alone. And it seems Ilya needs a wife to get his inheritance he just found out about. It works.”

Isla sighs.

“What?”

“I get that you want to help Ilya, and he’s a great guy. I like him a lot.” She pulls off a piece of pepperoni and pops it into her mouth. “But I guess I’m concerned.”

“It’s Ilya. Twelve months and we’ll be forgetting it.”

“Willhe?”

I take a swallow of my drink. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve seen how Ilya looks at you.”

“Like a friend,” I say, my stomach wobbling as heat climbs my neck.

“I think he feels something more than friendship for you, Alina. I don’t want you hurt. And I don’t want him hurt. He’d never do a thing to hurt you because he worships you, but he looks at you sometimes when he doesn’t think I see. But I do, and it’s definitely not as a friend.”

I laugh. “I think you’re seeing things that aren’t there. If he felt something for me, he’d have hit on me before I met Max.”

“He’s also your brother’s close friend. And I’ve met Demyan. Do you think Ilya would do something to fuck that up?”