Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 56365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 282(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 282(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
It will mean a lot if he’s at least a decent human being, as far as a man in his position can be.
“My name is Clara Bellini,” the woman says. “I’m the housekeeper, and it’s an honor to have you here.”
“Thank you,” I say, turning toward the trunk.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“Getting my bags.”
She laughs as if that’s the most delightfully funny thing in the world. It makes me feel like a pet who’s just performed some trick. “Oh, silly. Don’t you worry about those! You’ve got somebody to meet …”
She takes my arm and leads me up wide stone steps toward an imposing front door at least as tall as two men and just as wide. As she pushes it open, I almost reach forward to help her. It looks heavy. She waves me inside and then leads me down a wide hallway. Artwork dots the walls, including classical paintings, landscapes, and nature scenes, with the occasional battle scene.
“Mr. Moretti is in his study,” she tells me, looking over her shoulder with a coy smile. “He is very excited to see you. He’s told us all about you, Miss Esposito.”
“Please, call me Elena,” I say.
Esposito is the fake name I’ll have to use while going through this charade. My heart beats a little faster when Clara stops outside another imposing door.
“I’m sure you’d like me to leave you two lovebirds alone,” she says.
“Uh, sure,” I mutter. “Yeah, that’d be great. Thanks.”
My head is spinning. I need to get my actor’s brain to work correctly. I’m supposed to be from this world, a wealthy princess worthy of the mob prince. Just being here makes me feel like I don’t belong. Somehow, I doubt this is the sort of place where they have TV dinners and rehearse lines on the balcony so they don’t have to listen to the music pounding through their bedroom wall.
Clara leaves me alone. Again, the urge to run hits me, but there is no going back now. I take a deep breath and then knock on the door.
“Come in,” a deep voice grunts.
He’s standing behind his desk, hands behind his back, wearing an untucked shirt with rolled-up sleeves. I almost gasp. I don’t know what I expected, exactly, but it wasn’t this.
He’s over six feet tall with dark brown, tousled hair with streaks of silver in it. He’s clean-shaven as if to show off his strong jawline. His muscular build is apparent as it presses through his shirt. His facial expression gives nothing away. His dark eyes gleam. There’s something about him that implies he has the weight of the world on his shoulders, an aura of constant dissatisfaction.
“Elena Esposito,” he says as if reminding me of my fake name.
I curtsey, holding the cut of my most expensive dress. “Mr. Moretti.”
He walks around the desk, hands still behind his back, so he stands directly over me. “I’ve been told you understand what’s expected of you.”
I swallow. I’m unsure what this feeling is, and I don’t want to know. He’s looking at me in a way that, on some deep level—which I’m going to ignore the heck out of—makes me want to please him. Then I remember this is all acting.
“I’m your fiancé. We met when you were handling business out west. I’m from this world.”
There’s a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. It’s almost mocking. I feel my cheeks redden.
“Is something funny?” I snap.
The twitch goes away. His mouth returns to a dissatisfied flat line. “Nothing about this is funny. My father wants me to find a wife. I’ve found you. After this charade, we’ll have a messy divorce and go our separate ways. I’ll use the fallout of the divorce as justification for not finding another woman.”
“You don’t want to get married?”
“I’m a Moretti,” he grunts. “It doesn’t matter what I want. I have to fulfill my social obligations. Now, let me show you to your room. You’ll be able to change for dinner. My parents are already on their way.”
That stings. As sad as it might seem, I spent a long time choosing this dress. I wanted to do my best to fit in with these people—for the role. I have to remember that. “Change?”
“My parents are snobs,” he says without a hint of resentment or shame. “They’ll judge everything about you, including your clothes, especially your clothes. If they aren’t designer, preferably Italian, it could cause problems.”
I swallow, remembering the big bag of cash I’ve already received. “Okay. Sure.”
When he offers me his arm, I hesitate.
“You better get used to touching me.” I flinch, and he goes on, “Don’t worry. I’d never pay for that, but we have to seem comfortable with each other in public settings. We might as well get some practice in.”
I take his arm, ignoring the feeling pulsing inside me when I feel how solid he is. He lays his hand over mine, sending more unwanted tingles, then leads me out of the office and up the large double staircase.