When she’s satisfied with the handshake, she pulls back and steps away from me. Too soon. “I’ll tell my family today,” she says.
“Should I join you?” I’m friendly enough with the Morellis, more so since the events that have occurred over the last year, but I worry about how they’ll take the news of me marrying theirMary. I don’t think she realizes just how protective the rest of her family is of her. She is who each of them has the softest spot for.
“Give me a day to answer their questions. Expect Willa to call you in the next five hours with legal concerns. Vanessa, too. They’ll want you to come to dinner, but I’ll hold them off until tomorrow.”
“I don’t mind,” I say too quickly. “Any time.”
“They’ll probably be in better spirits about the whole thing after a sleep. That, or they’ll be ready to kill us both.” She says this last part with a smile. She couldn’t be less afraid of her family’s opinion.
She takes another sip, her throat bobbing as she swallows. I watch the movement.
“Tomorrow then,” I mutter.
I have a long list of questions yet to ask her, and we could talk about logistics all day, but the fact of the matter is that the woman in front of me has agreed to marry me, among other things. Things I cannot think about in her polite company.
Well, perhapspoliteisn’t the right word.
“Maxim,” she says, making me stand at attention. “This is the last time I’ll ask; I need you to be sure before I tell them. You can’t change your mind.”
I search her eyes for any uncertainty and find none. She is solid, none of the panic I saw in that alley as tears spilled over her cheeks. Now, she is the picture of steady determination, looking up at me beneath thick black lashes.
“The way I see it, I have more to gain than you, Marianna, and less time. I won’t change my mind.”
She squints, looking away from me, then nods. She takes one last long pull from the mug, then sets it in my sink. I watch her walk about my kitchen casually, not like she’s never seen itbefore. She exits to the foyer, and I follow, resisting the urge to help her into her coat.
I suppose we’re done here.
“Tomorrow night,” she says. “Bring something for my mom. She’ll be the weirdest about all of this, but she’ll understand eventually.”
I think that every Morelli will be opposed to the arrangement of their little princess marrying for duty, but I don’t say so. I’ll just have to bring gifts for everyone and assure them as intently as possible that I’m not looking to hurt her. In fact, I am much more likely to be hurt by this arrangement.
“You got it,” I say.
“Hm.” Mary gives one last nod before hitting the button to call the elevator. She turns over her shoulder, and I catch my breath. She really is the most beautiful thing; warm eyes, pink cheeks, a lower lip so plump I want to run my thumb across it.
“My ring size is seven,” she says as she strolls into the elevator. “Let’s be married before spring.”
The doors close on her not-smiling face, taking her down and away from me.
“Fuck.” I breathe, take a moment, then start making calls.
4
MARY
Two weeks into January,I’m perched on a stool in Vanessa’s bathroom while Willa stands behind me. Her pregnant belly bumps against me as she pulls my hair into a braided style that she says will look fancy but effortless, so much so that nobody will be able to tell that it took more than thirty minutes and three different curl taming products.
I sigh and slump my shoulders until my sister smacks me with the comb to sit back up straight.
“We’re going to brunch, not an engagement party,” I grumble, but it falls on deaf ears. Willa already explained that this brunch is arguably more important than an engagement party, because now that our engagement was formally announced in front of two hundred mafiosos on New Year’s Eve, it’s time for me to be seen with billionaire bachelor Maxim Orlov inthe press.
Maxim isn’t a regular mob boss; he’s got a lot of illegal funds, yes, but he’s also got insane business acumen so he’s got a lot oflegalfunds too. Money the rest of the world knows about. Basically, he’s hot and rich and owns a lot of property in this city, so of course people want to talk about him in newspapers and online news sites. And now they want to talk aboutme, too. Sure.
It’s not ideal, and the thought of reporters conjecturing about me and my dazzling personality makes me kind of want to hide underground for the foreseeable future, but I will do what I must.
“You want to look good for his Twitter groupies,” Willa says.
“People still use Twitter?” Vanessa asks, sending off an email on her phone. My sister is too busy to use social media, which is for the best. I think it would just piss her off.
