Her eyes flashed to me, anger sparking instantly. Good. I wanted her angry. Hell, angry Valentina was easier to manage than impulsive Valentina. At least when she was furious at me, she wasn’t off chasing trouble—especially not the kind named Sebastian Callahan.
Max stayed quiet. He didn’t need to say anything else. His point was made.
Valentina couldn’t be trusted on her own. She was a loose cannon, reckless and unpredictable, and if this marriage, fake or not, had even a slim chance of working, she had to start acting as if it mattered. That meant staying put, playing house, and not setting our lives on fire.
I clenched my jaw, swallowing my pride as I turned back to Max. “Have her things moved into my place.”
Christ. I was going to regret this. Probably within an hour.
“What?” Valentina protested, rising from her chair. “No. You can move into my place.”
Of course. Because agreeing on literally anything would be too easy, wouldn’t it?
Dragging a hand down my face, I rolled my shoulders, exhaustion suddenly hitting me like a freight train. “Fine.”
Silence. Complete stunned silence.
Clearly, she wasn’t expecting me to give in so easily.
Neither was I.
I glanced over at her. She was already glaring at me like she was planning ways to smother me in my sleep.
So this was marriage: compromise, frustration, and the constant urge to throttle your new wife.
Hell, we were off to a great start.
CHAPTER 22
VALENTINA
Ishould have thrown a fit. Should have screamed, argued, broken something expensive—preferably over Max’s head, just to make sure he got the point.
I should have done a lot of things.
But instead I’d said nothing, which was exactly why I was now standing at my own front door, silently letting Marco into my apartment as if it were just a regular day, not the first day of our incredibly dysfunctional marriage.
Marco stepped into my living room looking as out of place as if someone had taken a grayscale photo and slapped it into a full-color spread.
He didn’t belong here. Not with his perfectly pressed suit.
I dropped my keys into a bowl by the door and kicked off my heels. “Try not to look so uncomfortable, lawyer. You might break out in hives.”
Marco didn’t smile. Shocking, I know. Instead his eyes swept over my apartment, taking it in as if he’d never seen it before. Which I guess made sense. Last time he was here, he’d been a little preoccupied—too busy copping a feel to notice my choice of interior design. Honestly, I doubt he even realized the walls had color at all.
I shifted on my feet, suddenly noticing every flaw, every embarrassing little detail. The half-empty coffee cups scattered across the kitchen. The dying plant in the corner I’d sworn I’d keep alive this time. The unfolded laundry spilling out of my bedroom.
God, had it always been this bad, or did Marco Grey just make everything around him look ten times more chaotic? Probably both. He had that effect—the ability to walk into a room and silently judge every little thing without ever opening his mouth. Annoying, really.
“I wasn’t expecting company,” I muttered, tugging absently at the edge of my dress as if it would somehow straighten up my apartment. Or my life. “Especially not you.”
Marco glanced over, one eyebrow raised slightly, looking annoyingly put together while standing in the middle of my living room. I knew exactly what he was thinking: I was a mess. A complete disaster. And even though I didn’t usually care, for some irritating reason, right now I did. Maybe because he’d seen too much of me already—every reckless mistake, every impulsive choice. He’d seen all my dirty laundry (literally), and it was starting to feel a little too personal.
I forced a breath, pretending I wasn’t rattled, that having Marco in my apartment wasn’t making me think about all the other ways he’d been close—too close—recently. His tie wrapped around my fingers, his lips pressed to mine, the quiet moment afterward when he’d walked away without a word.
I cleared my throat, determined not to think about that. Definitely not now.
“Where’s the spare bedroom?” he finally asked, breaking his silence.
