“She’s going to ask how long we’ve been together.”
“A few months,” he said smoothly.
“She’s going to ask what you do.”
“I’m a lawyer.”
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, but not the normal kind. You don’t exactly handle traffic tickets.”
“And?”
“And,” I sighed, pacing faster now, “what are you going to say if she asks what kind of law you practice?”
“Corporate law.”
“That’ll work.” I froze, mind racing. “I work with you, by the way.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Yes, I do,” I argued stubbornly. “That’s what I told her.”
“That’s not workingwithme, Valentina,” he said, unamused. “Youdistractme at work.”
I grinned. Okay, fine. That part was technically true.
I did distract him.
Frequently.
Three times ... after the first time. After I’d told him that was the last time. So four times, to be exact.
The sex was great. It really was.
“Semantics,” I dismissed. “It’s how I told her I’m paying for my mom’s medical bills. I can’t exactly tell her I married someone for it.”
“Why not?” Marco said easily. “You married someone for it before.”
Asshole. Did he really have to go there?
Of course he did. Marco never missed an opportunity to remind me of my questionable life choices, especially the ones that had landed me here.
“Not exactly the same thing,” I snapped back, irritation bubbling beneath my skin. “Besides, Isabel doesn’t know the details, and I’d like to keep it that way. Forever, if possible.”
He paused, considering. “Then keep it simple.”
“That’s your advice? Simple?” I laughed, mostly to myself. “Have you met my sister? Have you met me?”
“I’m sure neither of you specialize in simple, but we can at least pretend for one evening.”
Pretend. I was getting disturbingly good at that lately—pretending I didn’t care, pretending I didn’t miss him when he was gone, pretending like this was all business. Like it wasn’t complicated by every stupid little feeling creeping its way past my defenses. Feelings I definitely wasn’t prepared to examine tonight—or ever.
“Fine,” I finally muttered. “But when this blows up in our faces—and it will—I’m blaming you.”
“Of course you will,” he murmured with amusement. “What time? I’ll pick you up when I get off.”
This was definitely going to blow up spectacularly—I could already feel it. And yet despite the racing heartbeat and clammy palms, a tiny, traitorous voice whispered,Maybe it won’t. Maybe this time, just once, it’ll be okay.
“It’s at seven. You really don’t mind?” I asked quietly.
