Isabella’s hand freezes halfway to her mouth.Eyebrows raised to her hairline, she squeals, “You what?”
“Vegas.Tomorrow.Fake marriage to nullify Father’s arrangement with Cesare.”The words come out flat, rehearsed.I’ve been practicing this explanation in my head since I left Shelby’s penthouse this morning.
My sister sets down her glass very carefully.“Okay.Back paddle just a bit.Start from the beginning.”
So I do.I tell her about the dinner, about Cesare’s cold stare and the way my skin crawled when he touched me.I tell her about the plan that emerged in my mind. It’s desperate and half-formed but somehow right.I tell her about going to Shelby, about the way he listened without judgment, about how he agreed despite having every reason to refuse.
I don’t tell her about the moment our eyes met across his living room, or the way my pulse jumped when his voice dropped low and rough.I don’t tell her about the heat that coiled in my stomach when he stepped closer, or how part of me wanted him to close that final distance between us.
Those details are mine.Private.Totally dangerous.Breathtakingly wicked.
When I finish, Isabella is quiet for a long moment.She studies me with those sharp eyes that miss nothing.“So this is purely strategic?”
“Of course it is.”
“Nothing to do with the fact that you’ve been half in love with Shelby Boyle since we were teenagers?”
The wine glass slips in my fingers.I catch it before it falls, but the damage is done—she sees the crack in my armor.“Don’t be ridiculous.”
Isabella leans forward, her expression softening.“Serena, I’ve watched you at Syndicate events for years.I’ve seen the way you track him across rooms.The way you light up when Joe mentions his name.The way you went completely still that night in San Francisco when you heard he’d been injured in Russia.”
“He’s my brother’s best friend.Of course, I worried.“
“Don’t.”Her voice cuts through my protest like a blade.“Don’t do that thing where you minimize your own feelings until they’re small enough that you can ignore them.I know that trick.I invented that trick.”
I drain half my wine in one swallow, needing the burn.“Even if I did feel something, which I’m not admitting, it would be irrelevant.This arrangement is temporary.Once we’ve dealt with the Cesare situation, we’ll quietly separate.”
“Will you?”
“Of course we will.Why wouldn’t we?”
Isabella gives me a look that suggests I’m being deliberately obtuse.“Because maybe, just maybe, this fake marriage might become something real.Because I also saw the way he looked at you at Tommy’s wedding.Because Joe has mentioned more than once that Shelby asks about you.Because sometimes the strategic choice and the right choice are the same thing.”
My chest tightens.“You’re romanticizing this.”
“I’m being realistic.”She reaches across the island and covers my hand with hers.“You felt something with Shelby.I can see it in your eyes.You wouldn’t be this rattled if it were purely business.”
Feeling is weakness.
The thought surfaces automatically, a defense mechanism worn smooth by years of use.But even as I think it, I know Isabella sees through me.She always has.
“I’m not weak,” I say quietly.
“No.That’s not what I’m saying.”Her grip tightens on my hand.“You’re not weak.But you’re human.And humans feel, which is not weakness.It’s just being alive.”
I pull my hand away and walk to the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city.Boston glitters below us, all lights and shadows and secrets.Somewhere out there, Shelby is in his own penthouse, probably having a similar conversation with one of his brothers.The thought makes my heart flutter in a way I absolutely refuse to acknowledge.
“You want to know what scares me?”I press my palm against the cool glass.“It’s not that Shelby might try to control me.I know how to fight control.I know how to protect myself from men who see me as a tool or a possession.”
“Then what scares you?”
I close my eyes.“That he won’t.That he’ll show me respect and honesty and vulnerability, exactly like he did the other night.That he’ll make me feel like I could trust him, like I could let my guard down, like I could be something other than a pawn in this game.”I open my eyes and stare at my reflection in the dark glass.“And then, when I’ve convinced myself it’s safe, he’ll prove me wrong.Because men always do.”
Silence fills the apartment.Isabella doesn’t rush to fill it.She just lets my words hang in the air between us, heavy with truth.
Finally, she speaks.“You’re thinking about Marco.”
The name hits like a physical blow.I haven’t spoken it aloud in three years.
