She groaned and yanked her ponytail tighter.
“If we do this,” I said, “no one—no one—can know. Not even Abigail.”
“Why?”
“Because if we’re caught, it’s fraud. Jail time.”
“Well, that just makes me feel so much better,” she muttered.
“It’s a simple deal. We act. Pretend you can do that, right, princess?”
She gave me a look and told me the challenge had been accepted.
Her glare said more than words ever could. But beneath the ice, something sparked. Something wild and dangerous and electric. She stepped closer, gaze locked on mine.
“Whatever you do,” she said, voice soft and sharp like broken glass, “don’t fall in love with me.”
12
MELANIE
The butterflies in my stomach weren’t gentle flutters anymore—they were a frenzied swarm, clawing at my insides like they wanted out. My breath hitched as I stared at myself in the mirror, palms damp against the edge of the sink. Maybe I shouldn’t have agreed to this. I could still back out. Just walk out the door, pretend this never happened. But then his face—the one I tried so hard to forget—flashed in my mind. Cold, cruel. A reminder of what I left behind. No matter how hollow I felt now, it was nothing compared to living in fear. I would never go back.
The room was quiet. Just us, in this strange, temporary pocket of safety. The hotel suite was a blur of neutral tones and sterile lighting, but we’d claimed our own corners—conjoined but separate. Separate beds, separate lives. No danger of being recognized here. No danger of the truth.
A soft knock. My pulse skipped. I turned slowly, heart thudding against my ribs, and there he was—Nick. Standing in the doorway like he owned it. His eyes swept over me, slow and deliberate, and for one breathless second, something raw flickered there—desire, hot and unfiltered. But it vanished just as quickly, blinked away behind his familiar mask of indifference.
I suddenly felt the weight of the dress cling tighter to my skin. It was the only nice thing I could afford—a silky white number that hugged my curves like it knew too much. The slit ran high up my thigh, exposing more skin than I usually dared—strapless, with a built-in push-up bra that pushed my breasts up and out like a dare. I let my hair fall in loose waves down my back, pinning one side up with a glittering barrette—an illusion of effort. Makeup flawless, practiced, and years in the film industry had taught me a thing or two about transformation.
“You look…beautiful,” Nick said, voice barely above a whisper. So soft, it felt like a secret.
“Thank you,” I murmured, gaze dropping to the floor. The air between us felt charged—too thick, too intimate. I shifted my weight, unsure where to stand.
He looked devastating, of course, like something out of a dream you wake up aching from. The deep navy of his U.S. Army uniform was crisp, the medals pinned across his chest gleaming under the lamplight. I recognized them. All of them. He’d earned every one of those years of service, of sacrifice, written in ribbons and badges.
“Did you check your b?—”
“Yes,” I cut him off. “I gave myself an insulin shot thirty minutes ago. I’m fine.”
“Good. I don’t want you passing out down the aisle. Won’t be convincing in the pictures.”
A reluctant smile tugged at my lips, but I swallowed it, stepping forward. “I brought this. Since I’m assuming we’ll need a ring.”
I pulled the ring out of my purse—a dazzling band encircled in tiny diamonds. Real, but old. A relic from a different life. My mom bought it for me when I was sixteen, after I told her I wanted to be like her—elegant, poised, always sparkling when we went out. It was supposed to be a symbol of who I could become.
“This should work as a fake engagement ring—with real diamonds, though,” I said, handing it to him.
A smirk ghosted across his lips. Subtle, but there.
“What?” I asked, brows knitting.
Without a word, he pulled a small blue box from his jacket. The kind of box that changed lives. He opened it, and my breath caught. Inside, nestled in velvet, was a ring that made mine look like a toy. A princess-cut diamond gleamed atop a delicate rose gold band—simple, elegant, unforgettable.
“Is…did you… Why did you buy a real diamond for a fake wedding?”
“I didn’t buy it,” he said quietly. “It was given to me. By my mother.”
I blinked. “Your mom? Really? Geeze, she wants you to get married. Is this, like, an Italian thing?”
