“And then someone made me sweaty.”
His lips twitch. Almost a smile. “Fair enough. I have to head out after, though. Business.”
That’s vague. I don’t ask.
“I’ll be home this afternoon,” he adds, leaning in to press a quick kiss to my lips.
I watch him disappear toward the kitchen, then force myself into the shower before I can spiral too deep into what any of this means.
The hot water helps. I rewrap my arm in plastic like the paramedic showed me, keeping the wound dry. It’s annoying, but at least I can shower properly.
By the time I emerge, the house is quiet. Matteo is gone.
And I need to talk to someone before I lose my mind completely.
I grab my laptop and settle onto the floor in front of the coffee table, a pillow cushioning my knees. The video call rings four times. Long enough that I think she won’t answer.
Then my best friend Annika’s face fills my screen.
She’s at her vanity, curling iron in hand, wearing a glittery red dress with a neckline that could probably get her arrested in twelve countries. Full glam. Ready to kill.
“Bestie!” Her voice is too loud, the way it always is when she’s excited. “What’s happening in Sin City?”
I arch an eyebrow. “Apparently less than whatever you have planned. It’s barely eleven here.”
She laughs, that big, unself-conscious sound I’ve missed so much. “Carl can wait until I’m ready. You know how he is.”
I do know. That man would wait a lifetime for her. They’re disgustingly in love.
“So.” She wraps another strand of dark hair around the iron. “How’s the wedding planning coming?”
Annika is the only person outside Matteo’s world who knows the truth. I couldn’t lie to her. Not about something this big. She tried to talk me out of it, of course. Told me I was being insane. That marriages of convenience belonged in historical romance novels, not real life.
But she also accepted my choice when I wouldn’t budge. That’s what best friends do.
“It’s... going well,” I say slowly. “Fast. Everything is happening so fast.”
“Are you doing the flowers yourself?”
She’s trying to keep it light. I love her for it.
“Hydrangeas, probably. I’m still deciding.”
“Beautiful.” She pauses her styling, eyes narrowing at the camera. “Something’s off with you. Your voice is doing that thing.”
Damn her. Damn best friends who can read you from nine thousand miles away.
I take a breath. “We…slept together.”
The curling iron hovers mid-air. “Come again?”
“Matteo. We—” I gesture vaguely. “Multiple times.”
“Sierra.”
“But the marriage will still be fake,” I add quickly. Too quickly. My fingers twist the pillow thread tight enough to hurt.
Annika abandons her hair entirely. “Okay. Okay, hold on.” She turns to face me fully, and I recognize that look. The one she gets when she thinks I’m about to walk into traffic. “How was it?”
