“I know the version of you that shows up dinners and functions. The charming, perfect Rafael de Luca who brings expensive wine and makes my sister laugh.” She stopped pacing to glare at me. “I don't know the man who carries women out of clubs over his shoulder or blackmails them into marriage.”
That stung more than it should have. “If you're done with the character assassination, we should discuss sleeping arrangements.”
“There's nothing to discuss. I'll take a guest room.”
“No, you won't.” I kept my voice level.
“Yes, I will.” Her chin jutted up defiantly. “Or I'll sleep on the couch. Or the floor. Or I'll walk out that door right now and take my chances with Santiago.”
At the mention of his name, something dark and possessive unfurled in my chest. “You're not going anywhere near Santiago. Not now, not ever.”
“Then give me a different room.”
“No.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because I said so.”
Her laugh was sharp. “That's your reason? Because the great Rafael de Luca has spoken? Do you even hear yourself?” She raked a hand through her hair, disheveling the dark waves. “You sound like a dictator.”
I'd had enough. The wine glass hit the table with a decisive clink as I pushed my chair back and rose to my full height. Cecelia's eyes widened slightly, her steps faltering as I crossed toward her with deliberate strides.
“You want a reason?” I asked, my voice dropping lower. “Fine. Here's your reason.”
She backed up instinctively, but I kept advancing until her ass hit the edge of the dining table. Planting my hands on either side of her, I caged her in without touching her. This close, I could see the faint spray of freckles across her nose, smell the lingering scent of her perfume—something with vanilla and jasmine that made my head swim.
“The marriage has to look real to everyone, Cecelia. Even the staff.” My voice came out rough. “Edward, Lucia, they see everything. If we're sleeping in separate rooms from day one, they'll know it's a sham.”
Her breath hitched, a small sound that sent heat straight through me. This close, I could see every detail of her face—the sweep of her lashes, the slight parting of her lips, thepulse beating rapidly at the base of her throat. My body reacted instantly, blood rushing south with enough force to make me lightheaded.
“I—” She swallowed, clearly trying to hold onto her anger despite our proximity. “I don't care what they think.”
“You should.” I leaned closer, not touching her but close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from her skin. “Because if they suspect, others will too. And if others suspect, word might reach my father. Or your sister.”
Something flashed in her eyes at the mention of Evie—defiance giving way to reluctant consideration.
“We don't actually have to do anything,” I continued, forcing my voice to remain steady despite the way my heart hammered against my ribs. “But we have to share a room. Share a bed. Keep up appearances.”
She glared at me, but I could see the calculation behind her eyes as she weighed her limited options. Finally, her shoulders dropped slightly, and she gave a curt nod.
“Fine,” she said, the word clipped. “But if you touch me—”
“I won't.” The lie tasted bitter, because in that moment, with her trapped between my arms, her lips inches from mine, touching her was all I could think about.
As if reading my thoughts, she ducked under my arm and put distance between us. “I need a shower.”
“Of course.” I straightened. “I'll show you to the bedroom.”
As I led her down the hallway, I was acutely aware of her presence behind me—the faint scent of her perfume, the soft sound of her breathing, the palpable tension radiating from her.
When we reached the master suite, I pushed the door open and gestured for her to enter. Her eyes widened slightly as she took in the space. I’d wanted to ask what she thought of the king-sized bed dominating the room, of the floor-to-ceiling windowsoffering a panoramic view of Manhattan at night, and the sleek furniture but I bit my tongue instead.
Edward had set her luggage neatly beside the dresser and seeing her suitcase in my bedroom—in my space—sent an unexpected jolt through me. This was really happening. She was really here.
“The bathroom's through there,” I said, nodding toward a door on the far wall. “You'll find everything you need… towels, toiletries.”
Cecelia nodded stiffly, moving toward her suitcase to extract what she wanted. I watched as she pulled out a small bag and what looked like sleep clothes.
