"Let me get this straight." I lean back in my chair, crossing my arms to mirror Nico's stance. "You want me to go on a date with James Rogers just so I have an excuse to tell his father why I'm not marrying him?"
Silence.
Then Nico nods. "Yes."
Unbelievable.
"You're asking me to waste an evening with a man I have zero interest in, soyoucan maintain a business relationship without looking like you rejected them outright?"
Pietro has the decency to look slightly uncomfortable. "When you put it that way?—"
"There's no other way to put it."
"The Rogers alliance matters," Nico says. "Even if it's not sealed by blood. Giving James a fair chance—or the appearance of one—makes negotiations easier going forward."
"Easier for who?"
"Everyone."
I hate this. Hate being moved around like a chess piece on their board. Hate that my dinner plans, my time, mylifegets decided in conversations I'm not part of.
But then I remember something.
Dmitri's voice in my ear at Celestine, low and amused:Rogers has a fiancée. Secret one.
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling.
James Rogers doesn't want this dinner any more than I do. He's playing the same game I am—keeping his father happy while buying time. The only difference is I know his secret and he doesn't know that I know.
This could actually be entertaining.
"Fine."
Both my brothers stare at me.
"What?" I shrug. "You want me to go, I'll go. One dinner. I'll be polite, and then I'll come home and tell Mamma he's not the one. Everyone's happy."
Pietro's eyes narrow. "That was too easy."
"Would you prefer I throw a tantrum? Break something? Storm out dramatically?"
"I'd prefer to know what you're thinking."
"I'm thinking that you're right." The lie tastes like honey on my tongue. "One dinner to close the door properly. Makes sense."
Nico pushes off from the window, studying me with that unsettling intensity he inherited from God knows where. "You're agreeing because you're planning something."
"I'm agreeing because I'm a team player."
"Since when?"
"Since right now. Personal growth. You should try it sometime."
Nico's expression doesn't change, but he has suspicion in his eyes. He's too smart for his own good.
"Saturday," Pietro says. "Seven o'clock. He's making reservations at?—"
"Let me guess. Somewhere expensive with tiny portions and a three-month waiting list?"
