I gazed at his close face; worries melted. Maybe Valentina was bluffing. Maybe Enzo was still untangling the engagement, lying to spare my feelings.
"Okay." I said. "I trust you."
Whatever the truth, I just needed him to love me—and not show at any woman's wedding next month.
Chapter Sixteen
Enzo
For the past fourteen days, I'd been showing up as Valentina's fiancé at every goddamn social event on the Upper East Side.
Of course, we needed this marriage to prove the families stood together. The perfect union of power and wealth—any idiot who thought about crossing us should weigh how much their head was worth.
Valentina looped her arm through mine for the cameras, wearing that flawless smile. I played along, acting like the loving fiancé, spitting out those pre-rehearsed, empty lines on cue.
But I'd always been a lousy actor. Valentina didn't believe I loved her, that much was clear. And I doubted the press bought it either.
What about Chloe? I wasn't sure.
She didn't have many people in her world, so she used to believe every word I said without question. But lately I'd sensed a shift in her. I had to be even more careful now, couldn't let anything slip. I couldn't let any of this get out while she was pregnant—she'd already lost enough.
Every time I came back from Valentina's to Chloe's place, I'd sit inthe car for ten minutes first. Engine off, lights off, just sitting there in the dark, staring at my hands on the wheel.
Those ten minutes, I had to figure out how to lie to the woman carrying my child. I had to come up with where I'd been, who I'd seen, make sure everything looked perfect.
Get all the excuses straight. Then push open that door.
A floor lamp glowed in the living room. Chloe was curled in the corner of the couch, that baby catalog she'd worn out splayed across her knees, her head tilted against the cushion. Asleep.
She'd waited up again.
She always waited up. No matter what time I got back, that lamp was always on. Sometimes I'd find her passed out at the coffee table, a cup of cold milk beside her. Sometimes she'd be in the kitchen, fumbling through some recipe attempt, the counter covered in flour and broken eggs. Once she'd been on the couch knitting something—when I got closer, I saw it was a sock, ridiculously tiny. A baby sock, no longer than my thumb.
Every time I walked in on these scenes, my chest tightened with something sour and painful. After everything her childhood had done to her, Chloe barely trusted anyone and couldn't let herself open up.
But she'd given me everything.
Her trust. Her body. Her love. And that heart her mother and stepfather had shattered over and over, the one she'd barely managed to piece back together.
And here I was, keeping from her that I was about to marry someone else.
I walked over and crouched by the couch. When Chloe slept, her lips parted slightly, her breathing shallow and slow. Her belly had grown noticeably in two weeks—the loose T-shirt could barely hide the curve anymore.
I reached out, brushing the hair from her forehead back behind her ear. When my fingers touched her skin, she stirred, mumbled something, then her eyes opened.
"You're back." Her voice was rough, thick with sleep. She rubbedher eyes, sat up, and glanced at the clock on the wall. "Eleven-thirty. Another negotiation?"
I didn't correct her. "Yeah."
"You work too hard." Chloe smiled at me, then tilted her head slightly. "Though it'd be nice if you remembered to text back."
My chest constricted. I'd been with Valentina practically nonstop lately. I'd been neglecting Chloe for too long. I wished she'd just yell at me, "Did you forget I exist?" and throw a pillow at my head. Not this gentle, wounded question. That hurt worse than getting slapped.
She'd sent me three messages today. The first asking about paint colors for the nursery. The second was a photo of the half-finished sock she'd knitted.
The third came at nine PM. Just two words. "Miss you."
I'd seen all three. But with Valentina right there, it was impossible to find time to respond.
