I didn’t answer.
“I’ve known you your whole life, Lorenzo. I know when something’s caught your attention.” She paused.
“I don’t know yet,” I finally respond.
Carla noded slowly, leaving the cookies on my desk as she walks out.
I stared at the plate, my mind drifting back to Zara. To the way she’d said my name—Lorenzo—like it burned her mouth.
I needed to hear her say it again.
I needed to hear her say a lot of things.
My phone buzzed.
Zara
You have a deal.
I read it three times. Four. The words burning into my retinas, into my chest, into the part of me that had been coiled tight since the moment I’d first seen her.
She’d said yes.
She’d actually said yes.
I didn’t let myself smile, not even as something dark and hungry unfurled in my gut, spreading through my veins like whiskey.
I picked up my phone and dial a number I’ve dialed countless times.
“Vinny,” I said the moment he answers. “I need you to draft a contract.”
Vinny was my lawyer. Sharp, efficient, unflappable. He’d been with me for years, having handled everything from business acquisitions to the occasional brush with the law. He didn’t ask unnecessary questions; he just got things done.
“What kind of contract?” he asked.
“Marriage.”
There was a pause. Then: “I’m sorry, did you say?—”
I cut him off. “Marriage. One year. Financial terms to be negotiated, but generous. Very generous.”
Another pause. Longer this time.
“Lorenzo, do you mind if I ask?—”
“No.”
“Right. Of course.” I could hear him typing in the background. “I’ll need details. Names, terms, duration. Any exclusions?”
“No prenup.”
The typing stops.
“I’m sorry,” Vinny said slowly, “but I have to advise you against that. A marriage without a prenuptial agreement is?—”
“I know what it is.”
“Then you know it’s reckless. If this goes wrong, she could take half of everything you own. Everything, Lorenzo. The businesses, the properties, the?—”
