27. Gigi

27

GIGI

"Is this really what you want?" Carla's gaze meets mine in the mirror. "I know it's temporary and fake to boot, but it seems a bit extreme?—"

"Yes," I cut her off. "And please, for God's sake, never mention it's fake to anybody. The last thing we need is gossip reaching the wrong ears."

She's standing behind me, having just closed the last in the row of buttons at the back of my dress. Our gazes meet in the mirror, and her silent promise comes with a soft nod.

I've racked my brain for every other solution, but this one is by far the best. If this leaks and we're caught committing marriage fraud, Stephano will go to prison. I'll only be deported, so given the risks he's facing, he's doing me a massive favor.

It's a bit late in the day to start questioning if this is the right move. The past two weeks have been a haze. The one thing standing out is this: Stephano does take care of things, and he doesn't mess around.

We're getting married in half an hour in Matteo's apartment. Technically in the rooftop garden overlooking the Boston skyline at an intimate family-only affair but done properly if just for show. It might be a marriage of convenience for me, and a fake one for Stephano, but to the outside world, it must seem real.

"Okay." Carla steps away and reaches for my bouquet. "You look stunning, for what it's worth."

I want to cry. I dreamed of this day as many girls do. I'm not sure why, since Mom's marriage to my biological father was anything but moonlight and roses. The dress is spot on—not the massive meringue I envisioned as a girl, but a strapless fitted silk gown without any embellishment. My bouquet of orchids is eye-catching, filled with color. I needed something to brighten up the day. Not that I feel like a lamb led to slaughter as I would have with Franco, but I always thought if I got this far, it would be for love, with a man I know and whom I'd tested a thousand times over.

In a way, it is. My love for my sister is why I'm doing this, and although Stephano isn't indifferent to me—we have chemistry if nothing else—part of me wants the whole dream, and not just snatches in the fog.

I step back to give us a once-over in the mirror. What I wouldn't give to have Mom here, to see us like this. To see Carla for the woman she's becoming. This sudden move to the US has rattled her, and the past few days seemed more intense as reality set in. She's complained of not feeling great and struggling to adjust to the food, with bouts of diarrhea. I get it; it's been stressful, and she's lost some weight. She hasn't asked to see a doctor, so I've let it slide. If she's still having issues next week, I'll insist she sees someone.

"I wish Papa could be here." Carla is dressed in a gown similar to mine, but in a light pink that suits her perfectly.

"I know," I say as I turn to her. "I'm glad he's safe."

So far, the only message we dared send him was via Matteo's contact, and all we know is he's received it in secret. Don Trapani knows we're safe, but doesn't know where we are, and it needs to stay that way.

Stephano enrolled Carla at a college and applied for her student visa via the endless contacts the Scaleras seem to have. She's geared up to start her degree in political science. We might have entered the US with fake passports, but these brothers have connections who will backdate and officially make us enter the US as ourselves when we're ready.

There's a knock on the door, and Tasha leans in. "The photographer is here."

Great . Wedding photos are a must apparently, to make this marriage look real under any Homeland Security officer's scrutiny. They might use the photos to leave as a breadcrumb trail to lure Franco Fiore to Boston. I'm not sure exactly what they're planning, but Matteo's apartment has been busy with a revolving door of people. I know the types. I've watched them coming and going all my life. To think it's come to this.

I steel myself. It's just photos, and in an hour, this will all be over. After the ceremony we'll have a family dinner, and that's it. Better than Tasha's wedding from what she's told me: a late night, clandestine, money-under-the-table affair that happened in a small back room at the City Hall. This is all above board.

We file out of the room, and as I look down to the open space, my heart flutters as my breath catches. I've been hiding out in my room since lunch, contemplating my life choices. Then came the hairdresser and makeup artist, and I got dressed. While I was oblivious, the space has been decorated with what seems like thousands of white roses. Center stage is the dining table, set with elaborate crystal and crockery, and silverware catching the light.

"Who arranged all of this?" I ask, stunned. I didn't hear a thing, what with the soundproofing in this apartment.

"Stephano, with a bit of help." Tasha winks at me. "They did it all off site and carried it in. Honestly, it's been such fun, and I lived vicariously through you. Do you like it?"

"You lot are really sneaky," Carla says as she comes to stand next to the railing with me. "I didn't even catch a hint of this going on behind the scenes."

It pains me how this is all for show. I'm not even sure who we're trying to impress, because it's only us and the five Scalera brothers who are attending. No parents. Stephano's are both dead, too. Don Trapani is the last connection I have left to that generation.

"I'm getting to know the Scaleras one by one," Tasha says with a smile, "and I've come to realize Stephano is a real romantic."

"You don't say." I swallow hard, knowing I'm going to leave with this real romantic later, for his own apartment, which I haven't even seen yet. Matteo's apartment has become this weird safe haven since we arrived, and although Carla has ventured out several times, I haven't left it once.

As for my fiancé, I haven't seen much of him lately, but I know the exact moment I agreed to all of this. Stephano wasn't even there. Matteo came up to me a couple of days ago after dinner , to confirm I was happy to go ahead with the arrangement. By then I'd realized I had no choice and said yes, provided we stuck to the terms we discussed . At this he'd quirked a brow, nodded, and disappeared off to his office again.

I glance over the space. There's no sign of Stephano or his brothers, but caterers are busy in the kitchen, doing the last prep for dinner.

"Come." Tasha has me by the hand and leads me to the stairs. "You're ready."

Somehow, this woman's unwavering support has been fundamental in getting me through the past few days. I've learned a bit more about her past and how she ended up being married to Matteo. There are many gaps in her story, but the biggest ones are filled with love.

The photographer takes photos as we progress through the apartment, and I pose where he tells me to. By the time we've made our way to the doors leading to the rooftop garden, everything is quiet. It's time. The brothers must have used another exit to get out here because they are already waiting outside in the soft light of an early Boston evening.

I step outside and stall in my steps as I meet Stephano's gaze across the short stretch of burgundy carpet leading me to him. White rose bouquets line the path to my groom, and it's simply beautiful, making my heart lodge in my throat. He's gone to extremes, and it makes me fall a little…just a little bit more. For a man I promised to loathe for all eternity, his actions have been like a wrecking ball to my resolve.

Best husband I'd ever have. It's as if he latched on to those words and made them his slogan for this joint venture, and at some point, my most horrible wife ever idea has slipped from the radar. How could I be terrible to a man who has been nothing but caring and gentle to me from the moment I arrived in Boston? Worst of all, he held me close, and in the past few days of not seeing him, I've missed his physical presence. His touch. His hands on my body. His reassurance that it's all going to be okay.

Now he brushes his gaze over me as he holds out his hand, with a slightly tilted head and that cocked brow I've come to read as a dare.

Carla has already walked down the aisle, and as I make my way after her, I glance at the other brothers, all Stephano's best men. They're a line-up of smoldering hotness. I've never seen them all together like this, dressed in tuxedos, hair slicked back. I was surprised to learn Stephano has an identical twin. At first glance, it's almost impossible to distinguish between them. Then I started tallying up the small differences. Stephano is slightly taller and leaner than Luca, toned and muscled under his business suits in a way that begs me to peel off all the layers and see what else he has going on under all that fabric. But it's really his eyes that give him away. Luca looks at me with indifference. The way Stephano looks at me is always intense, just like now.

"Angel," he says as I finally make it to his side. "You look stunning." He leans closer to whisper in my ear. "And petrified, like a deer in the headlights."

"It's a bit overwhelming."

"It's going to be okay." He stands closer and rests his hand on my lower back, protective, supportive.

With a slow exhale, I settle into his touch, realizing this is exactly what I need.

The ceremony passes in a blur. It's words, nothing more, each moment accentuated by the click of a camera. Stephano's hand on my back doesn't move except for his thumb, which strokes reassuring swipes up and down, hypnotizing me.

Somewhere in there, I say yes, and then my bouquet is gone, and my hand rests in Stephano's. He slips an eternity ring on my finger, wide with big diamonds. I don't even know who procured the wedding bands, but his is a simple white-gold band, symbol of a holy promise I intend to break as soon as possible.

And then, his hand slides over my collarbone and to my neck and I stare up at him, almost straining to breathe as his thumb caresses a tender line up my throat to my jaw. We've never kissed before. Not even in Cannes where his lips traversed every inch of my body they'd wanted to. It's for show, but his hold is firm and commanding as if I'd dare pull away, and gentle in the same breath as he tilts my mouth up to his.

Suddenly, I need it more than air itself, his mouth on mine, his body on mine, his cock in me. I know why. This is the unfulfilled desire and need from the night in Cannes.

He kisses me. It's soft, lingering, and has my pulse in a riot of butterflies. When he pulls away, I need to lean into his chest to keep my balance, but he has me, his arm around my waist, hugging me close. He's staring into my eyes, and a smile toys on his lips. We don't need words. That kiss said everything.

I'm in trouble. I have been for a while now. I'm falling for the last man I ever thought I'd fall for, and in the process, stitching myself back into the life I wanted to escape more than anything else.