The Marriage Contract

THE MARRIAGE CONTRACT

Chapter One

Elena

As the chauffeured car pulls up outside the townhouse in a part of town that I’ve never been to—and have no business in—I wonder if this is all a big mistake. I almost didn’t expect the car to arrive as promised. Or the cash, but I realized I had no choice when both did. I had to go along with the plan—the fake marriage.

The Moretti mob contacted me when I was at rehearsals for the first play I was actually going to get paid for. This wasn’t a volunteer job. This was the real deal, and I felt so fricking happy. I might’ve ignored the offer if it wasn’t for Aunt Rosa and her constant need for cash for medical care. There’s no way I can ignore it. I have to do right by my family.

A man called Allessio Ricci asked to see me after rehearsals. He was tall and covered in tattoos, with a severe look that had me wondering if he worked for some debt collection agency I’d never heard of. He seriously looked ready for violence.

“I have an offer from a powerful man. Pretend to be his wife, and you’ll never have to worry about money again.”

As the chauffeur stops the car at the townhouse gate, I relive the run-in with Allessio, remembering the fear that swarmed over me with his every word. All I’ve ever wanted is to act. Ever since I was a kid, it’s been my dream, but Aunt Rosa comes first. She has to. She’s the only family I’ve got left.

“Pretend to be his wife?” I asked.

“He doesn’t want to get married. However, for social reasons, he has to. The deal is simple: go along with it, fool his family, and, after, you’ll get a ‘divorce’ and both go your separate ways. It’s a deal most people in your situation would kill for.”

I almost snapped at him, asking what he meant by that comment. Most of my clothes are old and faded. Plus, there’s a stink to being poor that many people seem very well-equipped to sniff out. Or maybe it’s how I project my self-consciousness, constantly afraid that somebody will see how ashamed it makes me.

“Who is he?”

Allessio was blunt. “The heir to the Moretti Mafia, Dario Moretti—one of the most powerful men on the East Coast.”

“Why me?”

“We showed the boss a variety of candidates who would suit this task. All of them have fewer than one or two friends. They all have reasons for needing this cash and are actresses.”

So that’s it, then. They showed this Dario Moretti photos of young actresses, and he took his pick. As the tall, metal gates to the townhouse open, I wonder if I should be flattered that he picked me. I can’t because that would mean violating the one rule I gave myself when I accepted this deal: no feelings, just acting.

I have to put my life on hiatus. I had to tell the director to promote the understudy since I would have to drop out suddenly. It broke my heart, but it’s for Aunt Rosa, Aunt Rosa. I say her name like a mantra. I always keep her in the forefront of my mind. The Moretti Family has already given me a large deposit, more money than I make in half a year, allowing me to pay Giulia to stay with Aunt Rosa while I’m away. After the marriage, I’ll get ten times more money.

“All of them are desperate,” I told Allessio. “That’s what you’re saying.”

The big, tatted man shrugged. “You can think of it any way you want. The boss needs his answer soon.”

He was talking as if I had a choice. When fate came knocking with a bag full of cash and the chance to give Aunt Rosa the care she would never get otherwise, there was no way I could say no.

Now, the car pulls into the inner sanctum of the townhouse. The house itself is three stories tall. A garden surrounds the perimeter, staff members moving around, watering plants, and a man in a chef’s uniform briskly walking toward the house. I swallow as nerves try to make me push the car door open and sprint away.

I’ve never committed a crime in my life, and now I’m going to be a fake Mafia queen. It’s absolutely unbelievable.

Before I can open the door, a maternal-looking lady in an apron pulls it open and beams at me. She has soft, curly hair tied back in a bun. She offers me her hand. “You must be Elena. Welcome.”

I do my best to smile. “Hello. Yes. I, uh, what’s your name?”

The hesitation makes me feel like a dork. I look around for my so-called fiancé but can’t see anyone. Ever since Allessio approached me a week ago, I’ve wondered what he looks like. Is he old? Young? Tall? Short? Muscular? It won’t make any difference to me. This is all a sham.

It will mean a lot if he’s at least a decent human being, as far as a man in his position can be.

“My name is Clara Bellini,” the woman says. “I’m the housekeeper, and it’s an honor to have you here.”

“Thank you,” I say, turning toward the trunk.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

“Getting my bags.”

She laughs as if that’s the most delightfully funny thing in the world. It makes me feel like a pet who’s just performed some trick. “Oh, silly. Don’t you worry about those! You’ve got somebody to meet …”

She takes my arm and leads me up wide stone steps toward an imposing front door at least as tall as two men and just as wide. As she pushes it open, I almost reach forward to help her. It looks heavy. She waves me inside and then leads me down a wide hallway. Artwork dots the walls, including classical paintings, landscapes, and nature scenes, with the occasional battle scene.

“Mr. Moretti is in his study,” she tells me, looking over her shoulder with a coy smile. “He is very excited to see you. He’s told us all about you, Miss Esposito.”

“Please, call me Elena,” I say.

Esposito is the fake name I’ll have to use while going through this charade. My heart beats a little faster when Clara stops outside another imposing door.

“I’m sure you’d like me to leave you two lovebirds alone,” she says.

“Uh, sure,” I mutter. “Yeah, that’d be great. Thanks.”

My head is spinning. I need to get my actor’s brain to work correctly. I’m supposed to be from this world, a wealthy princess worthy of the mob prince. Just being here makes me feel like I don’t belong. Somehow, I doubt this is the sort of place where they have TV dinners and rehearse lines on the balcony so they don’t have to listen to the music pounding through their bedroom wall.

Clara leaves me alone. Again, the urge to run hits me, but there is no going back now. I take a deep breath and then knock on the door.

“Come in,” a deep voice grunts.

He’s standing behind his desk, hands behind his back, wearing an untucked shirt with rolled-up sleeves. I almost gasp. I don’t know what I expected, exactly, but it wasn’t this .

He’s over six feet tall with dark brown, tousled hair with streaks of silver in it. He’s clean-shaven as if to show off his strong jawline. His muscular build is apparent as it presses through his shirt. His facial expression gives nothing away. His dark eyes gleam. There’s something about him that implies he has the weight of the world on his shoulders, an aura of constant dissatisfaction.

“Elena Esposito,” he says as if reminding me of my fake name.

I curtsey, holding the cut of my most expensive dress. “Mr. Moretti.”

He walks around the desk, hands still behind his back, so he stands directly over me. “I’ve been told you understand what’s expected of you.”

I swallow. I’m unsure what this feeling is, and I don’t want to know. He’s looking at me in a way that, on some deep level—which I’m going to ignore the heck out of—makes me want to please him. Then I remember this is all acting.

“I’m your fiancé. We met when you were handling business out west. I’m from this world.”

There’s a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. It’s almost mocking. I feel my cheeks redden.

“Is something funny?” I snap.

The twitch goes away. His mouth returns to a dissatisfied flat line. “Nothing about this is funny. My father wants me to find a wife. I’ve found you. After this charade, we’ll have a messy divorce and go our separate ways. I’ll use the fallout of the divorce as justification for not finding another woman.”

“You don’t want to get married?”

“I’m a Moretti,” he grunts. “It doesn’t matter what I want. I have to fulfill my social obligations. Now, let me show you to your room. You’ll be able to change for dinner. My parents are already on their way.”

That stings. As sad as it might seem, I spent a long time choosing this dress. I wanted to do my best to fit in with these people —for the role . I have to remember that. “Change?”

“My parents are snobs,” he says without a hint of resentment or shame. “They’ll judge everything about you, including your clothes, especially your clothes. If they aren’t designer, preferably Italian, it could cause problems.”

I swallow, remembering the big bag of cash I’ve already received. “Okay. Sure.”

When he offers me his arm, I hesitate.

“You better get used to touching me.” I flinch, and he goes on, “Don’t worry. I’d never pay for that , but we have to seem comfortable with each other in public settings. We might as well get some practice in.”

I take his arm, ignoring the feeling pulsing inside me when I feel how solid he is. He lays his hand over mine, sending more unwanted tingles, then leads me out of the office and up the large double staircase.

“Don’t gape,” he says with no anger or emotion. He seems cold. “It makes you look like you don’t belong.”

I pull my gaze away from the unbelievably giant painting of what might be a biblical scene, but I’m not sure.

He takes me to the end of a long hallway to a bedroom and then lets me go. “I’ll wait out here.”

“Well, duh. You wouldn’t come in with me, would you?”

His lip twitches again, but he seems to force it away like he’s angry at himself for even letting an “almost-smile” touch his lips. “When you meet my parents, try not to say things like duh . Remember, you were raised on the East Coast, then moved west, and now you’re back. That will explain your accent.”

“Have you told them about my aunt?”

“Hmm,” he nods. “I said you moved here with her.”

“Okay, I won’t be long.”

I push open the bedroom door, trying not to gape at its sheer size. It’s bigger than mine and Aunt Rosa’s entire apartment.