Chapter 25

25

Olivia

How have I managed to land myself in this situation? Oh, what a tangled web we weave. When first we practice to deceive. Walter Scott's words have never rung truer. Unfortunately, I never did take to any of his other poems. But this particular line has always stuck in my mind.

I glance at myself in the mirror. Tug on the sleeve of my dress. It's a shift dress, with netting for sleeves which run down to my wrists. The hem hits below my knees. It does have a slit that runs up the side so the dress parts when I walk. And the neckline may be a little more daring than usual, but still, totally acceptable. Combined with my favorite Ferragamo's—which were another impulse purchase—I feel more confident in facing the upcoming evening.

I should have totally turned down the invitation, but when Massimo threw it down as a challenge, I wasn't able to refuse. And then I had to go open my big mouth and tell my family I'm engaged.

I wasn't even able to apologize to my sister about the fact that I hadn't come clean to her about my prior interactions with Massimo. I mean, what would I tell her? That I slept with her future husband, once—okay, twice—before I had any idea that he would be the person with whom her marriage was going to be arranged. And that to cover it up, I lied to him, and then to my family. Oh, my god! I squeeze the bridge of my nose. This is such a mess. Only bright spot is, I have someone I think can be persuaded to back up my story. At least, I hope he will.

The doorbell to my flat rings. I rented this place with Penny, and another actor friend, who moved back to London after the musical finished its run. I extended the lease by another week, just until I can see this mess through. All I have to do is convince Massimo I've moved on, and convince my family I don't want anything to do with Massimo. Oh, yea, and I have to convince myself, too. No biggie.

I march to the door and throw it open.

The tall man in the doorway blocks my view with his broad shoulders. His dark hair is slightly long, his jaw unshaven. His blue eyes crinkle at the corners as he takes me in. "Whoa, Olly, you sure do clean up well."

He notices the scar on my cheek, though it shouldn't be a shock, since I've FaceTimed him a few times already.

"Shut up." I grab him by his tie and pull him in for a peck on his cheek. "Good to see you, too, Declan. Thanks for coming."

"How could I refuse? Also, I was in the South of France which isn't that far off."

"You were on the Riviera ?" I step back and beckon him to enter. He follows me inside. I shut the door, then watch as he prowls around the apartment. He's so large that the space, which is normally enough for me, seems much too small with him in it. "If I'd known you were on holiday, I wouldn't have interrupted you."

"It was work." He raises a shoulder. "Or rather, networking with other producers and actors. Deathly boring. You know how it is." He throws me a glance over his shoulder.

I do know. I was one of them. A struggling actress who made the rounds of parties, lunches, more auditions, all in search of that one elusive role that would get me noticed. I'd landed a few bit parts, but nothing big, until the role in Beauty and the Beast had come along. It had been as the understudy, of course, but it was regular pay. And it meant returning to Italy, which I'd had mixed feelings about. Not that I had a choice. When a role comes your way, you take it.

"I really do appreciate you coming down here on such short notice."

"Anything for you, Olly, you know that." He turns to face me. "You look good, babe."

"You mean, despite the scar on my face?" I gesture toward my cheek with my hand.

"It's honestly not that noticeable."

"Noticeable enough to have been ditched by my agent."

His gaze widens, then he scowls. "You needed a new agent, anyway."

I chuckle. "You're probably right." I walk past him to the kitchen. "And I know you're right about the scarring. It's not a big deal, except when the camera zooms in for a close-up, and then it's right there."

He stares at me.

"I know. I mean, I know it shouldn't stop me. At most, maybe it should just temporarily slow me down. It's just, it makes my job even more difficult. It's tough enough landing an audition, never mind when they find out you have a scar on your cheek."

"And when have you ever let a challenge stop you?" He leans a hip against the counter.

"Wait until you find out about the one that I'm faced with now," I grumble as I pull a beer from the refrigerator and offer it to him. Then, I head over to where I have a bottle of tequila stowed away at the back of a shelf. I pull it out, and turn to find a glass.

He arches an eyebrow. "That much of a challenge?"

"Worse." I pour myself a shot of the alcohol, then toss it back. I cough, then grab a glass, fill it with water and drink from it. When I've finally composed myself, I turn to find him watching me with an amused glint.

"It can't be that bad."

"You have no idea." I proceed to tell him everything, and when I'm done, he bursts out laughing. He laughs so hard that the bottle in his hand tilts, and some of the liquid spills over the side.

"Watch it." I mop up the liquid and toss the paper napkin in the waste disposal basket. "It's also not that funny." I scowl.

"It's hilarious. In fact, it reads like a comedy of errors." He chortles.

"Hmph." I cross my arms across my chest and lean against the counter. "So, will you come with me to dinner tonight? I couldn't think of anyone else who could play the role of my fake fiancé."

"You sure this mobster beau of yours won't shoot me for it?"

"He's not my beau." I shuffle my feet. "I slept with him, once." I think about lying, but the least I can do is be honest with the person here to help me. "Okay, twice."

"Well, clearly, you made an impression on him, if he hasn't forgotten you."

I bite the inside of my cheek. To be fair, I haven't forgotten him, either. I remember every touch, every kiss, every stroke of his palm on my hip, every brush of his fingers over my clit, every breath of his on my cheek, every nudge of his lips against mine, seducing me to open my mouth for him, part my legs for his invasion, press my aching breasts against his chest. The humor in his eyes, which occasionally surfaced when he thought I didn't notice, the softness in his features whenever he pulled me into his side. The banter which we traded, the way he seemed to tolerate my flashes of temper. God, there's no one else with whom I've ever felt this comfortable, yet this turned on. The intensity of our connection was something I've never experienced before. And I may never experience again. I grip the edge of the counter and blink against the telltale pressure that crowds the backs of my eyes.

"You're in love with him," he states.

I jerk my chin in his direction. "What, no. What gave you that idea?"

"The fact that you look like you lost your best friend?"

My features crumple. He walks over and pulls me into a hug. "Didn't mean to upset you."

"You didn't. Well, it wasn't only you. I've been such an ass. And I barely know the man, so how can I feel so much for him? Also, I can't just give in and marry him, you know. I need to figure out what I really want first." I press my face into his shoulder. Draw in his scent… which is male, but strange. Nothing like the darkness and testosterone that is Massimo. Jesus, why am I so hung up on him? I made my decision to walk away from him. Why can't I stick to it now? "I'm so confused." I swallow.

He pats my shoulder as I compose myself.

"I'm fine now." I push away and he steps back.

"Come on, have a seat." He pulls me over to sit at the table. Then refills the glass of water and sets it in front of me.

I take a sip, and another. "I'm good." I place the glass back on the table as he drops down in the chair across from me.

"The way I see it, you have three choices now."

I tilt my head.

"Either you can come clean to your family that you love him and tell them you want to marry him."

"Never," I say with finality.

"Or you can tell him you love him, and accept his proposal to get married."

I scowl. "And the third option?"

He lowers his chin to his chest. "I don't have a third option."