Marco followed her gaze. “I’m sending Isabella to your apartment with options.”
“Options?”
“Clothes.” His voice lowered slightly. “I need you to look like a woman I can’t keep my hands off.”
Two hours later, Emily returned wearing an emerald green dress that hugged her body like it had been made for her, nude heels that made her legs look endless, and soft waves falling around her shoulders. Isabella, Marco’s personal stylist and occasional emergency miracle worker, had appeared at Emily’s apartment with garment bags, shoes, makeup, and a terrifyingly efficient attitude.
“You have beautiful shoulders,” Isabella said while fastening the dress. “Why are you hiding them under office cardigans?”
“Because I work in an office.”
“Tragic.”
Now every head in the office turned.
Emily hated that she noticed.
Marco’s office door opened.
He stepped out, saw her, and stopped dead.
For one long moment, he said nothing.
His eyes moved over her slowly, and Emily felt it like touch.
“Emily,” he said, voice rough. “You look stunning.”
It should have been part of the act.
It did not feel like acting.
At Sorella’s, he slid into the booth beside her, arm around her shoulders, thigh pressed to hers. People stared. Phones lifted. Cameras flashed discreetly from the sidewalk beyond the window. The restaurant was all dark wood, white plates, and expensive privacy, which meant every important person inside pretended not to watch while watching intensely.
“Smile,” Marco murmured near her ear. “You’re crazy about me.”
That part isn’t hard, she almost said.
Instead, she smiled.
Marco asked her questions over lunch that he should have known if they were truly dating. Favorite foods. Childhood memories. Dreams. The questions were practical, necessary for the lie, but the way he listened did not feel practical.
“Tell me something real,” he said quietly. “Something I don’t know.”
Emily hesitated.
Then she said, “I want to travel. Paris. Florence. Barcelona. I want to see places I’ve only ever read about. But there was always Claire to care for, bills to pay, jobs to keep.”
His hand found hers under the table.
“Your sister.”
“She has a chronic illness. Some days are good. Some are not.” Emily tried to smile. “She’s my only family. I’d do anything for her.”
“That’s why you said yes.”
“Part of why.”
“And the other part?”
She looked at him, and the truth stood dangerously close.
“I trust you,” she said. “I know what people say about you. But I’ve seen how you treat people when no one important is watching. You keep your word.”
Marco’s thumb stroked her knuckles.
“You’re the only person in my life,” he said, “who sees me as more than my reputation.”
“Maybe everyone else stopped looking too soon.”
Something changed in his face.
The waiter arrived with their food, breaking the moment, but not before Emily saw the crack in his armor.
When they returned to the office, photos were already online.
Marco Ricci’s Mystery Woman Revealed?
Emily stared at one image on his phone.
She was looking up at him like he was the whole world.
Because he was.
That was the terrifying part.
By Wednesday night, Emily had slept badly for four nights in a row.
Every time she closed her eyes, she felt Marco’s hand at the small of her back. His lips at her temple. His voice near her ear. The warmth of him at Sorella’s. The way he had looked at her in emerald green. The soft danger of his thumb brushing her knuckles beneath the table as if no one else existed.
It’s just for a week, she told herself.
Then everything goes back to normal.
Except normal had become impossible.
At eight that evening, Marco’s driver took her to the penthouse again.
This time, Marco looked tense when the elevator opened. His tie was loose, his jaw tight, and two untouched glasses of wine sat on the counter.
“My sister Lucia called,” he said. “She’s suspicious.”
“About us?”
“She says I’ve never brought anyone home. Never talked about a serious girlfriend. Suddenly I’m bringing you to my mother’s birthday.” He raked a hand through his hair. “Lucia can smell a lie through concrete.”
“What did you tell her?”
“That I kept you to myself because I didn’t want my insane family scaring you off.”
Emily gave him a look.
“What?” he said. “It’s believable. They’re terrifying.”
Despite her nerves, she laughed.
“We need details,” he said. “Things couples know. Favorite movie, coffee order, what side of the bed you sleep on.”
“Right side,” Emily said automatically. “And you take your coffee black. You hate breakfast meetings because you don’t fully become human until nine. You pretend your favorite movie is The Godfather, but you watched Pride and Prejudice twice because your mother loves it.”
Marco stared at her. “How do you know that?”
“I’ve been your assistant for two years.”
“No.” His voice softened. “You pay attention.”
Emily looked away. “It’s my job.”
“It’s more than that.”
The air shifted again.
Dangerous. Warm. Almost honest.
“Tell me about your family,” he said, sitting beside her. “I need to know.”
Emily told him about the car accident that killed her parents when she was twenty. About dropping out of college to care for Claire. About working three jobs, then taking Marco’s job because it paid well and he had not cared that she never finished her degree.
“My father was a history teacher,” she said. “My mother was a nurse. They were always tired, always overworked, but they danced in the kitchen every Friday night. That’s the last memory I have of them together before the accident. My mom laughing. My dad spinning her into the refrigerator.”
Marco took her hand.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Emily looked at their joined fingers. “Claire and I survived. That’s what we do.”
“If your sister needs more help after this week, tell me.”
Her eyes snapped up. “No.”
“No. You’re already paying me too much.”
“It’s not too much if it helps someone you love.”
“Why would you do that?”
Marco’s expression changed.
“Because you matter to me.”
The words hung between them.
Not fake.
Not rehearsed.
Emily’s heart beat hard enough to hurt.
Marco stood abruptly.
“We should practice dancing.”
“Dancing?”
“My mother will insist. There will be music. Everyone will watch.”
“I’m not very good.”
“I’ll lead.”
He turned on a slow song and held out his hand.
Emily took it.
He pulled her close, one hand on her back, the other holding hers against his chest. They moved slowly in front of the windows, city lights surrounding them.
At first she was stiff.
Then his body guided hers, patient and confident, and she relaxed into him.
“See?” he murmured. “You trust me.”
“That may be my biggest problem.”
His hand tightened slightly.
“Have you ever been in love?” he asked.
Emily’s throat went dry. “Once. A long time ago.”
“What happened?”
“He said I was too serious. Too tied down by responsibility. He wanted someone spontaneous.” She forced a smile. “Someone who could run away to Bali on three days’ notice, not someone whose sister needed medication refills and rent paid.”
Marco stopped moving.
He cupped her face. “He was an idiot.”
“I mean it. Taking care of people is not a flaw. Loving someone enough to sacrifice for them is not weakness.” His thumb brushed her cheek. “It’s one of the most beautiful things about you.”
Emily’s eyes burned.
No one had ever said that to her.
No one had ever looked at the life she had built from grief and duty and called it beautiful.
Marco’s gaze dropped to her mouth.
This time, there was no camera.
No audience.
No reason to pretend.
He leaned in slowly, giving her time to pull away.
She did not.
His lips were a breath from hers when his phone rang.
They both froze.
Marco swore softly, then checked the screen.
“Lucia.”
He answered, and in seconds his face darkened.
“Slow down. What happened?” A pause. “He did what?”
Emily watched the businessman disappear and the brother take his place.
“I’m sending a car. You and the kids come here tonight. No, Lucia, listen to me. You are not staying there. I don’t care what he said. Pack what you can. I’ll handle the rest.”
When he hung up, his voice was controlled, but his eyes were furious.
“My brother-in-law got drunk and started throwing things. Lucia grabbed the kids and left.”
“Oh my God.”
“I need to get her.”
“Of course.” Emily picked up her purse. “I’ll get out of your way.”
Marco caught her hand.
“Come with me.”
She blinked. “What?”
“Lucia has been asking to meet you. And another woman there might help. Please.”
There was no acting in that please.
So Emily went.
They drove to Bay Ridge in silence, Marco holding her hand with one hand and the wheel with the other. The city moved past in streaks of yellow light and wet pavement. Emily could feel his anger in the tightness of his grip, but it never turned toward her.
Lucia stood on the porch of a modest house with two children pressed against her legs. She looked like Marco around the eyes, green and fierce, but fear had stripped her face bare. Antonio, eight, stood rigidly at her side, pale and angry in superhero pajamas. Sophia, five, clutched a stuffed rabbit with one ear chewed flat.
Marco was out of the car before Emily could breathe.
He wrapped Lucia in his arms.
“I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
Lucia broke then, just for a second, her forehead against his chest.
Emily approached the children slowly and knelt.
“Hi,” she said softly. “I’m Emily. Your Uncle Marco asked me to come help.”
Sophia’s lip trembled. “Daddy yelled.”
“I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” Emily kept her voice gentle. “But you’re safe now. Your uncle is going to take care of your mom.”
Antonio looked suspicious. “Are you Uncle Marco’s girlfriend?”
Emily glanced at Marco, who was loading bags into the trunk with the grim efficiency of a man trying not to commit a felony.
“Yes,” she said.
The word should have felt like a lie.
Instead, it felt like stepping off a cliff.
Back at the penthouse, Marco settled the kids in a guest room while Emily made hot chocolate. Lucia joined her in the kitchen, exhausted and embarrassed, arms wrapped around herself as if she was cold from the inside.
“I’m sorry,” Lucia said. “This is not how I wanted to meet you.”
“Please don’t apologize.”
Lucia watched her stir cocoa into warm milk.
“Marco can’t stop talking about you.”
Emily nearly spilled the spoon. “He talks about me?”
“Constantly. Emily organized this. Emily fixed that. Emily said I shouldn’t take that meeting. Emily knows the answer.” Lucia gave a tired smile. “I used to think he was just dependent on you. Now I think he was in love and too stubborn to know it.”
Emily’s chest ached.
If only.
“He’s a good man,” Emily said quietly.
“He is.” Lucia’s eyes filled. “He practically raised me and Giana after Dad died. He thinks protecting everyone is his job.”