Chapter 2 - “SHE’S MY FIANCÉE”“This is Emma Collins,” Matteo said.
His mother smiled.
“I know exactly who she is. Sophia Romano.”
She stepped closer.
“You saved the entire foundation weekend.”
“I saved an ice sculpture and six board members.”
“She’s modest,” Matteo said.
Emma narrowed her eyes.
Then Sophia looked at her son.
“Three years, Matteo.”
His expression changed.
“Mother.”
“Three years since your father died, and every woman I mention suddenly becomes unsuitable. You told me you would never—”
“Mother.”
Sophia stopped.
Emma wanted desperately to disappear.
Then Matteo said:
“Emma is my fiancée.”
Silence.
Emma stared at him.
Sophia gasped.
From the hallway came the crash of porcelain.
A beautiful brunette stood outside the bedroom.
Bianca Caruso.
Emma knew the name.
Chicago society had spent months speculating that Matteo would marry Bianca, linking two powerful families.
Bianca’s gaze moved from Emma to the bed.
Then to the shoes.
Her smile survived.
Barely.
“How wonderful.”
Sophia took Emma’s hands.
“How long?”
Emma opened her mouth.
“Three months,” Matteo answered.
Emma almost swallowed her tongue.
“Three months?” Bianca repeated.
“Yes.”
Emma turned slowly toward Matteo.
If looks could kill, Romano Holdings would need a new chairman.
Sophia kissed Emma’s cheek.
“You two come to breakfast. I’ll give you privacy.”
Bianca walked away without another word.
The door closed.
Emma remained perfectly still.
Then picked up one of her heels and threw it at Matteo’s head.
He caught it.
“You have lost your mind.”
“I needed Bianca to believe it.”
“You announced an engagement to your mother while I was sitting in your bed.”
“It was convincing.”
“That is not a defense.”
She grabbed the other shoe.
Matteo lifted one hand.
“That heel is sharper.”
Emma lowered it.
“How did my key open your room?”
“Event master key.”
“So this really was an accident?”
“Yes.”
“And nothing happened?”
His expression almost became offended.
“You were unconscious from exhaustion.”
“So were you.”
“I was asleep.”
“Excellent distinction.”
Emma put on her heels.
Matteo watched her.
“I need a favor.”
“No.”
“You haven’t heard it.”
“No.”
“Six months.”
She stopped.
“Pretend engagement. Public appearances when necessary. Separate rooms.”
Emma laughed.
He didn’t.
“Two million dollars.”
The laughter disappeared.
Matteo clearly expected money to finish the argument.
Instead Emma stepped closer.
“Do you think everybody has a price?”
“Yes.”
“Then you have spent your life surrounded by the wrong people.”
She opened the door.
“Emma.”
She turned.
“You should learn what no sounds like, Mr. Romano.”
Then she walked away.
By noon, photographs of them were already online.
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By nightfall, Emma discovered gossip was the least dangerous consequence of waking in Matteo Romano’s bed.
Someone was waiting inside her office.
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