“Excellent!” Elana claps her hands. “Now, let’s take a selfie to remember the occasion.”
“Right now?” I ask with a laugh.
“Why not?” Isabella says, stealing Elana’s phone. “We’re documenting the day the Marco women went into business together.”
We squeeze together, our faces pressed close, so no one gets cut out of the frame, even if the lens is pointed toward our nostrils at anunflattering angle.
When Elana holds up the screen, I see it—realjoy, the kind you can’t fake—that comes from finally being loved for exactly who you are.
“To the Marco women!” Isabella announces as Elana snaps the photo.
I don’t point out that I’m not a Marco yet.
Because in their eyes, I already am.
THIRTY-FOUR
Scarlett
The message from Rafael’s assistant comes through just as I’m leaving the cafe:Mr. Marco would like to meet with you this afternoon. Are you available at 5 p.m.?
He doesn’t have to say why. I already know he wants my answer about the vendor contract.
The business card I’ve been carrying in my pocket feels like a brick I’m finally ready to put down.
I text back:I’ll be there.
By five sharp, I’m walking through the lobby of the Ice House Arena, past the trophy cases and championship banners, toward the executive offices where Rafael Marco built his empire.
Unlike the last time I was here, my heart isn’t pounding. All I feel is a strange sort of calm—the peace that only comes when you’re no longer afraid.
His assistant ushers me into an empty conference room with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the ice rink below. Rafael enters a moment later, closing the door behind him before sitting at the head of the table. “Miss Rossi. Thank you for coming on short notice.”
“Scarlett,” I correct him, just like Isabella did the day I became Brendan’s wedding date. “And you’re welcome.”
He gestures to one of the chairs, but I remain standing.
“You know why I called you here,” he says, opening his laptop.
“You want my answer about the vendor contract,” I state matter-of-factly. Might as well get to the point.
“We’ll talk about that in a moment.” He clears his throat, and then looks uncomfortable. “I owe you an apology.”
I stare at him. Whatever I expected, it wasn’t this.
He folds his hands. “I made assumptions about you that weren’t fair, particularly regarding your motives and feelings for my nephew. And it appears—” He pauses. “I was wrong.”
“Yes, you were,” I snap back. “I may not come from the same background as you. I don’t have the connections or the influence. But I deserve the benefit of the doubt, just like anyone else.”
“I agree.”
My brows rise. “You do?”
“Yes. Brendan and I had a discussion after the game in San Diego. And he made it clear he wasn’t happy with me.” Rafael looks almost embarrassed. “Actually, that’s an understatement. He gave me an earful about how wrong I’d been about you, and the role I played in your relationship ending the first time.”
My breath lodges in my throat. “What?”
“He told me that if I couldn’t see how much you two love each other, then I was blind. And then he handed me a list of proof.” Rafael meets my eyes. “And explained that if I couldn’t accept your relationship, he’d walk away from the Crushers.”