His gaze flickers, something unreadable passing through it. “Yes,” he says softly. “We will. He and his wife are known for being… wholesomely family-oriented—to an archaic degree. So,be ready. We really need to play up the happy-couple image this time.”
Of course we will.
Saturday arrives like a held breath. Evi was kind enough to dress me again, and as I run my hands over the dusty-rose fabric of the silk halter-top dress, I know I look the pinnacle of elegance.
My hair is done up in a wistful chignon, a few loose curls left to frame my face, and delicate diamonds dangle from my ears, understated and classy.
The mirror reflects a woman who belongs at Don Rafael Chiaroscuro’s side.
A woman who looks like she wants exactly what this life promises, and I smile as I let my mask slide into place.
When I turn to Evi, she gives me a warm hug. “You look perfect,” she says.
It’s not hard to make my smile genuine with her, and I give her a squeeze before collecting my clutch and heading toward the bedroom door. “Thanks. Wish me luck.”
“You won’t need it!” she calls as I enter the hall and make my way toward the stairs.
My descent isn’t all flashy and dramatic like last time.
It’s just me and Raf going to the dinner with a few more of the commissioner’s guests, but still, warmth pools in my belly when I find my fake husband waiting for me at the foot of the stairs.
He’s on the phone, wrapping up a conversation with one of his captains that sounds like hostility between the Italians and the Japanese is really starting to heat up.
From what my mother has told me, it’s getting more intense on our side as well, which means the Yakuza are starting to feel the noose tighten. But that’s not what I care to think about right now.
Raf’s distraction gives me a moment of unobstructed opportunity to study him, and my heart flutters as I take in the crisp lines of his navy-blue Italian suit, the white dress shirt and pink paisley tie that will perfectly coordinate with the color of my dress without looking too matchy.
His cognac brown wingtip leather dress shoes have been polished to a shine, making him just as sharp and well dressed as always.
But it’s the lock of dark hair that’s fallen loose of its perfect styling to hang before his hazel eyes that makes my heart stutter.
It’s a hint of dishevelment that Raf never shows to the world.
But here in his house, as his wife, I get to see the small glimpses of the man behind his pristine image.
The moments when he lets down his guard to play a dragon orfeelthe emotions life is determined to draw out of him.
And I can’t deny that it’s moments like this that awaken my attraction toward him.
I shouldn’t want him. He’s not mine to desire.
His heart belongs to a woman I’ll never be able to compete with—not that I should want to after our history. But more and more,I can’t seem to help myself. I can’t stop the butterflies that come to life when I see him, can’t ignore the way my pulse quickens when he gets close.
Raf ends the call as my heels meet the cold marble of the foyer, rapping smartly across the hard surface and announcing my presence.
His fingers comb through his hair, returning the rebellious lock back to its place as he turns to look at me, and a smirk tilts his lips into a crooked smile as he takes me in.
“You’re perfect,” he says, a hint of pride edging his tone, and it makes my cheeks warm—even if I know he doesn’t mean it like it sounds.
He means I’m dressed just right for the occasion. But my traitorous heart doesn’t care what he means.
“Shall we?” he says, offering me his elbow, and I take it for stability as we head out the door and onto the gravel drive.
It’s a relatively easy drive into the heart of the city, where we pull up to the curb along Maple Street and step out in front of the three-story gray brick building that hosts one of the finest steakhouses in Chicago.
Two of Raf’s guards step out behind us before the driver pulls away to park the car just down the block. With raised tensions and no Sandro to serve as Raf’s personal bodyguard, the men are here just as a precaution, and they stay near the door as we step inside.
We’re greeted by a distinguished gentleman wearing a black suit, his salt-and-pepper beard and hair styled to perfection as hegives us a polite bow. “Did you have a reservation with us this evening?” he asks.