“Dude, why are you looking at me like that?” She shifted her feet as a tingly warmth heated between her thighs. No way was she going there. If there were one man in the world she’d never sleep with if the zombies took over the earth and they were the only ones left to procreate, it was Michael Conte.
“I may have a proposition for you,” he murmured.
She pushed away the memory of their first meeting and forced a smirk. “Sorry, babe. That ship has sailed and left port.”
She refused to look back as she walked away.
• • •
Michael sipped his cognac and watched as the party winded down. Luscious chocolate chip cannoli cake and pots of strong coffee were served, and a relaxed atmosphere rippled through the rooms as family and friends began making their good-byes.
Tension swirled in his gut and fought with the lovely fire of the alcohol. This time he was in trouble. Big trouble. After the phone call with Venezia and Dominick, he decided to confront his mother with a well-placed battle plan.
Michael knew sticking with the family tradition was impossible. He also realized his mother believed strongly in rules and rarely broke them. He had decided on an alternate plan that seemed brilliant. He’d throw her a story about a steady girlfriend, with a wedding in the firm future, and even promise a visit. Then he’d calmly insist Venezia marry first because of her history with Dominick, and he would cite Papa’s heavenly blessing. Maybe he’d tell her he saw it in a dream, something to soothe her doubts.
Until his other sister Julietta blew his story to rubble with a simple statement.
His mind drifted to their brief conversation.
“Michael, I don’t know what you heard, but to use one of your American phrases, the shit is about to hit the fan.” Never emotional or pulled into drama, Julietta always acted with a clear plan, which made her the perfect person to run La Dolce Famiglia. “Mama promised Papa on his deathbed she’d continue the traditions of the family. Unfortunately, that included having you marry first, no matter how ridiculous it sounds.”
“I’m sure I can talk her out of it,” Michael said, ignoring the doubts slithering like snakes in his head.
“Not gonna happen. I think Venezia is planning to elope. If she does, disaster will be an understatement. We’ll be at war with Dominick’s family, and Mama threatened to disown her. Carina is going through a hard time right now, and she’s been crying nonstop thinking her family is falling apart. Mama called the doctor and told him she was having a heart attack, but he diagnosed her with a bad case of indigestion and sent her to bed. Dios, please tell me you’re seeing someone serious and can take care of this situation? Damn patriarchal society. I cannot believe Papa bought this crap.”
The truth slammed through him. He’d never win on a deathbed promise. His father lured him into the trap, and his own mother shut the cage door behind him. He needed a wife and he needed her fast if he was going to clean up this mess. At least, a temporary wife.
What options did he have? His mind worked with brutal efficiency until the only solution lay before him. Convince his mother he was legally married, get Venezia to rush the wedding, and then a few months later break the sad news that his marriage didn’t work out. He’d deal with the consequences. Right now, he needed to fix this. After all, fixing family dramas was his job.
“I’ll be married by the end of the week,” he said.
His sister’s sharp indrawn breath cut through the phone.
“Tell Venezia not to do anything rash. I’ll call Mama and tell her the news later.”
“Are you serious? Are you really getting married, or is this a scam?”
Michael closed his eyes. In order to make the plan work, everyone needed to believe it was real. Starting with Julietta. “I have been seeing someone, and was just waiting to make it official. She doesn’t like a fuss and doesn’t want a real wedding, though, so we’ll probably hit the justice of the peace and then I’ll break the news to everyone.”
“Are you telling me the truth, Michael? Listen, this may be a mess but there’s no reason to rush marriage just to calm down Venezia. You don’t have to fix everything all the time.”
“Yes, I do,” he said quietly. The heaviness of responsibility fell over him and smothered his breath. He accepted the weight without question and moved forward. “I’ll give you the details after I talk to my fiancée.”
“Mama will insist on meeting her. She’s not going to take your word.”
His sister’s words locked the door on the cage with a final click.
“I know. I’ll arrange a visit home toward the end of the summer.”
“What? Who is she? What’s her name?”
“I have to go. I’ll call you back later.”
He disconnected the call.
The situation swirled with limited possibilities and too little time. He decided to look for one of those elite escort services that hired out companions for big events. Perhaps, with some luck, he’d find one willing to pretend to be his wife. Of course, delaying the meeting with his mother would take careful planning, and with the opening of the waterfront, he may be diagnosed with an ulcer by the end of the week.
Unless . . .
His gaze cut through the crowd and locked with a pair of cat-green eyes. A flare of lust lit low in his gut in automatic response to the challenge. She arched one perfect brow and tossed her head in dismissal, turning her back on him. He smothered a laugh. The woman was a prickly mass of sex and sarcasm. If there was a rose beneath, she surrounded herself with a thicket of thorns to warn any prince on horseback to stay way back.
Maggie Ryan was perfect for the job.
What if he bit the bullet—was that the American expression?—and got the whole charade over with immediately? What were the odds of another woman he knew traveling to Milan for a week? He trusted her. At least, a tiny bit. If she agreed, he’d be able to rush the encounter, plead work as an excuse to leave early, and allow Venezia to marry this summer. Maggie’s dislike for him was an asset—she wouldn’t get any romantic, moony ideas when she met his family and pretended to be a part of it. Of course, his mama would freak at his choice, probably expecting more of a traditional, nonthreatening spouse. Still, he’d make it work.
If she agreed.
He’d dated many beautiful women, but Maggie held a mysterious quality that hit a man like a sucker punch. Her cinnamon-colored hair shimmered in the light, a straight, silky mass that fell over her cheek and hit her shoulder in a fashionable cut. Her bangs only accented exotically tilted eyes, reminding him of the endless misty green of the Tuscan fields, sucking a man in and allowing him to get lost in the fog. Her features were sharp and clear: a strong tilted jaw, high cheekbones, and elegant nose. The stretchy fabric of her top revealed well-defined shoulders and high, perky br**sts. The pewter silk of her trousers glistened as she walked and showed off a perfectly curved rear and long legs that forced a man to imagine them wrapped around his waist. Her scent was a mix of earthy undertones of sandalwood and amber, sneaking into a man’s nostrils and promising him a trip to heaven on earth.