Page 64 of Wrong Marriage. Right Groom
Not identical. But close enough to unsettle me.
“Excuse me, sir,” I said carefully, turning slightly toward him. “Do I know you?”
He was quiet for a moment before he spoke, his voice lower than before, almost like a confession.
“It’s me, Ramiro.”
My mouth fell open.
“What the hell? How is that even possible? Since when does the assistant to the richest man in Spain moonlight as an Uber driver?”
A brief grunt escaped him.
“Let’s just say I happened to see you and decided to offer you a ride.”
I didn’t buy it for a second.
“Right,” I said dryly. “And I’m supposed to believe that? Did Rafael send you to stalk me or something? Maybe he’s trying to learn more about me now that I’ll be working as his personal assistant.”
“We already have every piece of information there is to have on you, Miss Orsini.” His tone was matter-of-fact. “There would be no need to stalk you to uncover anything.”
Then, with infuriating ease, he changed the subject.
“I mean no offense, Loretta, but is that child really yours?”
My entire body went rigid.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I snapped. “Are you accusing me of something?”
“No.” His voice remained maddeningly calm. “But she resembles a missing child. I’ll need to take a hair sample to be certain.”
My heart plummeted.
Of course Zara was a missing child.
I had known from the beginning that one day someone would come looking for her. I had known there would be questions. Investigations. People claiming rights over her.
But somewhere in the last three weeks, that frightened little girl had become mine.
Not by blood.
By choice.
By every nightmare I had soothed, every meal I had prepared, every trembling hand I had held through the dark.
The thought of someone taking her away felt like a knife twisting between my ribs.
The car suddenly slowed.
“I will not allow you to take a hair sample from my child,” I said sharply.
A brief silence followed.
Then Ramiro said, “I already did.”
The words hit me like a slap.
My breath caught.
