Page 23 of Marry Me Not
“Go.”
Rosa straightened and headed back the way she’d come.
My foot tapped against the floor. The noise of the restaurant pressed in—cutlery, laughter, the low hum of a couple arguing two tables over—but all of it felt muted beneath the hammering inside my chest. I needed this to work. I needed to prove to myself that the woman who’d caught me off guard, who’d somehow made my shriveled heart race, was a fake.
My phone buzzed against my thigh.
Got it. Running analysis now.
I exhaled. Some of the tension bled out of my shoulders. I started a two-minute timer and set the phone face down on the table. That’s all Rosa’s tech guy needed.
The timer went off long before Fabiana slid back into her seat.
The same waiter reappeared. “How’s the dress, miss?”
“Fine. Thank you. I’m sure it’ll wash right out when I get home.”
My phone vibrated. I checked it under the table.
Nothing.
How much longer to analyze all of it?
It’s done. There’s nothing interesting here, Cosimo. Just her complaining to her friends about how much of an asshole you’ve been. Vita has messaged her a few times asking how she’s doing and about some wedding details, but Fabiana hasn’t mentioned you to her at all. There’s nothing here.
My stomach sank.
No. I didn’t believe it. Whatever deal they had, they must’ve discussed it in person, off the record. That was possible.
It also meant I had no way of finding out what the hell they’d agreed to, not unless Fabiana confessed it to me.
Slowly, I lifted my gaze back to her. She waited for the waiter to refill her glass and then leaned toward me. “Look, Cosimo, I understand why you’re worried about Mia. I really do. I can’t imagine how stressed you and your family must be about the upcoming election given the threats Mia’s dad has lobbed your way. But Mia is one of my closest, oldest friends, and we have never talked about my family’s business. There has to be some compromise we can agree on.”
“I wonder why you think this is a discussion.”
She straightened. “Rafaele has never asked me to?—”
“I don’t give a shit about what Rafaele has or hasn’t asked you. Once we’re married, you won’t answer to your brother anymore. You will answer to me, and to me only. Whatever rules I give you, reasonable or not, you’ll have to obey them.”
I waited for her to fold. At this point, most men who reported to me would’ve. Instead, she gave her head a small shake and skewered me with a frustrated look.
“Why are you like this? You’ve been treating me like I’m your enemy from day one, and I just don’t get it. Have I offended you somehow? If so, just tell me. I can promise you that I haven’t done anything on purpose.”
I stared into her eyes, those fucking pools of false earnestness, and my patience snapped like a wire pulled too tight.
“Enough,” I snarled. “Drop the fucking act, Fabiana. I’m tired of you pretending you’re so fucking innocent and self-sacrificial. I know you got fired from the UN for accepting bribes.”
The color drained from her face. Not slowly, but all at once, like someone had pulled a plug. “How do you know about that?”
“I justdo.”
She swallowed. “It’s not what you think.”
A surge of grim satisfaction pulsed through me. I had her. “You mean you didn’t get fired?”
“I did, but?—”
“Oh, so you didn’t accept bribes?”
