by Tami Lund
Marco’s voice startled her. She tensed and whipped her head around to see that he was awake, still burrowed against her, his face so close she could press her lips against his if that were something a pretend couple did upon waking in the morning.
One side of his mouth lifted, and he leaned forward and kissed the tip of her nose.
Her body instantly relaxed.
“That’s better,” he said before rolling onto his back and stretching. She stared at all those rippling muscles. Could they get in a quicky before Julia woke?
Had she ever had a quicky? Had she ever considered having a quicky before?
She swallowed. “What are you talking about?”
“You,” he said, and leaned over and kissed her bare shoulder. “You were so tense it was like cuddling with a block of wood.”
“Thanks for that visual.”
He chuckled. “Relax, Hill. Just enjoy it for what it is. It’s more fun that way.”
Hadn’t she just given herself that exact same advice?
Her alarm blared, and she snagged her phone to turn it off. Marco rolled out of bed and headed toward the bathroom as she blatantly watched his tight, rounded ass until the door closed, blocking her view.
She flopped back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. Live in the moment, Hill. It’s more fun that way.
She really needed to follow that advice. Otherwise, there was no way her heart was going to survive this sham unscathed.
***
“Do you think you could drop Julia off at school?” Marco asked. He stood over the stove, scrambling eggs and heating up Smok-Y Links, a half-full mug of coffee near his elbow.
Hillary filled his cup and then her own and was about to head to the table when he wrapped his arm around her waist and hauled her into his side. He pressed his lips against hers, flicking out his tongue, and like it was the most natural thing in the world to make out with him in the kitchen on a random Tuesday morning, she twined her arms around his neck and leaned into him, devouring him as much as he was her, until he broke the kiss to stir the eggs and flick off the burners.
“We are definitely having se—morning, sunshine,” Marco said to Julia, who stepped into the room.
She grunted and yawned as she wandered over and dropped onto the bench in the breakfast nook.
Hillary poured her a glass of orange juice and sat down next to her. “Why do you need me to drop her off?”
Marco slid a plate in front of each of them. “Jo needs me to go into the restaurant for today’s deliveries.”
“Why?”
He shrugged. “She can’t be there, has an appointment or something.”
Hillary stifled her sigh of relief. It was clear Jo didn’t buy their engagement act, and as far as Hillary was concerned, the less time Marco spent in her company, the better. She could blow this whole thing up for him if she kept harassing him for the truth.
What if he confessed and she told the rest of the staff and then Patricia showed up at the restaurant and overheard them chatting about how their boss was in a fake relationship so he could gain custody of his sister?
They might as well hand Julia over to the woman.
“Time to go,” Marco said a few minutes later, and Julia and Hillary both headed upstairs to brush their teeth.
Marco sidled up next to her in the bathroom, brushing his teeth and winking at her in the mirror.
Live in the moment, Hillary.
Otherwise, she would have a damn hard time convincing herself that people who were pretending to be engaged would wink at one another in the bathroom mirror.
As they headed toward the vehicles a short time later, Hillary stopped Marco with a hand on his arm. “Would you rather I drive your parents’ car?”
He watched Julia climb into the passenger seat of his truck. “I would, but I’d rather Julia not have to ride in it.”
She nodded and dropped her hand to twine her fingers with his. Funny how she’d once thought he was so frustrating and conceited and a dozen other not-nice words, when he was really one of the most thoughtful, selfless people she knew.
“If you need me, I’m just a phone call away,” she said as they parted ways.
“I really like you two together,” Julia said on the way to school.
Hillary cleared her throat and didn’t say anything. What was she supposed to say? Yeah, I do too?
She pulled to the curb in the drop-off line and shifted into park so Julia could hop out. Because the car in front of her wasn’t moving, Hillary sat there and watched her walk toward the building.
Julia abruptly turned her head to the left as if someone had called her name, and then a woman stepped onto the path, waving.
Aunt Patricia.
Shit.
Hillary scrambled out of the truck and hurried toward them. Patricia was holding out what looked like a Tupperware container.
“What are you doing?” Hillary demanded when she reached them.
Patricia glanced at her and then at the parking lot. “Is that Marco’s truck?”
“Yes.”
“Where is Marco?”
“At the restaurant. What are you doing here?”
“Why isn’t he dropping her off himself?”
“How is that any of your business?”
But it was if she wanted custody of Julia. She could use the erratic hours it took to run a restaurant against him.
Good thing he’d thought up the idea of a fake fiancée, who could pick up the slack when he was busy at work.
“I need to get to class,” Julia said.
Patricia shifted her focus to the young girl, once again holding out the covered bowl. “They’re cherry chocolate chip. Homemade. With fresh cherries instead of maraschino. It was probably your dad’s favorite of everything I’ve ever made, besides my strawberry-stuffed French toast.”
Her eyes misted over, and Hillary turned away to stare at the rust-colored mums lining the front of the building. She didn’t want to feel sorry for Patricia, not when the woman was trying to steal away the only thing Marco had left of his parents.
Never mind that Julia was the only thing the other woman had left of her brother.
“Thanks,” Julia said, accepting the gift. “I’ll share them with my first hour.” She gave Hillary a one-armed hug. “See you this afternoon.” And then she was gone, jogging toward the building and slipping inside.
“The lady in the office says you and Marco are engaged,” Patricia said, her gaze straying to Hillary’s left hand.
She moved her arm behind her back and made a mental note to remind Marco that they needed to come up with some sort of ring, if only to validate their claim to Patricia.
“How much do you know about him? His family?” Patricia asked.
“Enough to be happily engaged to the man.”
Patricia’s eyes narrowed. “Are you from this area?”
Hillary shook her head.
“Then you very well may not know. Do you know how his parents died? How my brother was killed?”
The bitterness in Patricia’s voice was palpable. No doubt, now that he was gone, she regretted having been estranged from her brother for all those years. Maybe that regret would help her see reason.
“Listen, Patricia, I am truly sorry for your loss. I’m sorry you lost all those years before now, too. I never met your brother, but I understand he was a good man. An honest man. He never got involved in any of the mafia business. Just like Marco isn’t.”
Patricia’s bottom lip quivered. “The mafia killed him. How did that happen if he wasn’t involved?”
Hillary was reasonably confident that his parents had been killed because Marco had saved Nina and Shannon from the Armenian mob. He’d rescued them; he’d never been involved, not in the way Patricia seemed to believe.
Hillary doubted Patricia was aware of all that, though, and it wasn’t her place to enlighten the woman. “You should talk to Marco. Reasonably. Go into the conversation with an open mind
. Maybe, instead of this battle over Julia, you can resolve some of your issues and you two can become a family. You could have a relationship with both of your son’s children.”
A single tear slid down Patricia’s cheek. Hillary was tempted to give her a hug, but then a horn blast made her jump. Someone shouted, “Hey, can you wrap it up already? Our kids need to get to class too!”
“Uh…” Hillary said, searching for the right words, words that would make the woman feel better and also encourage her to mend fences with her nephew.
Patricia walked away.
Chapter Thirteen
Jo’s Jeep Cherokee was parked behind the building when Marco arrived at the restaurant. He let himself in the back door, calling out, “Jo? You here?”
She stepped out of the office, smiling. Her lips were coated in burgundy lipstick, her eyes heavily made up as if she were heading to the club, although it was only seven thirty in the morning.
She wore a sleeveless dress that buttoned up the front and was cinched at the waist. At least two too many buttons had been left unhooked. While the manager-on-duty was expected to dress nicely during restaurant hours, meeting the food delivery truck in the early a.m. only required one to roll out of bed and be there on time.
Marco canted his head. “A little overdressed, aren’t you?”
She glanced down at herself and shrugged. “Went out last night and haven’t been home to change yet. You should have joined us.” Her tone went sly and Marco immediately tensed.
“Oh, wait,” she said, “you’re engaged now. Can’t go clubbing anymore.”
It wasn’t that he couldn’t; he didn’t want to. He’d much rather eat dinner with Hillary out on the deck or argue with her over which movie to watch or marvel over the fact that she understood the homework Julia had to complete.
“You didn’t have to come in,” he said. “I told you I’d take care of today’s delivery.”
“It’s no big deal. I was driving by the restaurant anyway.”
Why did he have the sense that she was lying? Why would she lie to him?
“I know you, Marco. That woman is as opposite of your type as anyone can possibly get.”
“Hillary?” he asked dumbly. Who the hell else would she be talking about? And she was wrong. Hillary was exactly his type.
If he had a type.
“She even has a lame name.”
He frowned. “There’s nothing wrong with her name.”
“You can’t possibly be engaged to her.”
Oh, this was why she’d come in. To keep pressing him about his fake engagement. He’d damn near given in and confided the truth to her yesterday, but Hillary’s voice kept rolling through his head, telling him to stay in character.
“How did it even happen?” Jo continued. “When did it happen? I’ve never even seen her before. Seems to me that if you were serious about someone, you’d bring them to the restaurant at least once. Before you got engaged, I mean.”
He knew her persistence had put Hillary on edge, and now it was getting to him, too. Why they hell did she care so damn much?
“Listen to me. I…” He started to say he loved Hillary, to put Jo off, but the words wouldn’t come out. It didn’t feel right to say it unless he meant it, and if he meant it, Jo wasn’t the person he should be saying it to.
“You what?”
“What I have with Hillary, it’s…” Real. That’s what he wanted to say. It was surprising, the force with which he wanted to push out that word.
Because that’s what he wanted it to be.
Christ, could his life get any more fucked up? First, his parents were killed. He was fighting for custody of Julia. And to top it all off, he was falling for the one woman in the world who wouldn’t have him even if he weren’t tangled up in mafia business.
“You can’t even say it.” Jo narrowed her eyes, studying him like she was trying to listen to his thoughts. “How can you possibly be engaged to the woman when you can’t even express what you feel for her?”
“What are you, a fucking therapist? Leave me the hell alone.” He turned away, toward the back door. Screw it, she could take care of the delivery on her own.
Hillary was standing there, a devastated look on her face. She’d definitely heard at least part of the conversation.
“Hill…”
She retreated out the door. Marco rushed after her, catching up to her in the picnic area set up next to the building, where the staff took their breaks when the weather was nice. The smokers were supposed to be twenty feet away from the restaurant before lighting their cancer sticks, but the faint scent of cigarettes in the air told him they didn’t abide by that rule.
He caught Hillary’s arm, pulling her to a stop. “What did you hear?” he asked gently.
“Nothing.”
“Really? Why are you acting like your dog died?”
“I’m not,” she said petulantly.
He stroked her cheek. She turned away from his touch.
“What do you want from me, Hillary?” He whispered the words, possibly because he was afraid of the answer. Or maybe he was afraid of what he wanted her to say.
“We just need to stay in character,” she finally muttered, not meeting his gaze. “And considering we’re actually sleeping together, I’d think that wouldn’t be hard to do.”
He arched one eyebrow. “Does this mean I get to keep sharing your bed?”
She rolled her eyes, a smile tugging at her lips. “We still have a bunch more positions to try, remember?”
“Oh, I remember.” He slid his arm around her waist, gently pulled her into him. “And we definitely need to have sex in the kitchen at some point.” He nuzzled her neck.
“You need to be more convincing around her.”
He sighed and pulled away enough to look her in the face. “I was in the middle of attempting exactly that when you showed up.”
“It didn’t sound like you were particularly successful.”
He dropped his forehead against hers. “I’m not good at this. To be honest, even though this is all fake, it’s the most realistic relationship I’ve ever had.”
She stiffened and he winced. Probably not the right words. Definitely not the right time. He glanced over his shoulder at the truck trundling into the parking lot.
“Our delivery is here. Do you want to come in and help, or do you want to head home and think about which position we should try next?”
She laughed, which was exactly what he wanted to happen. It was a hell of a lot easier to manage whatever was going on between them when they hid it behind humor. That way he didn’t have to constantly remind himself that it was all fake.
He’d told her this morning to stop thinking so hard and just live in the moment, and he needed to take his own advice. Otherwise, he might muck up this make-believe relationship by becoming frustrated over the fact that it wasn’t real.
***
She stayed. Of course she did.
She had nothing else to do at the moment. Nothing except wonder what the hell her future held. She was officially jobless, yet had no desire to start looking for another position back in Sleepyville.
Her dad left a voicemail telling her that he’d heard she resigned from the police force. He also mentioned that he still had contacts with the FBI. If she was interested in pursuing a career there, he could at least get her résumé into the right hands.
She hadn’t yet called him back. Working for the FBI was her dream job, so she should be thrilled.
Except calling him back, asking him to call his contact, meant she had to think about her future. Deal with her future.
A future that did not include Marco or Julia.
Oh, the irony that three years ago she’d loathed the mob and everyone and anyone associated with it, and now here she was, living in the place where it all started, with a man who had drawn the mafia’s ire.
And if she were being remotely honest with herself, she didn’t want to leave.
&
nbsp; Jo stuck around until the delivery truck left, and then she finally came up with some lame excuse and took off, leaving Hillary and Marco alone in the restaurant.
Hillary helped him put away the new supplies, and when the liquor delivery arrived, she moved to the bar and helped restock while he used an iPad to verify the quantities matched what was in the system.
Soon enough, two prep cooks arrived, and one of them whipped up meatball subs for lunch.
Before all the guys became too engrossed in discussing specials for the rest of the week, Hillary excused herself, letting Marco know she’d see him at home after she picked Julia up from school.
She had a couple hours to kill before the bell rang, and she didn’t feel like going back to the house. Besides, she needed clothes. She’d ordered a few things online, but the weather was beginning to cool, and she preferred going into a store and trying on clothes rather than choosing something from a picture of a model who was far thinner and taller than her, wearing an outfit that most definitely would not look the same on her more generously curved frame.
The restaurant was located on the main drag through a popular Detroit suburb, and there were plenty of clothing shops with shingles hanging from the storefronts. After cruising for a few blocks, she looped back to where the majority of the stores were located and parked the truck.
She had so much luck at the first place that her checking account would appreciate it if she stopped now, but retail therapy was good for the soul, so she headed down the sidewalk toward another shop that looked equally as promising.
As she reached for the handle, a long, muscular arm beat her to it. “Allow me,” the man said in a smooth voice.
Hillary’s gaze darted up, into a face she’d seen only once in her life. It had been from afar, across the road at Detroit Metro Airport, her view obstructed by cars whizzing past and cement pillars and the fact that he had been fighting with Luca at the time.
Yet it had left a lasting impact on her brain.
She recalled the slicked back black hair, not long and not short, although it was definitely several inches longer now. Dark eyes that were too small for his face. Scars on his cheeks, the remnants of a severe case of teenage acne, she assumed.
