by Jenna Sutton
Frowning, I say, “You’re almost six months pregnant. You don’t need to be lifting heavy boxes.”
She pats her bump. “I’m aware. That’s why I asked you to do it.”
I move the box to the floor and slice through the packing tape with the utility knife. As I open the cardboard flap to reveal the contents, I freeze in horror. The white wolf mask I wore at the masquerade ball lies on top.
Evidence of my crime.
With shaking hands, I force the flaps closed. Too late, I see my initials printed on the cardboard. Of all the boxes to be mistakenly delivered to Cassie’s closet, why did it have to be this one?
Panicked, I scoop up the box in both arms and take a step toward the door. My heart is thumping so hard and so fast it feels as if it might jump out of my chest.
“What are you doing?” Cassie asks.
Without stopping, I say, “This is mine. I’m taking it to my closet.”
And then I’m going to smuggle that fucking mask out of the house and burn it until it’s nothing but a pile of ash.
As I move across the closet, one of the untucked cardboard flaps pops up and block my vision. I balance the box on one arm and try to slap it closed with my other hand.
“Let me help,” she offers.
“No!”
I give up on the flaps and rush toward the door with my view impaired. I’m almost there but then ... then I trip. Everything seems to happen in slow motion—I pitch forward, the box tips, and the contents fly out right before I tumble to the floor.
I roll to my hands and knees, frantically searching for the wolf mask. Spotting it about two feet away, I lunge toward it with my hand outstretched. My fingers find nothing but air because Cassie scoops it up before I can.
I scramble to my feet, my denim-covered knees slipping on the slick hardwood floors. I keep my eyes locked on her as she turns the mask over in her hands.
She stares down at it for several heartbeats before bringing her gaze to mine. Confusion swims in her blue eyes.
“I can explain,” I say, hearing the beseeching note in the words.
“This...” Her voice is hoarse, like she’s been at a rock concert, screaming for hours. “This looks just like the mask he was wearing.”
I don’t ask who he is. I already know. And it won’t be long until she does too.
She holds up the mask. “Why do you have this? Where did you get it? Do you know who he is?” Her eyes widen. “Is this...” She shakes her head. “It can’t be yours.”
“I can explain,” I say again.
“But you were wearing a jester’s mask at the ball.”
“It broke.”
“It broke,” she echoes, barely a whisper of sound.
Tilting my head toward the mask in her hand, I say, “That was my replacement.”
“But I saw you.” She shakes her head, back and forth, as if she’s trying to jiggle a memory loose. “I saw you talking to Leo and Tessa, and you were wearing a jester’s mask.”
“That wasn’t me.” I take a deep breath, gathering my thoughts and my courage. “I’m the guy in the white wolf mask. The one you ran into in the garden. The one with the lost cufflink.”
I reach for the mask but she jerks it away from me and hugs it against her chest. “You... We ...” She licks her lips. “No.”
“Yes.” My throat is so dry I can barely speak, but I manage to squeeze out the most important words: “I’m the guy you had sex with. The one who got you pregnant.”
The wolf mask slips from her hands and falls to the floor.
“I’m the father of your baby, Cassie.”
CASSIE
I stare down at the white wolf mask. I stare at it for so long my vision blurs, and I sway dizzily. I’m vaguely aware of Marco hooking his arm around my waist and guiding me to the velvet-upholstered bench tucked along the back wall of the closet, cursing the entire time.
I can’t take my eyes away from the mask. The slanted eye holes are empty and gaping, exactly the way I feel right now.
Marco squats in front of me, blocking my view of the mask. He puts two fingers under my chin and tilts my face up. “Look at me, bellezzina. Please.”
Lifting my gaze, I look at him and think back to that night of the masquerade ball. “Put it on,” I say.
His eyes narrow. “What?”
“Put it on.” I can hear the edge of hysteria in my voice, and I’m sure he can too. “The mask. Put it on.”
“Cassie—”
“Do it!” I shriek.
He slowly rises to his full height, his broad shoulders rigid under the autographed Muse T-shirt he picked up in São Paulo a few years ago when he attended a concert. He looms over me like a massive shadow before spinning on his heel and snatching the mask from the floor.
I watch him as he holds the mask to his face with one big hand and tugs the tied ribbons over his dark hair. After adjusting the fit, he drops his hands to his sides and stands silently in front of me. I can see his clenched jaw below the edge of the mask, a muscle ticking under the dark stubble.
As I stare at him, tears prickle the backs of my eyes. I was so stupid. So blind.
Wolf reminded me of Marco because he was Marco.
I swallow thickly. “You’re Wolf.”
“Yes,” he answers, nodding curtly. “And you’re Bumblebee.”
“Did you know it was me?”
Grasping the black ribbons tied behind his head, he jerks off the mask and lets it dangle from his fingers. “No.” His voice is clipped. Angry. “I had no idea. You were supposed to be in Italy. With your boyfriend.”
I wanted Marco to say yes. I wanted him to say that he wanted me and not just a quick, meaningless fuck with a stranger. Thinking about my husband and all the nameless, faceless women he’s been with makes my stomach cramp with a bitter mix of anger and jealousy.
My feelings don’t make sense, I know that. But they’re still there, churning inside me like some kind of noxious witch’s brew.
“I didn’t realize it was you until you told me about the guy in the white wolf mask.”
Unable to look at him any longer, I close my eyes for a long blink and lean my head back against the wall. “I bet you were shocked when you figured out I was talking about you. You must’ve been horrified when you realized I was pregnant with your baby.”
“I wasn’t horrified, Cassie. I was happy. Elated.”
I open my eyes and meet his gaze head on. “If you were so elated, Marco, why didn’t you let me in on the secret? Why didn’t you say, ‘Guess what? I’m your baby daddy!’”
“I should have. I wanted to. I just couldn’t find the right time.”
“You had plenty of time to tell me. Months.”
“I said I couldn’t find the right time,” he snaps.
“What would be the right time? After the baby’s born and someone mentions how much she looks like you?”
He sighs loudly, the noise heavy with annoyance. “I was going to tell you today.” He tosses the wolf mask into the open box with a snap of his wrist. “I apologize for not doing it sooner. But now that you know, we can put the past behind us and move forward.”
“Move forward,” I repeat.
He nods. “We’re married. We’re expecting a child in just a few short months. Now you won’t have to worry about putting my name on the birth certificate because I am the biological father.”
He paces closer to the bench where I’m sitting and stops in front of me. “We should be thinking about the future, like what we’re going to call our daughter. What do you think of Sofia? It was my grandmother’s name.”
His attempt to deflect my anger is so transparent I almost laugh. But all my humor drains away when I realize that’s exactly what he’s been doing since he realized I was pregnant with his child—deflecting. Instead of telling me the truth, he espoused his love for me and my unborn baby and convinced me to marry him.
I gasp as the realization slices into me like a rusty razor bla
de. I clutch my baby bump, the agony of Marco’s duplicity almost doubling me over.
“Cassie!” He sits down next to me on the bench and places his hand over mine. “Are you in pain? Is it the baby?”
I’m not surprised when I hear panic and terror in his voice. I have no doubt he loves this baby, just as I have no doubt he doesn’t love me.
Pushing his hand away, I stand and stare down at him. I see the face I’ve dreamed about for more than a year. I see the eyes I gazed into when I said my vows. I see the mouth that lied every time it formed the words I love you.
“I knew this was too good to be true,” I say, bitterness leaking through my voice like toxic waste seeps into groundwater.
His forehead creases with a frown. “What are you talking about?”
“Me. You.” I point back and forth between us. “This was too good to be true. This was my fantasy—me loving you, and you loving me back. My fantasy became my reality, except the reality of being with you was so much better than I ever imagined.” I shake my head. “You were so convincing. But now I know—you were pretending.”
“Pretending?” His frown deepens as confusion spreads across his face. “What do you mean?”
Tears are streaming out of my eyes, and there’s a small part of me that wants to hide how much he hurt me, so he won’t be able to do it again. But the rest of me is too wrecked to care.
“I believed everything you said. But you were lying the whole time.”
“I never lied to you.” A flush darkens his skin. “I just didn’t tell you the truth.”
I swipe my fingers across my wet eyes. “You lied to me when you said you were in love with me.”
He shoots to his feet, almost vibrating with emotion. “That wasn’t a lie. It was the truth!”
“You didn’t marry me because you loved me!”
“Yes, I did!” he shouts.
“No, you didn’t!”
“Yes, I—”
Raising my voice above his, I say, “I know you, Marco. You’d never, ever allow your child to be born outside of marriage. You married me because I’m pregnant. That’s the only reason.”
He looks up at the ceiling and takes several deep breaths before bringing his gaze back to me. “It’s one of the reasons, yes,” he admits, his voice much quieter than before. “But it’s not the only reason. I would’ve married you even if you weren’t pregnant, Cassie. Because I love you.”
“You can stop pretending now, okay? You got what you wanted—the baby will be legitimate. I might even agree to name her after your grandmother. But I refuse to live in this house with you. I’m going back to my apartment. And as soon as the baby’s born, I’m going to file for divorce.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Marco
Cassie walked out on me. She walked out on our marriage.
That was three weeks ago, after I told her the truth about the baby.
I tried to stop her ... tried to convince her that she was making a mistake. But she left anyway, and believe it or not, I helped her. I didn’t want my pregnant wife dragging two suitcases around, so I carried her luggage to the car.
Before Cassie drove away, she ordered me to cancel the marriage announcement. I thought about going forward with it anyway, so she’d be forced to return to the safety and security of our cottage. But then I realized that would make things even worse and likely destroy any hope of saving my marriage.
That hope diminishes every day. I haven’t seen or talked to my wife since she left me.
She ignores my calls and my texts and refuses to open the door when I show up at her apartment. That’s the only time I leave the cottage. I’ve been holed up here, wallowing in my own misery, to quote Leo.
I told my brother everything. I told him what happened in the folly and how I found out I was going to be a father.
I expected his censure for keeping the baby’s paternity a secret, but he didn’t judge me. In fact, he said he would’ve done the same thing in my position. That surprised me because we rarely handle things the same way.
Thanks to Leo, I know Cassie and the baby are doing well, physically at least. My brother willingly funnels information from Tessa.
My sister-in-law is so upset with me she won’t talk to me directly, and I don’t blame her. If she’d hurt my brother the way I hurt her sister, I wouldn’t want to have anything to do with her either.
I messed up with Cassie, and I don’t know how to fix things. I knew she’d be angry when I told her the truth, but I never imagined—not even in my worst nightmares—that she’d think I lied about my feelings for her.
When I’m sober, I see things from Cassie’s point of view. I can understand why she jumped to the erroneous conclusion that I married her because she’s pregnant.
But when I’m drunk, fury engulfs me, and I end up breaking things because I’m broken. Cassie broke me.
How could she believe I was pretending the whole time? No one is that good an actor, least of all me. I’ve never been more real than I was with her.
Since I’m not suffering from a hangover this morning, and it’s been a couple of days since I’ve knocked on Cassie’s door, I decide to make a trip to her apartment. After dressing in a pale gray dress shirt with a subtle diamond pattern, slim-fitting charcoal-colored pants, and my black leather loafers, I grab my wallet and keys and head out the door.
Although the drive from the cottage to Cassie’s apartment takes only ten minutes and I blasted the AC, I’m sweating by the time I arrive. My stomach is twisted like the rope I use to practice my boating knots.
I let myself into the building with the key she gave me and start the climb to the third floor. As I reach the second-floor landing, I hear footsteps on the stairs above me. I freeze, all the muscles in my body tensing with anticipation and hope. If it’s Cassie, she won’t be able to avoid me. She’ll have to talk to me.
The footsteps are getting closer, and I can tell by tread it’s not her. I’m shocked when the person comes into view—Dannell, the head of Leo’s security detail.
I hear more footsteps. A moment later, my brother appears on the stairs with two guards trailing behind him. When they reach the landing, Leo asks his security team to wait downstairs. Once we’re alone, he moves to stand in front of me.
“Hello, Marco. I didn’t expect to see you today.”
“I could say the same about you.” I arch my eyebrows. “What are you doing here?”
He exhales softly. “It’s my responsibility as your older brother to watch out for you. To have your back. And you know I always take my responsibilities seriously.”
I barely refrain from rolling my eyes. “I know. I’m very lucky to have you.” I study him suspiciously. “That still doesn’t explain what you’re doing here.”
“I’m trying to save your marriage.”
“What?” I ask, sounding as perplexed as I feel.
“I hate seeing you so damn miserable. I know how much you love Cassie, and I thought it might help if I talked to her.”
“You saw her?”
“Yes.” My brother flashes one of his rare smiles. “She’s looking quite pregnant.” He pats me on the shoulder. “Go knock on her door, Marco. I have a feeling she’ll open it this time.”
“What did you say to her?”
“You should ask her.” He surprises me by pulling me into a hug and thumping me on the back. “I want my niece to grow up in a loving home with two blissfully happy parents.”
My breath catches in my throat. “I want that too. More than anything.”
He ends our hug and gives me a none-too-gentle shove toward the stairs. “Go make up with your wife.”
“Thank you, Leo.”
“You’d do the same for me.”
He starts down the stairs, a little too fast for my comfort. “Try not to trip and break your neck,” I call out. “I don’t want to rule Alsania.”
Leo’s deep laughter floats up the stairwell. The sound brings a smile to my lips,
but it fades into a frown the closer I get to Cassie’s door.
What if Leo was wrong? What if she turns me away yet again? What if she refuses to give me another chance?
A voice inside me speaks up: What if you stop being a pussy?
Taking a deep breath, I knock on the wood door. I’m so anxious my lips are numb.
Forty-three seconds pass before the door opens (yes, I counted). Cassie is standing there, her face impassive. I can’t tell if she’s happy to see me ... or not.
“Hello,” I say, wincing at how rough my voice sounds.
“Come in,” she replies in lieu of a greeting.
She turns, and as she walks away, her black ankle boots thump on the hardwood floors. I’m so wound up, each step seems to echo inside my head like the boom of a cannon.
After shutting the door behind me, I follow her into the apartment. I recognize the furniture, so she obviously moved it out of the storage unit she leased when we got married.
She moves toward the armchair and rests her hand on the back of it. “You just missed your brother.”
“I ran into him on the stairs.”
Stopping a couple of feet in front of her, I trail my gaze over her. She looks quite pregnant, as Leo put it, and far more beautiful than I remember. Her hair is loose around her shoulders, and she’s wearing black leggings and a long-sleeved top the color of ripe plums with a deep V that shows off her creamy cleavage.
I want to reach out and touch her so badly my hands are shaking. I clench them into fists to stop myself from tracing the arch of her eyebrows, the pout of her lips, and the swell of her belly.
I’ve had weeks to think about what I want to say to her, weeks to rehearse so I don’t sound like an idiot. But I can’t remember any of it now.
“I miss you,” I blurt out. “Please come home.”
She stares at me for several seconds, her eyes steady on mine. She opens her mouth, and I’m so afraid of what she’s going to say, I rush to her and clutch her smaller body to mine.
I press my lips to the top of her head. “I’m miserable without you. Please come home.”
