Page 51 of Single Malt Drama
Marco moved to my side and draped his arm around my shoulders.
“You should be scared. We should all be. Why didn’t you tell me it was Marco you wanted? We could have avoided so much drama. Come home, Nico. Bring him. The three of us must talk. We can fix this, but we must talk.”
My breath caught in my throat. I wanted so badly to believe him, to believe he would leave me and Marco alone, but I knew better. “What’s done is done, Papà. I have to go.”
“You will return to Trapani,” he shouted. “You will regret it if you don’t.”
“Ciao, Papà.” I disconnected the call.
Holding me close, Marco walked me to the bed and sat beside me. “Don’t let him get to you. He was trying to scare you into following orders.”
“I hope so, but he was…he was so unlike himself.” Resting my head on his chest, I said, “He mentioned something about secrets and repercussions.”
Marco wiped away a tear with the pad of his thumb. “He was manipulating you.”
I’d witnessed my father’s manipulation techniques many times over the years, but he’d always come at the person from a position of strength. The entire conversation unnerved me, but then again, that was what he wanted. Wasn’t it?
One thing I knew for certain, my father didn’t stand for disobedience. Since I’d made it clear I had no intentions of returning to Sicily, he’d send someone to bring me back against my will. “Marco, we should leave here as soon as possible.”
He nodded. “I was thinking the same thing. Give me an hour to send the press release and Pops’ dirty financials to the media. Then we can decide where to go.”
I forced a smile. “I have to find a white dress and send Hildie out to buy a trousseau.”
“A what?” He arched a brow. “Is that French for grass skirt?”
“It’s clothes for our honeymoon.” Snuggling closer to him, I whispered, “Or in my case, just clothes.”
He captured my chin between his thumb and index finger, turned my face to his, and met my gaze. “Temporary marriage or not, we will have a honeymoon.”
“Will you dance the hula for me on this fake honeymoon?” I’d come to hate the words temporary and fake. When we weren’t trying to be anything other than ourselves, it would have been so easy to forget about our arrangement and pretend the marriage was real. However, every time I let my guard down Marco reminded me where I stood with him.
Maybe he’s doing it to protect me. Maybe he’s managing my expectations, so I won’t get hurt. If that were the case, he’d overlooked a fatal flaw in his plan. I was in love with him before he ever asked me to fake marry him.
“Every day, and twice on Sundays. Go talk to Hildie before I kiss you again, and we lose all track of time.” He stood and walked to the desk in the corner of the bedroom.
I would have loved nothing more than to spend an hour or so wrapped in his arms, but he was right. We had things to do and a ticking clock hanging over our heads. “Should I have her pick up anything for you?”
“I’m good.” He spoke without turning his head or taking a break from typing. “I need your signature on our contract.”
“Contract.” The room tilted.
“I’d call it a prenup, but that doesn’t sound right either.” He stood and handed me a document. “It’s the statement outlining the reasons we are getting married under duress.”
The trembling started in my fingers and wound its way through my entire body. Rather than allowing him to see me crumble, I snatched the paper from his hands and left the room.
I walked through the seemingly empty house under a cloud of despair, but if I were honest, the document was only part of the problem.
Since I’d arrived at the mansion, I couldn’t shake a growing sense of unease. I’d spent the first twenty-six years of my life on a schedule. People told me where to be, when to be there, how to dress. Sometimes, my father would go as far as telling me what to say to his business associates.
Without the structure, I felt as if I was floating through the days rudderless. I’d run away to avoid the marriage, but also to get control of my life. So far, that hadn’t happened, and I had no idea how to change it.
I ducked into Papa Joe’s office, scribbled my name on the so-called contract, and stuffed it into an envelope. Rather than taking it back to Marco and having to face him, I shoved it into my back pocket on the way to the kitchen.
Hildie glanced up from the stove and smiled, but her expression dimmed when she saw me standing in the doorway. “Can I get you anything?”
I glanced at the pile of zucchini, squash, and other vegetables on the counter. “Marco said you could help me buy some clothes, but if you’re busy…”
She set the large knife on the counter. “Don’t be silly. I’m just tinkering around in here to have something to do.”