SHE DIDN'T WANT TO MARRY YOU

ELENA

The lunch was torture.

I sat there smiling while Theodore Robertson told terrible jokes about golf. I laughed when Margaret showed me photos of her grandchildren on her phone. I nodded along while Dante discussed investment opportunities and profit margins and expansion plans.

The entire time, I felt his eyes on me.

He knew who I was. Or at least, he knew I wasn't Sophia. And as soon as we got back to the house, he was going to demand answers I didn't know how to give.

"Sophia, dear, you've barely touched your salmon," Margaret said, pulling me back to the conversation.

"I'm not very hungry," I said, forcing another smile. "Wedding nerves, I think."

"Oh, how sweet. Still nervous even after the ceremony." She reached over and patted my hand. "That's perfectly normal. I was a wreck for weeks after my wedding."

Dante's hand found mine under the table. To Margaret, it probably looked romantic. But his grip was almost painful.

"My wife is just adjusting to her new life," he said smoothly. "It's a big change."

"Of course it is." Theodore raised his glass. "To new beginnings and profitable partnerships."

We all drank. The wine tasted like ashes in my mouth.

After what felt like hours, the lunch finally ended. Dante shook hands with Theodore, kissed Margaret's cheek, and guided me toward the exit with his hand on my lower back.

The moment we were in the car, his expression changed. The pleasant smile disappeared, replaced by something cold and hard.

"You did well," he said. "Almost like you'd actually met them before."

"I told you, I know how to handle social situations."

"Yes. But Sophia Laurent would have known that Margaret's grandson is named James, not Jack. You said Jack."

I'd said Jack. Damn it. I hadn't even noticed.

"It was a slip of the tongue."

"Everything with you is a slip. A mistake. A small inconsistency." He turned to face me fully. "Individually, they mean nothing. But together? They paint a very interesting picture."

The car pulled through the gates of his estate. My time was up.

We walked into the house in silence. Dante led me to his office and closed the door behind us. The click of the lock sounded like a death sentence.

"Sit," he said, gesturing to a chair.

I sat. He walked to the bar and poured himself a drink, then leaned against his desk, watching me.

"I'm going to ask you some questions," he said. "And you're going to answer them truthfully. Understand?"

"I don't…"

"Don't." His voice cut through my protest like a knife. "Don't insult my intelligence by pretending you don't know what I'm talking about. We're past that now."

I pressed my lips together and waited.

"What's your real name?"

There was no point lying anymore. He already knew.

"Elena," I said quietly. "Elena Morrison."

"And where is Sophia Laurent?"

"Gone. She left the country yesterday morning."

He nodded slowly, like I was confirming something he'd already suspected. "Why?"

"She didn't want to marry you. She was going to kill herself rather than go through with it."

Something flickered in his expression. Surprise, maybe. Or anger. "And you decided to take her place out of the goodness of your heart?"

"I was running from my own wedding. My fiancé was cheating on me with my maid of honor." The words spilled out now that I'd started. "I found them together the night before our ceremony. I ran, and I found Sophia on that bridge. She told me about the arranged marriage, and I offered to switch places. One ceremony, then we'd both disappear."

"Except you didn't disappear."

"I didn't know about the contract. About how binding it was." I looked up at him. "I thought I could just walk away after."

Dante took a drink, his eyes never leaving mine. "So you married me under false pretenses. Used a fake identity. Committed fraud in front of both our families."

"Yes."

"Do you have any idea what you've done?" He set down his glass with deliberate care. "This marriage was supposed to secure an alliance. To legitimize my business in circles that won't touch new money. And instead, I'm married to a wedding planner from—where? The suburbs?"

"The city," I said. "And yes, I'm a wedding planner."

He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Perfect. My wife isn't an heiress with the right connections. She's someone who arranges flowers and picks out centerpieces."

"I'm good at what I do."

"I don't care if you're the best in the world. You're not what I paid for." He pushed off the desk and walked toward me. "Do you understand what happens when people find out? When Henri Laurent discovers his daughter ran away and some random woman took her place?"

"The alliance falls apart."

"The alliance falls apart, and I look like a fool. Like someone who can be deceived. Like someone who's weak." He stopped in front of me. "In my world, weakness gets you killed."

I stood up, refusing to let him tower over me. "Then what are you going to do? End the marriage? Expose me? Ruin me?"

"I haven't decided yet." He stepped closer, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from him. "Right now, I'm trying to figure out if you're the stupidest person I've ever met or the most cunning."

"I'm not cunning. I made a mistake."

"A mistake that trapped both of us." His hand came up to cup my jaw, forcing me to look at him. "You have no idea what you've walked into, Elena Morrison. The people in my world don't forgive deception."

"Then let me go. ell everyone Sophia left you at the altar. You'll look better than if you admit you were tricked."

"And have everyone think I couldn't keep my own wife?" His thumb brushed across my cheekbone, the same gesture from last night. "No. That's not acceptable."

"Then what do you want?"

His eyes searched mine, and for a moment, I saw something other than anger in them. Curiosity, maybe.

"I want to know what I'm going to do with you," he said softly. "Because killing you would be easier. Destroying you would be simpler. But for some reason I can't explain, I'm considering something else entirely."

"What?"

"Keeping you." His hand slid from my jaw to the back of my neck, pulling me closer. "You walked into my life pretending to be someone else. Maybe it's time you learned what it really means to be my wife."

His mouth came down on mine before I could respond.

The kiss was nothing like the one at the ceremony. That had been for show.This was angry, demanding.His other hand gripped my waist, pulling me against him, and I felt the full force of his controlled power finally unleashed.

I should have pushed him away.But instead, I kissed him back.

My hands fisted in his shirt as his tongue swept into my mouth. Heat flooded through me, erasing every rational thought. He tasted like whiskey and something addictive I couldn't name.

When he finally pulled back, we were both breathing hard.

"That's what I thought," he said, his voice rough. "You feel it too."

"Feel what?"

"This." He gestured between us. "Whatever this is. Chemistry, attraction, insanity.I don't know what to call it. But it's there."

I couldn't deny it. My lips were still tingling from his kiss, my body pressed against his like it belonged there.

"So here's what's going to happen," Dante said, releasing me and stepping back. "You're going to stay here. Play the role of my wife. And you're going to do it convincingly, because if anyone finds out the truth, we're both finished."

"For how long?"

"Until I figure out what to do with you." He straightened his tie, his composure returning. "And Elena? If you try to run, if you try to expose this, if you do anything that threatens what I've built.I will destroy you so completely that no one will remember you existed."

He walked to the door and unlocked it.

"Dinner is at seven. Don't be late."

Then he left, closing the door behind him.

I stood there for a long time, my heart racing, my lips still burning from his kiss.

I'd just confessed everything to the most dangerous man I'd ever met.

And instead of destroying me, he'd kissed me and told me I was staying.

I had no idea if that made things better or so much worse.