Chapter 1 - Three minutes earlier, I was sitting alone at Table Twelve, fighting back tears at my sister Sophia’s wedding.
Three minutes earlier, I was sitting alone at Table Twelve, fighting back tears at my sister Sophia’s wedding.
The Bellmont Grand glittered over the Chicago River, surrounded by white roses, chandeliers, and expensive champagne.
Meanwhile, I had been seated beside the kitchen doors, in what my cousin Sandra cheerfully called the “extra family area”.
I spent the entire night answering the same question:
— Why did you come alone?
My five-year-old daughter, Lily, was at home with my best friend because, apparently, children were “too complicated” for the reception.
She cried when she found out she couldn’t wear the thrift-store burgundy dress we had found together.
I promised I would bring her cake.
That promise was the only reason I hadn’t left yet.
Then Tyler appeared.
— Dance with me, Jess.
— No.
He flashed that smile I knew so well.
— Come on. We’re family.
— You married my cousin.
His pregnant wife, Vanessa, was nearby, watching.
Tyler leaned closer.
— You always punish people for moving on.
— You left three days after I told you I was pregnant.
— I was 24.
— So was I.
His expression hardened.
— You should have become a doctor — he said. — Now you work double shifts and raise a child in a one-bedroom apartment.
— I’m a pediatric nurse.
— And you can barely pay your bills.
Then he looked at Vanessa.
— She didn’t throw her future away.
Tyler walked away.
Vanessa met my gaze, slowly placed both hands over her pregnant belly...
And smiled.
I sat down before my legs gave out.
That was when a man approached.
Tall.
Dark hair.
Maybe around 42.
A discreet scar crossed his chin, and people seemed to move differently around him.
With caution.
With respect.
He stopped beside my chair and held out his hand.
— Pretend you’re my wife. Dance with me.
— You don’t even know me.
— Jessica Hale. Twenty-nine years old. Pediatric nurse. Mother of five-year-old Lily. Older sister of the bride.
My blood ran cold.
— How do you know that?
His amber eyes moved toward Tyler.
— Because you need an ally tonight. So do I.
— Why?
— My aunt intends to marry me off to a business partner’s daughter.
I almost laughed.
— And your solution is to invent a secret wife?
— I hope people believe what I say.
— What’s your name?
— Giovanni Fierro.
At the table beside us, an older man abruptly stopped talking.
His wife slowly lowered her champagne glass.
I noticed.
Giovanni realized I had noticed.
— Is that name supposed to mean something to me?
— Not tonight.
Then his gaze passed over me.
— Your ex-husband is watching.
I turned.
Tyler was staring at us.
Giovanni held out his hand again.
— Ten seconds.
— Are you counting down?
— Nine.
For the first time that night, I smiled.
— Eight.
I looked at Tyler.
Then at Vanessa.
— Seven.
I placed my hand in Giovanni’s.
His fingers closed around mine.
And, as he led me to the dance floor, the conversations around us began to die one after another.
That was when I realized something frightening.
Everyone in that ballroom knew exactly who Giovanni Fierro was.
May you like
Everyone.
Except me.
