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“Luca Bianco,” he says as I motion toward my lieutenants. “Pleasure to meet you.” We move slowly toward him as he talks.
His voice, low and menacing, carries across to me, laden with accusation. “So, Emma, playing the devoted wife already? Why not admit what we all know. This marriage is nothing but a sham. How much is he paying you? I’ll double it to tell the truth.”
Emma’s response is calm, her voice steady despite the provocation. “I’m not sure what you’re implying, but Adrian and I are happily married. That’s all there is to it.”
Her poise under pressure, the way she holds Luca’s gaze without flinching, fills me with a mix of pride and relief. Yet, I can’t shake the fear that her words might inadvertently reveal the truth behind our union, putting us both in jeopardy.
Luca’s laugh is sharp, devoid of humor. “Come on, Emma. We all know why you’re here. But go on, keep playing the loving wife. See where it gets you.”
It’s Emma’s next words, however, that truly catch me off guard. “You can think whatever you want, Luca. But I love Adrian, and nothing you say will change that.”
Her declaration, so publicly made, is a masterstroke of defiance and deception. For a moment, I allow myself to believe in the sincerity of her words.
Luca’s reaction is a mix of surprise and anger, his control slipping for a moment before he reins it in. “Very well, Emma. We’ll see how long this little act of yours lasts.” He looks like he’s reaching for a gun but then he spots Charles, his hand returning to his side.
“Luca,” Charles says. “I hope you’re going to play the game fairly.”
“Of course,” Luca replies, turning and spotting me and my men. “Come on,” he says to his wife. “We’re leaving. It stinks of bullshit in here.”
With that, he marches out, his wife following him with a haste born of fear. My men follow close behind, ready to react if he tries anything.
Once they’re gone, I approach Emma, my heart still racing from the exchange. “You’re quite the actor, Emma.”
“Who says I was acting?” she replies with a wink.
9
EMMA
Two days later…
The moment we step onto the secluded island resort, a wave of disbelief washes over me. It’s like stepping into a postcard, one of those places you see in glossy magazines but never imagine visiting yourself.
The air is perfumed with the scent of exotic flowers, and the sound of gentle waves crashing against the shore plays a calming melody.
Adrian leads me by the hand, his grip reassuring as my eyes dart around, trying to soak in every detail.
The resort is nestled between lush greenery and pristine beaches, with private villas dotting the landscape like hidden treasures waiting to be discovered.
“Wow, this is... incredible,” I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper as we approach our villa. It’s a stunning structure of wood and glass, blending seamlessly into the natural surroundings.
He chuckles, a sound rich with warmth. “I wanted the honeymoon to be special for us.”
As we explore, I find myself continuously expressing my amazement. “I’ve never seen anything like this,” I confess as we step out onto the private deck, the ocean sprawling endlessly before us.
Adrian glances at his watch. “I’ve arranged for a couple’s massage for us. It’s time to relax a little, don’t you think?”
“A couple’s massage?” I echo, my surprise evident. The concept is foreign to me, another luxury I’ve only ever heard of in passing.
“Trust me,” Adrian assures, leading me back inside. “It’s all part of the experience, Emma. Let’s enjoy it.”
As we make our way to the spa, my hand in his, I can’t help but feel a profound sense of gratitude. Not just for the opulence that surrounds us, but for the man by my side, who seems determined to make this experience enjoyable.
I could almost forget the reason we got together. Luca and his threats seem a million miles from here.
The spa is a haven of tranquility, with soothing music and the scent of jasmine filling the air. As we’re led into the massage room, a sense of serene anticipation washes over me.
Lying side by side, the massage therapists’ skilled hands work magic on our tense muscles. Every stroke and knead seems to unravel knots of stress I hadn’t even realized I was carrying.
