“You’re actually insane,” I mutter, but heat creeps up my neck at the thought of him reviewing my measurements
The memory of our near-kiss in this very office yesterday surfaces unbidden. The way his breath had brushed my lips. The raw restraint in his body when he stepped back.
I push the images away and focus on the present. “This level of preparation for a ten-day lie feels excessive.”
“Excessive preparation prevents leaks,” he says. He picks up a tablet and swipes through a shared document.
“I need authentic details only you can provide. Favorite coffee order. How I proposed. Why you said yes. How Nico reacted. Small things that make it believable.”
Before I can protest further, he presses a button on his desk phone. “Sofia, get Piper on the line.”
His assistant responds promptly. “On it.”
Barely two minutes later my phone vibrates with an incoming call from Piper. I answer on speaker at Valentino’s nod. Piper’s voice comes through slightly distracted, the faint clacking of her laptop keyboard audible in the background.
“Hey Liv, what’s up? I’m finalizing seating charts and fighting with a vendor who thinks peonies are acceptable in May. Talk fast.”
Valentino introduces himself smoothly. “Piper, this is Valentino Ferretti. We spoke earlier. Livia is here with me and we need your help filling in authentic details for the cover story regarding our engagement. Anything you can provide will strengthen the narrative.”
There is a brief pause, more typing, then Piper’s tone shifts to something sharper and protective.
“The fake engagement. Right. Okay, favorite coffee for Livia is a flat white with oat milk, extra shot, no foam art because she hates when it gets cold too fast.”
I hear something shift in the background.
“Excuse me,” she says. “Trying to change my position. My feet are killing me.”
She continues. “Yeah, so you proposed during a quiet walk in Central Park near the Conservatory Water. Got down on one knee with a simple diamond solitaire because Liv’s not flashy. She said yes because you make her feel safe in a world that hasn’t always been kind to her, and you are great with Nico.”
I listen, stunned at how easily she supplies the human touches while still typing away on her end. Valentino takes notes with precise efficiency, asking clarifying questions about shared habits and inside jokes.
The conversation flows surprisingly well until Piper’s email notification pings loudly.
“Hold on,” she says. I hear her open the message and then read it aloud in an exaggerated mocking British accent that has nothing to do with Dominic’s actual voice.
“Dear Ms. whatever, I am requesting a professional consultation regarding the gala’s security overlap with theAurelius retreat. Blah blah strategic alignment. Signed, Dominic Calder, insufferable suit.”
She snorts. “I would rather eat an entire centerpiece than sit through another meeting with that man. But fine.”
I hear her fingers fly across the keys and within thirty seconds, the final billables click is audible. “Sent. Professional but pointed.”
I notice the speed of her response and the undercurrent of reluctant interest beneath the irritation.
Valentino ends the call politely after gathering what he needs. Once the line disconnects, he sets the tablet down and studies me for a long moment.
“If I did not know any better, I would think your best friend is in love with you.”
I laugh softly despite the chaos of the day. “She is. Just not that way. We’ve been through everything together since college. Why do you say that?”
“You should hear it from her yourself,” he replies, a faint smile touching his lips. “She made her position very clear earlier when I got Sofia to inform her that I'd need her help with drafting a backstory.”
The rest of the afternoon passes in more review sessions and final preparations. By evening I feel wrung out but marginally more in control.
Nico is with the neighbor’s teenager again, giving me a rare free night. Piper and I have our monthly sleepover scheduled at her place. I arrive with takeout Thai food and a bottle of wine, desperate for normalcy.
Piper’s apartment smells like her signature expensive candles and fresh laundry. She greets me in silk pajamas already, hair piled high, laptop still open on the coffee table.
We settle on the couch with plates of food and glasses of red wine. For the first hour we talk about everything except work. Nico’s latest racetrack obsession. Her gala nightmares.
