Page 1 of Married to the Enemy

Chapter 1

This was quite possibly the stupidest idea she’d ever come up with.

Mia Calvino eyed the man hunched over on the splintered park bench, his broad shoulders bowed as if the weight of the world pressed down on them. His fingers dug into his tangled hair, the posture of someone frayed to the edge of breaking.

Mia’s stomach twisted. What had driven him to this place? The haunted curve of his spine suggested more than simple exhaustion. Maybe it was the cold, damp nights spent on unforgiving concrete. Or maybe it was something darker—loss etched into every tense line of his body. Had he just buried someone he loved? Had a war left him hollowed out, abandoned by the country he’d fought for? Or was it guilt gnawing at him, the kind that never loosened its grip?

Whatever the reason, he looked like a man one breath away from shattering. And that made him dangerous. Or perfect. She couldn’t decide which.

Because she knew that feeling—had lived it herself. The bone-deep helplessness of knowing you couldn’t fight back, not really, against the kind of power that pinned you down and ground you into dust. She’d tangled her fingers into her hair the same way, trying to hold herself together while her father’s shadow pressed in from every direction.

Maybe that was why she couldn’t turn away now. She recognized the despair in him because it was the same darkness that had once almost swallowed her whole.

He looked desperate.

Exactly the type of man she needed.

Her pulse thudded painfully in her ears as she turned away, staring off into the distance.

This was insane! What was she doing? What kind of person even thought about something like this? But what other choice did she have? Twenty-six years old, and thanks to her father’s merciless reach, her options had narrowed to this single, desperate path.

If she was going to save her nonna, she had to do this. Fast!

Her lips pressed together, sealing in the tremor that wanted to escape. She rubbed her palm nervously along the thigh of her jeans, the rasp of the worn denim grounding her for a heartbeat. The chill of early spring slipped under her plain blue T-shirt, but she forced her body to be still, refusing to shiver. If she gave in to weakness now, she’d never go through with it. Hesitation was dangerous. Hesitation was lethal.

“Just do it,” she whispered, the words misting faintly in the cool air. “He’ll probably laugh in my face. Or tell me to go to hell. Then this ridiculous plan will die the humiliating death it deserves.”

That would almost be a relief, wouldn’t it? If he said no, she could walk away, pretend this moment of insanity had never happened, and Mia could crawl back into hiding. But then… her nonna. The drugs. The fog. The danger. Walking away meant losing her forever.

Her feet still refused to move.

The man was a picture of ruin: an ill-fitting filthy canvas jacket sagged off his hunched frame, jeans dark with unidentifiable stains, military boots laced only halfway as if he’d stopped caring midway through the task. His hair fell in unkempt tangles down to a scruffy beard, a wild mask that made him look feral, untamed. A man the world avoided, the kind society trained itself not to see.

He was perfect.

And completely wrong? No! Not wrong! She needed to use this man to save her grandmother! It was the only way!

She turned again, desperate to find another way. The idea of using someone like this was wrong, but she hadn’t come up with a different idea that would allow her to save her nonna.

Both truths warred inside her, leaving her trapped, a knot of dread and determination twisting tighter with every breath.

On the one hand, he was perfect, because he was invisible. Perfect, because no one would ever imagine she’d come looking for him. Perfect, because if he agreed…

She cut the thought short. Better not to think about after.

Drawing a shaky breath, she stepped forward, approaching cautiously, as though he were an unpredictable wild animal. Each step was measured, her instincts screaming to retreat even as urgency urged her forward.

“Excuse me, sir?” Her voice trembled despite her attempt at friendly calm.

No response. Just the restless wind rattling through the budding branches overhead, scattering pale petals across the damp ground. A few clung to the wet picnic table before sliding off with the next gust, as though even the flowers didn’t want to linger too close to him.

She swallowed hard, her pulse thrumming, the damp air sharp in her lungs. Somewhere in the park, a child laughed, the sound oddly jarring against the silence surrounding the man.

He looked dangerous. He looked broken. He looked like exactly the kind of man who might say yes without asking why.

She needed a husband.

Not tomorrow. Not next week. Now.