Page 10 of Married to the Enemy

“I know.” She nodded quickly, cutting him off before he could spell out the risks. She couldn’t let herself dwell on them. “But we don’t have much time and we’re both trying to save Evangeline.”

Joe sighed, then turned his attention to the man behind her. “Right. Thank you for helping Mia today, Mr.…?”

“Moretti,” the stranger said smoothly, his calm tone rolling through the room like he had every right to be there.

Mia blinked at him, startled all over again. He didn’t shuffle his feet or duck his head like she’d expect. He didn’t look out of place in this courthouse, didn’t look like someone dragged in off the streets. Instead, he stood tall, shoulders squared, gaze direct.

Joe’s brow creased, as if he’d noticed it too. Mia tugged lightly at his sleeve. “Joe?” she prompted, trying to keep the momentum going.

The judge jerked slightly, inhaling as though he’d forgotten himself for a moment, then turned back to the papers on his desk. “Right,” he muttered. He slid a pen across the surface. “If you both could just sign these documents.”

Mia snatched up the pen, not wasting a second to read. She couldn’t afford to. Every tick of the clock hammered against her nerves. If they didn’t get through this in time, she’d miss family court, and then—

She shoved the thought aside. No time for failure. She scribbled her name with barely controlled urgency, then turned, thrusting the pen at the man beside her.

“This is just a prenuptial agreement,” she explained in a rush, her voice louder than she intended. “Anything either of us brings into the marriage remains our own. Everything we earn or receive during our marriage stays separate. And—” she pointed to the relevant paragraph, tapping the paper with her nail—“it also gives you a monthly amount you can do whatever you like with.”

“As long as you make it to family court in time,” Joe added, his tone dry but urgent. “I included that clause in the agreement.”

“Right.” Mia forced another smile, though her nerves burned. She turned back to her…fiancé. “It’s a generous amount, Mr. Moretti. I promise, if we can get this done quickly, you’ll have the additional five hundred dollars today, plus enough to get you off the streets for a long time.”

Why was he glaring at her?

Her breath stuttered. He looked like he wanted to say something, like he had thoughts far sharper than any drifter should. But instead, he took the pen silently.

He bent over the papers. His eyes flicked across the text too quickly, his movements too efficient. Mia’s confusion spiked. No one could read that fast. Not through four pages. And yet, somehow, she couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d read and understood every word.

Her stomach twisted. This wasn’t how a homeless man acted. Not the posture, not the focus, not the calm control. He wasn’t fumbling or overwhelmed—he was dissecting. Evaluating.

And then he did something entirely unexpected. At the section detailing his monthly stipend, he slashed a thick line straight through the paragraph. He even crossed out the amount. Then, without hesitation, he initialed the change, flipped to the final page, and signed his name with a firm stroke.

Mia gasped, flipping back to the ruined section. “You don’t understand,” she blurted, her voice cracking. “This isn’t the amount you’ll pay me. It’s how much I’ll pay you.”

She looked into his blue eyes, desperate for a reaction, for a flicker of comprehension or greed. But his gaze didn’t flinch. Didn’t even waver.

Her voice faltered, dwindling into a whisper. “Every month.”

Joe cleared his throat and pointed to another paragraph. “Assuming the family court judge sides in her favor,” he cautioned, giving Raffe a pointed look.

Raffe didn’t move. He just stood there, broad and still, staring down at Mia with those unsettling eyes. She swallowed hard, her throat dry. What was he thinking? How could she even guess? She’d spent less than fifteen minutes with him in total, and now she was trusting him with the most reckless gamble of her life.

Her nerves jittered, threatening to spiral, but she forced her shoulders straight and muttered, “It’s going to work,” under her breath. Turning back to Joe, she announced, “Let’s do this.”

Joe chuckled knowingly. “I know. Time crunch.” He jerked his chin toward them. “Join hands and repeat after me.”

Mia hesitated, her palms suddenly damp. But she didn’t have the luxury of hesitation. Every tick of the clock brought her closer to losing her nonna. So she reached out and slid her cold fingers into his—startled again at the heat, the strength, the steadiness of his grip.

Her voice shook on the first vow, but she pushed through it, repeating the words carefully. At one point, his fingers tightened ever so slightly around hers, as though he were trying to reassure her. The gesture unsettled her. How could he know? How could a stranger possibly sense how much this farce rattled her? She must have imagined it.

Five surreal minutes later, Joe lifted his hands with a flourish and grinned. “I now pronounce you husband and wife.” He glanced at Raffe. “You may kiss the bride.”

Mia froze, her mouth already opening to protest. A kiss wasn’t necessary, was it? This was about paperwork, signatures, nothing more. But when she looked up into Raffe’s eyes, the words caught in her throat. The heat there stopped her cold.

Slowly—so slowly—he leaned in. Her instincts screamed at her to push him away, to laugh off the idea, to keep her distance. She didn’t kiss strangers.

But then, her mind whispered, he wasn’t the stranger from yesterday. Yesterday, he’d been dingy, unkempt, all grime and shadows. Today his hair was brushed back, his white shirt was clean, his scent warm and fresh, as though he’d stepped out of another life entirely.

Her pulse skipped. And when his lips touched hers—just a brush, a ghost of pressure—it shocked her how good it felt. Light, easy, nothing more than a whisper of a kiss. And then it was over.