Page 18 of Married to the Enemy

Mia slowed, hanging back just long enough for him to pass through. Then, just as Evangeline predicted, the guards spotted them. One waved them through immediately, his grin widening as he glanced flirtatiously at Mia, then winked playfully at her grandmother.

Evangeline batted her lashes shamelessly, eating it up.

The guard chuckled, barely glancing at their bags before waving them past.

Once they were through security, Mia pushed her nonna down the hallway, trying to catch up. “Hurry, dear,” Evangeline whispered, leaning forward with the kind of focus Mia hadn’t seen since she was plotting against her father years ago. “He turned left down that hallway.”

Mia’s pulse jumped with excitement and the thrill of a mystery to solve. They weren’t the ones being followed anymore.

Now, they were the hunters.

Her pounding heart had nothing to do with the possibility of seeing Raffe again. Nothing at all.

“That’s family court,” Mia whispered, bending low over Evangeline’s shoulder so no one else would overhear.

Evangeline sniffed. “Figures. A man doesn’t sneak back here unless he’s hiding something juicy.” She tucked a napkin more securely around her chicken box like she was smuggling state secrets. “Come on, mia cara, let’s see what your mysterious husband is up to.”

He went into one of the courtrooms, and they slipped silently in after him, taking two seats in the back like seasoned spies. Evangeline settled herself with an exaggerated huff, then leaned conspiratorially toward Mia. “Don’t slouch. If we’re going to snoop, we may as well look dignified doing it.”

What happened next shocked both women.

“Your Honor, Mr. Moretti has filed an emergency request to take over foster care of the juvenile, effective immediately.”

Mia’s mouth dropped open. Mr. Moretti as a foster parent? Her brain scrambled.

The judge sighed, sliding her glasses down her nose. “Why would Mr. Moretti want to take charge of this child? He has significant medical needs and has recently been accused of theft.”

“Mr. Moretti is aware of the boy’s medical needs and is prepared to support him,” Jenny, the social worker, answered steadily. “He has a full-time job and excellent health insurance. The boy’s mother has passed away. Mr. Moretti has also requested that adoption procedures start immediately.”

A woman sitting to the side stiffened, her face pinched and furious. She didn’t speak, but her skinny, disheveled husband elbowed her hard, whispering frantically. The angry woman gestured wildly in return, muttering under her breath.

“Both parents are gone?” the judge asked, her voice softening.

“Yes, Your Honor,” Jenny replied respectfully. “The father disappeared as soon as he heard about the pregnancy and hasn’t been heard from since. The mother passed away in the same accident that left Frederick in the wheelchair.”

Mia felt her chest squeeze painfully. She only then noticed the boy—ten years old, slouched in a wheelchair at the far end of the courtroom. His eyes were dulled with resignation, but every so often he darted a glance toward Raffe. Not resentful. Not afraid. Hopeful. Like Raffe was the only person in the room who mattered.

Mia’s heart stuttered. Definitely not a homeless man. So, who was this mysterious stranger she had married? What kind of job came with excellent health insurance and a courtroom presence like that?

The skinny man suddenly leapt to his feet. “Permission to speak, Your Honor?”

The judge’s brows rose. “Please introduce yourself.”

“Jim Fuller,” he said, puffing his chest as if his name meant something. He jabbed a bony finger at Raffe. “This man lives in a one-bedroom apartment in a garden complex. The kid’s in a wheelchair, Your Honor. The state generously paid to retrofit our home with access. You can’t expect—”

Jenny cut in, her voice firm. “Mr. Moretti clearly has the physical stamina to carry Frederick upstairs if needed. And I’d like to remind the court that a supportive parent is more important than square footage.”

The judge adjusted her glasses again, her gaze moving first to the Fullers, then to Raffe. Then her eyes lingered. Mia swallowed a chuckle when she realized the judge was giving her husband an up-and-down inspection worthy of a meat market.

“I can see for myself that Mr. Moretti has the physical…” she paused deliberately, “…assets to assist the child. But the housing issue remains. Mr. Moretti, you don’t have a private bedroom for the boy, do you?”

“Not yet, Your Honor.” Raffe dipped his head slightly , his voice low, promising. “I’ll—”

Mia’s eyes returned to the boy. The slump of his shoulders, the way he shrank at the mention of yet another obstacle, another excuse—something inside her cracked.

Before she could stop herself, she was on her feet. “Yes, he does, Your Honor!”

Every head in the courtroom swung her way.