Page 31 of Married to the Enemy

And her imagination… well, her imagination had taken things too far. Straddling those lean hips, feeling those strong arms locked around her, letting herself give in to reckless fantasies.

She shifted uncomfortably in her chair, cheeks burning. She was not that woman. Not with a stranger.

The sound of the door opening spared her from further self-recrimination. Freddy rolled out first, smiling shyly, far more relaxed than when he’d gone in. Raffe followed, his tall frame filling the doorway, and Mia’s pulse skipped as her eyes betrayed her yet again, sliding over his broad chest before she forced herself to focus on his face.

There was still tension in his jaw, but less than before. Some of the tension had eased. And, inexplicably, that made her stomach flutter.

Then the doctor entered, brisk and confident, whiskey-blond hair twisted into a no-nonsense knot. She greeted Evangeline and Mia with firm handshakes.

“I understand you’ll both be a part of Freddy’s aftercare and recovery?” she asked.

“Yes,” Mia said at once, while her grandmother nodded primly.

The doctor smiled, the expression softening her professional edges. She reviewed the surgery plan with them, explaining the check-in times, the pre-op fasting rules, the post-op limitations. She addressed them as if they were a team. When she placed her hand gently on Freddy’s shoulder, her voice warmed.

“We’ll get you up and walking again soon.”

Freddy nodded, nervous but hopeful. He glanced up at Raffe, and when Raffe gave him a short nod, the boy’s shoulders relaxed while the doctor said something about the health insurance issues that had been “taken care of”.

When the doctor left, the four of them sat in a bubble of silence, processing what they had been told.

“So, this is going to happen in two days?” Mia asked finally, her voice hushed with wonder. She’d never seen things move so quickly in the medical world. Usually there were months of waiting, paperwork, insurance refusals, excuses. But here… all doors were open. Because of him.

Her gaze returned to Raffe, studying him with renewed suspicion. Who was this man? Who had she married?

Raffe didn’t seem to notice her scrutiny as he explained, his voice steady. “We check in at six in the morning. Surgery will take several hours, but Freddy should be in the recovery room by noon, one at the latest.”

Evangeline clapped her hands, eyes twinkling. “This calls for a celebration!”

“No!” Mia and Raffe barked in unison.

Evangeline arched her brows at them both, clearly amused. “Fine. A quiet celebration, then. With pie.”

Mia shot her grandmother a look, then glanced up at Raffe—and immediately wished she hadn’t. He was watching her, his eyes filled with something she couldn’t decipher. Surprise? Admiration? Or was it something else?

Her heart stumbled, tripping over itself, and she looked away, heat rushing into her cheeks.

Why, after a lifetime of despising her father’s controlling voice, did her body react like this to a man who spoke with such authority? She’d sworn she would never, ever be that kind of woman. And yet here she was, panting like some lovesick fool.

Mia curled her fingers into her lap, determined not to let her grandmother see how rattled she was.

But the smirk tugging at Evangeline’s lips suggested that she already knew.

Chapter 17

Barry Trello shifted uncomfortably on the wooden planks of the treehouse, wincing as a sharp jab of pain shot through his ribs. He muttered a curse under his breath, clutching his side. Vito’s punches had left bruises that throbbed every time he took a breath. He’d always known the man was violent, but having those fists aimed at him had been a wake-up call.

It was stupid, really. All this over that meddling old bat and her granddaughter. He’d had Evangeline under control—he’d dosed her milk, slipped sedatives into her food, and kept her drowsy and docile. It wasn’t his fault a judge had decided to hand guardianship over to Mia Calvino. Barry had done his part.

Still, Vito had made his expectations very clear, and failure wasn’t tolerated. Which was why Barry was hiding here, crouched in a splintery, half-rotten treehouse like some ten-year-old runaway.

The neighbor’s kids didn’t use the place anymore, thank goodness. From up here, the angle was perfect: Evangeline’s Elizabethan monstrosity of a house sprawled nearby, its lush landscaping and hedges manicured within an inch of their lives. Barry had a clear line of sight into the backyard, kitchen windows, and several of the upstairs bedrooms. It should have been ideal.

Except… nothing was happening.

He’d hoped at first that the kid—the one in the wheelchair—might be the opportunity he needed. Wheelchairs meant weakness. They meant slower movement. If Mia was saddled with two invalids, maybe she’d make a mistake. Maybe she’d crumble.

But then he appeared.