Page 9 of Married to the Enemy

Awkwardly, she gestured toward the courthouse entryway. “Thank you for coming,” she replied, remembering her manners. She hadn’t learned much, but she knew her manners.

She dared a quick side glance. His jaw looked different in daylight, cleaner, stronger. Was that a hint of a smile tugging at his lips?

“You’re very welcome,” he replied. Then he did something outrageous. “I’m Raffael Moretti,” he announced and extended his hand.

Mia blinked. She stole another glance at his eyes—those disconcertingly blue eyes—before her gaze moved to his hand. Broad, strong, the opposite of yesterday’s image of a man hunched on a park bench in filthy, barely laced boots. A fraction of a second later, heat rushed to her cheeks. She was about to marry this man, and she hadn’t even known his name.

“Mia Calvino,” she replied, placing her hand in his, her pulse skittering.

Was that a flash of recognition in his eyes? Or had she only imagined it?

Her heart stumbled as his grip tightened. His hand swallowed hers, warm and steady, and for a second every other thought evaporated. She could feel herself cataloging things she shouldn’t—like the faint scent of toothpaste, soap, and shampoo, instead of dirt and sweat.

Her eyes flicked sideways again. Was it just the clean clothes? Or maybe it was the way he carried himself now—upright, confident, like he owned the steps beneath his boots? He wasn’t slouched and invisible. He was commanding, magnetic. And it shook her, because this wasn’t the man she thought she’d hired.

Had he moved closer? She inhaled, hoping to steady herself, but that only pulled him deeper into her senses—heat, strength, male.

Pulling her hungry gaze away saved her from drowning in those eyes. A car sputtered down the street, its muffler backfiring, and, thankfully, the sound jarred her back to reality.

They didn’t have much time.

“We need to hurry,” she gasped, grabbing his wrist and tugging him up the rest of the courthouse steps. He followed, too easily, too smoothly, as if he wasn’t the bewildered stranger she’d convinced herself he was.

It took them precious time to get through security. She risked a glance at him again as he set his wallet and keys in the tray, moving with unhurried ease while her nerves rattled. Why did he look like a man who belonged here when she was the one orchestrating this madness?

Once they were clear of the security desk, she grabbed his wrist again and all but dragged him down the hall to the room where the judge and his assistant were waiting.

“We’re here!” she called, lifting her free hand as though the words alone weren’t enough to prove it.

The woman behind the desk smiled warmly. “Good morning, Mia. Judge Carson is ready for you.” She stood and waved them through. “You have the license?”

Mia nodded, fumbling through her oversized tote bag. With a side glance, Mia assured herself that her soon-to-be-groom was standing just behind her, arms folded now, looking too solid, too self-assured. He didn’t look like the man who’d been invisible yesterday. No, he looked like a man who could crush her plan in his fist if he chose.

She yanked out the license, a little breathless. “Got it yesterday.”

The woman lifted her glasses, checked the paper, then nodded cheerfully. “It looks good! Let’s do this.”

Mia glanced back at him one more time, pasting on a shaky smile that she told herself was meant to encourage him. In truth, it was more to steady herself. Because up close…he couldn’t be the same man she’d met yesterday.

Had he found a homeless shelter overnight? One that let him shower and maybe borrow fresh clothes? That would explain the relatively crisp jeans and clean shirt.

But the muscles? The hard lines of his chest and the unmistakable flatness of his abdomen under the fabric? Those weren’t attributes she’d ever associated with a man living on the streets.

She scrambled for explanations even as her eyes betrayed her, cataloging the breadth of his shoulders, the way he filled out that jacket. Yesterday he’d been slouched and forgettable, almost swallowed by grime. Today, he looked…imposing. Present. Like he belonged here in a way that unsettled her.

And no matter how hard she tried to shove the thought aside, the transformation sent a ripple of unease through her.

Unfortunately, she didn’t have time to debate or come up with a new, less-insane plan.

“This way,” she ordered briskly, forcing her focus forward, trying to smother the butterflies filling her stomach.

She wasn’t here to be attracted to her fake husband. She was here to save her nonna.

But her glances kept sliding sideways anyway.

“Hey, Joe,” Mia greeted as the judge behind the massive oak desk stood up. She forced a smile, even as her pulse continued to race. “We’re here. Ready for your voodoo.”

The man chuckled, stepping forward to hug her. His warmth steadied her for half a heartbeat. “This will work,” he promised, though his tone carried the weight of caution. “Normally, I wouldn’t condone something like this, but—”