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“I think it’s exciting. What’s it like being in the mafia? Some of those guys aresohot. Dangerous, I know, but it’s kind of thrilling,” Isabelle says, and I glance down to hide my cringe.
She’s just the type of blonde they’d love to play with and toss away. Not hot.
“Trust me, it’s not as romantic as the movies make it out to be,” I reply. “Also, I’m notinthe mafia. I was born into it. I love my family, but I’d do anything to live a normal life.”
“By marrying a billionaire?” Sienna lifts her glass full of golden bubbles, studying them.
Ouch.
I push back the hurt, even though I see the immediate regret on her face.
“Sen!” Isabelle cries. “You can’t choose who you fall in love with. I bet he’s nice.”
I nearly snort. Nice isn’t a word to describe Connor.
Serious, sexual, mysterious, demanding...Those are words, for starters. Nice? Hell no.
“I’m sorry. I’m still trying to understand how you dated a man, fell in love, and are now engaged, and I didn’t know a thing. We talk and see each other nearly every day,” Sienna says.
Because it’s not true.
Guilt laces through me, and I reach across and squeeze her hand, my eyes pleading for her patience. Sienna gives me a small smile.
“Well, congratulations, Mia. I hope you and Connor are very happy together and that you don’t forget us,” Duncan adds.
“Congratulations,” Isabelle and Sienna say simultaneously, and we all clink glasses and sip away.
“I’m not going to forget any of you.” I place my flute in front of me. “I’m getting married, not dying. I just live at a different address and will have a husband.”
A fake husband
Temporarily.
I feel almost desperate for them to believe me. Once I get away from the bonds of my family and divorce Connor, things will be back to normal. I’ll be single, independent, and a business owner. Whatever that business might be.
Note to self:create a profitable business in six months.I have some ideas, but with limited experience and only my business degree under my belt, I know it could take years of learning, failing, and one day succeeding, but I’m asking for a miracle.
I need to financially provide for myself, and when I divorce Connor, I’ll only have the remainder of my trust fund to support me.
It’s more than most people ever have, but it won’t last forever.
“So, what’s he like?” Isabelle asks, leaning her chin on her hands, like I’m about to tell a romantic story.
The strange thing is, I blush.
George leans against the bar nearby and accepts a glass of water from the barman. I really hope he’s not listening.
“He’s...” How do I explain Connor? “Intense. Romantic,” I add on the end and quickly gulp my champagne.
There’s not a romantic bone in Connor’s body.
“Well, he did send her about seven million red roses yesterday.” Sienna takes a long swig of her champagne.
“Thirty-six,” I correct because we both counted them.
She sends me a grin.
“Did he get down on one knee?” Isabelle drawls, and Duncan rolls his eyes. I’ve often wondered if there is anything between the two of them. Either way, it’s clear Duncan likes Iz as far more than just a friend.
