WHY DID HE MARRY ME

Learning To Be Mrs. Moretti

I woke up and Alessandro was gone.

The spot next to me was cold. But my blanket was pulled up. He did that.

Elena had coffee waiting in the kitchen.

"Morning, Mrs. Moretti," she said.

"Morning," I said. "Where is he."

"Office. He said 9AM. Downstairs."

At 8:55 I went down. Alessandro was at the table. Laptop open. Three phones. Files everywhere.

He looked up. "You’re late."

"It's 8:55," I said.

"Close enough," he said. He pushed a folder to me. "Today you learn the business. Not the illegal part. The legal part. Construction. Holdings. Charities."

"Why."

"Because people will ask you questions," he said. "And you need answers."

We spent the morning going over companies. Numbers that made my head hurt.

At 12 we took a break. Sandwiches in his office. No talking.

At 1PM, Marco said, "Car is ready."

"Where," I asked.

"Site visit," Alessandro said. "New building downtown."

The site was loud. Dust. Men in hard hats. Everyone stopped when we walked in.

"Show her around," Alessandro told the foreman. "I have calls."

For an hour I walked through concrete and steel. Asked questions. Tried to look like I belonged.

In the car after, he asked, "How was it."

"Loud," I said.

He almost smiled. "Good."

---

That night Daniel was at dinner. He barely ate.

After, Alessandro called him to the office.

Ten minutes later Daniel came out, eyes red.

"He’s giving me a job," Daniel said. "Office job. With a monitor on my computer."

"That’s good," I said.

"I don't deserve it," he said.

"No," I said. "You don't. But you are getting it anyway."

Alessandro came out after. "He will be fine."

"How do you know."

"Because I was 19 once too," he said. "And I had someone give me a second chance."

---

The next two weeks fell into a rhythm.

Mornings in the office. Afternoons at sites. Evenings at home.

I learned names. I learned who to smile at and who to avoid.

I also learned Alessandro.

Black coffee. Works until 2AM. Hates loud music. Reads in Italian when he can't sleep.

He started asking my opinion in meetings.

"What do you think, Mrs. Moretti."

And I would answer. And people would write it down.

One night after a charity dinner we were both tired. In the kitchen he poured two glasses of water.

"You were good tonight," he said.

"I lied for 3 hours," I said.

"You lied well," he said. "That's the skill."

I laughed. I hadn't laughed in weeks.

He looked at me. "I like that sound."

We stood there. Too close.

"Alessandro," I said.

"Yeah."

"Do you ever regret it. Marrying me."

He didn't answer right away.

"Every day," he said. "And never."

"Which is it."

"Both," he said. "I regret putting you in danger. I don't regret you."

My chest felt tight. "Okay."

"Okay," he said.

We went to bed. Separate rooms. But closer.

---

A month in, the press did a profile. "Inside the Moretti Marriage."

Photos of us. Quotes from "sources."

"She calms him down."

"He looks at her like she is the only person in the room."

More lies. But people believed them.

Daniel was working. Coming home tired. No gambling.

It was working.

Until the letter came.

White envelope. On my pillow. Inside: a photo of me and Alessandro leaving the charity dinner.

Written across it in red: "She is not yours."

I showed Alessandro immediately.

He went still. "Where did you find this."

"On my pillow," I said. "In my room."

He called Marco. The whole penthouse was searched.

"Someone got in," Marco said. "We have a leak."

"Find it," Alessandro said. Quiet. Deadly.

That night he slept in the chair in my room.

"Just in case," he said.

I didn't argue.

---

The leak was Elena's nephew. Paid 10k to get in.

He was fired and arrested.

Alessandro told me at breakfast. "It's handled."

"Is it," I asked.

"For now," he said.

Two weeks later I snapped at dinner.

"I can't live like this," I said. "Locked in. Watched. Scared."

"Then don't," Alessandro said.

"How."

"Fight back," he said. "With me. Tomorrow night. Gala. We go. And we show them you are not scared."

"I am scared."

"I know," he said. "Do it anyway."

---

The gala was at the museum. Big. Loud. Cameras.

I wore black. Long sleeves. High neck.

Alessandro wore black too. We matched.

The moment we walked in, people stared. Whispers.

Alessandro kept his hand on my back.

Halfway through, a woman came up. "Mrs. Moretti. Are you alright. We heard"

"I'm fine," I said. "Thank you for asking."

She looked surprised. "You seem... strong."

"I am," I said.

Alessandro leaned in. "See. You did it."

"I want to go home," I said.

"Soon," he said.

My phone buzzed. Unknown number. Photo of me at the gala. Tonight.

Text: "Pretty dress. Shame if something happened to it."

I showed Alessandro.

His jaw clenched. "We're leaving. Now."

In the car he was on the phone. Angry Italian.

At home he pulled me into his office. "Sit."

I sat.

"Someone is watching you," he said. "Closely."

"I know."

"I am going to find out who," he said. "And they won't be a problem anymore."

"Alessandro"

"No," he said. "Don't tell me to be merciful. Not with you."

He came around the desk and knelt in front of me.

"I'm sorry," he said. "For all of this."

"Don't be," I said. "I chose this."

"You chose to save Daniel," he said. "Not this."

"Maybe," I said. "But I'm choosing to stay now."

"Why."

"Because you are trying," I said. "And because I trust you."

The word trust hung there.

He stood. "Come on. Bed."

That night he stayed in the chair again.

---

The next week was quiet. Too quiet.

No threats. No letters.

Alessandro let me sit in on more meetings. He had me read contracts.

"You have a good eye," he said.

"I was an ER nurse," I said. "Details keep people alive."

"Same thing," he said.

Daniel was doing better. Even joked at dinner.

It felt almost normal.

Almost.

Then on a Thursday, Alessandro didn't come home.

8PM. 10PM. 12AM.

I called. Voicemail.

1AM. Marco knocked. "Mrs. Moretti. Mr. Moretti was in an accident. Car crash. He's at City General. Stable. But you need to come."

My hospital.

I was in the car in 2 minutes.

---

The ER was chaos. Police. Guards.

And there he was. In a bed. Head bandaged. Arm in a sling. Bruises.

But awake.

"Seraphina," he said.

"Don't talk," I said. "Don't move."

The doctor said concussion. Broken arm. Few ribs. He'd be fine.

When the doctor left, I sat next to him.

"What happened," I asked.

"Car was cut off," he said. "Could be accident. Could be not."

"Don't," I said. "Don't do this to me."

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Don't be sorry. Be here."

He reached out with his good hand. I took it.

"Stay," he said.

"I will," I said. "All night."

I slept in the chair next to his bed.

The next morning he had a fever. Infection.

For three days I didn't leave. I showered in the staff bathroom. Ate vending machine food.

On day 3 he opened his eyes. "You're still here."

"Where else would I be," I said.

He tried to smile. "Stubborn."

"Takes one to know one," I said.

He squeezed my hand. "Thank you."

"For what."

"For staying," he said.

"Always," I said.

He fell asleep.

Five days later the doctor cleared him to go home.

---

Back at the penthouse he was slower. Quieter.

I took care of him. Food. Bandages. Reading to him.

One night he was watching me. "You didn't have to do this."

"Yes I did," I said. "You're my husband."

"On paper," he said.

"On paper and otherwise," I said.

He was quiet.

"Seraphina," he said.

"Yes."

"Come here."

I sat on the edge of the bed.

He took my hand. "I don't know what this is. But I know I don't want to lose it."

"You won't," I said.

"Promise me," he said.

"I promise," I said.

He pulled me down carefully because of his ribs. His good arm around me.

"Sleep," he said.

"I will," I said.

For the first time since I signed, I felt safe. Not because of guards. Because of him.

---

Two weeks later he was back at work. Arm still in a sling.

First thing he did was call a meeting. "Whoever did this. Find them."

They did. A week later.

I wasn't in the room.

That night he came home late. Washed. Clean.

He came to my room and lay down next to me.

"It's over," he said. "The threat. For now."

"Okay," I said.

He turned to me. "Thank you. For staying. For taking care of me."

"You're welcome," I said.

He was quiet.

"Seraphina," he said.

"Yes."

"I think I might be in love with you."

I froze.

He closed his eyes. "Forget I said that."

"No," I said. "Don't."

He opened his eyes. "I don't know what love is. But I know I don't want anyone else. And the thought of losing you makes me sick."

"Okay," I said.

"Okay," he said.

We didn't kiss. We didn't touch.

We just lay there.

And for the first time, the contract didn't matter.

Because this was real.

And it was terrifying. And it was good.