SECRETARY MISTRESS,CONVENIENT WIFE

Chapter Seven: No More Pretending

The bedroom door slammed shut behind them with the finality of a vault sealing.

Emily barely had time to register the cool silk of the duvet against her back before Luciano’s body covered hers, his heat searing through the thin fabric of her dress. His mouth found the frantic pulse at her throat, teeth scraping in a way that made her gasp.

“Luciano—”

“Tell me to stop.” His voice was rough, his hands already pushing the straps of her gown down her shoulders. “Say the word, and I walk away.”

She should have said it. Should have clung to the last shreds of her self-preservation. But the memory of his confession—the raw pain in his eyes when he spoke of his father—had shattered something between them.

There was no going back.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling his mouth to hers. “Don’t you dare stop.”

A growl tore from his throat. The dress gave way under his impatient hands, pooling at her waist. His palms skimmed up her ribs, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts in a teasing caress that made her arch off the bed.

“*Dio*, Emily,” he murmured against her skin. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”

The admission sent a thrill through her. How many nights had she lain awake, imagining his touch? How many times had she bitten back a moan when his fingers brushed hers during meetings?

Now, there was no need to hide.

She reached for his belt, her fingers trembling. “Show me.”

Luciano didn’t need to be told twice.

---

### **Dawn**

Sunlight streamed through the curtains, painting gold across the rumpled sheets. Emily stirred, her body deliciously sore in places she hadn’t known could ache.

Luciano was already awake, propped on one elbow, watching her with an intensity that made her breath catch.

“Good morning, *moglie*.”

*Wife.* The word sent a shiver down her spine. Last night had changed everything—and nothing.

She reached up, tracing the stubble along his jaw. “Was this part of the plan?”

His hand closed over hers, pressing a kiss to her palm. “No.”

A simple answer. A devastating truth.

Before she could respond, a frantic knock shattered the moment.

“*Signore!*” The housekeeper’s voice was strained. “It’s *Nonno*—he’s collapsed!”

Luciano was out of bed in an instant, pulling on his discarded pants. Emily scrambled after him, her heart in her throat.

Vittorio couldn’t die. Not now. Not when they’d just—

The door flew open before they reached it. Isabella stood there, her face pale.

“You’d better hurry,” she whispered. “He’s asking for you both.”

Her gaze dropped to Emily’s bare shoulders, to the love marks Luciano had left there. A slow, knowing smile curved her lips.

“And Luciano? He knows.”