Chapter Five: Midnight Confession
721 Words
The dinner passed in a blur of crystal stemware, veiled barbs, and Luciano's thigh pressed insistently against hers beneath the table. Emily counted every excruciating minute until the last course was cleared and Vittorio finally retired, leaving the family to disperse with lingering glances shot her way.
Isabella's parting smirk promised trouble.
Luciano guided Emily upstairs to the villa's guest wing, his hand a brand at her lower back. "You're shaking," he murmured as they reached a carved oak door.
She clenched her fists. "I'm fine."
He pushed the door open, revealing a lavish suite—and *one bed*.
Emily froze. "There's been a mistake."
"No mistake." Luciano loosened his tie, the movement distractingly sensual. "We're engaged. Did you think they'd give us separate rooms?"
She swallowed hard. "We didn't discuss—"
"Sleeping arrangements?" His dark chuckle sent heat pooling low in her belly. "Don't worry, *cara*. The bed is big enough for both of us to keep our distance."
*Distance.* The word should have comforted her. Instead, it stung.
She turned away, pretending to examine the antique vanity. "Isabella knows this is a sham."
A pause. Then the mattress dipped as Luciano sat to remove his shoes. "Isabella knows nothing."
"She suspects."
"Let her." The bed creaked as he stretched out. "It changes nothing."
Emily whirled to face him—and instantly regretted it. Luciano lay sprawled across the duvet, his tuxedo shirt unbuttoned to reveal a tantalizing V of bronzed skin. Her mouth went dry.
"You're awfully calm for a man about to lose his inheritance," she snapped.
Green eyes glinted in the dim light. "I don't lose, Emily. Ever."
Arrogant *bastard*.
She snatched a silk robe from the ensuite and marched toward the door. "I need air."
His hand shot out, catching her wrist. "Where do you think you're going?"
"The garden. Unless you plan to chain me to this bed."
A dangerous silence. Then—
"Fine. But don't wander far." He released her, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. "These walls have ears."
---
### **The Moonlit Garden**
The villa's rose garden was a sanctuary of shadows and silvered petals. Emily inhaled the fragrant air, trying to steady her racing thoughts.
"Couldn't sleep?"
The voice—smooth as poisoned honey—made her spin around. Isabella leaned against a marble fountain, her silk robe gaping to reveal a scandalous amount of cleavage.
Emily stiffened. "I needed some space."
"From Luciano?" Isabella's laugh was razor-sharp. "Funny. Most women would kill to be in your position."
"Then why don't *you* marry him?"
The barb hit its mark. Isabella's smile vanished. "Because he chose *you*." She stepped closer, her perfume cloying. "But we both know why, don't we?"
Emily held her ground. "Enlighten me."
"It's not your body he wants." A manicured nail tapped Emily's diamond pendant. "It's your *silence*."
Ice slithered down Emily's spine. "What are you talking about?"
Isabella's lips curved. "Ask him about the missing millions from the Zurich account. Ask him what really happened the night his father died." Her whisper carried the weight of a death sentence. "Then decide if you really want to play the blushing bride."
A branch snapped behind them.
Both women turned.
Luciano stood at the garden's edge, his face a mask of fury.
"Isabella." His voice was lethally quiet. "Leave. *Now*."
For a heartbeat, defiance flashed in Isabella's eyes. Then, with a mocking curtsey, she sauntered away, leaving Emily alone with the man who was suddenly a stranger.
He advanced slowly. "What did she say to you?"
Emily backed up until the fountain's edge bit into her thighs. "She mentioned your father. And missing money."
A muscle jumped in his jaw. "And you believed her?"
"I don't know what to believe." Her voice broke. "Tell me the truth, Luciano. What are you really hiding?"
The moonlight caught the anguish in his eyes—just for a second—before his usual mask slid back into place.
"The only thing that matters," he said roughly, pulling her into his arms. "That this marriage is the one thing in my life that *isn't* a lie."
Then his mouth crashed down on hers, stealing her breath, her doubts, her sanity—until all she could do was cling to him and pray she wasn't making the biggest mistake of her life.
- Writer
