Emily’s Pov
I stared at him, fork still halfway to my mouth, and syrup dripping onto the sheet like evidence.
“Honeymoon?”
The word came out of my mouth and sounded like I’d never heard it before in my life.
“You’re joking.”
Dario didn’t blink. “Private jet’s already fueled. Amalfi Coast. Two weeks. No phones, no press, no family, no board members. Just us.”
“Why?”
“What part of just us don’t you understand Emily?”
He said it like he was reading the weather report, not like he was casually kidnapping his fake wife s***h real obsession for fourteen days of sun and sin.
I set the fork down with a clink. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Yes,” he said softly, “you are.”
The way he said it, quiet, certain, and final sent heat racing straight between my legs even while my brain
