Signed in Sin

Chapter Four: The Mother Who Knows

My mother had a sixth sense for lies.

When I was seven, I told her I'd finished my homework. She'd know instantly something about the way I couldn't meet her eyes. When I was sixteen and claimed I was studying at the library she'd appeared at my friend's house party within the hour.

So telling her I was engaged to my billionaire boss after three weeks was going to be complicated.

"You're fidgeting," Alexander said from the driver's seat. He'd insisted on driving himself today—no chauffeur, no Bentley. Just his personal car, a sleek black Audi that probably cost more than my mother's house.

"I'm not fidgeting."

"You've twisted that ring seven times in the last two minutes."

I looked down. He was right. I forced my hands into my lap.

"She's going to know," I said quietly. "My mother. She's going to take one look at us and know something's wrong."

"Then we make sure nothing looks wrong." Alexander turned onto my mother's street in Astoria. Modest houses, small yards, American flags on porches. Another world from his penthouse in Tribeca. "We stick to the story. We're in love. We couldn't wait. Simple."

"Nothing about this is simple."

He pulled up in front of the small brick house I'd grown up in. The lawn needed mowing. The paint was peeling slightly around the windows. It looked exactly like what it was—the home of a woman fighting cancer on a medical secretary's salary.

Alexander killed the engine but didn't move to get out. Instead, he turned to face me fully.

"Isabela. Look at me."

I did. Those gray eyes were softer than usual.

"Your mother is sick. You are doing this for her. That's not a lie; that's love. Hold onto that. The rest is just. details."

"Details like the fact we don't actually are in love?"

"Are you sure about that?"

My heart stuttered. "What?

But he was already opening his door. "Come on. Let's go meet your mother."

I froze for a second, his words echoing in my head. *Are you sure about that?* What the hell did that mean?

No, I wasn't doing this. I wasn't reading into throwaway comments from a man who'd literally bought a wife. This was business. That's all.

I got out of the car and smoothed my dress - a navy blue sheath I'd borrowed from Maya because everything I owned suddenly felt inadequate. Alexander came around, and before I could stop him, he took my hand.

"What are you doing?

"We're engaged. We hold hands." He laced his fingers through mine like it was the most natural thing in the world. "Start acting like it."

The front door opened before we reached it.

My mother was standing in the doorway, and my heart clenched. She had lost more weight. The headscarf covered where her hair had been. But her smile—her smile was the same as always. Bright. Warm. Refusing to give in.

"Mija!" She opened her arms.

I let go of Alexander's hand and ran to her, being careful not to hug too tightly. She felt fragile in my arms, bird-like. When had she gotten so small?

"Mamá," I whispered into her shoulder.

"Let me see you." She pulled back, hands on my shoulders, peering into my face the way only mothers can. Then her eyes dropped to my left hand. "Isabela. Is that—"

"Mom, this is Alexander Cordovan." I stepped back, reaching for his hand again. He was there immediately, his presence solid beside me. "My fiancé."

I watched her face carefully. Shock. Confusion. Then—

Joy. Pure, unfiltered joy.

"Engaged?" Her hand flew to her mouth. "Mija, when? How? You never said—" She turned to Alexander, suddenly self-conscious about her headscarf, her old cardigan. "Mr. Cordovan, I'm sorry, I had no idea—Isabela didn't tell me you were coming—"

"Mrs. Torres." Alexander stepped forward, and to my surprise, took both her hands gently. "Please call me Alexander, and I am sorry for the surprise. Your daughter wanted to tell you herself."

His smile was warm. Genuine. Not the cool CEO mask he wore at the office.

"Come in, come in!" My mother ushered us inside, suddenly frantic. "The house is a mess, I wasn't expecting—I'll make coffee, do you drink coffee? Isabela, why didn't you tell me?"

"Mamá, breathe." I caught her hands. "The house is perfect. And we need to talk."

We sat in the small living room: Alexander and I on the worn couch, my mother in her favorite armchair. She could not keep her eyes off the ring that, now, decorated my finger.

"It's beautiful," she breathed. "Isabela, how did this happen? You never mentioned—I didn't even know you were seeing anyone."

This was it: the moment when I was either to tell my mother the truth or commit the biggest lie of my life.

I felt Alexander's hand find mine again. Steady. Grounding.

"We met six months ago," I said, and launched into the story we'd rehearsed. My mother listened, her eyes moving between us, absorbing every detail.

She was silent for a long moment when I finished.

"Six months," she said finally. "You've been seeing someone for six months and didn't tell me."

Guilt twisted in my stomach. "I wanted to be sure. And with everything you're going through—"

"So you thought I couldn't handle good news?" Her tone was soft, but I heard the pain beneath.

"No, Mamá. I just-" I looked helplessly at Alexander.

"It's my fault, Mrs. Torres," he said smoothly. "The workplace policy in my company is very strict where executives and employees are concerned. We had to keep everything under wraps at first. By the time we'd gotten through proper channels, Isabela and I realized we just didn't want to wait anymore."

My mother's eyes narrowed a bit-I knew that look: she was processing, analyzing, deciding whether to believe.

"Three weeks is very fast," she observed.

"When you know, you know," he said. His thumb stroked across my knuckles. "I'm not a patient man, Mrs. Torres. And your daughter is extraordinary. I wasn't going to risk losing her by waiting."

The words sounded so sincere, so real; I almost believed them myself.

My mother watched us for another long moment. Then her face softened.

"You love her." This wasn't a question.

Alexander turned toward me, and the look in his eyes took my breath away. "Very much."

"And you, mija?" My mother's gaze pinned me. "Are you happy?"

Was I? Sitting in my childhood home with my dying mother and the man I'd agreed to fake-marry for money, was I happy?

I looked at Alexander. At the man who'd been a nightmare boss a week ago. Who'd offered me a devil's bargain and then chosen a ring his mother loved. Who was holding my hand like it meant something.

"Yes," I said, and it wasn't completely a lie. "I'm happy."

My mother smiled, and tears spilled down her cheeks. "Then I'm happy. Oh, mija, come here."

I went to her, kneeling beside her chair as she pulled me into a tight embrace.

"I worried about you," she whispered. "Working so hard, always alone. I prayed you'd find someone who sees how special you are."

The guilt was a physical ache in my chest. "Mamá—"

"Let me be happy for you. Please." She pulled back, cupping my face. "Let me have this."

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

"Mrs. Torres," Alexander said, standing. "May I ask you something?

My mother dabbed at her eyes. "Of course."

"I'd like your blessing. I know I should have asked before proposing, but—"

"You have it," she said right away. "If my daughter loves you, if you make her happy, then you have my blessing."

Something crossed Alexander's face-surprise, perhaps. As if he hadn't expected it to be quite so easy.

"Thank you," he said softly. "That means a great deal to me."

My mother stood, suddenly energized in a way I hadn't seen in months. "Now, tell me about the wedding. When? Where? I need to know everything!

The next hour was a whirlwind of wedding talk. My mother had opinions about flowers, venues, and guest lists. Alexander handled it all with surprising grace, letting her take the lead, nodding at the right moments.

I watched him, this man playing a role so convincingly. Was any of it real? The gentle way he touched my shoulder? The soft look in his eyes when my mother gushed about how handsome he was? The way he'd asked for her blessing like it actually mattered?

Are you sure about that?

The question he asked from the car remained in my mind.

No, I wasn't sure about anything anymore.

"Mija, your phone," my mother said.

I blinked. My phone was buzzing. Dr. Chen's office.

"I should take this," I said, standing. "Excuse me."

I stepped onto the back porch, answering quickly. "Hello?"

"Miss Torres, this is Dr. Chen's office. We wanted to confirm that a payment for your mother's treatment cleared this morning. The full amount. We can start the course of immunotherapy next week."

My knees went weak. "The full amount?"

"Yes. Two million dollars. We weren't expecting—"

"Thank you," I managed. "Thank you so much."

I hung up and just stood there, staring at my phone.

Two million dollars. Alexander had transferred the money. Already.

The door behind me opened, and Alexander stepped out, closing it softly.

"That was the hospital," I said, not turning around. "The money. You already—"

"I told you. Two million upfront."

I turned to face him. "The wedding isn't for three weeks. The contract said—"

"The contract said you'd get paid. It didn't say when." He moved closer. "Your mother needs treatment now. So you get paid now."

Something cracked open in my chest. "Why?

"Because this arrangement only works if we both get what we need. You need your mother alive. I need-" He stopped, jaw working.

"What do you need, Alexander?

He regarded me a long while before responding, "I am not as certain anymore."

Before I could answer, the back door opened. My mother stuck her head out.

"Everything okay?

"Perfect, Mamá." I smiled, blinking back tears. "Everything's perfect."

She beamed. "Good. Because I'm making dinner. Alexander, you're staying. I won't take no for an answer."

"I'd be honored, Mrs. Torres."

Alexander grasped my hand again as my mother disappeared back inside.

"Thank you," I whispered.

"You don't have to thank me. We have a deal."

"It's more than that. You didn't have to—

"Yes, I did." His gray eyes were intense on mine. "Because despite what you think, Isabela, I'm not a complete bastard."

"I never thought you were."

"Didn't you? The incident with the coffee would suggest otherwise."

I laughed despite everything. "Okay, maybe for those first twelve hours."

"Only twelve hours? I'm hurt."

"You'll survive."

He smiled, and it transformed his face. Made him look younger. Lighter. Like maybe underneath the CEO's armor was someone real.

Someone I could actually fall for.

That thought terrified me.

"We should go inside," I said, pulling my hand away. "Before my mother comes looking for us again."

"Isabela—"

"Please. Just. Let's get through dinner."

He nodded slowly, "Alright. But we're going to talk about this."

"About what?" “You know what." I did. The thing neither of us was saying. The thing building between us tha

t was definitely not in the contract. But not tonight. Tonight I needed to focus on my mother's joy. On the fact that she was going to get treatment. On keeping this lie intact. Everything else could wait. Even if it was already too late.