You’ll need to maintain this illusion perfectly. Margarite warned. Luther cannot suspect. If he discovers the truth, the marriage will be enulled and you’ll face fraud charges.
So, no pressure, Allesia muttered. Margarit’s eyes were cold. This was your choice, Allesia. Don’t forget that.
The worst part was Dante. He kept showing up, kept calling, kept demanding to see her.
“Where have you been?” He complained when she finally agreed to meet him at a coffee shop near the mansion.
“You’ve been ignoring my texts.” “I’ve been busy with work,” Allesia lied. “Too busy for me?”
Dante’s handsome face twisted into a pout. “Come on, baby. I miss you.” He reached for her hand across the table.
Dante, I need to tell you something. What? Alessia opened her mouth to tell him about the marriage, about the plan, about everything.
But then she remembered Margarit’s warning. Tell anyone and I’ll destroy you. And she realized with a sinking feeling, if she told Dante, he’d either try to blackmail Margarite for money or he’d get drunk and blab to someone.
Either way, it would end badly. Nothing, Allesia said. Never mind. You’re being weird, Dante said.
But whatever. Hey, can you lend me 300? My rent’s due. I don’t have $300, Dante.
Yes, you do. Ah, you just got paid. I have bills. So do I. Dante’s voice rose, drawing looks from other customers.
You know what? Forget it. You’re being selfish. He stood up and walked out, leaving Allesia sitting there alone.
The day before the wedding, Allesia could barely breathe. Tomorrow, she would marry a stranger.
Tomorrow, she would become someone else entirely. Tomorrow, her life would change forever. She just hoped she wouldn’t get caught, which brought her here to this moment.
Ike standing at the altar, having just been kissed by Luther Castellan, feeling like her entire body was on fire.
The reception was held at an incredibly luxurious venue. All soaring ceilings, crystal everything, and an orchestra playing soft jazz.
Allesia felt like an impostor in her wedding gown. A gorgeous creation of ivory silk and French lace that probably cost more than a year of her salary.
Luther stayed close to her side throughout the evening. His large hand resting lightly on the small of her back, guiding her through endless introductions.
Aurelia, this is Marcus Doug, my CFO. Marcus, my wife. Aurelia, meet Simone Dupont. She runs our European operations.
Aurelia. Each time he said that name, Allesia felt guilt twist in her stomach, but she played her role.
Smiled, made small talk, pretended she belonged. “You’re quieter than I expected,” Luther said during a rare moment when they were alone.
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