The room is unnervingly quiet as I lean back against the door, watching her across the room. She doesn’t know I’m here, standing right beside her.
Moonlight slices through floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long shadows across the Persian rug. A half-full glass of untouched champagne sits on the nightstand, forgotten. The room smells faintly of her perfume and the sweet sting of expensive cologne.
She’s standing by the window. Her hands tremble as she pulls the pins from her hair, letting it fall in gorgeous, loose waves down her back.
The dress clings to every curve like a second skin—a dress I picked for her myself because I wanted to see her like this. The mermaid cut hugs her hips, a trail flaring just beneath that perfect ass, the backless drop exposing smooth, bare skin I can already feel under my palms.
It screams pinch me, mark me, fuck me senseless.
Fuck, she’s beautiful.
I can hear the sound of her breathing, quick and shallow, along with the occasional ping of another hairpin hitting the floor. She thinks I don’t notice how she trembles, but I see everything. Always have.
I can smell her fear across the room. She’s wondering how long she can get away with the consequences of her lies. She’s about to find out I’m a hard man to keep secrets from.
I slam the door shut and bolt it to lock. She turns to me with a gasp, and when she does, I see her chest heaving, like she’s suffocating in that dress.
For the briefest moment, I feel an urge to ease her burden. To walk over and help her with those pins, to whisper that it’s okay, that I’ll be gentle. I wonder if she wants me as much as I want her, but then I catch the look in her eyes. She’s not excited. She’s terrified when I meet her gaze.
As she should be.
Her shoulders stiffen, and her hands freeze halfway through her hair, before dropping to her side.
“I—you must be exhausted,” she says, words tumbling out too fast. “We should just… sleep. Both of us. Big day, long day… We don’t have to do this tonight. We barely know each other. Can’t we just… stop pretending? I—”
She’s rambling because she’s nervous. She’s nervous because she’s maintained a dangerous lie. Had it been any other woman, I would have chalked up the nerves to wedding-night jitters. But she’s not any other woman. She’s smart, she’s cunning, she’s trouble. And right about now, I can practically hear her heart hammering from across the room.
I don’t answer right away. Instead, I shrug off my tux jacket and drape it over a chair, taking my time with my cufflinks. One, then the other. I place them on the desk with a soft click.
“I’m pretty tired,” she continues, words tumbling out. “It’s been such a long day. The ceremony, the reception. All those people. And you must be exhausted too, right? Running your… business and planning a wedding at the same time. Maybe we should just sleep. There’s no rush, is there? We have our whole lives ahead of us. That’s what marriage is, right? A lifetime together.”
Her rambling confirms what I already know. The nervous gesture of tucking her hair behind her ear, the way she won’t meet my eyes directly. I cross the room slowly and deliberately, letting her cook in her fear.
“You’re nervous about our first night,” I say, not a question.
She nods quickly. “Yes, I guess.”
I’m close enough now to smell her perfume, the same scent I remember from our one previous encounter. Another tell.
I lift my hand, watching her flinch slightly as I trace a finger down her bare shoulder and goosebumps follow my touch.
“You lie so prettily,” I murmur. Her breath hitches. I lean down, my mouth brushing the shell of her ear. “But I don’t want to go to bed with a stranger.”
Her eyes widen, but she attempts a laugh that falls flat. “What are you talking about?”
I lean in closer, my mouth directly in her ear. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
She pulls away, desperate to put space between them, but the window traps her. “A stranger? You knew exactly who I was when you proposed. Don’t act like you didn’t.”
“That’s what I’d like to know.” I place my hands on the window on either side of her, caging her in. “You look like Chiara. You sound like Chiara. But you’re not her. I’ve known something was off since the moment you walked down the aisle.”
“I don’t understand—”
“Stop,” I cut her off. “You think I don’t know? Didn’t learn it wasn’t Chiara serving coffee that day? You think I couldn’t tell the difference between a scammer and a woman who looks like she’s drowning every time someone so much as raises their voice? You think I don’t have the memory of your skin etched upon me so tight that I can’t tell the difference between you and your sister?”
I crowd her against the glass. Her hands flatten against the cool pane as if she could melt into it.
“Tell me the truth.”
She flinches. And that’s all the confirmation I need.
My hands settle on her waist, turning her gently but firmly to face the window again. She stiffens, confused.
My fingers find the zipper of her dress. I draw it down, inch by torturous inch, until it pools at the small of her back, right above the crack of her ass. I peel the satin aside and there—right there—marked on the delicate slope of her back, just above her panties, is a small hummingbird tattoo.
I trace the ink with the pad of my thumb, slow and deliberate.
“Aria,” I whisper against her exposed skin. “I remember this tattoo from that night you let me fuck you to Chiara’s name, a tattoo I’m certain your sister doesn’t have.”
She gasps—a broken, breathless sound—and spins around to face me, trembling like a leaf caught in a storm.
I catch her chin in a hard grip, tilting her face to mine. I want her to feel my rage at having been deceived. I want her to know exactly what she’s done.
The color drains from her face. Her lips part, but no sound comes out.
“Did you think I wouldn’t do my due diligence? That I wouldn’t thoroughly investigate the woman I was arranging to marry?”
“I—” she starts, then stops.
A single tear trails down her cheek, leaving a dark mascara track. I catch it with my thumb, then examine the black smudge like it’s evidence.
“Tell me what little secrets you’ve been keeping,” I demand. “I want to hear your name on your lips.”
She closes her eyes, defeat settling over her features. “Aria,” she whispers. “My name is Aria.”
The truth at last. I step back just enough to see her fully. “Well, Aria. Would you like to explain why you’re wearing the wedding dress intended for Chiara? Why you’ve been pretending to be her for what appears to be the most important day of my life?”
Her hands twist together, wringing anxiously. “Chiara called me last night. She said she needed me to come to a wedding as her plus one, and that she had no one to go with. When I got here, she called and said she needed me to stand in for her,” Aria’s voice breaks.
“And instead of telling me, you decided to what? Continue the charade? Marry me in her place?” My voice is ice, but inside I’m burning with anger for what her sister did to her.
“I didn’t know what to do! I didn’t know what was happening. I didn’t understand why she would leave, why she would do this to both of us.” Her eyes plead with me. “I thought maybe if I didn’t step in, you’d hurt us and—”
“Let me guess. She’d taken the money and run.”
Aria’s surprise is genuine. “You knew?”
“I suspected. The transfer cleared this morning. A million dollars as promised. Except you’re never seeing a cent of it, are you? Because your sister has other plans.”
“I swear, I didn’t know how much money she was promised. I didn’t know anything about the arrangement until she told me.”
I believe her, strangely enough. There’s an innocence in her fear that can’t be faked. But that doesn’t change what’s happened. Doesn’t change what she’s done.
“You still stood at that altar,” I remind her. “You made me believe,” I add quietly. “For one goddamn second, I thought maybe this could be real. And you ripped that out from under me, just like everyone else. You still said the vows. You signed the papers.”
“As Chiara,” she counters. “The marriage isn’t valid.”
I laugh then, a sound without humor. “You think the legality of our union is what concerns me right now? Your sister took my money, and someone still owes me for it. And you—” I step closer again, until we’re breathing the same air, “—you committed fraud against the Bianchi family.”
The fear in her eyes deepens, and I know she’s finally understanding the gravity of her situation. Not just the lies, but who she lied to.
“What are you going to do?” she whispers.
I trail my finger along her jawline, feeling her pulse race beneath my touch. “The way I see it, you have your sister’s debt now.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s simple, Aria. Your sister was meant to be my wife. She was meant to share my bed.” My hand slides to the nape of her neck, fingers tangling in the hair she just loosened. “She’s gone, but you’re here. And you look just like her.”
“No,” she gasps, hands coming up to push against my chest. “That’s not—you can’t—”
“I can do whatever I want.” I hold her gaze, unwavering. “You belong to me, Aria.”
But even as the words leave my mouth, something inside me clenches. A warning. This isn’t just about vengeance. Not anymore. And I hate that her tears make me hesitate, even for a breath.
“Please,” she begs, tears flowing freely now. “Let me go. I’ll help you find Chiara. I’ll convince her to pay you back somehow.”
“It’s too late for that. You lied to me.” I lower my face toward hers, close enough to feel her ragged breath against my lips. “And now, I’m going to punish you.”
The fear that flares in her eyes only makes the fire in my blood burn hotter.
Because she’s mine now.
And I’m going to make sure she never forgets it.
For a second, I don’t move. I watch the rise and fall of her back. Her skin glows in the city’s silver light. I tell myself this is about power, about payment. But my body knows better. It’s hunger. Memory. Need.
My hands find the hidden zipper of her dress behind her, and I slowly begin to lower it even further, until I feel the curve of her ass beneath my palm. Her breath catches, a small sound between a gasp and a whimper.
“Marco,” she whispers again, but there’s something different in her tone now.
Her fingers twitch against my chest—one final push that doesn’t quite land. Her lips part, and for just a second, her gaze drops to my mouth before she blinks hard, like trying to erase the thought.
Something that makes me pause and really look at her.
Through the rising steam, I hover over her, searching her face. Fear is there, yes, but something else too. Something I recognize all too well from the night we spent together.
Desire.
