At 11:45 on a rainy Friday night, Adrian Moretti offered me fifty thousand dollars to lie to his entire family.
By midnight, the lie had become an engagement.
And seven days later, I would discover that the most dangerous part of pretending to love Adrian Moretti wasn’t fooling his family.
It was realizing I might not be pretending at all.
I sat across from him in his penthouse office while rain hammered the windows forty floors above Manhattan.
The check between us looked almost ridiculous.
$50,000.
My name wasn’t written on it yet.
Adrian had left that line blank, as though he knew I might need a few minutes before agreeing to sell one week of my personal life.
“You’re serious,” I said.
“I rarely joke at midnight.”
“That isn’t reassuring.”
Something almost resembling amusement moved through his green eyes.
Two years of working for Adrian had taught me how to read expressions most people never noticed. The slight tightening at the corner of his mouth meant irritation. A tap of his index finger meant he was calculating. Complete stillness meant somebody had made a serious mistake.
Tonight, he was completely still.
“You want your family to believe I’m the woman you intend to marry.”
“Yes.”
“Why me?”
“I already told you.”
“No. You said your mother knows you too well, and that’s why you chose me. That doesn’t answer the question.”
He pushed away from the desk.
“Because you know me.”
“I know your schedule.”
“You know more than that.”
I folded my arms.
“Do I?”
“You know I drink coffee black before noon and with one sugar after midnight. You know I hate restaurants where the tables are too close together. You know I call my mother every Sunday even when I’m traveling.”
“That’s because I schedule the calls.”
“You know I don’t like people standing behind me.”
“That’s because you nearly broke a senator’s security guard’s wrist when he surprised you.”
“He should have announced himself.”
I stared at him.
“That sentence is exactly why this is a terrible idea.”
He ignored that.
“You know which shoulder bothers me when it rains. You know I won’t eat mushrooms. You know I keep aspirin in the second drawer instead of the first because the first drawer sticks.”
I blinked.
He continued quietly.
“My family will ask questions. You already know the answers.”
“That makes me qualified to be your assistant, Adrian. Not your future wife.”
His eyes changed when I used his first name.
I almost always called him Mr. Moretti at work.
Tonight suddenly didn’t feel like work.
“What exactly would I have to do?”
“Attend family events. Stay at my mother’s house for the week. Have dinner with my brothers and cousins. Accompany me to her birthday celebration next Saturday.”
“And pretend we’re in love.”
“Yes.”
I looked at the check again.
Fifty thousand dollars.
My younger brother, Noah, had no idea how close I was to draining my savings to help him finish college. My mother had left us with more medical debt than either of us understood when she died three years earlier. I had managed to keep the worst of it away from Noah because he’d already given up one semester to help care for her.
He deserved his life back.
Fifty thousand dollars could erase the remaining hospital debt.
It could cover Noah’s tuition.
It could let me breathe.
Adrian knew none of that.
At least, I thought he didn’t.
“Separate bedrooms?”
“Yes.”
“No unexpected kissing.”
His gaze rested on my face.
“If circumstances require convincing—”
“No.”
“Emily.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I. My family isn’t stupid.”
“Then hold my hand. Put your arm around me. Look lovingly into my eyes while mentally calculating shipping invoices. But no surprise kissing.”
One corner of his mouth lifted.
“Fine.”
“No humiliating stories.”
“Agreed.”
“No ordering me around outside situations where somebody’s life is actually in danger.”
“That one may be difficult.”
“Adrian.”
“Fine.”
“And when the week ends, it ends.”
His expression became unreadable.
“Yes.”
I reached for the check.
His hand came down over it before mine could.
Warm fingers brushed mine.
My breath caught.
He noticed.
Of course he noticed.
Adrian noticed everything.
“There’s one more thing,” he said.
I pulled my hand away.
“What?”
“My mother cannot discover this is an arrangement.”
“I understood that part.”
“You don’t understand my mother.”
“I’ve spoken to her on the phone.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“What am I missing?”
He looked toward the rain-streaked windows.
“My father died when I was twenty-six. After that, she became obsessed with keeping the family together. She worries that I’ve built a life where nobody can get close to me.”
“That sounds less like obsession and more like accurate observation.”
His gaze snapped back.
I smiled innocently.
He exhaled through his nose.
“She’s seventy next Saturday. She told me three months ago that the only gift she wanted was to see me happy.”
Something in his voice made my teasing disappear.
“So you invented a girlfriend.”
“I told her I was seeing someone.”
“Which was still a lie.”
“Yes.”
“And then she asked to meet her.”
“Yes.”
“And you panicked.”
“I don’t panic.”
“You offered your assistant fifty thousand dollars at midnight.”
“That was strategic problem-solving.”
I laughed.
Actually laughed.
In Adrian Moretti’s office.
His eyebrows rose.
“You really are desperate.”
“Are you agreeing?”
I looked at him.
At the man whose reputation frightened bankers, politicians, union leaders, and occasionally half the staff at Moretti Security.
Yet tonight, beneath the black shirt and controlled expression, I saw something unexpectedly ordinary.
A son who didn’t want to disappoint his mother.
I picked up the check.
“One week.”
“One week.”
“And nobody gets hurt.”
“Why would anybody get hurt?”
“You’re a Moretti.”
“That’s prejudicial.”
“That’s experience.”
His mouth twitched.
“Go home, Emily. Pack enough for seven days. I’ll pick you up tomorrow at ten.”
“You’re picking me up?”
“My mother knows what car I drive.”
“Of course she does.”
I stood.
At the door, Adrian called my name.
I turned.
He was watching me differently.
Not like his assistant.
Not quite like his fake girlfriend either.
“Tomorrow,” he said, “we stop acting like employer and employee.”
“What do we act like?”
“Like two people who know each other better than anyone else.”
My stomach did something inconvenient.
“Good night, Adrian.”
“Good night, Emily.”
I barely slept.
At nine the next morning, I stood in my apartment surrounded by clothing while my best friend, Sophie, stared at the fifty-thousand-dollar check like it might explode.
“He wants you to do what?”
“Pretend to be his girlfriend.”
“You said future wife.”
“Potential future wife.”
“Emily.”
“I know.”
“This is Adrian Moretti.”
“I’m aware.”
“The Adrian Moretti?”
“There’s only one.”
“The man who once bought an entire warehouse because the owner refused to sell him one loading bay?”
“That story was exaggerated.”
“How exaggerated?”
“He bought two warehouses.”
Sophie stared at me.
“You’re going to fall in love with him.”
I threw a sweater into my suitcase.
“No.”
“You already defend him.”
“I correct inaccurate information.”
“You know what kind of coffee he drinks.”
“I’m his assistant.”
“You know his mother’s birthday.”
“I’m his assistant.”
“You know his shoulder hurts when it rains.”
I stopped.
“How do you know that?”
“You told me six months ago.”
“That means nothing.”
Sophie leaned against the dresser.
“You have spent two years convincing yourself that noticing everything about Adrian Moretti is part of your job.”
“It is.”
“And what happens when noticing him becomes the job?”
The intercom buzzed before I could answer.
Adrian had arrived.
Not a driver.
Not security.
Adrian himself.
When I walked downstairs, he was leaning against a black SUV in dark jeans, a charcoal sweater, and a long black coat.
I had never seen him dressed that casually.
That was problem number one.
Problem number two was the way he looked at me.
His eyes traveled from my boots to my jeans, cream sweater, and loose brown hair.
“You look different.”
“So do you.”
“I’m not wearing a suit.”
“I noticed.”
His gaze lingered.
“So did I.”
My pulse jumped.
He took my suitcase.
“I can carry that.”
“I know.”
He put it in the SUV anyway.
The drive north took almost two hours.
Adrian’s mother lived on an estate overlooking the Hudson River, far enough from Manhattan to feel peaceful but close enough that Adrian could return to the city quickly.
Halfway there, he handed me a folder.
I stared at it.
“You made me a dossier on your family?”
“Basic information.”
“Adrian, this has tabs.”
“I like organization.”
“This says your cousin Marco has been divorced twice.”
“Relevant.”
“Your aunt Teresa cheats at cards.”
“Extremely relevant.”
I flipped another page.
“Your mother’s favorite movie is Moonstruck.”
“Yes.”
“Favorite flowers: peonies.”
“Yes.”
“Favorite dessert: lemon ricotta cake.”
“Yes.”
I looked at him.
“You really do love her.”
His hands tightened slightly around the steering wheel.
“She’s my mother.”
That was all he said.
But it told me enough.
Then I found a page labeled OUR STORY.
“Oh, absolutely not.”
“What?”
“You wrote our fake relationship like a corporate acquisition.”
“It needs consistency.”
I read aloud.
“First date: October 12, L’Aurora, Greenwich Village. First kiss: outside her apartment at 11:17 p.m.”
He glanced at me.
“The time matters.”
“No normal person remembers the exact minute of their first kiss.”
“I would.”
The answer came so quietly I almost missed it.
I stopped reading.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then I looked back at the page.
“Who said ‘I love you’ first?”
“You.”
I gasped.
“Why me?”
“More believable.”
“That is insulting.”
“You’re emotionally healthier.”
“That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“I’ll try not to repeat it.”
I laughed again.
And suddenly the absurdity became almost fun.
We invented our first argument.
His inability to leave work at work.
My habit of stealing fries from his plate.
His supposed nickname for me.
“No,” I said immediately.
“Em.”
“Absolutely not.”
“It’s your name shortened.”
“It sounds fake coming from you.”
“What should I call you?”
I thought.
“Emily.”
“That’s not romantic.”
“Then say it romantically.”
His eyes flicked toward me.
“Emily.”
My entire body went still.
He looked back at the road.
“That work?”
I stared out the window.
“Unfortunately.”
Twenty minutes later, iron gates opened.
The Moretti estate appeared beyond rows of maple trees.
Beautiful gray stone.
White columns.
Wide lawns sloping toward the Hudson.
There were already cars everywhere.
“You said family,” I whispered.
“This is family.”
“There are thirty cars.”
“Italian family.”
Before I could respond, the front doors opened.
A petite silver-haired woman rushed down the steps.
Adrian barely had time to get out before she wrapped both arms around him.
He hugged her immediately.
Not stiffly.
Not politely.
Fully.
That surprised me more than anything.
Then she looked past him.
At me.
Her face transformed.
“Oh.”
Adrian came around the SUV.
“Mom, this is Emily.”
His hand settled against my lower back.
My body registered every finger.
“Emily,” he continued, “this is my mother, Lucia.”
Lucia Moretti stared at me for three long seconds.
Then she hugged me.
“Oh, thank God.”
I laughed nervously.
Adrian closed his eyes.
“Mom.”
“What? I’m seventy. I’m allowed to be relieved.”
“I thought you turned seventy next Saturday.”
“I’ve been practicing.”
She took both my hands.
“You’re beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
“And you have kind eyes.”
I didn’t know what to say to that.
Lucia turned toward her son.
“She’s too good for you.”
“I’ve been telling him that for two years.”
Lucia froze.
So did I.
Adrian’s hand tightened against my back.
“For two years?” she asked.
My brain scrambled.
“I mean, I’ve worked for him for two years.”
Lucia looked from me to Adrian.
“You work for him?”
There it was.
The first crack.
Adrian answered smoothly.
“She’s my executive assistant.”
His mother’s expression changed.
Not suspicious.
Interested.
“Oh,” she said slowly. “So this is why you suddenly stopped complaining about work two years ago.”
“Mom.”
She smiled.
“Come inside.”
We followed her.
Adrian leaned toward my ear.
“Good recovery.”
“I almost destroyed everything in twelve seconds.”
“Then we have room for improvement.”
Inside, relatives appeared from every direction.
Aunts.
Uncles.
Cousins.
Children.
Brothers.
Within fifteen minutes, I had been hugged nine times, questioned about Adrian’s eating habits, asked whether I wanted children, and informed by Aunt Teresa that Adrian had once cried because somebody stepped on his toy truck when he was four.
“I did not cry.”
“You screamed for forty minutes,” Teresa said.
“I was four.”
“You threatened your cousin.”
“He broke my truck.”
I covered my mouth to hide my smile.
Adrian caught me.
“You’re enjoying this.”
“Immensely.”
Dinner was worse.
Or better.
Depending on how dangerous you considered happiness.
I sat beside Adrian at a long table while his family talked over one another, passed bowls of pasta, argued about baseball, and told increasingly embarrassing childhood stories.
At one point, Adrian’s younger brother Luca leaned across the table.
“So, Emily.”
I looked up.
“How did my brother ask you out?”
Adrian reached for his wine.
I remembered the dossier.
“He didn’t.”
Luca smiled.
“Really?”
“I asked him.”
Adrian nearly choked.
That was not in the dossier.
I put my hand on his arm.
“He spent six months pretending he wasn’t interested.”
Lucia’s eyes widened.
“Six months?”
“Emily,” Adrian murmured.
I smiled sweetly.
“He’s shy.”
The table erupted.
Adrian leaned close.
“You’re going to regret that.”
“Are you threatening your future wife?”
His eyes locked onto mine.
The laughter around us faded from my awareness.
“No,” he said softly. “Never.”
Something changed.
Just for a second.
Then Lucia spoke.
“I want a picture.”
Everyone began moving.
Adrian stood and offered me his hand.
I took it.
Family members crowded around us.
Lucia positioned herself beside me.
“Closer, Adrian.”
“We’re close.”
“You’re standing like business partners.”
Luca laughed.
“She’s right.”
Adrian’s arm slid around my waist.
I moved closer.
Too close.
His body was warm.
His cologne was subtle.
His thumb rested against my side.
“Smile,” somebody called.
The camera flashed.
Then Lucia said something that made every muscle in Adrian’s body tighten.
“Now kiss her.”
The room erupted with encouragement.
My eyes flew to Adrian.
He looked at me.
I remembered my rule.
No unexpected kissing.
He didn’t move.
Instead, his hand remained at my waist while he waited.
Giving me the choice.
That somehow made it worse.
Because I could have laughed it off.
I could have kissed his cheek.
Instead, I lifted my face.
His eyes searched mine.
I gave the smallest nod.
Adrian lowered his head.
His lips touched mine.
The room disappeared.
It was supposed to last one second.
Maybe two.
A harmless performance.
But his hand tightened around my waist, and my fingers instinctively caught the front of his sweater.
The kiss deepened just enough to make my heart slam against my ribs.
Then he pulled away.
Slowly.
Too slowly.
Everyone cheered.
I could barely hear them.
Adrian looked as stunned as I felt.
Lucia smiled.
Not triumphantly.
Knowingly.
And when Adrian finally released me, his fingers brushed mine as though neither of us quite remembered where the performance was supposed to end.
That night, I lay awake in the guest room staring at the ceiling.
At 1:13 a.m., somebody knocked.
I opened the door.
Adrian stood there.
Neither of us spoke for several seconds.
Then he said quietly, “We need a new rule.”
“What rule?”
His gaze dropped briefly to my mouth.
“No more kissing unless absolutely necessary.”
My pulse jumped.
“That was already my rule.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you saying it?”
His eyes returned to mine.
“Because now I understand why you made it.”
And for the first time since accepting his fifty-thousand-dollar offer, I wondered whether Adrian Moretti was as frightened by this arrangement as I was.