Chapter 1 - Table Twelve Beside the Kitchen
Three minutes earlier, I was sitting alone at Table Twelve, fighting back tears at my sister Sophia’s wedding.
The Bellmont Grand gleamed over the Chicago River, surrounded by white roses, chandeliers, and expensive champagne.
Meanwhile, I’d been seated next to the kitchen doors, in what my cousin Sandra cheerfully called the “extended family area.”
I’d spent the whole night answering the same question:
“Why did you come alone?”
My five-year-old daughter, Lily, was at home with my best friend because, apparently, children were “too complicated” for the reception.
She’d cried when she found out she couldn’t wear the burgundy thrift-store dress we’d picked out together.
I’d promised to bring her some cake.
That promise was the only reason I hadn’t left yet.
Then Tyler showed up.
“Dance with me, Jess.”
“No.”
He flashed that smile I knew so well.
“Come on. We’re family.”
“You married my cousin.”
His pregnant wife, Vanessa, was standing nearby, watching.
Tyler leaned in closer.
“You always punish people for moving on.”
“You left three days after I told you I was pregnant.”
“I was twenty-four.”
“So was I.”
His expression hardened. “You should have become a doctor,” he said. “Now you work double shifts and raise a child in a one-bedroom apartment.”
“I’m a pediatric nurse.”
“And you can barely pay your bills.”
Then he looked at Vanessa.
“She didn’t throw her future away.”
Tyler walked away.
Vanessa met my gaze, slowly placed both hands on her pregnant belly...
And smiled.
I sat down before my legs gave out.
That was when a man approached.
Tall.
Dark hair.
He looked to be about forty-two.
A faint scar ran across his chin, and people seemed to move differently around him.
Cautiously.
Respectfully.
He stopped beside my chair and held out his hand.
“Pretend to be my wife. Dance with me.”
“You don’t even know me.”
“Jessica Hale. Twenty-nine. Pediatric nurse. Mother of Lily, age five. The bride’s older sister.”
My blood ran cold.
“How do you know that?”
His amber eyes shifted toward Tyler.
“Because you need an ally tonight. So do I.”
“Why?”
“My aunt intends to marry me off to a business partner’s daughter.”
I almost laughed.
“And your solution is to invent a secret wife?”
“I expect people to believe what I say.”
“What’s your name?”
“Giovanni Fierro.”
At the next table, an older man stopped speaking abruptly.
His wife slowly lowered her champagne glass.
I noticed it.
Giovanni noticed that I had noticed.
“Should that name mean something to me?”
“Not tonight.”
Then his gaze shifted past me.
“Your ex-husband is watching.”
I turned around.
Tyler was staring at us.
Giovanni held out his hand again.
“Ten seconds.” — Are you counting down?
— Nine.
For the first time that night, I smiled.
— Eight.
I looked at Tyler.
Then at Vanessa.
— Seven.
I placed my hand in Giovanni’s.
His fingers closed around mine.
And as he led me to the dance floor, the conversations around us began to die down, one by one.
That was when I realized something terrifying.
Everyone in that ballroom knew exactly who Giovanni Fierro was.
May you like
Everyone.
Except me.
