For Maggie, it must be hell.
He shook his head and tried hard not to laugh. She stood trapped in a corner with some of his female cousins, her cinnamon-colored hair a bright beacon in a room filled mostly with olive skin and brunettes. Her dress was short and flirty, the skirt flouncing above the knee and showing off a pair of endless legs that begged to be wrapped around a man’s waist. Bright red and yellow splashed over the delicate material and made her easy to spot in the thronged mass. Her height had always been impressive, but she matched most of his cousins with her three-inch red sandals. Something about her shoes turned him on like no other woman’s shoes had. Almost as if her lust for sexy, come-get-me heels confirmed her inner hellcat.
He refilled his wineglass and chatted with old friends as he kept an eye on her. He expected a chilled politeness that would put off his affectionate family, but each time his gaze snagged her, she was laughing or listening intently to the many stories regaling her ears. Fascinated, Michael inched toward her.
Sure, he knew she was socially professional and relaxed in work settings. He just didn’t expect her to be so open in her ruse. Her childhood bespoke a cold familiarity, and she radiated a distance that was part of her core. Hell, she wore it like a cloak, which he spotted the moment she walked into the restaurant to meet him for their blind date. But something felt different tonight.
He studied her as his uncle Tony talked shop with him—problems with suppliers and increased rent and the possibility of owning properties. He nodded, listened with half an ear, and eavesdropped on his fake wife.
“How did you do it?” his cousin Brianna whispered to Maggie. She reminded him of when people dropped their voices automatically to say such words as “cancer.” The question still sounded as harsh as a gunshot. “Michael has avoided marriage forever. He has a reputation, you know.”
Maggie’s lip twitched. “Really? What type of reputation?”
Brianna looked around and leaned in. Michael hid behind the breadth of Uncle Tony’s back. “He loves the chase. Seems he likes to seduce a woman—the bigger the challenge the more skilled he becomes in gaining her affection. Then, as soon as she gives in, wham.”
Maggie drew back. “Wham? What wham?”
That whisper again. “He leaves her flat. Heartbroken, seduced, and abandoned.”
Anger cut through him at his cousin’s impression. Dios, did he ever get a break? He never led a woman on, yet his reputation preceded him all the way to America. Nick had informed him many times of the murmurs of his prowess among women and how he’d once been concerned Alexa would fall vulnerable to his charms. Michael took another casual step in and listened for her answer.
Maggie clucked her tongue. “How horrible! Maybe that’s why he married me, then. How strange.”
Brianna widened her eyes. “What’s strange? Tell me. We’re family now—your secrets are safe with me.”
Maggie took a deep breath and looked around as if worried who’d overhear. Her whisper was as soft as his cousin’s. “I refused to sleep with him until he married me, of course.”
Michael choked on a piece of bruschetta. When he recovered, he looked up to find Maggie’s mischievous grin, followed by a wink. She touched Brianna’s arm, then turned on those sexy heels, and her skirt flipped, showing off a perfectly curved backside. He clenched his jaw as the sudden want clawed at him. He imagined sinking his teeth into her firm flesh and taking a succulent bite. The echo of her cry as he held her down and pleasured her misted his vision. When he resurfaced, Uncle Tony still droned on, and Maggie had moved to the other side of the room.
What the hell was he going to do about her?
More important, what was he going to do about his sudden need to claim the woman who pretended to be his wife?
• • •
Something was wrong with her.
Maggie nibbled on salty prosciutto from the antipasto, drank her wine, and mingled. In only twenty-four hours, she’d experienced every event she always avoided and despised.
Long, chatty conversations focused on weddings and girly talk. Check.
Cooking and chopping and ruining her perfect manicure. Check.
Dealing with mother-in-law and sister-in-law and cousins all prying into her personal life and making judgments. Check.
So why wasn’t she running from the room in terror, like one of those idiots in Scream who saw an obscene white mask?
Maybe because she knew it was all fake?
Had to be. There was no other rational explanation. Other than with her brother and Alexa, she didn’t do family functions. She cooked on her terms, when she thought it’d be a fun distraction. And she never had to deal with a flock of females who giggled and asked a billion questions. She was used to silence—had lived with it most of her life—and had little experience with such open affection.
Yet, they all welcomed her into the fold wholeheartedly. All of his sisters were so different, yet Maggie actually liked them. They were real. His mother never laughed or criticized as she taught her to make her first homemade pot of gravy. A tiny part of her flamed to life, a part she was ashamed to admit she owned. What would it feel like to have so many people love you no matter how many mistakes you made?
Her gaze caught on Venezia wrapped up in her fiancé’s arms, laughing at something he said. Their connection burned from across the room, and the adoring expression on Dominick’s face smashed straight through the gut with one pure emotion.
Longing.
Maggie swallowed past the lump in her throat. As horrific as their ruse was, somehow it felt so right once she saw the couple together. Nothing should stand in their way—especially an ancient custom. What would that feel like? To have a man look at her with such possession and love? To belong to a person who actually gave a damn?
She pushed the question from her mind and made her way back to Michael. Time to get her head back in the game. He stood next to a very attractive man with burning blue eyes and scruffy facial hair. Thick, jet-black waves of hair spilled over his forehead. Crap, the man was sex on a stick, and she briefly wondered if he was a model. Carina stood with them, her head tilted up as she gazed at the stranger as if he were the sun and the only element that stood between her and a cold, frozen death.
Curious, Maggie eased her way into the inner circle to stand by Michael.
“Maggie, there you are,” Michael said. “Meet my friend Max Gray. He’s been like a part of our family for years, so I consider him my brother. He works for La Dolce Famiglia as my right-hand man.”
Max the sex god turned his piercing eyes on her and smiled. Laugh lines carved the edges of his mouth. She blinked at the sensual aura coming at her like jet propulsions. Oddly, she didn’t feel the burn of connection she experienced with Michael, but more of an aesthetic pleasure from such a visually stunning creature. She offered her hand and he shook it with a firm grip.
Nope. No sparks at all. Thank God. Maggie pitied the woman who fell in love with this man, doomed to walk in his shadow forever.
Then she realized Michael’s little sister had the bug.
Bad.
Carina had not yet reached the age where she hid her emotions. Still caught halfway to a full-grown woman, her face reflected a longing that broke Maggie’s heart and filled her with fear. Her past rocketed toward her with the dim memories of the girl she’d once been. Before her innocence and belief in happily ever after was ripped from her.
Poor Carina. If she had a thing for Max, she was doomed to experience a broken heart.
“Where have you been hiding her, Michael?” He glanced between them with a hint of curiosity and something more. Suspicion? “Here I am thinking of you as my best friend, yet I didn’t have a clue you two were involved. When Page Six doesn’t break the news about a hot single billionaire in New York getting hitched, something’s up.”
Oh yeah. Max definitely believed her to be a fortune hunter.
Michael snorted. “Seems the magazines are more interested in you than me, my friend. And I thought the last time we compared notes, you beat me by almost a million.”
“Two.”
“Ah, but you are not a count.”
“That Swiss blood took me out of the running, I guess. But I still own more land.”
Maggie rolled her eyes. “Why don’t you both whip it out and I’ll tell you who’s bigger?”
Michael shot her a look. Carina clamped her hand over her mouth.
“If my sources are correct, you’re keeping your own secrets,” Michael said. “What’s this in the gossip columns about you dating royalty? Italian descent not good enough? You need a blue blood to satisfy you?”
Max shook his head. “Serena accompanied her father on a business trip and is keeping me company. She’s an heiress to a fortune, and not really royalty. Her papa would rip me apart—I’m not worthy enough to marry into that family.”
Carina blazed with fury. “That’s ridiculous! Anyone who marries for money instead of love deserves unhappiness! You’re worth more than that.”
Max put his hands to his chest. “Ah, cara, will you marry me? You are a woman after my own heart.”
Carina turned beet red. Her lips trembled as she searched for words. What a mess. In love with her brother’s best friend who was years older, and trapped in a girl-woman’s body as she lusted after someone she couldn’t have. At least, not yet.
Maggie opened her mouth to divert attention, but Michael dived in for a belly flop. He chucked his sister under the chin, his indulgent smile like that of an adult to a toddler. “Carina has many years before she can be serious about a man. She will be stepping into her rightful position in the bakery and will finish her business degree. Besides, she’s a good girl, and you, my friend, only date the bad ones.”
The men laughed, neither realizing the expense of their joke.
The color drained from Carina’s face, and she lowered her head. When she stuck her chin back up, she blinked back tears of rage. “I’m not a child, Michael,” she hissed. “Why can’t you both see that?”
She turned and ran from the room.
“What did I say?” Michael asked. “I was only teasing her.”
Max looked just as lost.
Maggie let out an irritated sigh and gulped the rest of her wine. “You two boneheads really did it this time.”
“Did what? Her behavior is irrational and rude to our guests. I meant no harm.”
Max shifted uneasily. “Should I go talk to her?”
“No, it’s my responsibility. I will talk to her.”
Maggie shoved her empty glass into Michael’s hands. “Ah, hell, stay out of it. You’ve done enough. I’ll talk to her.”
Michael’s face reflected skepticism. “Darling, you don’t have much experience with young women. Sometimes she needs a firm hand to see reason. Maybe it will be better if I get Julietta.”
Maggie somehow doubted his business-minded sister understood Carina at the moment, either. Once again, his tone pissed her off, basically telling her she was incapable of handling another situation. In the past twenty-four hours, the man had insulted her career, her cooking, and now her social methods. She forced a sweet smile that almost gave her a cavity. “Don’t worry, darling.” She mocked the endearment in a private manner he understood immediately. “I’m going to give her some good news to make her feel better.”