Page 22 of Secret Baby for my Off-Limits Fiancé

“And what do you expect from me?” I keep my voice even.

His expression turns serious. “We have to be convincing. That means public appearances, family dinners, corporate events, social gatherings. And it means…” He pauses slightly, tilting his head. “We’ll have to be affectionate in public. Holding hands. Kissing.”

I stiffen.

A flash of memory, his lips on mine, the heat of his hands against my skin.

I shake it off, clearing my throat. “I’m not sure about that.”

“That’s non-negotiable. We have to sell it.” He tilts his head, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Besides, if I remember correctly, you never had a problem kissing me before.”

I narrow my eyes. “If we’re doing this, I have conditions too.”

His brows lift. “Go on.”

I take a steadying breath. “No other women while this is happening.”

His lips twitch. “Possessive, are we?”

I scowl. “Not for me. For optics. If we’re supposed to be a serious couple, I don’t want to be humiliated by some random girl calling me a homewrecker.”

His smirk fades slightly. “Fair enough. I’ll be completely faithful to you… in our fake relationship.”

I lift an eyebrow. “With your reputation, I find that hard to believe.”

He chuckles. “Come on, Layla. Do you really think I go around with a new woman every night?”

I give him a pointed look.

“Okay, maybe I used to—”

Our waiter approaches us.

“I’ll be on my best behavior,” he whispers.

I expect the waiter to offer us a moment to decide, but Valentino doesn’t need one.

He closes the menu without even looking at it. “We’ll start with the burrata, fresh figs, and prosciutto.” His voice smooth, low, laced with quiet authority. “Then the truffle risotto and the osso buco, slow-braised.”

He nods slightly toward me. “And she’ll have the handmade pappardelle with the wild boar ragu.”

The waiter nods, scribbling it all down, his posture straightening just a little under Valentino’s gaze.

There’s no hesitation, no second-guessing. It’s clear. Valentino’s been here before. He knows what’s best. And more than that, he knows what I’ll like.

I arch a brow, tilting my head. My fingers skimming the rim of my wine glass. “Ordering for me now?”

A slow smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “You trust me, don’t you?”

The way he says it, it isn’t really a question. It’s a statement, heavy with meaning, with expectation.

The waiter disappears, and Valentino shifts forward, resting his forearms on the table, his gaze locked onto me like I’m the only thing in this restaurant that matters.

“You overthink menus.” The ghost of amusement plays in his voice. “Too many choices. I saved you the trouble.”

I exhale a quiet laugh, shaking my head. “And what if I wanted to choose for myself?”

His gaze dips to my lips, his smirk deepening. “Then you would have.” He reaches for his glass, taking a slow sip of the deep red Barolo before setting it back down with deliberate ease. “But you didn’t stop me.”

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