Page 78 of Mafia and Gold Digger

But now we’re going to face our first big test in public together, and that’s something else altogether.

And I just hope we can put on a convincing act.

Because Emerald has to stay safe from Carmine…

CHAPTERTWENTY-FOUR

EMERALD

It’s the night of the party. After we shower together, we come out into the bedroom, and Saint heads straight to my closet.

Throwing open the door, I watch as he flicks through my plethora of sparkly dresses, and I feel satisfaction swell as the realization dawns upon him that every single one of the dresses in the closet is stolen.

He spins on his heel toward me and gives a low growl in the back of his throat.

“Is there a problem, Valentino?” I ask with faked innocence.

He strides over to his closet and quickly starts to dress. “You’re not getting your own way so easily,” he huffs. “I’ll be damned if you’re attending our engagement party wearing a stolen dress. Stay here while I go out and buy you a dress.”

My smirk slips off my face. “We’ll be late for our own party,” I huff. Because if we don’t leave soon, I won’t be back in time forThe Real Housewives of Sunset Beach, and I’m dying to watch tonight’s episode.

“Think of it as us making a grand, fashionably late entrance,” he throws back over his shoulder as he grabs his car keys.

And I narrow my eyes at him as I flop back onto the bed, already fuming that I’m going to miss my favorite show tonight.

Saint is back an hour later.

“You took ages,” I complain.

“Traffic,” he says with a languid shrug.

I’ve already done my hair and makeup, so snatching the expensive boutique bag from him, I quickly take out the dress box, flip open the lid, throw back the layers of tissue paper, and stare at the creation in front of me.

I’m lost for words.

Speechless.

“I tried to find something in a color you’d like.”

But I still can’t say anything.

Because thethingin front of me looks like someone’s thrown up a custard pie—or ten. It’s bright yellow and frilly and frothy in the worst possible way.For God’s sake.

But I’m not going to stand here and argue. I just want to get this party over and done with. Throwing on the outfit, I decide I’ll find a way to get back at Saint later for making me wear this stupid dress. Then I grab my purse and rush out to the car.

* * *

“We’re here,” Saint tells me.

I huff, unable to help the tiniest bit of resentment from creeping through me. I’m already feeling extremely panicky about the whole show I’m going to have to put on and the lies I’ll have to tell.You can do this, Em. I might be really bad at lying, but I remind myself that I ran guns, shoplifted from stores, and managed to keep a roof over my siblings’ heads—so if I focus hard enough, I’m sure I can convince everyone that this engagement is genuine.

But it’s more than that.

Much more.

Because although I’ve been trying to avoid thinking about it, the fact that he could only ever see me as hisfakefiancée stings. Stings like antiseptic being poured onto an open wound...

I don’t know why I even feel like this. I mean, he was clear from the outset that fake was all this would ever be. Who would want to be with someone with all my issues? I can’t stop stealing, I’m responsible for bringing up three kids, and I’ve got a dangerous man after me. But is it so wrong to wonder what if?What if he really did want me as much as I maybe want him?

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