Page 113 of Mafia Boss's Fake Wife

I stop before the tears scratching my throat come out.

My eyes slam shut so that I don’t cry.

“Roisin,” Marco’s voice murmurs.

It’s close.

I crack an eye open and slam it shut again.

He’s kneeling on the floor.

The image of him, however, kneeling in front of me, will stick with me for the rest of my life.

“I’m so fucking sorry,” he whispers.

His voice is hoarse.

I shift, looking at him fully.

“I’m sorry that we did this. If you want it to be annulled?—”

“No,” I cut him off.

His jaw slams shut, and I can see a muscle work underneath his bronze skin.

I must be insane. I must be absolutely losing my mind, or maybe there’s some kind of ghost in here that’s possessing me, because when I open my mouth, I am completely not in control of what I’m about to say.

“What if… we pretended instead.”

Marco’s eyes blink, and I can see confusion cross his features. “Pretend?”

I nod. I gulp, trying to fight against the fluttering of my pulse in my throat. “What if we pretend that this isn’t fake. That it’s real. That we’re married and it’s… how it should be,” I whisper.

Marco De Luca is a tough man to shock.

But shock is written across every one of his features right now.

“What…”

“Pretend that I’m your wife. That this is our first night together as… married…” I murmur. “That we chose this. That we’re?—”

I can’t say the next part.

That we’re in love.

I don’t think I need to say it, though

Marco’s eyes look at me with so much longing, I know he knows what I’m thinking.

“Roisin…”

“I know it’s not real. I know it’s not,” I murmur. “But just pretend… because this is the time, and this is the place.”

I peek at him from under my lashes.

The longing I saw there earlier? It’s been transformed.

And pure, raw lust spreads across his features.

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