Page 45 of Mafia Boss's Fake Wife

And when I snapped the parlor doors shut, I wanted to laugh out loud at the looks on their faces.

“Wait until they’re gone and then come try one of these on with me,” Stassi said from the center of the room.

I press my ear against the door, then grin at her after a minute. “They’re gone.”

“Good,” she says with a bright smile. The dress she has on looks like it was made by spiders or something, the lace is so finely made and stretched over a tight white silk under-dress.

She stands, reaching for the bottle of champagne, and I sigh.

Stassi turns back, her perfect rose lips arched in a little catlike smile. “Here, new sister.”

“Thanks,” I say, accepting the drink.

We both sip, and I sigh. “Wow. That’s amazing.”

“I know. They send me this stuff by the case, and I just honestly never drink it. But when I do,” she sips, her perfect blue eyes closing in admiration. “It’s like… really good.”

I take another drink.

“So. Which one do you want to try?”

I look at Stassi. She’s literally a model; she’s tall, with elegantly long limbs and the type of blonde hair that turns nearly white in the summer. Her skin still carries the tan of whatever exotic location she was last in, and she has the kind of body that most of us only dream of.

“Uh,” I start. “I hate to tell you this, but I don’t think you and I wear the same size.”

She laughs. “Oh my god, girl. Don’t worry about it. They make wedding dresses too big so that you can get them tailored.”

I eye her very trim waist. “I’m not sure…”

“Just come on, already. You can totally pick one, I promise you’ll fit!”

Before I know it, Stassi’s hand is in mine, and I’m being pulled toward one of the racks of wedding dresses at an alarmingly quick pace.

I dig in my heels, preventing the champagne from spilling. “Look,” I protest, “I’m not even sure where to start?—”

“Sweetheart neckline,” she says, thrusting a dress at me.

I blink. “What?”

“Sweetheart neckline. You’ve got killer bone structure on your shoulders and along your collarbones, so let’s go with this,” she smiles.

I don’t know how anyone says no to this woman.

With a sigh, I grab the dress and hand her my champagne. Behind the screen, I whip off the well-made designer jumpsuit that I was wearing, my fingers lingering on the edges of the lingerie that I still haven’t changed out of.

The lingerie that Marco…

“So. Tell me about yourself, Roisin?”

I wince.

I don’t know what to do. Stassi just seems so… open. I don’t want to lie to her, but I can’t tell her the truth.

I don’t even think that I know how to answer that question. My brain sifts through the different layers of the truth as I try to figure out what I’m going for.

I’m an Interpol agent being framed for the murder of Russian mafia members. You might know them.

I’m a double agent, working for Interpol to arrest members of organized crime while also feeding my brother information that keeps our stupid family gang afloat.

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