Chapter 1 - Dance With Me, Mrs. Fierro“Pretend you’re my wife. Dance with me now.”
The stranger standing beside my chair said it like an order.
Not loudly. Not cruelly.
He didn’t need to.
His voice carried the quiet certainty of a man who had spent his entire life expecting rooms to rearrange themselves around him.
One hand remained extended toward me while, across the ballroom, my ex-husband stared from beside the cousin he had married after abandoning me pregnant.
Three minutes earlier, I had been fighting tears alone at Table Twelve.
My sister Sophia’s wedding occupied the top floor of the Bellmont Grand overlooking the Chicago River. Two hundred guests moved beneath enormous crystal chandeliers while white roses spilled from silver vases and candles glittered against floor-to-ceiling windows.
It was beautiful.
It was also the last place on earth I wanted to be.
My assigned seat had been placed beside the kitchen doors in what my cousin Sandra had cheerfully called the “family overflow section.”
All evening, I had been asked the same questions.
Where was my date?
Was I seeing anyone?
Had I considered dating apps?
Had I thought about “putting myself out there”?
My mother’s version had been the worst.
“You could have brought someone, Jessica.”
“I’m not dating anyone.”
She had sighed as though I had confessed to a misdemeanor.
“That isn’t something you should announce so casually.”
I had smiled because arguing with my mother at Sophia’s wedding would only make me the difficult daughter again.
My five-year-old daughter, Lily, wasn’t there.
I’d been told children might be “difficult” at the reception.
Lily had cried when she learned she wouldn’t get to wear the burgundy thrift-store dress we had found together.
So I promised her cake.
That promise was the only reason I stayed after dinner.
Then Tyler Brooks appeared beside my table.
“Dance with me, Jess.”
“No.”
He smiled with the same crooked charm that had once convinced twenty-four-year-old me that he loved me enough to build a life together.
“Come on. We’re family.”
“You married my cousin. That doesn’t make us family.”
Vanessa stood nearby in a navy gown with one manicured hand resting on her pregnant stomach.
Tyler lowered his voice.
“You always punish people for moving on.”
“You left three days after I told you I was pregnant.”
“I was twenty-four.”
“So was I.”
“You chose to keep the baby.”
My fingers tightened around my napkin.
“Our daughter has a name.”
His eyes traveled over my department-store dress and twice-repaired shoes.
“You were supposed to become a doctor,” he said. “Instead, you work double shifts and raise a kid in a one-bedroom apartment.”
“I’m a pediatric nurse. I save children’s lives.”
“And you can barely pay your bills.”
The words landed harder than I wanted them to.
Then he leaned slightly closer.
“Vanessa and I are different. She didn’t throw away her future.”
He walked back to her.
Vanessa met my eyes, placed both hands around her pregnant belly, and smiled.
I sat because my knees suddenly couldn’t be trusted.
That was when I noticed the man near the bar.
Tall.
Broad-shouldered.
Maybe forty-two.
Dark hair. Strong jaw. A thin scar along his chin.
He wore a deep navy three-piece suit over a black shirt with no tie, somehow looking less like a wedding guest than the owner of the building.
Men approached him carefully.
Women watched him openly.
Even the hotel staff seemed to straighten when he passed.
He stood separate from the celebration and still somehow controlled its atmosphere.
Then he looked directly at me.
A minute later, he was beside my chair.
And now his hand was extended.
“Pretend you’re my wife. Dance with me now.”
I stared at him.
“You don’t even know my name.”
“Jessica Hale. Twenty-nine. Pediatric nurse. Mother of Lily, five years old. Older sister of the bride.”
My pulse jumped.
“How do you know that?”
His amber eyes flicked toward Tyler.
“Because right now, you need an ally as badly as I do.”
“This is insane.”
“Probably.”
“Why do you need a fake wife?”
“My aunt is trying to marry me to a business associate’s daughter.”
I glanced toward an elegant brunette standing beside an older silver-haired woman across the room.
The brunette stared at me as if I had just stolen something valuable.
“That sounds inconvenient.”
“She agrees with the arrangement.”
He offered his hand again.
“If I dance with another woman, my family assumes I’m resisting. If I introduce a wife they didn’t know existed, the discussion ends.”
“You expect them to believe you secretly married a stranger?”
“I expect people to believe what I tell them.”
Something in the way he said it tightened my stomach.
“What’s your name?”
“Giovanni Fierro.”
At the next table, an older man immediately stopped speaking.
His wife lowered her champagne glass.
Two men near the bar turned toward us.
I noticed.
Giovanni noticed me noticing.
“Should that name mean something to me?”
“Not tonight.”
The orchestra shifted into another slow song.
Giovanni looked over my shoulder.
“Your ex-husband is watching.”
I glanced back.
Tyler was staring.
“So is the woman my aunt selected,” Giovanni added. “We have about ten seconds before this becomes less convincing.”
“You’re counting?”
“Nine.”
Despite myself, I almost smiled.
“Eight.”
I looked at his hand.
Then at Tyler.
Then at Vanessa.
“Seven.”
I placed my hand in Giovanni’s.
His fingers closed around mine.
And suddenly every person who knew exactly who Giovanni Fierro was began turning toward us.
He helped me stand.
The room seemed to tilt.
“You’re trembling,” he murmured.
“I’m wearing shoes from a clearance rack and pretending to be married to a stranger whose name apparently terrifies wealthy people.”
“Reasonable explanation.”
He led me onto the dance floor.
His right hand settled lightly at my waist.
My left hand rested against his shoulder.
“Do you know how to dance?” he asked.
“Do you?”
His mouth almost curved.
“That sounded like a challenge.”
“It wasn’t.”
“Good. I dislike losing.”
He moved effortlessly.
I followed less elegantly.
For the first ten seconds, I was certain every guest could hear my heartbeat.
Then Giovanni leaned slightly closer.
“Stop looking at them.”
“Everyone is staring.”
“Let them.”
“That’s easy for you to say.”
“No. It’s practiced.”
I looked up.
For the first time, his expression changed.
Only slightly.
Enough for me to realize that being watched was not the same thing as being admired.
Maybe Giovanni Fierro understood that better than anyone.
“Why me?” I asked.
His gaze shifted briefly toward Tyler.
“Because you needed something to change.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It’s the one you get tonight.”
We turned beneath the chandeliers.
Across the dance floor, Tyler’s jaw tightened.
Vanessa whispered something to him.
My mother stood near Sophia with her mouth slightly open.
Sophia looked shocked.
Then delighted.
Of course she did.
My sister had always loved chaos as long as she wasn’t responsible for it.
“You realize my entire family is going to interrogate me,” I whispered.
“Then tell them we married quietly.”
“When?”
“Three months ago.”
“Where?”
“Lake Como.”
I nearly stepped on his shoe.
“Lake Como?”
“You wanted Iowa?”
“I’ve never been to Italy.”
“Then don’t volunteer details about the restaurant.”
A laugh escaped me.
An actual laugh.
I hadn’t realized how badly I needed one.
Giovanni looked down at me.
For half a second, something warm appeared in his eyes.
Then the song ended.
Applause started around us, but it felt different from ordinary wedding applause.
People weren’t watching a dance.
They were watching him.
Watching us.
A woman’s voice cut through the crowd.
“Giovanni.”
The silver-haired woman approached.
Her face was elegant, controlled, formidable.
The brunette followed beside her.
Giovanni’s hand remained at my waist.
“Aunt Elena,” he said.
Her gaze moved from him to me.
“And who,” she asked slowly, “is this?”
Before I could answer, Giovanni tightened his hand around mine.
“My wife.”
Silence.
Not complete silence.
The orchestra was still playing.
People still whispered.
Glasses still clinked.
But around us, the world seemed to pause.
Elena Fierro stared at me.
The brunette turned pale.
Tyler took one step closer.
And my mother nearly dropped her champagne.
Giovanni lifted my hand and pressed the faintest kiss against my knuckles.
“This is Jessica.”
Elena’s eyes sharpened.
“You married.”
“Yes.”
“And told no one.”
“That was the idea.”
“For how long?”
“Three months.”
Lake Como, I reminded myself.
Three months.
I smiled.
Elena looked at me.
“Where did you meet my nephew?”
My mind went completely blank.
Giovanni’s thumb brushed once over my knuckles.
A warning.
Or reassurance.
I couldn’t tell which.
“At the hospital,” I said.
His eyes flicked toward me.
Elena’s brows lifted.
“What happened?”
I looked at Giovanni.
“You tell her.”
That almost made him smile.
“I was visiting someone.”
Not technically a lie.
Probably.
“And Jessica?”
“Was working.”
Also true.
Elena watched us for a long moment.
Then she looked toward the brunette.
The younger woman’s expression had hardened.
“Bianca,” Elena said quietly, “perhaps we should speak later.”
Bianca stared at me.
“No,” she said.
Her smile appeared slowly.
“I think I’d rather hear more about Mrs. Fierro.”
Tyler chose that exact moment to step forward.
“Jessica.”
Giovanni turned.
Tyler looked at his hand around my waist.
Then at me.
“You’re married?”
I should have been afraid.
Instead, something inside me settled.
Maybe because Giovanni didn’t move away.
Maybe because, for the first time since Tyler left me pregnant and crying on a bathroom floor, he was the one who looked uncertain.
“Yes,” I said.
Tyler laughed once.
“You expect me to believe that?”
Giovanni’s expression cooled.
“Does she require your permission?”
Tyler’s face changed.
“I’m her—”
“Ex-husband,” Giovanni finished. “I know.”
“How?”
Giovanni said nothing.
Tyler looked at me.
“This is ridiculous.”
Vanessa approached behind him, one hand over her stomach.
“You never mentioned seeing anyone.”
I looked at her.
“You never asked.”
“That’s not true.”
“You were usually too busy explaining why Tyler leaving me was somehow romantic.”
Her smile disappeared.
My mother appeared at my side.
“Jessica, sweetheart, could I speak with you?”
The entire evening had suddenly become everyone wanting to speak with me.
Sophia rushed over before my mother could pull me away.
Her eyes were enormous.
“You got married?”
“Apparently.”
Giovanni coughed softly.
I corrected myself.
“Quietly.”
Sophia looked from him to me.
Then back to him.
“Are you Giovanni Fierro?”
He nodded.
Sophia grabbed my arm.
“You married Giovanni Fierro?”
I whispered, “Why does everyone know who he is except me?”
Sophia stared.
“You seriously don’t know?”
“No.”
Before she could answer, the brunette—Bianca—spoke behind us.
“Then perhaps someone should tell her.”
Giovanni went still.
Elena’s expression tightened.
Bianca smiled.
“After all, a wife should know what kind of man she married.”
The chandeliers glittered above us.
My hand was still in Giovanni’s.
But suddenly that hand felt different.
Not dangerous.
Not exactly.
Just powerful.
Too powerful.
I looked up at him.
“Who are you?”
His jaw tightened.
Before he answered, one of the hotel’s senior managers approached quickly and whispered something into his ear.
Whatever Giovanni heard erased every trace of amusement from his face.
He released my waist.
Then he looked directly at me.
“Jessica, I need you to stay beside me.”
“Why?”
His gaze moved toward the ballroom entrance.
Two men in dark suits had just walked inside.
Neither looked like a wedding guest.
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“Because,” Giovanni said quietly, “someone here knows this marriage isn’t real.”
And as one of the strangers reached inside his jacket, I realized my fake husband might have brought me into something far more dangerous than a family argument.
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