The Marriage Trap (8 page)

Maggie knew it was over. Michael would never marry a woman who couldn’t cook homemade pasta. Mama Conte would never approve of such a match, or even believe in the possibility. With the last shred of pride she held, Maggie lifted her chin and met the woman’s gaze head-on.

“I lied.” Mama Conte lifted a brow in question, and Maggie rushed on. “I have no idea how to cook. I use the dried pasta and dump it in water. I heat up sauce in the microwave. I eat take-out almost every night.”

There. It was done. She prepared herself for the ridicule and accusation. Instead, Michael’s mother grinned.

“I know.”

Maggie jerked back. “What?”

“I wanted to see how far you would go. I am impressed, Margherita. You never show your fear. Once you commit, you see it through, even if you think you will fail. That is exactly what my son needs.”

With quick actions, Mama Conte dumped the oozing mess into the garbage, redusted with the flour, and turned to her. “We begin again. Watch me.”

Maggie watched as she was showed each step with careful precision. As the fear of discovery slid away, she relaxed into the lesson, her hands steeped in dough as she worked the mound with a strength that quickly tired her. The hand weights at the gym had nothing on cooking, and the muscles in Mama Conte’s arms and wrists never seemed to tire as she sought the perfect blend. Maggie caught up the lilting melody Michael’s mother hummed, and a sense of peace settled over her. She’d never cooked with a woman before, never been allowed in such a warm, domestic space. As the rolling pin worked the dough and was stretched delicately, Mama Conte handed her a portion.

“The earthiness of pasta dough is the true element in a good, simple meal. We must stretch it to a delicate thinness without breaking. Work the edge.”

Maggie bit her lip. “Mama Conte, maybe you should do this one?”

“No. You will serve your husband dinner tonight, Margherita, by your own hand. And this is not because you are beneath him, or he believes you are less. It is because you are more. So much more.
Capisce
?”

The beauty of her statement shimmered around her with sudden truth. She reached up, wiped her brow, and smeared batter over her forehead. And smiled. “Okay.”

They worked without speaking, humming Italian songs, listening to the soothing motions of the rolling pin and the chirping of birds in the distance. Maggie broke noodle over noodle, but dug in, until one perfect large strand draped over her hand. Uneven, but transparently thin without a break.

Mama Conte reached over and draped it on the drying stand, inspecting it carefully. Her cackle echoed through the kitchen. “
Perfecto
.”

Maggie grinned and wondered why she felt as if she just emerged from a Mount Everest climb in the middle of winter.

•   •   •

Hours later, she sat at the large table with bowls of steaming pasta and fresh tomato sauce. The scents of sweet basil and savory garlic hung in the air. Three bottles of wine took up the corners, and plates squeezed between the platters of food like secondary characters in a book. She glanced over nervously at Michael. Would he laugh? Would he tease her about her inability to cook and her pathetic efforts at an expert table?

Laughter and yelling and loud discussion swarmed around her in confusion. She was so used to dinners eaten at her breakfast counter while she watched television or at structured restaurants with low, murmured conversation. Growing up, she ate alone, or with her brother in silence. But Michael was different.

He teased his sisters and relaxed under the warmth of his family, and Maggie realized his ease was brought into every situation because he knew exactly who he was. She respected that in a man and found it rare. He enjoyed life and liked a sense of humor, and she wondered what it would be like to eat with him every night. Sip wine, talk about their day, cook together, and eat together. A real-life couple.

Michael picked up his fork, twirled the noodles, and popped them in his mouth.

She held her breath.

He made a moaning sound. “Ah, Mama, it is delicious.”

Mama Conte smirked and slid herself onto the seat. “You may thank your wife, Michael. Each noodle on your plate was made by her hand.”

He drew back in surprise. A tiny frown marred his brow as he looked down at the meal, then swung his gaze to meet hers. An odd combination of emotion swirled in those eyes. A lick of heat. A flare of pride. And a flicker of gratitude.

He bowed his head and a smile bloomed over his face. Lightness filled her, and she smiled back, the busyness of the table fading away under his attention. “
Grazie, cara.
I am honored to eat something you made for me. It is
delicioso
.”

She nodded, accepting his thanks. Venezia spoke about bridesmaid dresses and weddings. Carina spoke about art. Julietta spoke about the new ad campaign they were launching at the bakery. Michael kept eating, obvious pride in his fake wife’s food.

And for a little while, she was happier than she’d ever been.

Chapter Five

T
hey were in trouble.

Michael flanked the door and greeted a long line of relatives he hadn’t seen in months. He’d suspected the intimate dinner party that was no big deal would end up in a disaster. Well, not as much for him as for poor Maggie. His
famiglia
flocked around her with a noisy affection they only reserved for blood. Cousins brought spouses, girlfriends, boyfriends, and all the
bambinos
. Close neighbors and some women who’d hunted him for years showed up to check out their winning rival. For him, it was a typical evening at his mama’s house.

For Maggie, it must be hell.

He shook his head and tried hard not to laugh. She stood trapped in a corner with some of his female cousins, her cinnamon-colored hair a bright beacon in a room filled mostly with olive skin and brunettes. Her dress was short and flirty, the skirt flouncing above the knee and showing off a pair of endless legs that begged to be wrapped around a man’s waist. Bright red and yellow splashed over the delicate material and made her easy to spot in the thronged mass. Her height had always been impressive, but she matched most of his cousins with her three-inch red sandals. Something about her shoes turned him on like no other woman’s shoes had. Almost as if her lust for sexy, come-get-me heels confirmed her inner hellcat.

He refilled his wineglass and chatted with old friends as he kept an eye on her. He expected a chilled politeness that would put off his affectionate family, but each time his gaze snagged her, she was laughing or listening intently to the many stories regaling her ears. Fascinated, Michael inched toward her.

Sure, he knew she was socially professional and relaxed in work settings. He just didn’t expect her to be so open in her ruse. Her childhood bespoke a cold familiarity, and she radiated a distance that was part of her core. Hell, she wore it like a cloak, which he spotted the moment she walked into the restaurant to meet him for their blind date. But something felt different tonight.

He studied her as his uncle Tony talked shop with him—problems with suppliers and increased rent and the possibility of owning properties. He nodded, listened with half an ear, and eavesdropped on his fake wife.

“How did you do it?” his cousin Brianna whispered to Maggie. She reminded him of when people dropped their voices automatically to say such words as “cancer.” The question still sounded as harsh as a gunshot. “Michael has avoided marriage forever. He has a reputation, you know.”

Maggie’s lip twitched. “Really? What type of reputation?”

Brianna looked around and leaned in. Michael hid behind the breadth of Uncle Tony’s back. “He loves the chase. Seems he likes to seduce a woman—the bigger the challenge the more skilled he becomes in gaining her affection. Then, as soon as she gives in,
wham
.”

Maggie drew back. “Wham? What wham?”

That whisper again. “He leaves her flat. Heartbroken, seduced, and abandoned.”

Anger cut through him at his cousin’s impression.
Dios,
did he ever get a break? He never led a woman on, yet his reputation preceded him all the way to America. Nick had informed him many times of the murmurs of his prowess among women and how he’d once been concerned Alexa would fall vulnerable to his charms. Michael took another casual step in and listened for her answer.

Maggie clucked her tongue. “How horrible! Maybe that’s why he married me, then. How strange.”

Brianna widened her eyes. “What’s strange? Tell me. We’re family now—your secrets are safe with me.”

Maggie took a deep breath and looked around as if worried who’d overhear. Her whisper was as soft as his cousin’s. “I refused to sleep with him until he married me, of course.”

Michael choked on a piece of bruschetta. When he recovered, he looked up to find Maggie’s mischievous grin, followed by a wink. She touched Brianna’s arm, then turned on those sexy heels, and her skirt flipped, showing off a perfectly curved backside. He clenched his jaw as the sudden want clawed at him. He imagined sinking his teeth into her firm flesh and taking a succulent bite. The echo of her cry as he held her down and pleasured her misted his vision. When he resurfaced, Uncle Tony still droned on, and Maggie had moved to the other side of the room.

What the hell was he going to do about her?

More important, what was he going to do about his sudden need to claim the woman who pretended to be his wife?

•   •   •

Something was wrong with her.

Maggie nibbled on salty prosciutto from the antipasto, drank her wine, and mingled. In only twenty-four hours, she’d experienced every event she always avoided and despised.

Long, chatty conversations focused on weddings and girly talk.
Check
.

Cooking and chopping and ruining her perfect manicure.
Check
.

Dealing with mother-in-law and sister-in-law and cousins all prying into her personal life and making judgments.
Check
.

So why wasn’t she running from the room in terror, like one of those idiots in
Scream
who saw an obscene white mask?

Maybe because she knew it was all fake?

Had to be. There was no other rational explanation. Other than with her brother and Alexa, she didn’t do family functions. She cooked on her terms, when she thought it’d be a fun distraction. And she never had to deal with a flock of females who giggled and asked a billion questions. She was used to silence—had lived with it most of her life—and had little experience with such open affection.

Yet, they all welcomed her into the fold wholeheartedly. All of his sisters were so different, yet Maggie actually liked them. They were real. His mother never laughed or criticized as she taught her to make her first homemade pot of gravy. A tiny part of her flamed to life, a part she was ashamed to admit she owned. What would it feel like to have so many people love you no matter how many mistakes you made?

Her gaze caught on Venezia wrapped up in her fiancé’s arms, laughing at something he said. Their connection burned from across the room, and the adoring expression on Dominick’s face smashed straight through the gut with one pure emotion.

Longing.

Maggie swallowed past the lump in her throat. As horrific as their ruse was, somehow it felt so right once she saw the couple together. Nothing should stand in their way—especially an ancient custom. What would that feel like? To have a man look at her with such possession and love? To belong to a person who actually gave a damn?

She pushed the question from her mind and made her way back to Michael. Time to get her head back in the game. He stood next to a very attractive man with burning blue eyes and scruffy facial hair. Thick, jet-black waves of hair spilled over his forehead. Crap, the man was sex on a stick, and she briefly wondered if he was a model. Carina stood with them, her head tilted up as she gazed at the stranger as if he were the sun and the only element that stood between her and a cold, frozen death.

Curious, Maggie eased her way into the inner circle to stand by Michael.

“Maggie, there you are,” Michael said. “Meet my friend Max Gray. He’s been like a part of our family for years, so I consider him my brother. He works for La Dolce Famiglia as my right-hand man.”

Max the sex god turned his piercing eyes on her and smiled. Laugh lines carved the edges of his mouth. She blinked at the sensual aura coming at her like jet propulsions. Oddly, she didn’t feel the burn of connection she experienced with Michael, but more of an aesthetic pleasure from such a visually stunning creature. She offered her hand and he shook it with a firm grip.

Nope. No sparks at all. Thank God. Maggie pitied the woman who fell in love with this man, doomed to walk in his shadow forever.

Then she realized Michael’s little sister had the bug.

Bad.

Carina had not yet reached the age where she hid her emotions. Still caught halfway to a full-grown woman, her face reflected a longing that broke Maggie’s heart and filled her with fear. Her past rocketed toward her with the dim memories of the girl she’d once been. Before her innocence and belief in happily ever after was ripped from her.

Poor Carina. If she had a thing for Max, she was doomed to experience a broken heart.

“Where have you been hiding her, Michael?” He glanced between them with a hint of curiosity and something more. Suspicion? “Here I am thinking of you as my best friend, yet I didn’t have a clue you two were involved. When Page Six doesn’t break the news about a hot single billionaire in New York getting hitched, something’s up.”

Oh yeah. Max definitely believed her to be a fortune hunter.

Michael snorted. “Seems the magazines are more interested in you than me, my friend. And I thought the last time we compared notes, you beat me by almost a million.”

“Two.”

“Ah, but you are not a count.”

“That Swiss blood took me out of the running, I guess. But I still own more land.”

Maggie rolled her eyes. “Why don’t you both whip it out and I’ll tell you who’s bigger?”

Michael shot her a look. Carina clamped her hand over her mouth.

“If my sources are correct, you’re keeping your own secrets,” Michael said. “What’s this in the gossip columns about you dating royalty? Italian descent not good enough? You need a blue blood to satisfy you?”

Max shook his head. “Serena accompanied her father on a business trip and is keeping me company. She’s an heiress to a fortune, and not really royalty. Her papa would rip me apart—I’m not worthy enough to marry into that family.”

Carina blazed with fury. “That’s ridiculous! Anyone who marries for money instead of love deserves unhappiness! You’re worth more than that.”

Max put his hands to his chest. “Ah,
cara,
will you marry me? You are a woman after my own heart.”

Carina turned beet red. Her lips trembled as she searched for words. What a mess. In love with her brother’s best friend who was years older, and trapped in a girl-woman’s body as she lusted after someone she couldn’t have. At least, not yet.

Maggie opened her mouth to divert attention, but Michael dived in for a belly flop. He chucked his sister under the chin, his indulgent smile like that of an adult to a toddler. “Carina has many years before she can be serious about a man. She will be stepping into her rightful position in the bakery and will finish her business degree. Besides, she’s a good girl, and you, my friend, only date the bad ones.”

The men laughed, neither realizing the expense of their joke.

The color drained from Carina’s face, and she lowered her head. When she stuck her chin back up, she blinked back tears of rage. “I’m not a child, Michael,” she hissed. “Why can’t you both see that?”

She turned and ran from the room.

“What did I say?” Michael asked. “I was only teasing her.”

Max looked just as lost.

Maggie let out an irritated sigh and gulped the rest of her wine. “You two boneheads really did it this time.”

“Did what? Her behavior is irrational and rude to our guests. I meant no harm.”

Max shifted uneasily. “Should I go talk to her?”

“No, it’s my responsibility. I will talk to her.”

Maggie shoved her empty glass into Michael’s hands. “Ah, hell, stay out of it. You’ve done enough. I’ll talk to her.”

Michael’s face reflected skepticism. “Darling, you don’t have much experience with young women. Sometimes she needs a firm hand to see reason. Maybe it will be better if I get Julietta.”

Maggie somehow doubted his business-minded sister understood Carina at the moment, either. Once again, his tone pissed her off, basically telling her she was incapable of handling another situation. In the past twenty-four hours, the man had insulted her career, her cooking, and now her social methods. She forced a sweet smile that almost gave her a cavity. “Don’t worry,
darling.
” She mocked the endearment in a private manner he understood immediately. “I’m going to give her some good news to make her feel better.”

“What news?”

She stared up at the twin gorgeous men before her and gave a wicked smirk. “I’ll fix her up on a blind date. With someone hot.”

Michael’s face darkened. “Absolutely not. My baby sister is not experienced with dating.”

“That’s exactly why this will be perfect for her. See ya.” She added to the insult by raising herself on tiptoes and placing a kiss on his lips. The tiny zing between them distracted her for an instant but she ignored it. “Let’s not argue on our honeymoon, love, when we can concentrate on other fun activities.” She gave Max a wink, then strolled away, making sure to swing her hips as she felt his gaze on her rear.

Maggie held back a laugh. Damn, some of this was fun. Challenging his wit and bullheaded ways gave her some benefit. She made her way upstairs and searched for Carina’s room. Let Michael stew with that disturbing idea for a bit. She’d confess later she didn’t even know a suitable boy to set Carina up with. Unfortunately, her mouth got her in trouble again and she still needed to try to speak with Carina. She certainly had no experience with female advice. What could she possibly say to make her feel better?

Maggie sighed as she stopped behind a closed door and heard muffled sobs. Her palms were sweaty so she rubbed them on her skirt. Ridiculous. If Carina didn’t want to talk to her, she’d just hang here upstairs for a bit so Michael would believe they’d shared a conversation. She raised her hand and tapped on the door.

“Carina? It’s Maggie. Do you want to talk for a bit, or do you want me to go away?” Yep, she was a coward. A good advisor would demand she open the door for a talk. A few beats of silence passed. Relief caved through her so she turned to go. “Okay, I understand, I’ll just—”

The door swung open.

Ah, crap
.

“Why doesn’t anyone understand I’m a grown-up?” the girl burst out.

Maggie paused in the doorway, tempted to run, but Carina stepped back and made room for her so she walked in.

“Because your older brother will never accept it,” Maggie said easily. She took in the pink walls, fluffy stuffed animals, and lots of lace. Yuck. Something told her Carina kept the room like this to please others and not herself. The canopy bed looked soft and inviting, but held a quilt of various butterflies that made it seem childish.