Mafia Boss Chose a Plus-Size Actress to Scare Off His Blind Date—Then He Fell for Her Instead - Spotlight8

“Unbearable girlfriend.”

“I don’t want to know.”

“Level one is clingy. Level two is aggressively romantic. Level three involves discussing baby names.”

Matteo went still.

“You will not discuss baby names.”

“That depends on Vanessa’s emotional resilience.”

And then Clare made a mistake.

She brushed her bare thumb across Matteo’s cheek.

There was no reason for it.

No napkin.

No performance trick.

Her hand simply moved.

Matteo stopped breathing for half a second.

So did Clare.

His skin was warm beneath her thumb.

Their eyes locked.

Suddenly, the dining room became strangely distant.

Matteo’s gaze dropped to her mouth.

Clare felt something dangerous twist low in her stomach.

This wasn’t acting.

Not entirely.

Then heels clicked behind them.

Clare pulled away.

Vanessa stood at the table.

Her gaze moved from Matteo to Clare, then to their chairs, which were close enough to make friendship an unlikely explanation.

Perfect.

Vanessa’s brows lifted.

Then she smiled.

“Clare Bennett?”

Clare froze.

Matteo turned sharply.

“How do you know her?”

Vanessa’s smile widened.

“Your grandmother told me.”

Matteo closed his eyes.

A delighted elderly voice came from behind him.

“Matteo.”

Clare looked past his shoulder.

A petite silver-haired woman approached in an elegant navy dress.

Elena Romano.

Matteo’s grandmother.

And judging by the satisfaction on her face, she had known far more than Matteo had expected.

“Nona.”

Elena ignored him.

She took Clare’s hands.

“My goodness. You are beautiful.”

Clare blinked.

“Oh. Thank you.”

“And an actress!”

“Nona.”

“This is exciting.”

Vanessa pulled out a chair.

“I’ve seen one of your commercials.”

Matteo stared at the three women.

This was not the plan.

Vanessa was supposed to be offended.

His grandmother was supposed to realize arranging dates was pointless.

Clare was supposed to make his life easier.

Instead, Vanessa ordered wine.

Elena began asking Clare about theater.

Clare made everyone laugh.

Ten minutes later, Matteo had somehow become irrelevant at his own blind date.

“So,” Elena said eventually, “are you free Sunday?”

“No,” Matteo answered immediately.

Three women turned toward him.

Clare’s eyebrows lifted.

“I am, actually.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I’m fairly confident I know my schedule.”

“You have plans.”

“With whom?”

Matteo opened his mouth.

Nothing emerged.

Vanessa looked amused.

Elena looked victorious.

Clare looked delighted.

Matteo knew he was trapped.

“With me.”

Silence.

Clare slowly leaned toward him.

“Very convincing,” she whispered.

He should have corrected himself.

Instead, his hand moved naturally to the back of her chair.

Elena noticed.

Of course she noticed.

By the end of dinner, Vanessa had completely abandoned the idea of dating Matteo and was discussing independent film with Clare.

Elena had invited Clare to family lunch.

Clare had eaten half of Matteo’s chocolate dessert.

And when he stole hers in retaliation, she looked so genuinely betrayed that Matteo smiled.

Not the small polite expression he used at business dinners.

A real smile.

Elena’s face changed.

She knew her grandson.

She had watched him sit beside beautiful, accomplished women for years without once forgetting himself.

But Clare stole his cake, called his intimidation mediocre and treated him like a man instead of an institution.

And Matteo looked happy.

That mattered.

When dinner finally ended, Clare picked up her purse.

“Well, congratulations.”

“On what?”

“Your blind date is no longer interested.”

Vanessa, standing nearby, laughed.

“Correct.”

Clare looked pleased.

“I accept payment through check, transfer or baked goods.”

Matteo stared at her.

“Where are you going?”

“Home.”

Something about the word bothered him.

He stood.

“I’ll take you.”

Clare blinked.

“You’ll take me?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

He had no reasonable answer.

She had lived in Chicago for years.

She knew how to get home.

His driver was outside.

His security team had already checked the block.

“Security,” Matteo said.

Clare glanced around the elegant dining room.

“At what point did I become a national monument?”

“Clare.”

She studied his face.

Then nodded.

“Seven and a half.”

“What?”

“That command voice improved your score.”

Elena laughed so loudly several diners turned.

Outside, a black sedan waited.

Matteo opened the rear door.

Clare stared.

“This is extremely unnecessary.”

“Get in.”

“Eight.”

He looked at her.

She grinned and climbed inside.

The privacy partition rose as they drove through downtown Chicago.

Clare immediately looked at it.

“Don’t.”

“I haven’t said anything.”

“You were going to.”

“I was simply wondering why you need a privacy partition.”

“Clare.”

“There are several possible explanations.”

“Stop.”

She laughed and turned toward the window.

For several minutes, neither spoke.

Then Clare removed her earrings and rubbed one earlobe.

“Tired?” Matteo asked.

“A little.”

“You didn’t seem tired inside.”

“I was working.”

The words landed harder than they should have.

Working.

Of course.

The touches.

The smiles.

The closeness.

He had paid for them.

Matteo disliked remembering that.

Clare caught his expression.

“You’re doing the face again.”

“What face?”

“The one where you silently argue with someone who isn’t here.”

He looked away.

She smiled.

When the car stopped outside her apartment, Clare reached for the door.

“Sunday,” Matteo said.

She turned.

“What about Sunday?”

He remembered his accidental promise.

“We should probably be busy.”

Clare stared.

Then she laughed so hard she had to lean back against the seat.

“You’re asking me out because you accidentally told your grandmother you were asking me out.”

“I am not asking you out.”

“What would you call it?”

Matteo considered.

“Continuity.”

That made her laugh harder.

Sunday arrived.

Matteo appeared outside her apartment at exactly 2:59 p.m.

Clare watched from her window.

Then deliberately waited until 3:04.

The moment she stepped outside, Matteo checked his watch.

“Don’t,” she warned.

“You’re late.”

“Five minutes.”

“Four.”

She stopped.

“You counted?”

“No.”

“You absolutely counted.”

He opened the car door.

“Adorable.”

His expression changed.

Clare smiled slowly.

Interesting.

Apparently, the most feared man she had ever met hated being called adorable.

She planned to abuse this information immediately.

Matteo took her to a small Italian restaurant owned by an older family friend named Frank Bellini.

No chandeliers.

No velvet ropes.

No security drama.

Just warm brick walls, red-checkered napkins and the smell of fresh bread.

Frank saw Matteo and embraced him.

Clare nearly dropped her purse.

Matteo tolerated the hug with the expression of a man accepting a court-ordered punishment.

Clare stared.

“This is extraordinary.”

“Don’t.”

“You can be hugged.”

“Everyone can be hugged.”

“I wasn’t sure about you.”

Within fifteen minutes, Clare discovered Matteo had briefly worked there as a teenager.

He had once dropped an entire tray of glasses.

For the rest of lunch, Clare called him the Glass Assassin.

For the first time, she saw the man behind the reputation.

A waitress scolded him for not visiting enough.

A kitchen worker asked about Matteo’s mother.

A little boy asked if his expensive car was fast.

Matteo answered every question patiently.

People loved him here.

Not because they feared him.

Because he remembered their birthdays.

Because he had quietly covered Frank’s surgery expenses years earlier.

Because when the restaurant nearly closed during a difficult winter, Matteo had made sure it didn’t.

Clare stopped seeing a mysterious crime boss who made good gossip.

She began seeing a complicated man who had built walls high enough to frighten everyone away and somehow still remembered when an old waitress’s grandson was graduating high school.

That frightened her more.

After lunch came coffee.

Coffee became a walk.

The walk became a street market.

Clare discovered heart-shaped sunglasses at a vendor’s table.

“No,” Matteo said.

“You haven’t even tried them.”

“No.”

“Live dangerously.”

“I already do.”

“Not fashionably.”

Seven seconds later, Matteo Romano was standing on a Chicago sidewalk wearing pink heart-shaped sunglasses.

Clare snapped a photograph.

“Delete it.”

“Never.”

He reached for her phone.

She ran.

He caught her by the wrist.

Clare spun back toward him.

Suddenly, their bodies were inches apart.

Her laughter stopped.

His hand loosened.

Neither moved.

Matteo looked at her mouth.

This time there was no Vanessa.

No grandmother.

No money.

No assignment.

He wanted to kiss her because she was Clare.

That realization scared him more than any enemy ever had.

A vendor shouted, “Those are fifteen dollars!”

The moment broke.

Clare laughed.

Matteo bought the sunglasses.

That night, after he dropped her home, she sent him the photograph.

Underneath she wrote:

Your intimidation score has officially reached nine out of ten.

Matteo stared at his phone for a long time.

Then he smiled.

Across the desk from him, a nervous business associate stopped speaking.

A smiling Matteo Romano was apparently more terrifying than an angry one.

And the man had no idea a plus-size actress in a third-floor apartment was responsible.

Part 2

By Monday morning, the photograph from the original restaurant had escaped into the Romano family group chat.

Not the heart-shaped sunglasses.

Matteo would have changed continents if that one escaped.

This was the photograph Bianca Romano had secretly taken from behind a decorative partition.

Clare leaning toward Matteo.

Her hand against his cheek.

His eyes softer than anyone in his family had seen them in years.

The picture looked intimate.

Too intimate.

By nine in the morning, Matteo had received eleven texts, four calls and a champagne emoji from an uncle who almost never used emojis.

Clare received something worse.

A message from Bianca.

I like you already.

Clare stared at the screen.

Five minutes later, Bianca sent the photograph.

Clare zoomed in.

Mistake.

She knew acting.

She knew staged chemistry.

She knew exactly how people looked when they were pretending to want each other.

Matteo did not look like that.

He looked content.

Clare put her phone down.

Picked it up.

Put it down again.

Then Matteo called.

“Has Bianca contacted you?”

“Perhaps.”

He sighed.

Clare smiled.

“Your family thinks we’re dating.”

“This is your fault.”

“My fault?”

“You exceeded the assignment.”

“You hired an actress to impersonate your girlfriend.”

“And you apparently approached the role with excessive commitment.”

“You invented a Sunday date.”

Silence.

Clare smiled wider.

“Point for me.”

“There is another problem.”

His grandmother had invited Clare to Saturday lunch at the family estate.

Clare immediately intended to decline.

Then Matteo casually mentioned that he had already told his family she was unavailable.

Clare became very still.

“You told them I was busy?”

“I was helping.”

“You made decisions about my schedule without asking me?”

“Yes.”

A smile slowly spread across her face.

Matteo heard the silence.

“What?”

“I’m coming.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“I just told them you weren’t.”

“I changed my mind.”

“You’re doing this because I told you not to.”

“Now you’re learning.”

Saturday was chaos.

The Romano family estate in Lake Forest contained enough relatives to require name tags.

Clare met aunts, cousins, children and elderly family friends.

Elena hugged her at the front door.

Bianca appeared immediately afterward.

At twenty-seven, Bianca was energetic, observant and completely uninterested in respecting Matteo’s privacy.

Clare adored her within fifteen minutes.

Matteo considered this catastrophic.

At lunch, an aunt asked how Clare and Matteo had met.

Matteo opened his mouth.

Clare interrupted.

“It was incredibly romantic.”

His head turned.

She continued solemnly.

“Our eyes met across a crowded theater. Time stopped. Matteo approached me and said something unforgettable.”

Elena leaned forward.

“What did he say?”

Clare smiled.

“He asked whether I had signed a confidentiality agreement.”

Bianca nearly choked.

Everyone laughed.

Even Matteo’s mother.

Matteo closed his eyes.

Clare was destroying his reputation one meal at a time.

But something else was happening.

Something neither of them laughed about.

Clare watched Matteo move through his family.

He carried Elena’s chair before she asked.

He cut food for a young nephew while discussing a business problem with an uncle.

He remembered Bianca hated mushrooms and passed her a different dish without comment.

He kissed his mother’s cheek when he entered the kitchen.

Small things.

Unperformed things.

Matteo watched Clare too.

She remembered people’s names.

She helped clear plates despite repeated protests.

She listened when Elena told the same story twice.

She made his shy teenage cousin laugh.

She did not perform for his family.

She simply fit.

That terrified him.

Because Clare had entered his life with an expiration date.

One dinner.

One payment.

One problem solved.

Now his family was making room for her.

Worse, so was he.

After lunch, Clare escaped into the garden after Elena produced Matteo’s childhood photo albums.

Matteo found her beside a stone fountain.

She looked at him.

Then started laughing.

“No.”

“You wore a sailor outfit.”

“I was nine.”

“You had the hat.”

“Clare.”

“You were adorable.”

He stepped closer.

“Do not use that word.”

“Adorable.”

Another step.

“Stop.”

“Completely adorable.”

She backed toward the fountain.

Matteo caught her around the waist.

Her hands landed against his chest.

The laughter vanished.

His palm rested against the curve of her waist.

Clare could feel his heartbeat.

Matteo lowered his head.

Slowly.

Giving her time to move.

She didn’t.

Their mouths were inches apart.

“Matteo!”

They jumped apart.

Bianca stood on the terrace.

“Nona wants everyone inside.”

Then Bianca saw their faces.

Her smile became unbearable.

“Interesting.”

“Bianca,” Matteo warned.

She disappeared.

Clare covered her face.

“She’s telling everyone.”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“No. I’m really not.”

He laughed.

Two weeks passed.

Nobody officially extended the fake relationship.

Nobody ended it either.

At first there were excuses.

A family dinner.

A charity reception.

A business event.

Then the excuses became absurd.

Coffee because Matteo was “nearby.”

He was never nearby.

Dinner because Clare had cooked too much.

She had deliberately cooked too much.

A bookstore because Matteo needed a birthday present.

He left with three mystery novels for himself.

They learned each other in small pieces.

Matteo hated olives.

Clare stole fries after claiming she wasn’t hungry.

Clare sang badly while cooking.

Spectacularly badly.

The first time Matteo heard it, he entered her kitchen believing someone had been injured.

She threw a towel at him.

He stayed for dinner.

Clare discovered that when Matteo was truly tired, he rubbed the bridge of his nose.

Matteo learned that when Clare was hurt, she became funnier instead of quieter.

He began recognizing the difference.

That became important when Clare received another rejection.

She had auditioned for a romantic comedy being filmed in Chicago.

For once, the role was not the best friend.

She wanted it badly.

The casting director called on Wednesday.

Clare answered with hope in her voice.

Matteo watched the hope disappear.

“Of course,” she said brightly. “No, I understand. Thank you.”

She hung up.

“What happened?”

“Apparently, I’m very talented.”

He waited.

She smiled.

“But they’re going in another direction.”

“What direction?”

“Smaller.”

His expression hardened.

Clare laughed too quickly.

“Don’t look like that. This is normal.”

“It shouldn’t be.”

“Matteo.”

“You wanted the role.”

“I want many things.”

He saw it then.

The humor was armor.

“They said your weight was the reason?”

“They used prettier words.”

His jaw tightened.

Clare pointed at him.

“No.”

“No what?”

“You are not threatening a casting director because I didn’t get a movie.”

“I did not say I would threaten anyone.”

“You’re thinking very aggressively.”

“That’s not illegal.”

She laughed despite herself.

Then Matteo said quietly, “They’re wrong.”

Clare stopped.

He did not say she was beautiful as consolation.

He did not say she would get the next role.

He simply looked at her and said, “They’re wrong.”

Her eyes burned.

She turned toward the stove before he could see.

Matteo saw anyway.

At the charity auction three nights later, Clare wore a midnight-blue gown.

Matteo stopped speaking when she descended the staircase.

His cousin Stefan noticed.

Two businessmen noticed.

Clare definitely noticed.

She reached him.

“Close your mouth.”

He did.

She smiled.

“You’re staring.”

“You look beautiful.”

There was no joke in his voice.

Her expression softened.

“Thank you.”

For an hour, the evening went perfectly.

Then Adrian Cross appeared.

Adrian was handsome, charming and an actor Clare had briefly dated two years earlier.

Matteo disliked him within thirty seconds.

Adrian hugged Clare.

Matteo’s jaw tightened.

Adrian mentioned that Clare used to steal his sweatshirts.

Matteo’s eyes changed.

Clare noticed.

She should have stopped.

Instead, curiosity won.

She laughed and touched Adrian’s arm.

Matteo moved closer.

Interesting.

She complimented Adrian’s haircut.

Matteo’s hand settled firmly at her waist.

Confirmed.

Clare was enjoying herself tremendously.

“You’re doing this deliberately,” Matteo murmured.

“Doing what?”

His stare answered.

She smiled innocently.

Matteo removed his hand.

Then a striking brunette approached and greeted him.

Clare’s smile vanished.

The woman touched Matteo’s arm.

Clare moved closer.

Matteo almost smiled.

The woman asked whether he would attend a reception the following week.

Before Matteo could answer, Clare linked her arm through his.

“He’s busy.”

The woman looked between them and excused herself.

Matteo waited.

“You’re jealous.”

“I am not.”

“You just answered my calendar.”

“I was helping.”

“That sounds familiar.”

Clare glared at him.

He smiled.

Then Adrian reappeared and asked Clare to dance.

Matteo’s amusement disappeared.

Clare accepted.

Halfway across the ballroom, she looked back.

Matteo was watching.

Not angry.

Not possessive.

Something more vulnerable.

The expression struck her harder than jealousy had.

When the song ended, Clare returned to him.

“You could have asked me.”

“For what?”

“To dance.”

“I don’t dance.”

“You wore heart-shaped sunglasses.”

“That was extortion.”

She held out her hand.

“Dance with me.”

“Clare.”

“Your intimidation score will lose an entire point if you refuse.”

He looked at her hand.

Then took it.

They moved onto the floor.

Matteo was better than expected.

Clare narrowed her eyes.

“You lied.”

“I said I don’t dance. I didn’t say I couldn’t.”

“You are exhausting.”

“You’re smiling.”

“So are you.”

The room disappeared.

Again.

Only this time neither pretended not to notice.

Matteo’s hand tightened at her waist.

“Clare.”

Her heart beat faster.

“Yes?”

“I need to tell you something.”

Before he could, a voice came behind them.

“Romano.”

Stefan stood there, pale.

He showed Matteo his phone.

A gossip site had posted photographs from the first restaurant.

The headline was cruel.

Chicago’s Untouchable Bachelor Hired an Actress to Fake a Romance.

Another picture appeared beneath it.

Clare’s professional headshot.

Then details.

The payment.

The blind date.

The arrangement.

People around the ballroom were already looking at their phones.

Whispers started.

Clare felt the blood drain from her face.

Someone laughed nearby.

Another woman whispered, “So she really was hired?”

The words struck directly at every insecurity Clare had spent years pretending did not exist.

Not beautiful enough to be the lead.

Not glamorous enough to belong beside men like Matteo.

The funny plus-size actress.

The hired woman.

The joke.

Matteo reached for her.

“Clare.”

She stepped back.

“Did you tell anyone?”

“No.”

“Who knew?”

“My grandmother. Bianca. Two members of my security team. Vanessa.”

Clare looked around.

Phones were everywhere.

“I need to leave.”

“I’ll take you.”

“No.”

“Clare.”

“No.”

His face hardened automatically.

That was the wrong thing.

“Don’t use that voice with me.”

He stopped.

Her eyes were shining now.

“I was paid to pretend once, Matteo. I’m not going to stand here while a room full of strangers decides every moment after that was fake too.”

“It wasn’t.”

“Then what was it?”

He opened his mouth.

The answer was there.

But Matteo Romano had spent his whole life learning how not to reveal anything people could use against him.

And the woman he loved was asking him to expose the most vulnerable truth he possessed.

He hesitated.

Only a second.

It was enough.

Clare nodded slowly.

“That’s what I thought.”

She walked away.

Part 3

Matteo did not sleep that night.

Not because the leak threatened his reputation.

He had survived far worse than gossip.

He didn’t sleep because Clare’s last expression stayed with him.

She had asked him one simple question.

What was it?

And he had failed to answer.

At ten the next morning, Bianca entered his office without permission.

“You’re an idiot.”

Matteo looked up.

“Good morning.”

“She loves you.”

His expression changed.

“And you love her.”

“Bianca.”

“Oh, excellent. Use the scary voice. Maybe your emotional problems will become frightened and leave.”

He stared at her.

She sat across from him.

“Nona says Clare makes you lighter.”

Matteo looked away.

Bianca’s voice softened.

“You know what Clare told me last week?”

He said nothing.

“She said everyone thinks your silence means you don’t feel much. She said she thinks you feel everything and simply don’t know what to do with it.”

That hurt because it was true.

Matteo drove to Clare’s apartment himself.

She opened the door wearing sweatpants, no makeup and an expression that told him immediately she had not slept either.

“No security?”

“They’re downstairs.”

“Of course they are.”

He held up an envelope.

Clare’s face hardened.

“If that’s money—”

“It isn’t.”

She took it.

Inside was the original contract.

Across the front Matteo had written one word.

Terminated.

Clare looked up.

“I should have ended it weeks ago,” he said.

She swallowed.

“This doesn’t fix last night.”

“I know.”

“People think I was some woman you rented.”

“I know.”

“You don’t get to make this disappear because you have power.”

“I know.”

That surprised her.

Matteo stepped closer but did not touch her.

“I came because you asked me what this was.”

Clare’s defenses rose.

“And?”

He looked directly at her.

“A mistake.”

Her face fell.

“The contract was a mistake,” he continued. “Hiring you was the smartest decision I ever made for the stupidest reason.”

She stared.

“I hired you because I wanted control over an evening. Then you stole my dessert, insulted my intimidation, invaded my family and put ridiculous sunglasses on me.”

Despite herself, Clare’s mouth twitched.

Matteo continued.

“I kept inventing reasons to see you because admitting I wanted to see you seemed more dangerous.”

“Dangerous?”

“I know how to deal with men who hate me. I know how to deal with people who want my money. I know how to deal with threats.”

His voice lowered.

“I did not know how to deal with missing you after three days.”

Clare’s eyes filled.

“I was going to tell you last night.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I was afraid.”

Clare almost laughed from sheer disbelief.

“You?”

“Yes.”

“Matteo Romano was afraid?”

“Do not enjoy this too much.”

A tear slipped down her cheek.

She wiped it away.

“You really are emotionally defective.”

“I’m becoming aware.”

For one second, they almost smiled.

Then Clare became serious.

“I need time.”

The words hurt him.

But this time, Matteo did not try to control the answer.

“All right.”

Her eyes searched his.

“You’re not going to argue?”

“No.”

“Command me?”

“No.”

“Have security accidentally block my exits?”

His expression sharpened.

“I have never—”

She lifted an eyebrow.

He exhaled.

“No.”

Clare nodded.

“Thank you.”

Matteo left.

That was harder for him than staying.

Over the following forty-eight hours, the leak became uglier.

Someone sent old photographs to entertainment blogs.

Someone leaked Vanessa’s connection to the original dinner.

Then a rumor appeared claiming Clare had seduced Matteo to advance her acting career.

That was the line Matteo could not tolerate.

His instinct was retaliation.

His security chief began listing options.

Matteo stopped him.

“No threats.”

The man blinked.

“No intimidation?”

“No.”

“No visits?”

“No.”

Matteo leaned back.

“We find the truth.”

It took less than a day.

Vanessa called Clare personally.

“I didn’t leak anything.”

Clare believed her.

Vanessa sounded angrier than Clare had ever heard her.

“My father wanted the Romano alliance. He believed a marriage between Matteo and me would secure several deals.”

“But you didn’t?”

“I’m dating someone.”

Clare blinked.

“Who?”

“A chef.”

Clare sat up.

“That is significantly more interesting.”

Vanessa laughed.

Then she became serious.

“Only a handful of people knew you were hired. Someone close to Matteo sold the story.”

The source turned out to be Stefan Romano.

Matteo’s cousin.

Stefan had been secretly feeding information to Vanessa’s father, Carlo Ritchie, about negotiations involving several legitimate Romano businesses.

Exposing Clare had been intended to humiliate Matteo, break the relationship and reopen pressure for the proposed alliance.

Matteo asked Stefan to meet him.

Everyone expected violence.

Clare feared it.

She did not want anyone harmed because of her.

So when Matteo called her afterward, she asked only one question.

“What did you do?”

“I removed him from every company position he held.”

“And?”

“His access to family-controlled investments has been frozen pending legal review.”

“And?”

“He will answer for whatever financial laws he broke.”

Clare waited.

“That’s all?”

Matteo understood what she was really asking.

“Yes.”

“No warehouse?”

“No.”

“No dramatic beating?”

“No.”

“No mysterious disappearance into Lake Michigan?”

“Clare.”

She let out a breath.

“Good.”

“You expected worse?”

“I know what people say about you.”

“And what do you think?”

She was silent.

“I think a dangerous man who chooses restraint tells me more than a harmless man who has never been tested.”

Matteo said nothing.

Clare smiled faintly.

“Was that too emotionally complicated?”

“Yes.”

“Recover.”

Vanessa made her own choice.

The next morning, she publicly announced that she had never intended to marry Matteo and had been dating someone else for months.

Her father’s strategy collapsed almost immediately.

The scandal lost its mystery.

Stefan lost his position.

No blood was spilled.

No war began.

There were only consequences.

Cold, legal and final.

But Matteo and Clare still had unfinished business.

That evening, a black sedan arrived outside Clare’s apartment.

Clare almost laughed.

Matteo stood beside it.

“No security excuse tonight?” she asked.

“No.”

“Continuity?”

“No.”

“Grandmother emergency?”

“No.”

She studied him.

“Where are we going?”

“The beginning.”

He took her back to the restaurant where they had first pretended to be in love.

Same room.

Same table.

Same soft lights.

Clare stopped when she saw it.

“Oh, no.”

Matteo pulled out her chair.

“What?”

“If Vanessa walks in, I’m leaving.”

“She won’t.”

“Your grandmother?”

“No.”

“Bianca hiding behind a plant?”

Matteo hesitated.

Clare narrowed her eyes.

“You checked?”

“I had security check.”

She burst out laughing.

He almost smiled.

They sat beside each other exactly as they had that first night.

For a moment neither spoke.

Then Clare picked up a napkin.

Matteo immediately caught her wrist.

“No.”

She grinned.

“I wasn’t doing anything.”

“You were absolutely doing something.”

She lowered the napkin.

“So what are we pretending tonight?”

Matteo looked at her.

“Nothing.”

Her smile faded.

The word settled between them.

Nothing.

No contract.

No blind date.

No performance.

No invented reason to be together.

Matteo reached for her hand.

Clare let him take it.

“I spent years believing control kept people safe,” he said. “Mostly it kept people away.”

She listened.

“You were supposed to make one woman leave me alone.”

“Technically, I succeeded.”

“You made everyone else impossible to tolerate.”

Clare laughed softly.

“That sounds unhealthy.”

“It probably is.”

“Continue.”

He squeezed her hand.

“I want you when no one is watching. I want you when you’re in a gown and when you’re wearing sweatpants. I want you when you’re funny, and I want you when you’re hurting and trying to pretend you aren’t.”

Clare’s eyes glistened.

“I don’t want an actress beside me.”

Her expression changed.

Matteo immediately understood how that sounded.

“I mean—”

“Oh, this should be good.”

“I want Clare.”

She became very still.

“Not the girlfriend I hired. Not the woman my family likes. Not the woman who makes me look less frightening.”

He looked into her eyes.

“You.”

Clare swallowed hard.

An actress could have delivered the perfect response.

She had spent her life memorizing beautiful lines written by other people.

She could have spoken about fate.

Destiny.

Two lonely hearts.

Instead, she said, “You could have saved us several weeks by becoming emotionally functional sooner.”

Matteo stared at her.

Clare smiled.

Then he laughed.

A real laugh.

The sound that had first changed everything for her.

She leaned in.

This time, when Matteo kissed her, there was no Vanessa approaching.

No family watching.

No contract waiting to expire.

His hand touched her cheek carefully.

Clare kissed him back.

When they separated, Matteo rested his forehead against hers.

“So,” Clare whispered, “does this mean I’m officially your girlfriend?”

“Yes.”

“Do I get a revised contract?”

“No.”

“Benefits?”

“Clare.”

“Paid vacation?”

He kissed her again simply to stop the questions.

It worked for approximately eight seconds.

Three months later, Matteo Romano remained intimidating.

He still entered rooms and made conversations quiet down.

He still worked too late.

He still hated olives.

But there were disturbing changes.

He smiled more.

He occasionally left the office before midnight.

And on one particularly humiliating Sunday afternoon, Bianca discovered the heart-shaped sunglasses in his apartment.

Clare had framed the photograph.

Matteo threatened to destroy it.

Clare made seven copies.

Elena received one.

Bianca received another.

Matteo stopped asking where the remaining five had gone.

Clare’s career changed too.

Not because Matteo bought her a role.

She made him promise never to interfere.

Instead, she auditioned again.

And again.

Six months after that first disastrous blind date, Clare landed the lead in an independent romantic comedy.

Not the supportive friend.

Not the funny sister.

The woman the story revolved around.

The woman who was desired.

The woman who got the final kiss.

When Clare called Matteo from outside the casting office, she was crying too hard to speak clearly.

“I got it.”

Matteo stood from his desk.

“The lead?”

“The lead.”

For three seconds, he said nothing.

Clare laughed through her tears.

“Are you smiling?”

“No.”

“You are.”

“I’m not.”

“Bianca is there, isn’t she?”

Matteo looked across his office.

Bianca was indeed standing in the doorway, grinning.

“No.”

“You are a terrible liar.”

That night, Matteo took Clare to Frank Bellini’s restaurant.

Elena arrived without being invited.

Then Bianca.

Then Matteo’s mother.

Within forty minutes, Clare’s private celebration had somehow become a Romano family dinner.

She should have hated it.

Instead, sitting between Matteo and his grandmother while everyone argued over dessert, Clare realized she had spent years believing love would arrive only after she became smaller.

Smaller body.

Smaller personality.

Smaller dreams.

Less loud.

Less difficult.

Less herself.

Matteo had fallen in love with exactly the parts of her that other people kept asking her to reduce.

Her curves.

Her laughter.

Her stubbornness.

Her terrible singing.

Her habit of stealing his fries.