“Are we talking about your supposedly fake wife you bought a three-carat diamond for?”
“Fuck you, Rossi. If I wanted to deal with this bullshit, I’d have called Amato.”
Freddie chuckled with what sounded like real amusement. “You know it only bothers you because we’re right.”
“Just answer the damn question,” I gritted out.
“You could just ask her.”
“I only know he’s there because I saw him on my doorbell camera. I don’t want to be the asshole who’s spying on my wife in our home.”
“Youarethe asshole who’s spying on her.”
“Thanks,” I said sarcastically. “That’s really helpful.”
His sigh echoed through the phone speaker. “I can’t believe I’m suggesting this, but have you tried social media stalking her?”
“She doesn’t have social media, and I’ve never seen him on her friends’ pages.”
“I’m out of ideas, man. I think you’re going to have to bite the bullet and ask her.”
Shit.
I ran a hand through my hair, probably turning it into what my father would call an unprofessional mess. “What if he’s more than a friend?” I asked, wincing as I did.
“I guess that depends. If this is as fake as you claimed, it shouldn’t matter. If not… you might want to learn how to grovel. Because you have a long way to go if you ever want to win her back.”
“We weren’t really together in the first place,” I muttered.
“You can lie to yourself about that all you want, but I’ve known you since we were in prep school. Do you really think we missed your exclusive relationship with her last year?”
“You’re more trouble than you’re worth most of the time.”
He chuckled. “I’m still right though.”
“Whatever, asshole.”
I was already grabbing my jacket as I hung up on Freddie. Work could wait; I needed to go stake my claim on my wife. I didn’t care if I wasn’t good enough for her. I’d find a way to become the husband she needed. I’d figure it out. Because I didn’t ever want to let her go so some other asshole could swoop in and try to take what belonged to me.
As soon as I was through my front door, I made a beeline for Danielle. I completely ignored the douche she’d invited over as I cupped her cheeks between my hands and crashed my lips against hers, like claiming her would make her realize that she was mine. Because she was—she was my best friend, my confidante and partner, the only person I trusted unconditionally, and the woman I was in love with.
Shit.
I was in love with her.
How could I not be? She was perfect—sweet and strong and not afraid of putting me in my place. She’d never looked at me with dollar signs in her eyes. And she loved my family as much as I did.
“What are you doing?” she gasped out when we finally came up for air.
“Having a revelation.”
“And that involves kissing me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re mine. And I’m going to find a way to prove it to you.”
