A Sinner’s Truth: Chapter 10

I didn’t sleep for a minute last night. It’s normal to be nervous when you’re about to marry a complete stranger, right? And considering the stranger I’m marrying is also allegedly Melbourne mafia royalty, I think that earns me a few extra jitters.

Am I really doing this? Yes. Because being fake married to Santo De Bellis for a year has to be better than being forcibly married to Oliver Densper. Argh, my body shivers at the memory of his hands touching me. At least Santo doesn’t want to have sex with me. Which I’m grateful for, but also his flat-out declaration that he doesn’t want me like that has me wondering why…

I get that he’s probably the type of guy who has had a string of supermodels at his beck and call. Of course he wouldn’t want to sleep with me. Don’t get me wrong. I consider myself blessed in the looks department, but I’m also a realist and very aware I’m no supermodel.

I’m not going to lie. Santo saying he didn’t want to sleep with me was a hit to my self-esteem as much as it was a relief. Especially after having Oliver practically tell me I’d be in his bed by choice or not.

I can do this. Giving myself a mental pep talk, I take one last look in the mirror. I know this whole marriage thing isn’t real. But real or not, I will be wearing white when I get married. It’s not a wedding gown, though. Far from it.

My lace dress has a square neckline with sleeves that flare and end at my elbows. The hem ends just above my knees and has a small split at the back. It’s tight, hugging all of my curves perfectly. I’ve paired the dress with some nude pumps and pinned the top half of my hair back, letting the different lengths hang in loose waves.

I creep past Drew’s door as I exit my apartment. I might be going with the whole better to ask for forgiveness than permission thing with him right now. He didn’t react well at all when I told him about my drunken proposal to Santo. Which is why I’m sneaking out at 7:40 in the morning. I want to meet Santo downstairs. I don’t want to risk him running into Drew.

Once I’m outside, I don’t have to wait long. Santo steps down from the blacked-out SUV that’s already parked in front of my building. “What are you doing out here?” he asks.

“Waiting for my pumpkin carriage?” I smile at him. Butterflies fill my stomach. I’m telling myself it’s because I’m about to marry a stranger and that it has nothing to do with the fact that that stranger is the mould of the perfect male.

Santo is dressed in a well-fitted suit. I can tell it’s custom made by the way it fits him like a second skin. His dark hair is tousled, with loose curls hanging down his forehead while tattoos creep up from under the collar of his shirt and down onto his hands. When I take a step closer, I get a whiff of his cologne. He smells like rosewood and vanilla. All I can think is I want more. Obviously, it’s just my nerves.

“A pumpkin carriage?” Santo parrots.

“Never mind. Are we doing this?” I take another step closer to his car.

Santo comes up and opens the passenger-side door for me. “Let’s get married,” he says.

You know when you’re nervous and you suddenly have no idea what to do with your hands. Yeah, that’s me right now while the guy I’m about to freaking marry seems as cool as a cucumber. He looks like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

How is he so calm?

“You doing okay over there, darling?” Santo pulls up to a red light and his gaze turns to me.

“I’m about to marry a stranger. I’m a little nervous. Most people would be. I don’t even know what your favourite colour is, or what your favourite drink is,” I ramble on.

“Green and Cinque whiskey. It’s only on paper, Aria. Don’t stress so much,” he tells me.

“I know. But it’s still… a lot.” I turn my attention to the window and watch the streets go past. Early morning commuters heading to work, some out for morning jogs. One thing they all have in common is they all look so free. I know it’s an illusion, the grass being greener on the other side and all that nonsense. But right now, that illusion is really inviting. I’m not saying I’m not free. There are just times where I feel trapped in a gilded cage. “Do you think people are really going to believe it?”

“Yes,” Santo says with a confidence I wish I had. I’d even settle for being able to fake that kind of confidence.

“What makes you so certain?”

“Because if I say we’re married, then we’re married. People don’t tend to question me, darling.” His lips tip up into an almost smile. “You’re the exception, obviously.”

“Sorry,” I mumble.

“Don’t be. Ask me anything you want,” he says.

“Are you really a mafia prince?” I blurt out the first question that pops into my head.

Santo chuckles. “Right for the big ones, huh?”

“That’s not an answer,” I tell him.

“I said you could ask me anything, not that I’d answer anything.” The car pulls to a stop outside of a townhouse. “We’re here.” Santo gets out. And by the time he steps to my door, I’m already standing on the sidewalk looking up at the building in front of us.

“When we stop, you wait for me to open your door,” Santo grunts.

“Why? I have hands.” I wave my arms around to prove my point.

“Because I want to make sure it’s safe. I can’t protect you if I’m on the other side of the car, Aria.” He looks pissed off.

“Why do you need to protect me?”

“Because in less than half an hour, you’re going to be my wife, which makes you family. I protect my family. It’s what we do.” Santo holds out his hand. “You ready to get hitched?”

“Are you?” I feel like I should question him a lot more on what exactly I need protecting from, but as stupid as this sounds, I trust him. He’s saving me from having to marry Oliver. Honestly, this could all blow up in my face but at least I can go down knowing I tried.

“I’m ready,” he says.

Placing my hand on Santo’s outstretched palm, I get that strange tingling feeling I had when I was knocked into his lap that first night. I thought it was the alcohol. Now, I’m not so sure. But I’m going to ignore it. It’s probably just nerves anyway.

Santo walks up to the townhouse and presses the doorbell. A minute later, an older man is opening the door. “Mr De Bellis, Come in.”

“Thanks, Judge. I appreciate you doing this for us. This is my fiancée, Aria.” Santo’s hand drops from mine, falling to my lower back. “Sweetheart, this is Judge Michaels.”

“Nice to meet you,” the older man says.

“Thank you. You too.” My voice is quiet. My mind’s still reeling from the whole sweetheart thing. It’s also reeling from the way Santo’s hand possessively lingers at my lower back. I’m reading too much into it. I know that. I also know it’s not real. That doesn’t mean it’s not nice to hear and feel.

“Okay, come on through. There’s just a few papers for you two to sign,” Judge Michaels says.

We’re led into an office. Santo gestures to one of the two chairs, and I sit down while he occupies the other. I’ve never been in front of a judge before. It’s intimidating. Even here in this home office.

“I need to ask… Are you both entering into this union of your own free will?” Judge Michaels glances between us.

“Yes,” Santo growls.

“Yes.” I nod my head.

“Okay, sign here and here.” Judge Michaels hands the paperwork to Santo first. He scrawls his signature in the two places and then slides the document over to me.

My hand shakes a little as I sign my name. I’m really doing this. When I’m done, I place the pen down and slide the paper back towards the judge.

“Thank you. You’re now man and wife,” he announces.

“Thank you, Judge.” Santo stands and I follow his lead.

“Thank you.” I smile at the older man.

This was… not how I ever expected I’d get married. But it’s legal. I feel a huge weight off my shoulders. Whatever happens now, I cannot legally marry Oliver.

“Thank you for doing this for me. I don’t know what you’re getting out of this deal, but I will be forever grateful,” I tell Santo when we’re back on the road. Where we’re going, I have no idea.

“We should celebrate, right? Breakfast?” Santo asks.

“That would be great.” I smile at him.

We end up at a small café that’s near my apartment. I’ve been here a lot with Drew. “What do you fancy?” Santo says while eyeing the menu in his hands.

“I’ll have the avo smash and a pineapple juice. What do you feel like having? I’ll go order,” I tell him.

Santo’s brows pull together. “I’ll order. Wait here,” he grunts, already pushing up from the table.

Okay, so my husband has got the sexy grouchy routine down pat. Scratch that, just grouchy. My husband is not sexy. I am not attracted to him.

“There are a few things you should know about being my wife,” Santo says as he reclaims his seat at the table a couple of minutes later.

“The rules? I remember them.”

“Not just those. If we’re out together, I pay. No matter what it is,” he tells me.

“Okay, but I’m not a freeloader. I work. I can pay for my own meals,” I remind him.

“You work for your father. That’s going to have to stop,” he says.

“Excuse me?” My eyes jump to my hairline before I can stop them.

“Your father offered you up as a bargaining chip, Aria. He’s not the kind of man I want you around, especially not alone.”

Looks like someone is taking his husband role a little too seriously.

“I can’t quit my job, Santo. I need it.” Besides the fact that I like my job, I don’t have any other options for money. Although, I’m sure once my father learns I have no intention of going along with his plan, he’s going to fire me anyway. I probably should have thought this whole thing through better. What if he still takes away my trust? He could. I’ve defied him and he’s going to be pissed.