now: a knowledge that this is more significant. Because no matter how vague he’s keeping this whole fake-wife thing, we’re going to be spending a lot more time together soon.
Can I even call this casual anymore?
I am about to push all these thoughts aside and just focus on him, on us, when his cell phone blares from the bar. He steps back, looking at me for a moment, annoyed. “I’m sorry,” he says. “If it wasn’t important …”
Suddenly, he’s not the bantering, carefree Angelo I’ve come to know. His face is tight, and not just with lust. He answers the cell phone, listens for about thirty seconds, and then just says, “Yes, I understand.”
“What is it?” I ask when he hangs up.
“Business,” he says mysteriously. “I have to go. But don’t worry. I’ll take care of your brother’s problem. And in return …”
“I’ll be your fake wife,” I say, feeling sexually frustrated and just plain old frustrated, too. “Whatever the hell that means. Yeah, I’ve got it.”
I want to ask him where he’s going, but I know it’s none of my business and, anyway, do I really give a fuck? I mean, I do, sort of, but only because I’ve never seen Angelo look like that before. He didn’t look vulnerable, exactly, but I definitely get the sense there’s more to him than arrogance and bravado.
As I walk back to my car, I reflect on the crazy day I’ve had. If you count early this morning, it went a little something like this: Wyatt brought home on drug charges, a full EMT shift that featured several horrible accidents, and agreeing to be an enigmatic rich man’s fake wife. An enigmatic rich man I may kind of like.
Life is strange.
18
Angelo
When I get to the hospital, Felice’s mother is standing outside his room, her hands clutched to her chest. She is an elderly Italian woman with dyed black hair and a solid maternal build. Her eyes are bright with tears under the fluorescent lights. She was the one who called me when I was with Dani, letting me know she’d just gotten to the hospital. She was the one who told me that Felice has internal bleeding and that the doctors had to induce a coma.
“Mr. De Maggio!” she cries when she spots me. “Thank you so much for coming!”
“Of course,” I reply in Italian. “But please, call me Angelo. Come, let me get you some coffee. I am sure you are very tired.”
Nodding at the man guarding Felice’s door, I take her down the hallway to the waiting room and we drink coffee together. It’s bitter, machine-made stuff, but it does the job. As selfish as it is, part of me wishes I was back with Dani. My mind goes over all the things we could’ve done at that bar, how our hands would’ve explored each other, snapping her pink bra with my teeth and then bringing those same teeth to her wanting nipples.
But Felice is a good man. He doesn’t deserve this. If that car had hit the other side, I’d be the one in the hospital right now. And I know damn well that he would be at my bedside.
“They say he will wake up in a few days,” she whispers. “That is only if he does wake up, though. Oh, Angelo, I do not have anybody. My husband has gone, God bless him, and Felice, he is my only family here in America.”
“Do you have family in Italy?” I ask.
She nods.
“Any that would come here to support you?”
“My sister,” she says. “A good woman. But we are not rich people, Angelo. Felice is a good man. He takes care of us. But he has a daughter on the West Coast, a one-night fling—Oh, have I said too much?”
I shake my head. “No, I know all about this. I know he sends most of his money to her.”
“But I do not want for anything,” she says hurriedly.
“I will pay for your sister to come here,” I tell her. “Make all the arrangements and then call this number …” I hand her my business card. “Do not worry. You won’t have to go through this alone.”
She throws her arms around me, planting about a hundred kisses on my cheeks. I allow it with a grim expression, but I have to admit I’m glad when Levi calls me from the warehouse, giving me a chance to disentangle myself.
“Excuse me,” I request. Into the phone, I say, “Yes?”
“You have to take a