Chapter 7 - The Day the Pretending Ended
We reached the hospital twenty-three minutes later.
Sofia had collapsed during dinner.
For one endless hour, nobody knew why.
The Ricci family filled the waiting room.
Isabella cried silently.
Lucia paced.
Marco stood completely still.
Too still.
I knew that version of him.
When Marco was afraid, he became controlled enough to frighten everyone else.
I took his hand.
He looked down.
“You don’t have to stay.”
I almost laughed.
“Do you really think I’m leaving?”
His fingers closed around mine.
“No.”
The doctor finally appeared.
Sofia had experienced an abnormal heart rhythm triggered partly by exhaustion and stress.
She was stable.
She would remain overnight for observation.
The collective relief almost collapsed the room.
Marco sat beside his mother after everyone else left.
I waited outside.
Through the glass, I watched Sofia reach for his face.
Marco bowed his head.
She said something.
He laughed.
Then cried.
I had never seen Marco cry.
I looked away to give him privacy.
Twenty minutes later, he stepped into the hallway.
His eyes were red.
“She wants you.”
I entered.
Sofia smiled weakly.
“My favorite liar.”
I sat beside her.
“You knew from day one, didn’t you?”
“That the relationship was supposed to be fake?”
My mouth fell open.
She smiled.
“Marco has never been subtle.”
Marco stood near the door.
“I am extremely subtle.”
“No, darling.”
She looked at me.
“He called me three weeks ago asking what kind of flowers you liked.”
I turned toward him.
“You did?”
Marco suddenly found the hospital wall fascinating.
Sofia continued.
“Then he asked whether the emerald bracelet was still in my safe.”
I stared.
“So you gave it back to him.”
“Yes.”
“And then pretended to expose him?”
Her smile became wicked.
“I am seventy.”
“Not until Saturday,” Marco muttered.
“Almost seventy. I am allowed entertainment.”
I laughed.
For the first time in days, genuinely laughed.
Sofia squeezed my hand.
“Did he finally tell you?”
“That he loves me?”
Marco groaned.
“Can we stop discussing my private life?”
“No,” Sofia and I answered together.
She grinned.
Then her expression softened.
“Emily, your mother was extraordinary.”
My throat tightened.
“I wish I remembered more.”
“You have her courage.”
“I don’t feel courageous.”
“Courage rarely feels like courage while you’re doing it.”
She looked at Marco.
“And this one needs someone who reminds him he cannot control everything.”
“I have noticed.”
“I regret bringing you together.”
Marco almost smiled.
The following days changed everything.
David Mercer was charged with several financial crimes related to the theft and manipulation of corporate records.
Because the evidence implicated individuals outside the Ricci organization, investigations spread quickly.
Marco cooperated.
Some family members objected.
He didn’t care.
“The empire survives by becoming legitimate,” he told them. “Not by preserving old secrets.”
It was the moment I finally understood Marco’s greatest difference from Vittorio.
He respected his father.
But he refused to become him.
Ross testified.
The stolen ledger was recovered.
The tapes were copied and secured.
For the first time in decades, Katherine Carter’s story was no longer hidden.
Marco offered to help me establish a foundation in her name using the trust Vittorio had created.
That changed how I felt about the money.
Instead of rejecting it, I could transform it.
We created the Katherine Carter Foundation, providing scholarships and legal assistance for families affected by corporate corruption.
My mother’s sacrifice would create something good.
Saturday arrived.
Sofia’s seventieth birthday.
Against medical advice, she insisted the celebration continue.
The doctor compromised.
Two hours.
No champagne.
Minimal stress.
Sofia agreed to the first two conditions and ignored the third.
The estate glowed beneath hundreds of lights.
Music floated across the lawn.
Family filled the garden.
I wore an ivory satin dress.
The emerald bracelet remained around my wrist.
When I stepped outside, Marco stood waiting.
Black tuxedo.
Dark hair slightly unruly.
Expression completely unreadable.
I smiled.
“You’re staring.”
“Yes.”
“Is that part of the fake relationship?”
“No.”
That single word still made my heart race.
He offered his arm.
We entered the garden together.
People applauded when Sofia appeared.
She looked radiant.
Dinner was joyful.
No secrets.
No whispered threats.
Just family.
Near dessert, Sofia tapped her glass.
Everyone quieted.
“I would like to say something.”
Marco muttered, “This will end badly.”
I whispered, “Probably.”
Sofia smiled at us.
“Seven days ago, my son arrived here claiming he had finally found a girlfriend.”
Laughter moved through the tables.
“He expected us to believe they had been secretly dating.”
Marco closed his eyes.
“I knew immediately that this was nonsense.”
More laughter.
“But what Marco did not understand was that everyone in this family had been waiting years for him to realize what was already obvious.”
I looked around.
Isabella smiled.
Lucia winked.
Even Matteo was laughing.
Sofia raised her glass.
“Some love stories begin with a first kiss.”
Her eyes met mine.
“Some begin with a lie.”
Then she looked at Marco.
“And sometimes the lie only exists because two stubborn people are too frightened to admit the truth.”
Everyone applauded.
Marco leaned toward me.
“My family is unbearable.”
“I like them.”
“That makes one of us.”
Later, we escaped toward the beach.
Exactly where we had spoken on the first night.
The ocean was dark.
Moonlight stretched across the water.
Marco took my hand.
“The seven days are over.”
I smiled.
“Technically we still have three hours.”
“You always were annoyingly precise.”
“You pay me for precision.”
His expression shifted.
“That’s something we need to discuss.”
My stomach dropped slightly.
“My job.”
“Yes.”
I had expected this.
“If we’re together, I probably shouldn’t remain your assistant.”
“No.”
It hurt despite knowing it made sense.
Marco continued.
“Because you’re dramatically overqualified.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“I want you running the foundation.”
“Marco—”
“Not for me.”
He faced me.
“For you.”
I looked toward the house.
The foundation had already become important to me.
“I’d need independence.”
“Complete.”
“My own board.”
“Yes.”
“You don’t get final approval.”
“That sounds dangerous.”
“Marco.”
“I’m joking.”
“You’re terrible at joking.”
“I’m improving.”
I smiled.
“I’ll think about it.”
“Good.”
Something about his tone made me suspicious.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re doing the face.”
“What face?”
“The one you make when you’re hiding something.”
Marco Ricci actually looked nervous.
That was terrifying.
He reached into his jacket.
My entire body froze.
“Marco.”
“It isn’t what you think.”
“That is exactly what people say before doing what someone thinks.”
He pulled out a small velvet box.
My heart stopped.
“Marco.”
He opened it.
Inside was not a diamond ring.
It was a key.
I stared.
“A key?”
He nodded.
“To what?”
“My penthouse.”
I laughed in relief.
Then almost cried.
“I thought—”
“I know.”
“You did that deliberately.”
“Yes.”
“Cruel man.”
He smiled.
“I’m not asking you to move in tomorrow.”
“Good.”
“I’m asking you to know there is always a place for you.”
My eyes filled.
“Marco.”
He touched my cheek.
“I spent two years convincing myself that staying away from you was the honorable thing.”
I leaned into his hand.
“And then?”
“Then my mother turned seventy.”
“Almost died.”
“Manipulated us.”
“Exposed you.”
“Frequently.”
I laughed.
Marco grew serious.
“I don’t want another two years of silence.”
“Neither do I.”
He handed me the key.
I closed my fingers around it.
“I love you,” he said.
“I love you too.”
Then I kissed him.
No audience.
No pretending.
No rules.
Three months later, I resigned as Marco Ricci’s executive assistant.
I became executive director of the Katherine Carter Foundation.
Marco complained that my replacement was terrible.
His replacement had fourteen years of experience.
“He doesn’t know my schedule,” Marco insisted.
“He knows it better than you.”
“He orders the wrong coffee.”
“You drink black coffee.”
“Exactly.”
Six months after Sofia’s birthday, Marco and I moved into the penthouse together.
One year later, he brought me back to the Hamptons.
To the rose garden.
The old Summer Queen statue had been restored.
Beneath it, Marco had placed a small plaque.
Katherine Carter — Courage is telling the truth when silence would be easier.
I cried when I saw it.
Then I turned.
Marco was standing behind me.
This time, he held a velvet box containing exactly what I expected.
A diamond ring.
I covered my mouth.
He looked unusually nervous.
“Emily Carter.”
“Yes?”
“I had a speech.”
“What happened?”
“I forgot it.”
I laughed through tears.
“Very intimidating.”
“Completely humiliating.”
He took my hand.
“So I’ll keep it simple.”
Marco lowered himself onto one knee.
“I spent years believing love made people vulnerable.”
His expression softened.
“You taught me that loving someone doesn’t make you weaker. It gives you a reason to become better.”
I was already crying.
He smiled.
“Will you marry me?”
“Yes.”
“You should let me finish.”
“Yes.”
“Emily.”
“Yes, Marco.”
He laughed.
I pulled him up and kissed him before he could complain again.
From the terrace, someone screamed.
“FINALLY!”
Isabella.
Of course the entire family had been watching.
Marco looked toward the house.
“I’m changing the locks.”
Sofia yelled, “You wouldn’t dare!”
I laughed against his shoulder.
One year later, we married beneath the same lights where Sofia had celebrated her seventieth birthday.
Not because the Ricci estate belonged to Marco.
Not because it held his family’s history.
But because it had become part of mine too.
My mother’s photograph rested beside my bouquet.
Sofia walked me halfway down the aisle.
Then she kissed my cheek.
“She would be proud of you.”
I looked toward Marco waiting beneath the flowers.
“Do you think so?”
“I know so.”
When I reached him, Marco whispered, “You’re late.”
“Two minutes.”
“I was concerned.”
“You’re dramatic.”
“You love me.”
“Unfortunately.”
His mouth twitched.
“Forever?”
I squeezed his hand.
“Forever.”
People once whispered that Marco Ricci was the most intimidating man in Manhattan.
Maybe they were right.
He still made investors nervous.
He still silenced entire conference rooms by walking into them.
He still owned an empire.
But every Sunday, he brought flowers to his mother.
Every year, he personally attended the Katherine Carter Foundation scholarship ceremony.
And every night, no matter how late he came home, he found me.
Sometimes our love story sounded ridiculous when people asked how it began.
They expected something romantic.
A restaurant.
A party.
A chance encounter.
Instead, I told them the truth.
At 11:45 on a Friday night, Marco Ricci called me into his penthouse and asked me to spend seven days pretending I was hopelessly in love with him.
He thought the dangerous part would be convincing his family.
He thought we would hold hands, smile for photographs, survive seven dinners, and return to Manhattan exactly as we had been before.
Marco had no idea I had already loved him for two years.
What I didn’t know was that he had been hiding the same secret.
The seven days were supposed to be a lie.
Instead, they uncovered my mother’s past, exposed a family betrayal, gave me a new purpose, and forced two stubborn people to finally admit what everyone else had seen long before us.
And years later, whenever Marco complained that his mother had manipulated him into the best decision of his life, Sofia always gave him the same answer.
“You’re welcome.”
He always rolled his eyes.
Then he would find my hand beneath the dinner table.
May you like
And every single time, he held on.
Because after spending years hiding the truth, neither of us ever wanted to pretend again.
