THE MAFIA BOSS SAW THROUGH MY FAKE CAT CARDIGAN AFTER I MADE EVERY SUITOR REJECT ME FOR 3 YEARS

Vanessa Parker had spent three years making powerful men decide she was impossible to marry.

Not difficult.

Not unsuitable.

Impossible.

There was a difference, and Vanessa had perfected it the way other women perfected eyeliner, public smiles, or polite dinner conversation.

A direct no had never worked.

A direct no only made wealthy men blink at her as if she had misunderstood the shape of the world.

They heard rejection and translated it into a challenge.

They heard boundaries and treated them like the beginning of negotiation.

They heard a woman say she wanted her own future, and somehow decided she simply needed to be persuaded by a better suit, a better restaurant, or a better family name.

So Vanessa stopped saying no.

She started making them say it for her.

That was why she was sitting beneath a crystal chandelier at the Belandi Foundation charity dinner, wearing an oversized brown cardigan covered in embroidered cats.

There were cats on the sleeves.

Cats near the pockets.

One judgmental orange cat sat over her left shoulder like it had personally reviewed every man in the room and found them lacking.

Underneath the cardigan, Vanessa wore a beautiful emerald dress.

The dress fit her softly and elegantly, but almost no one noticed it.

That was the cardigan’s purpose.

Her tortoiseshell glasses were too large for her face, and the lenses were clear.

They did nothing for her vision.

They did everything for her survival.

Beside her sat Michael Caruso, a man her father had described as serious, successful, and worth considering.

Vanessa had considered him.

She had considered him for exactly seven minutes.

Then Michael had spent the first course explaining that his future wife would probably want to step back from work once children arrived.

During the second course, he added that he preferred women who were naturally low maintenance.

By the time he said complicated financial matters should be handled by husbands, Vanessa had calmly decided that Michael Caruso would not survive dessert.

Vanessa had a finance degree.

Vanessa quietly managed investments her father believed were handled by an adviser.

Vanessa also understood that nothing scared a controlling man more efficiently than a woman who seemed unpredictable, emotional, expensive, and impossible to organize.

So she opened her handbag and removed four photographs of cats that did not belong to her.

Michael looked at them as if she had placed evidence of a crime beside the bread basket.

Vanessa smiled too brightly and lifted the first photo.

“This is Beatrice.”

The gray Persian in the photo stared with the severe dignity of a retired judge.

Michael blinked.

“Beatrice?”

“She has abandonment issues.”

Across the table, someone coughed into a wine glass.

Vanessa did not look over.

She kept her attention fixed on Michael, whose handsome face was beginning to show the first soft signs of panic.

“Abandonment issues?”

“Terrible ones.”

Vanessa lowered her voice as if revealing something tragic.

“She once refused to eat for forty minutes because I went downstairs without her.”

Michael stared.

“Forty minutes?”

Vanessa nodded solemnly.

“We almost lost her.”

A laugh broke somewhere down the table and died quickly.

Vanessa knew it belonged to Marco Belandi, Nico Belandi’s cousin.

Marco had been watching with open amusement since the second cat photo appeared.

That did not bother her.

Witnesses were useful.

The more people who saw Michael becoming uncomfortable, the less likely her father could later pretend the dinner had gone beautifully.

What bothered Vanessa was the man beside Marco.

Nico Belandi had not laughed.

Nico Belandi was watching her.

Not like a man watching an absurd performance.

Not even like a man enjoying someone else’s discomfort.

He watched as if he had noticed a loose thread and intended to follow it until the whole disguise came undone.

He was thirty-nine, dangerously composed, and handsome in a way that felt personally inconvenient.

Black suit.

Black shirt.

No tie.

Dark hair swept back.

A trimmed beard sharp enough to look deliberate.

Tattoos moved over one hand and vanished under his cuff, hinting at the kind of life polite people described in lowered voices.

Nico was the head of the Belandi family.

In Vanessa’s world, that meant money, power, whispered loyalty, and men who knew exactly when a room had shifted.

Vanessa had been introduced to him only once that evening.

He had taken her hand, looked at her for a moment too long, and said her name like he was committing it to memory.

That should have been all.

A normal powerful man would have ignored her after that.

Nico had not.

His eyes moved from the glasses to the cardigan, from the cardigan to her hands, from her hands to the precise shape of her smile.

Vanessa hated that.

A man who enjoyed a performance was manageable.

A man who studied one was dangerous.

So she raised the second photograph.

“This is Leonard.”

Michael looked as if he regretted having a neck because it forced him to keep his head pointed in her direction.

“Leonard.”

“He only eats salmon.”

“Only salmon?”

“Wild caught, obviously.”

Vanessa tilted her head with concern.

“Farmed makes him emotional.”

Marco’s shoulders shook.

Sophia Belandi, seated nearby, looked down at her plate with a smile she was failing to hide.

Nico still did not laugh.

He simply watched.

Vanessa lifted the third photograph.

“This is Gerald.”

The orange cat in the photo looked enormous, furious, and majestic.

Michael swallowed.

“Gerald does not like men.”

That finally caught his full attention.

“Men?”

“Especially men in loafers.”

Michael slowly looked down at his black leather loafers.

Vanessa looked down too, then back up with carefully manufactured worry.

“Oh.”

She paused long enough for the implication to settle.

“That could be difficult.”

Marco lost the battle with his laughter and tried to disguise it as a cough.

Vanessa should have felt victorious.

Instead, across the table, Nico Belandi’s mouth curved.

Barely.

A tiny movement.

Not laughter.

Recognition.

Vanessa decided on the spot that she disliked him.

It was not fair for a man to look that amused and that observant at the same time.

Michael took a desperate sip of champagne.

“You have three cats?”

“Twelve.”

The champagne nearly betrayed him.

“Twelve?”

Vanessa reached toward him as if concerned.

“Are you all right?”

“Twelve cats?”

“Yes.”

Conversation around them softened just enough to prove half the table was listening.

Perfect.

Michael glanced at the photos.

“You only showed me three.”

“I don’t carry everyone’s portrait.”

“You carry cat portraits.”

“Of course.”

She said it with such deep conviction that Marco lifted his glass again to hide his face.

Vanessa began listing names.

“Beatrice, Leonard, Gerald, Alice, Bernard, Charlotte, Eleanor.”

Then her mind went blank.

She had prepared seven cats.

Usually, men surrendered by four.

Michael was still staring at her.

Nico leaned back slightly.

Waiting.

Vanessa despised him for it.

“Francis.”

Nico’s eyebrow moved.

It was a small movement, but Vanessa saw it.

She needed four more names.

“Grace.”

Nine.

“Henry.”

Ten.

“Isabelle.”

Eleven.

One more.

Her brain searched desperately through every useless emergency file it possessed.

“Kevin.”

Silence fell like a dropped knife.

Even Marco looked up.

Vanessa nodded firmly.

“Kevin.”

Nico finally looked down at his plate.

His shoulders shifted once.

He was laughing quietly.

That was worse than open laughter.

Vanessa felt an irrational urge to throw a bread roll at him.

Instead, she turned back to Michael.

“Kevin is difficult.”

“I imagine.”

“Very controlling.”

Michael stared at her.

Vanessa lowered her voice.

“He does not respect closed doors.”

Nico coughed.

Vanessa looked across the table.

Their eyes met.

His eyes were dark, amused now, but still too sharp.

She held his gaze half a second longer than she should have.

Then she smiled brightly at Michael again.

“So, obviously, when I get married, we will need at least three bedrooms.”

Michael seemed relieved for one brief foolish moment.

“Three bedrooms is not unreasonable.”

“One for us.”

Vanessa counted on her fingers.

“One for the cats.”

His relief disappeared.

“And one for their things.”

“The cats have things?”

“Where else would I keep the seasonal bedding?”

Sophia made a strangled noise.

Marco bent forward over his plate.

Michael shifted backward in his chair.

There it was.

The lean.

Vanessa knew it intimately.

It was the moment a man who had been told she was a suitable match began silently searching for an exit.

Three years.

Seven suitors.

Same pattern.

Same victory.

Michael Caruso was finished.

Vanessa almost relaxed.

Then Nico spoke.

“Seasonal bedding.”

His voice was low and smooth.

Not mocking.

Testing.

Vanessa turned to him.

“Yes.”

“For cats.”

“Obviously.”

“Twelve cats require seasonal bedding.”

“They prefer fleece in winter.”

“All twelve.”

“Democratic household.”

Sophia laughed outright this time.

Vanessa allowed herself a tiny smile.

Nico’s gaze dropped to the photos, then returned to her face.

“Which one is Kevin?”

Inside, Vanessa froze.

Outside, she remained flawless.

She held up the photos and pointed to a tabby.

“This one.”

Nico studied it.

“That is Gerald.”

Vanessa’s heart sank.

She laughed too loudly.

“Did I say Gerald?”

“Yes.”

“They look alike.”

One cat was orange.

One was gray.

They did not look alike.

Nico looked at both photographs, then at her.

“Remarkably.”

Vanessa narrowed her eyes.

He was enjoying this far too much.

Fortunately, Michael had reached his limit.

He stood so quickly his chair nearly caught the tablecloth.

Vanessa grabbed the edge by instinct, stopped the disaster, then released it immediately as if her reflex had never happened.

“I should speak to my brother.”

“Of course.”

Vanessa beamed at him.

“Absolutely.”

Michael left without looking back.

Success.

Vanessa waited until he was far enough away to count as gone.

Then her face changed.

Not dramatically.

Not enough for the room to notice.

Her empty smile vanished.

Her shoulders straightened.

Her chin lifted.

She pushed her useless glasses higher on her nose, looked down at Michael’s abandoned chocolate mousse, and stole it with one smooth movement.

Dessert was dessert.

Victory was victory.

She took a bite and closed her eyes.

Worth it.

“Kevin would be devastated.”

Vanessa opened her eyes.

Nico was watching from across the table.

“The chocolate.”

His gaze flicked to the dessert.

“Surely Kevin has dietary restrictions.”

Vanessa swallowed.

“Kevin understands boundaries.”

“I am relieved.”

She took another bite.

Their eyes remained locked.

Something passed between them, and Vanessa immediately refused to name it.

Interest was dangerous.

Recognition was worse.

She turned away.

The dinner continued around her in polished waves of money and music.

The chandeliers glittered.

Servers moved between tables.

Guests smiled with the kind of practiced restraint that meant everyone was listening to more than they admitted.

Vanessa tried to return to peace.

The suitor was gone.

The dessert was secured.

The evening should have been over.

Then one of the Belandi executives began discussing a hotel acquisition.

Vanessa had no intention of listening.

She had survived too many rooms where men turned business into performance.

She had learned to sit still, smile faintly, and let them believe she understood nothing.

But then the executive said a number.

Vanessa frowned.

Wrong.

He continued.

He mentioned projected operating costs.

Also wrong.

Vanessa stopped chewing.

Do not speak.

Do not look interested.

Do not expose yourself.

Then the executive announced break-even in nineteen months.

“Twenty-seven.”

The word escaped before discipline could catch it.

Silence opened around the table.

Vanessa looked up slowly.

Several faces had turned toward her.

The executive blinked.

“Excuse me?”

Vanessa gave him the softest, emptiest smile she owned.

“Nothing.”

“You said twenty-seven.”

“Months.”

She heard herself add a tiny uncertain lift at the end and hated it.

“Question mark.”

The executive smiled politely.

“No, nineteen.”

“Yes.”

Vanessa nodded.

“Nineteen.”

She returned to the mousse.

Conversation over.

Except Nico leaned forward.

“Why twenty-seven?”

Vanessa looked at him.

He looked innocent.

He was not.

“I do not know.”

“You corrected him.”

“I misunderstood.”

“What?”

“The numbers.”

Marco stared.

Sophia looked like she was watching theater.

Nico’s eyes remained on Vanessa.

“Which numbers?”

“All of them.”

The executive, frowning now, checked his tablet.

Vanessa prayed he would not.

He scrolled.

His expression changed.

“Wait.”

No.

No, no, no.

“The renovation reserve was not included in this model.”

Nico said nothing.

The executive recalculated while the table went silent.

The room seemed to shrink around Vanessa.

Finally, the man looked up.

“Twenty-six point eight months.”

Marco turned slowly toward Vanessa.

Sophia’s eyes widened.

Vanessa adjusted her fake glasses.

“Oh.”

The executive stared at her.

“How did you know?”

“Lucky guess.”

Marco’s mouth twitched.

“That was an extremely specific lucky guess.”

“Thank you.”

“That was not praise.”

“I accept it anyway.”

Sophia laughed.

Nico did not.

His expression had changed.

The amusement was still there, but certainty had begun forming underneath it.

Vanessa felt it like a door closing.

She survived the next twenty-three minutes through pastry and sheer stubbornness.

Nico stopped asking questions.

That was worse.

A teasing Nico was irritating.

A quiet Nico was dangerous.

Patient men waited for mistakes.

Patient men did not need confession when they could collect evidence.

Then the universe betrayed her.

A server approached behind her with a tray of champagne flutes.

At the same moment, a guest stepped backward.

The collision was small.

The sound was not.

Metal shifted.

Glass slid.

Someone gasped.

Six champagne flutes began tipping toward the marble floor.

Vanessa moved before thought existed.

Her chair scraped back.

One hand caught the edge of the silver tray.

The other steadied two sliding glasses.

She turned with the momentum, leveled the tray, and pushed it back into the server’s grip before anything shattered.

Only a few drops spilled.

The server stared at her.

Vanessa stared back.

The room barely registered the rescue.

It had taken two seconds.

“Are you okay?”

The server nodded.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

Vanessa remembered herself too late.

She rounded her shoulders.

She made her hand movements clumsy.

She shoved her glasses back into place.

“Lucky reflex.”

The server smiled and moved away.

Most guests returned to their conversations.

Marco had not seen.

Sophia was turned toward someone else.

Perfect.

Nobody saw.

Vanessa exhaled.

Then she looked across the table.

Nico Belandi was staring directly at her.

No smile.

No amusement.

Just certainty.

His gaze moved from her straight shoulders to her hands, then back to her face.

Vanessa gave him her best empty smile.

It felt pathetic.

His eyebrow lifted.

One tiny movement.

Nice try.

Damn him.

Three minutes later, Vanessa stood, excused herself, and escaped.

She did not run.

Vanessa Parker did not run from men.

She simply walked at a speed normally reserved for minor emergencies.

She crossed the ballroom, passed the marble staircase, passed two women comparing diamond bracelets, and slipped through open French doors onto the terrace.

Cool night air touched her face.

At last.

Silence.

Music drifted from inside in softened strings.

The gardens below glowed with carefully placed lights.

Fountains shimmered.

Beyond the gates, black luxury cars waited like patient secrets.

Everything about the Belandi estate was controlled, elegant, and faintly threatening.

Vanessa pulled off the glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose.

They hurt.

Three years of this.

Three years of cardigan armor and fake innocence.

Three years of making herself strange enough to escape.

She could handle one suspicious mafia boss.

Of course she could.

He had seen numbers.

He had seen a reflex.

So what.

Smart women wore ugly cardigans every day somewhere.

Probably.

The terrace door closed behind her.

Vanessa did not turn at first.

She already knew.

Nico walked toward her slowly, hands in his pockets, no audience and no security.

Just a man who had spent dinner collecting the truth piece by piece.

Vanessa put the glasses back on.

His eyes moved to them immediately.

“Necessary?”

“Yes.”

“What prescription?”

“Personal.”

His mouth curved.

“You are avoiding me.”

“I came outside for air.”

“You left quickly.”

“I am efficient.”

“I noticed.”

Vanessa turned toward the gardens.

“You should go back inside.”

“Why?”

“Your guests.”

“My family’s guests.”

“Your charity.”

“Our charity.”

“Your mafia things.”

That made him pause.

“Mafia things.”

“Whatever you people do.”

“What do you think we do?”

Vanessa considered him.

“Apparently spreadsheets.”

A real smile appeared on his face.

Small.

Warm.

Inconvenient.

“Tell me about Kevin.”

Vanessa closed her eyes.

“Of course.”

“I am interested.”

“You dislike cats.”

“I never said that.”

“You look like you dislike anything that sheds.”

Nico glanced down at his black suit.

“Reasonable.”

Vanessa almost laughed.

She caught it.

“So Kevin?”

“He is private.”

“The cat.”

“Yes.”

“The cat who may also be Gerald.”

“They are brothers.”

“They are different colors.”

“Adoption is beautiful.”

That got him.

A quiet laugh moved through him.

Vanessa felt an unreasonable flare of triumph.

Then he asked the wrong question.

“Where do you keep twelve cats?”

“My apartment.”

“I have been to the Parker building.”

Vanessa went still.

“Two-bedroom unit.”

He watched her carefully.

“Large closets, but still.”

“Cats are flexible.”

“How many litter boxes?”

“Seventeen.”

“Why seventeen?”

“Privacy.”

“For all twelve cats.”

“Especially Kevin.”

Nico nodded as if filing evidence.

Vanessa crossed her arms.

“Finished?”

“No.”

Of course.

He stepped closer, still leaving space.

“Your father told mine you studied finance.”

“So?”

“So you told Michael you do not understand investments.”

“I do not enjoy discussing money on dates.”

“You corrected an eight-figure hotel model.”

“Lucky.”

“To within two months.”

“Very lucky.”

His gaze sharpened.

“The tray.”

Vanessa said nothing.

“You moved before anyone else.”

“Adrenaline.”

“You caught three glasses.”

“Two.”

His eyebrow rose.

Vanessa realized the mistake the second it left her mouth.

He smiled slowly.

“Two.”

She looked away.

Terrible.

Absolutely terrible.

Nico leaned one shoulder against the stone column, too relaxed for a man dismantling her disguise.

“You are good.”

“At what?”

“This.”

“There is no this.”

“Yes, there is.”

His voice stayed quiet.

No threat.

No accusation.

That made it worse.

“The cardigan.”

“I like it.”

“No, you do not.”

“The glasses.”

“I need them.”

“No, you do not.”

“The posture.”

Vanessa froze.

His gaze dipped to her shoulders.

“You forget when you are annoyed.”

She immediately slumped.

His mouth curved.

“Exactly.”

Vanessa straightened out of spite.

Nico almost laughed.

“You have been studying me all evening.”

“Yes.”

The directness threw her.

Most men would deny it.

Nico did not.

“Why?”

“Because you do not make sense.”

“That sounds personal.”

“It is now.”

Her pulse changed slightly.

Not because he frightened her.

Because he was standing beneath soft terrace lights, looking at her as if she were the most interesting thing in the entire estate.

Vanessa did not need that.

Especially from him.

“What exactly do you think you discovered?”

Nico looked at her for a long moment.

“Michael.”

“What about him?”

“You wanted him gone.”

Vanessa’s face went blank.

“You spent the entire dinner making yourself unbearable.”

“I was being myself.”

“No.”

The word landed softly, but it did not move.

“You knew exactly which parts would bother him.”

Vanessa said nothing.

“You started with cats after he mentioned wanting a quiet home.”

Nothing.

“You mentioned separate rooms after he talked about how a wife should manage a home his way.”

Silence.

“You pretended not to understand finance after he explained that husbands should handle money.”

The night seemed to hold still.

Nico’s eyes stayed on hers.

“And every time he looked away, you stopped performing.”

Vanessa forgot how to breathe.

That was it.

Not the numbers.

Not the tray.

Not Kevin.

He had watched the pauses.

The seconds between one mask and the next.

Nico pushed away from the column and took one measured step closer.

Vanessa refused to retreat.

His voice dropped.

“You are not awkward.”

Another step.

“You are not stupid.”

Closer.

“You are definitely not helpless.”

Vanessa lifted her chin.

“And I am beginning to doubt twelve cats exist.”

She glared at him.

“Do not bring them into this.”

Nico laughed.

Actually laughed.

Low, warm, and utterly unexpected.

For one dangerous second, Vanessa forgot she was angry.

Then his laughter faded, leaving something more serious behind.

“So what is it?”

She said nothing.

“Why spend an entire evening convincing a man not to want you?”

Her heartbeat grew louder.

He had reached the edge of the truth.

One more step and he would have it.

Vanessa could lie.

She had lied successfully for three years.

Six men before Michael.

Different families.

Different parties.

Different versions of herself.

Nobody had ever come this close.

Not once.

She smiled a huge ridiculous smile.

“Maybe I am simply eccentric.”

Nico looked at the smile, then at her eyes.

The silence lengthened.

Music shifted inside.

Someone applauded in the ballroom.

Neither of them moved.

Then Nico lifted one hand.

Vanessa tensed.

He did not touch her immediately.

He reached toward the corner of her glasses and paused, giving her time to stop him.

She did not.

His fingers closed lightly around the frame.

He lowered the glasses just enough to look directly into her eyes without the fake barrier between them.

Vanessa’s breath caught.

His voice was almost conversational.

That made the words worse.

“You are faking it.”

Vanessa went still.

Not the exaggerated stillness of performance.

Real stillness.

Her smile disappeared.

Her shoulders straightened.

Her chin lifted.

And for the first time that night, Nico Belandi saw the woman underneath everything.

No awkward grin.

No clumsy posture.

No vacant expression.

Just Vanessa Parker, sharp-eyed, plus-size, beautiful, furious, and suddenly far more dangerous than her cardigan suggested.

Nico’s mouth curved.

“There she is.”

Vanessa slowly removed the glasses, folded them, and held them at her side.

When she spoke, her real voice came out lower and steadier than anything Michael had heard all evening.

“I suppose I am.”

Nico’s expression changed.

Only slightly.

But Vanessa saw it.

Interest.

Real interest.

Not in a dress.

Not in the curves she had hidden.

Not in some cheap transformation.

In the woman who had just stopped pretending.

Vanessa stepped closer.

Now she was the one closing the distance.

“And suppose you are smart enough to be right.”

Nico waited.

She looked him straight in the eyes.

“What exactly are you planning to do about it?”

For the first time all evening, Nico Belandi had no immediate answer.

And despite everything, Vanessa almost smiled.

Nico had spent most of his adult life dealing with liars.

Bad liars.

Elegant liars.

Desperate liars.

Men who lied because they were afraid.

Men who lied because they were greedy.

Men who believed a steady voice could turn nonsense into truth.

Vanessa Parker was different.

She lied like an artist.

Not carelessly.

Not cruelly.

Strategically.

She used nonsense as armor and humiliation as camouflage.

She had made herself ridiculous because ridiculous women were underestimated.

And now, on the terrace, she stood with the ridiculous glasses folded in one hand, no longer small, no longer vacant, daring him to decide what he would do with the truth.

Nico looked toward the ballroom, then back to her.

“I have not decided.”

That annoyed her.

Good.

Vanessa moved closer to the railing.

“Then decide quietly.”

His eyebrow lifted.

“Am I being dismissed?”

“Yes.”

“This is my family’s event.”

“And?”

“That makes dismissing me unusually ambitious.”

Vanessa smiled faintly.

“There you are.”

“Where?”

“The mafia boss.”

Nico almost laughed again.

This woman was going to become a problem.

Maybe she already had.

She replaced the glasses on her nose.

Immediately, the performance returned.

Shoulders rounded.

Chin tucked.

A strange little smile appeared.

Nico stared.

“That is disturbing.”

“Thank you.”

He shook his head, but then he saw what she tried to hide.

Relief.

Not playful relief.

Real relief.

The second she believed the conversation was ending, something in her loosened.

That changed the shape of his curiosity.

This was not just a joke.

This was protection.

Protection meant a reason.

“Who?”

Vanessa stilled.

“What?”

“Who are you trying to avoid?”

She looked away.

There.

The first honest answer.

Silence.

Nico waited.

He was very good at waiting.

Most people filled silence eventually.

Vanessa did not.

Finally, she shrugged.

“Men.”

“That narrows it beautifully.”

She smiled despite herself.

“Specific men or specific types?”

“The ones my father chooses.”

There it was.

Not fear exactly.

Frustration.

Exhaustion.

Three years of it, apparently.

Nico did not push too hard.

He had learned that truth, like loyalty, came only when people decided to give it.

Vanessa sighed.

Maybe because he had already seen too much, she began to explain.

Her father, Thomas Parker, liked to call it securing the right future.

Vanessa called it outsourcing her life.

The Parker family had money, old connections, and business ties close enough to powerful Italian families that marriage was often discussed like a merger.

Strong family.

Good name.

Useful alliance.

Mutually beneficial.

Nobody said love.

Nobody said choice.

Nobody asked Vanessa what she wanted.

The first man her father introduced had seemed polite.

Then he spent forty-five minutes describing what her life would look like after they married.

He had never once asked what she imagined for herself.

Vanessa rejected him honestly.

He pursued harder.

“No” sounded like “convince me” in his mouth.

So Vanessa changed tactics.

She made him reject her.

Nico listened, fascinated despite himself.

The first man disliked animals.

Vanessa discovered it twelve minutes into dinner.

By dessert, she had invented three elderly rescue dogs, a parrot named Leonard, and a plan to open a wildlife rehabilitation center inside the marital home.

The man never called again.

Nico laughed.

Vanessa narrowed her eyes.

“You are enjoying this too much.”

“Continue.”

The second suitor cared about public image.

Vanessa arrived in sneakers, ordered ribs, smeared barbecue sauce on her cheek, and spent twenty minutes explaining that formal table settings were classist choreography.

He lasted forty-eight minutes.

“Effective.”

“I know.”

The third suitor was obsessed with fitness.

Vanessa listened patiently while he described his three-hour morning routine.

Then she told him cardio weakened emotional intuition.

Nico stared.

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing.”

“You invented it completely.”

“Obviously.”

Nico laughed again.

The man apparently researched the claim for two weeks before deciding Vanessa was too eccentric.

“Six men?”

“Seven now.”

“Michael makes seven.”

Nico absorbed that.

Three years.

Seven engineered romantic failures.

A defensive system built out of bad posture, fake cats, fake glasses, and weaponized nonsense.

He admired the commitment.

Then his expression sharpened.

“And your father never noticed?”

Vanessa’s smile faded.

“My father sees what he wants.”

The sentence was quiet.

Too quiet.

There was more beneath it.

Nico did not dig.

Not yet.

“Why not tell him to stop?”

Vanessa looked at him.

This time, all humor vanished.

“I did.”

Of course she had.

Honesty had been the first door.

Nobody had opened it.

Nico’s jaw tightened.

“He thinks I am being difficult.”

“You are difficult.”

“Thank you.”

“That was not criticism.”

Her expression softened by a fraction.

Dangerous.

Very dangerous.

Inside, the quartet changed songs.

People shifted through the ballroom.

The night kept moving, though neither of them did.

Eventually, Nico looked down at her cardigan.

“Does that thing always work?”

“Eighty-seven percent success rate.”

“You track it.”

“Obviously.”

“What happens in the other thirteen percent?”

“They usually have mothers with matching cardigans.”

He almost laughed again.

Then, because the night had already become reckless, Nico gave her a truth of his own.

“My family does the same thing.”

Vanessa blinked.

“What?”

“Matchmaking.”

Her face lit with real amusement.

“Oh, I would pay to watch that.”

“You would not.”

“I absolutely would.”

He told her about his grandmother, Nana Lucia, whose creativity had become increasingly alarming.

Dinners.

Charity events.

Mysterious seating arrangements.

A disastrous ski weekend where three mothers had arranged for their daughters to appear at the same lodge.

“Three?”

“Yes.”

“At once?”

“Yes.”

“What did you do?”

“Left.”

Vanessa laughed so hard she leaned against the railing.

Nico watched her.

Her real laugh sounded nothing like the fake one she had used at dinner.

It was lower, warmer, and completely unrestrained.

He liked it.

Too much.

“So you understand.”

“Unfortunately.”

“Congratulations.”

“Why?”

“You are halfway to owning a cat cardigan.”

“No.”

“Do not reject the future.”

The solution appeared then.

Simple.

Efficient.

Potentially disastrous.

Nico looked at her.

Vanessa noticed immediately.

“What?”

“I have an idea.”

Her face went suspicious.

“That expression rarely ends well for women.”

“Probably not.”

“Proceed carefully.”

“If people believed I was interested in you, your father would stop arranging introductions.”

Silence.

“My family would stop arranging mine.”

Longer silence.

Vanessa looked toward the ballroom, then back at him.

“You are proposing fake dating.”

“Courtship sounds more respectable.”

“It sounds eighty-seven years old.”

“Effective is effective.”

“Nico Belandi.”

“Yes.”

“You have known me for maybe forty minutes.”

“Long enough to pretend to date you.”

“Long enough to know I can lie convincingly.”

She looked offended.

Then she thought about it.

Then she looked less offended.

“Fair.”

The negotiation lasted fifteen minutes because Vanessa did not enter arrangements casually.

No interfering with her career.

No telling her what to wear.

No unnecessary appearances beyond what they agreed.

No making decisions involving her family without her approval.

No touching without warning.

No possessive behavior.

Nico paused there.

“Why is that a rule?”

“Because fake relationships get stupid when people start behaving jealous.”

“Agreed.”

“No kissing.”

“Agreed.”

“Unless absolutely necessary.”

Nico looked at her.

She pointed at him.

“Public credibility.”

“Of course.”

“Do not look like that.”

“Like what?”

“Interested.”

He smiled.

“That may be difficult.”

Vanessa’s expression shifted almost invisibly before she recovered.

“Professionalism, Belandi.”

“Absolutely.”

His rules were fewer.

Do not intentionally embarrass his grandmother.

Vanessa looked disappointed.

Do not invent animals that live at his house.

She looked more disappointed.

And if the arrangement ever became uncomfortable, either could end it immediately.

That surprised her.

Nico noticed.

“You mean that?”

“Yes.”

No joke.

No condition.

No power play.

Vanessa studied him more carefully.

Then she nodded.

“Fine.”

Nico held out his hand.

“Agreement?”

Vanessa looked at his hand, then his face, then placed her hand in his.

His grip was warm and steady.

The handshake lasted one second too long.

Both noticed.

Neither commented.

The terrace doors opened.

Marco stepped outside and stopped.

He looked at Nico.

Then Vanessa.

Then their joined hands.

Vanessa immediately released Nico.

Marco’s expression became offensively pleased.

“There you are.”

Nico stared at him.

“Nona is asking why you disappeared.”

“Tell her I am busy.”

Marco glanced at Vanessa.

“I believe she knows.”

Vanessa laughed.

Nico sighed.

Family always.

Marco turned to leave, then paused.

“Oh, Michael left.”

Vanessa smiled brightly.

“Already?”

“Five minutes ago.”

Nico looked at her.

Marco noticed the look.

“Interesting.”

He left before either could question him.

Vanessa straightened her cardigan.

“Sunday.”

Nico frowned.

“What?”

“You said your family tries to arrange women.”

“Yes.”

“Sunday lunch.”

His suspicion increased.

“Yes.”

She smiled.

“If we are doing this, that is where we start.”

Nico looked at the cardigan.

“No.”

“What?”

“You are not wearing that.”

Vanessa’s eyes lit with mischief.

“Oh, no.”

“Vanessa.”

“You should not have said that.”

She put the fake glasses back into place.

Her shoulders dropped.

The dreadful smile returned.

“See you Sunday.”

Nico closed his eyes.

The arrangement was already a mistake.

Unfortunately, as Vanessa walked back into the ballroom, he watched her go and smiled.

Mistakes, he was beginning to remember, could be very entertaining.

Sunday lunch at the Belandi estate began at one.

Vanessa arrived at twelve fifty-nine.

Nico appreciated punctuality.

Then he saw what she was wearing and reconsidered several earlier opinions.

The cat cardigan was back.

Not the brown one.

Worse.

This one was gray, loose, soft, and covered in tiny embroidered paw prints.

The enormous glasses remained.

Her hair was twisted into a deliberately careless bun.

A small stuffed cat keychain hung from her handbag.

Nico stood in the front hall and stared.

Vanessa smiled.

“What?”

“You own multiples.”

“Of course.”

“I thought the brown one was an isolated crime.”

“This is seasonal.”

His jaw tightened.

She leaned slightly closer.

“Fleece.”

Nico looked away because he was dangerously close to laughing.

The Belandi family lived loudly.

Vanessa discovered that within seven minutes.

She had expected a mafia family Sunday lunch to involve intimidating silence, dark wood, men discussing territory, and maybe someone entering with terrible news.

Instead, Nana Lucia was criticizing Sophia’s choice of flowers.

Marco was stealing olives.

Nico’s aunt was complaining that nobody ate enough.

Two cousins were arguing about soccer.

A small dog named Bruno had already stolen something from the appetizer table.

Vanessa, who had spent years preparing to be judged at family gatherings, found herself unexpectedly relaxed.

Dangerously relaxed.

Nana Lucia met her near the dining room.

She was small, silver-haired, elegant, and sharper than any knife on the table.

Her eyes moved over Vanessa’s cardigan, the fake glasses, Nico’s face, and Vanessa again.

A slow smile appeared.

Vanessa knew instantly.

This woman was trouble.

“I have heard about you.”

Vanessa glanced toward Nico.

He frowned.

“From who?”

Nana ignored him.

Naturally.

She took Vanessa’s hand.

“Sit beside me.”

Nico’s expression changed.

Vanessa smiled.

Victory already.

Lunch began with noise, food, argument, affection, and interruptions.

Vanessa maintained the performance at first.

She mentioned cats once for continuity.

Only once.

She pretended not to notice Marco asking suspicious questions about how she and Nico had become interested in each other.

Nico answered smoothly.

They met at the charity dinner, talked, and found common ground.

Vanessa nodded seriously.

“Parking.”

Nico looked at her.

“There was no parking involved.”

“I am nervous.”

“You do not look nervous.”

“Because I am excellent.”

Marco smiled.

Nana Lucia saw everything.

Sophia adored Vanessa within twenty minutes.

Not because of Nico.

Because Vanessa made her laugh.

That became the first problem.

Vanessa intended to remain awkward all afternoon.

But Sophia was funny.

Marco was ridiculous.

Nana Lucia’s commentary was lethal.

Somewhere between pasta and dessert, Vanessa forgot to pretend.

Her posture straightened.

The glasses slipped lower.

Her real voice came out.

When Marco tried to explain a restaurant expansion using a poker analogy that made no financial sense, Vanessa corrected him automatically.

“No, that comparison only works if your customer acquisition cost stays stable.”

Silence.

Vanessa froze.

Slowly, she looked around the table.

Marco blinked.

Sophia’s eyebrows rose.

Nico looked down at his wine, definitely hiding a smile.

Vanessa cleared her throat.

“Lucky guess.”

Marco stared.

Nico spoke quietly.

“She is very lucky.”

Vanessa kicked him under the table.

He did not react except for the corner of his mouth.

Traitor.

Dessert arrived.

Chocolate tart.

Excellent.

Vanessa’s cardigan sleeve caught her glasses, and they slipped.

She caught them.

Sophia laughed.

“Why do you wear those if they bother you so much?”

Vanessa opened her mouth.

Nico answered first.

“Fashion.”

She turned to him.

He looked completely serious.

Sophia laughed harder.

Vanessa finally removed the glasses for just a minute.

Relief.

She rubbed the bridge of her nose.

Nana Lucia looked at Vanessa’s face, then at Nico.

“Interesting.”

Vanessa noticed.

Of course.

After lunch, Vanessa escaped into the kitchen under the excuse of helping with coffee.

She needed sixty seconds.

No family.

No performance.

No one watching.

She set the glasses on the counter and removed the cardigan.

Underneath was a fitted emerald wrap dress she had worn to the charity dinner.

Comfortable.

Elegant.

Hers.

She rolled her shoulders.

Finally.

Then Nico walked in.

Naturally.

He stopped for half a second.

No words.

No teasing.

Just looking.

Vanessa became aware of the dress, her loose posture, her curves no longer hidden under knit armor, and the absence of anything ridiculous between them.

She folded her arms.

“What?”

Nico’s gaze returned to her face.

“You look comfortable.”

That was not what she expected.

Not beautiful.

Not different.

Comfortable.

Something inside her softened, which irritated her.

“I am.”

“You should do that more often.”

“Remove knitwear?”

“Stop performing.”

Vanessa’s expression shifted.

He had no idea what he was asking.

Or maybe he did.

That was worse.

“Performance works.”

“I know.”

“So?”

“So nothing.”

He stepped closer, not too close.

Enough.

“You do not need it here.”

Vanessa looked at him for one quiet second.

The family noise beyond the kitchen softened into distance.

No fake courtship.

No teasing.

No audience.

Just Nico telling her she could relax.

It felt more intimate than it should have.

Vanessa smiled faintly.

“Your grandmother absolutely knows.”

Nico sighed.

“Yes.”

Vanessa laughed.

Moment saved.

Nana Lucia did know.

Not everything.

Enough.

Later, she cornered Nico in the study and asked if he liked Vanessa.

Nico said, “She is interesting.”

Nana smiled.

“Wrong answer.”

“What does that mean?”

“Interesting gets expensive.”

Then she left him staring after her.

The fake courtship accelerated.

One lunch became three dinners.

Three dinners became a charity auction, a gallery opening, and a Belandi hotel event.

Vanessa became publicly associated with Nico, and her father was thrilled.

That irritated her.

But the introductions stopped.

No more Michaels.

No more accidental lunches.

No more wealthy men appearing because Thomas Parker happened to know their mothers.

For the first time in three years, Vanessa’s calendar belonged to her again.

The plan worked.

Unfortunately, it worked too well.

People believed them because in public, Nico and Vanessa were effortless.

He had no trouble looking interested.

Vanessa had no trouble making him smile.

They argued softly over menus.

He touched the small of her back when guiding her through crowds.

She once straightened his tie, remembered he was not wearing one, and adjusted his collar instead.

At a fundraiser, she leaned in to whisper a joke about a donor’s speech.

Nico laughed at exactly the wrong moment.

Everyone noticed.

Sophia noticed.

Nana Lucia noticed.

Vanessa noticed.

The problem was that none of it felt fake.

One evening after an event at the Belandi Hotel, Nico and Vanessa ended up alone in a private screening room while waiting for Marco.

A film played silently on the huge screen.

A romantic comedy.

Terrible, judging by the rain-soaked man currently confessing love with excessive sincerity.

Vanessa looked at Nico.

“Really?”

“What?”

“You watch this?”

“No.”

“It is paused at forty-seven minutes.”

“Someone else used the room.”

Vanessa smiled slowly.

“What happened at forty-six?”

Nico ignored her.

She grabbed the remote and pressed play.

The actor on screen spoke a line.

Nico, without thinking, muttered the next one.

Vanessa turned to him.

Silence.

Nico closed his eyes.

“Caught.”

She laughed so hard she nearly dropped the remote.

He reached for it.

She tried to keep it.

Their hands collided.

Both stopped.

Small contact.

Warm.

Their faces were suddenly closer than either expected.

Vanessa’s laughter faded.

Nico’s gaze dropped briefly to her mouth, then back to her eyes.

Interesting.

Very.

Vanessa released the remote first.

“Professionalism.”

“Of course.”

“Fake relationship.”

“Naturally.”

“Rules.”

“Important.”

Neither moved for another second.

Neither mentioned it.

At the end of that week, Vanessa stood beside Nico outside another dinner while cars waited near the curb.

Security moved quietly in the background.

She looked toward him.

“Do you think your family believes us?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

“Your father?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

Vanessa smiled.

“Success.”

Nico looked at her for one second too long.

His expression shifted.

Not playful.

Not teasing.

Something quieter.

“That may not be the problem anymore.”

Her smile faded.

Before she could ask what he meant, Marco opened the car door.

Perfect timing.

Terrible timing.

Nico got in.

Vanessa stood at the curb, watching the car leave.

For the first time, she understood the real danger of pretending to date Nico Belandi.

It was not convincing everyone else.

It was convincing herself that none of it mattered.

Then Daniel Russo appeared.

Daniel had spent two years believing Vanessa owned seven cats named after historical monarchs.

This was not entirely her fault.

He had asked too many follow-up questions.

She had been forced to improvise badly.

Apparently, he remembered.

Vanessa discovered this at a Belandi Foundation luncheon, where she was standing near a floral arrangement in a normal burgundy dress, talking to Sophia.

A familiar voice behind her said, “Where is Elizabeth?”

Vanessa stopped.

Slowly, she turned.

Daniel Russo stood there in an expensive suit with the same confident smile he had worn three years earlier.

He was tall.

Handsome.

Unfortunately still charming.

Sophia looked between them.

“Elizabeth?”

“One of the cats.”

Vanessa closed her eyes.

Of course.

Sophia’s face brightened with delight.

Vanessa muttered, “She moved.”

Daniel stared.

“Moved?”

“Emotionally.”

Sophia laughed.

Daniel shook his head, then smiled.

“You lied.”

“Lower your voice.”

“You had seven cats.”

“Twelve now.”

His eyes widened.

Sophia nearly choked.

“Growth.”

Daniel looked at her, then at the dress, the posture, the absence of fake glasses, and realization settled over his face.

Not anger.

Wounded pride.

Manageable, mostly.

“You were trying to make me leave.”

Vanessa smiled.

“Did it work?”

Daniel laughed despite himself.

That helped.

He leaned closer.

“I spent a month thinking Elizabeth needed anti-anxiety medication.”

“Daniel, you had charts.”

“Commitment matters.”

He stared, then laughed again.

Fine.

This could be civilized.

Then Nico appeared.

Of course he did.

Vanessa sensed him before she saw him.

Not supernatural.

The room simply changed when Nico moved toward her.

Sophia noticed too.

Her smile became dangerous.

Nico stopped beside Vanessa, and one hand settled lightly at her waist.

Natural.

Protective.

Too natural.

His eyes moved to Daniel.

“Russo.”

Daniel nodded.

“Belandi.”

Vanessa looked between them.

Men.

Wonderful.

Daniel, unfortunately, enjoyed the situation.

He told Nico that Vanessa was an excellent actress.

Nico said, “I know.”

Vanessa looked at him.

His hand remained at her waist.

Daniel then made the first tactical error.

He asked Vanessa to have coffee sometime and compare notes about fictional cats.

Nico’s hand tightened barely.

Vanessa felt it.

Interesting.

She looked up.

Nico’s face remained perfectly neutral.

Daniel noticed nothing.

Vanessa noticed everything.

She agreed to nothing.

She only smiled.

Daniel eventually left.

Silence followed.

Vanessa slowly turned toward Nico.

He looked at her.

“What?”

She smiled.

“Nothing.”

“That expression says otherwise.”

“Does it?”

“Yes.”

Vanessa stepped closer.

“Jealous.”

“No.”

Too fast.

Vanessa laughed.

“Nico, you answered before I finished the word.”

“I knew the question.”

“Because you are jealous.”

“I am not.”

“Of course.”

She walked away.

Nico followed.

Naturally, the situation worsened.

Daniel appeared at two more events.

Coincidence, probably.

He was friendly.

Respectful.

Handsome.

Worse, he had become funnier since Vanessa last knew him.

Nico disliked this development.

He did not say so.

Instead, he began asking questions.

How long had she known Daniel.

Three years.

Had they actually dated.

Two dinners.

Did she find him attractive.

Vanessa looked at Nico for a long, cruel silence.

“Yes.”

Nico’s expression froze.

“He is objectively attractive.”

“Objective.”

“Yes.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means eyesight functions.”

He did not enjoy that answer.

Vanessa enjoyed it very much.

Then the universe punished her with Bianca Moretti.

Bianca entered a gallery event in a dark silk dress, elegant enough to make everyone nearby seem overdressed and underprepared.

She walked directly to Nico, kissed his cheek, touched his arm, and asked why he had been ignoring her messages.

Vanessa became intensely interested in a sculpture nearby.

Very interesting sculpture.

Possibly eighteenth century.

Possibly plastic.

She did not care.

Nico looked toward Vanessa.

He saw.

Of course he saw.

His expression shifted.

Amusement.

Bad man.

Bianca noticed even faster.

Later, Vanessa learned that Bianca had known Nico since childhood, which meant she understood his micro expressions.

Bianca followed his gaze, saw Vanessa pretending not to look, and smiled.

Dangerous.

For ten minutes, Bianca stood slightly too close to Nico.

Nothing inappropriate.

Just enough.

Vanessa’s attention kept drifting.

Once, she nearly walked into a waiter because she was looking over her shoulder.

Humiliating.

Finally, Bianca approached.

Vanessa prepared herself for interrogation.

Maybe territory marking.

Maybe something worse.

Instead, Bianca smiled.

“You are Vanessa.”

“Apparently.”

“I am Bianca.”

“I gathered.”

Bianca glanced toward Nico, then back.

“He likes you.”

Vanessa almost dropped her champagne.

“What?”

“Painfully obvious.”

Vanessa’s heartbeat changed.

Nonsense.

Fake relationship.

Performance.

Rules.

Nico was good at acting.

So was she.

Bianca continued.

“And before your imagination becomes dramatic, my fiance is over there arguing with catering.”

Vanessa stared.

She followed Bianca’s gaze.

A handsome man near the buffet lifted a hand.

Fiance.

Excellent.

Wonderful.

Vanessa wanted the floor to open.

Bianca’s smile turned wicked.

“You were jealous.”

“No.”

Very fast.

Too fast.

Bianca laughed.

Vanessa hated everyone.

Later, she found Nico leaning beside a pillar, far too pleased.

Vanessa pointed at him.

“Do not.”

His eyebrow lifted.

“I said nothing.”

“Your face did.”

“Subjective.”

“You enjoyed that.”

“A little.”

She folded her arms.

He smiled.

“Jealous?”

Vanessa glared.

“Daniel.”

His smile faded exactly half an inch.

Good.

Stalemate.

For three seconds, they stared at each other.

Then both laughed because dignity had become impossible between them.

The laughter faded slowly.

They remained close.

Closer than usual.

The music was low.

The crowd was occupied.

Nico reached toward Vanessa’s fake glasses.

His fingers touched the frame.

“Do you even need these?”

“No.”

“I knew it.”

“Congratulations.”

He removed them carefully, folded them, and set them on the table beside them.

There was no barrier now.

His expression changed.

The teasing softened.

Vanessa felt it immediately.

The room seemed farther away.

Nico stepped slightly closer.

His hand hovered near her cheek without touching.

Vanessa’s pulse jumped.

This was dangerous.

Not mafia dangerous.

Worse.

Feeling dangerous.

Nico’s eyes dropped to her mouth.

She knew what he was about to do.

She wanted it.

That was the problem.

At the last second, Vanessa stepped back.

Not far.

Enough.

Nico stopped instantly.

No irritation.

No pressure.

Only watching.

Vanessa swallowed.

“This was supposed to be fake.”

Quiet.

Small.

Nico’s face remained unreadable.

Then his eyebrow lifted slowly.

“That is not why you stopped me.”

Vanessa stared.

He knew again.

Damn him.

She put the glasses back on like armor and walked away.

Nico let her.

As she crossed the ballroom, she felt his eyes on her.

And she understood something terrifying.

He had not chased because she stepped back.

He had simply given her the choice.

Somehow, that made her want to return even more.

Two days passed.

Nico did not mention the almost kiss.

Vanessa appreciated that.

She also hated it.

Her mind replayed the moment every twelve minutes.

His hand near her face.

His eyes.

The way he stopped instantly.

The way he knew she wanted it anyway.

Then Nico texted.

“Friday, 7:00 p.m. Comfortable clothes.”

No explanation.

Naturally, Vanessa replied, “What character am I playing?”

His answer came quickly.

“You.”

That was worse than anything romantic.

Much worse.

For three years, Vanessa had become whatever version of herself would make people leave her alone.

Now one man wanted no performance.

No character.

No armor.

Very inconvenient.

Friday evening, Nico took her to a small private bowling lounge attached to an old restaurant outside the city center.

Not fancy.

Not crowded.

No photographers.

No family.

No arranged seating.

Vanessa arrived in dark jeans, boots, a fitted burgundy top, her hair loose, with no cardigan and no glasses.

Nico looked at her long enough to notice and not long enough to make her uncomfortable.

Then he said, “Better.”

Vanessa narrowed her eyes.

“Careful.”

“I meant comfortable.”

“Good recovery.”

“I did not need one.”

He smiled.

Vanessa was terrible at bowling.

This surprised Nico.

She was competent at nearly everything else.

Numbers.

People.

Planning.

Lying professionally.

Bowling, however, was a disaster.

Her first ball went straight into the gutter.

Nico looked at the lane, then at her.

Vanessa pointed.

“Mechanical failure.”

“The lane?”

“Yes.”

“Interesting.”

“Do not.”

Her second attempt also went into the gutter.

Nico folded his arms.

Vanessa glared.

“Say one thing.”

“I am saying nothing.”

“Your face is shouting.”

He laughed.

By the fourth frame, Vanessa accused him of distracting her.

By the sixth, she accused the ball.

By the eighth, she changed shoes, even though the shoes were obviously innocent.

Nico enjoyed every second.

Then he bowled a strike.

Vanessa stared.

“You have done this before.”

“Yes.”

“You said you had not.”

“I said I had not been here.”

“Semantic fraud, mafia.”

She paused, then laughed.

“Fair.”

They ate afterward.

Burgers.

Fries.

No champagne.

No formal dining.

Vanessa relaxed gradually.

Nico stole one fry.

She slapped his hand.

He stole another.

She moved the plate.

He smiled.

The conversation changed.

Less teasing.

More truth.

Vanessa told him what the performance had cost.

At first, it had been funny.

Liberating.

Watching arrogant men retreat from imaginary cats was undeniably satisfying.

But eventually, she had carried the persona into rooms where no suitors existed.

Slouching.

Softening her voice.

Pretending not to know things.

Making herself socially smaller because defending herself all the time was exhausting.

Nico listened without interruption.

That was something she had begun to notice.

When he cared, he went completely still.

Vanessa looked down at her hands.

“I got too good at disappearing.”

Nico’s jaw tightened slightly.

“You are not disappearing now.”

She looked up.

“No.”

“Good.”

Simple.

No speech.

No rescue.

Good.

They walked afterward along a quiet street where the shops were closed and the air was warm.

Vanessa smiled at something he said, then suddenly stopped.

She realized she had spent an entire evening without thinking about how she appeared to anyone.

No act.

No strategic awkwardness.

No calculations.

Just herself.

The realization made her unexpectedly emotional.

Nico noticed.

Naturally.

“What?”

She shook her head.

“Nothing.”

“Liar.”

She laughed softly, then looked at him.

“I forgot what to perform.”

Nico’s expression softened.

“Good.”

There it was again.

That word.

Vanessa stared.

“You really hate the act.”

“No.”

That surprised her.

Nico looked ahead.

“I hate that you need it.”

Oh.

That landed harder.

Vanessa stopped walking.

Nico stopped too.

The street was quiet around them.

She looked up.

He looked down.

No rules.

No family.

No false relationship.

No audience.

Nico lifted one hand and touched her cheek lightly.

He gave her time.

Vanessa could move.

She did not.

So he kissed her.

Slow.

Warm.

Careful.

Nothing theatrical.

No desperate grabbing.

Just one kiss that deepened when Vanessa leaned into him.

Her hand settled against his chest.

His moved to her waist.

Three years of sabotaged dates.

Every fake cat.

Every cardigan.

Every lie.

All of it narrowed down to one simple truth.

Vanessa wanted this.

When they separated, she breathed out slowly.

“This violates at least three rules.”

Nico looked at her.

“Four.”

“What is the fourth?”

He kissed her again.

Vanessa laughed against his mouth.

Fine.

Rule four remained classified.

The next morning, Sophia called Vanessa.

Vanessa answered cautiously.

Sophia asked how Friday went.

Vanessa froze.

“How do you know?”

Silence.

Then Sophia said, “No, what?”

Vanessa closed her eyes.

Damn.

She had exposed herself.

Sophia screamed.

Not loudly.

Enough.

Vanessa ended the call immediately.

Nico texted thirty seconds later.

“Sophia called me.”

Vanessa replied, “I hate your family.”

His answer came back.

“No, you do not.”

She smiled.

Unfortunately, he was right.

The strangest thing happened after Vanessa and Nico stopped pretending.

Vanessa became worse at being herself.

Not with everyone.

Only him.

She started thinking too much.

Should she joke less.

Should she text first.

Should she wear the ridiculous cardigan because he found it funny.

Would that make her seem like she was performing again.

Could she tell him she missed him without sounding too eager.

For three years, Vanessa had perfected the art of making men leave.

She had no training for wanting one to stay.

That terrified her more than expected.

Nico noticed within four days.

Of course.

They were having dinner in his apartment.

Vanessa agreed with him three times in a row.

Nico put down his fork.

She looked up.

“What?”

“Who are you?”

“Excuse me?”

“You agreed with me about the restaurant.”

“Yes.”

“The movie.”

“Yes.”

“And the coffee.”

She frowned.

“So?”

“The woman I know once argued with a waiter about whether tiramisu could technically qualify as breakfast.”

“It can.”

“There she is.”

Vanessa understood.

Oh.

She looked away.

Nico’s expression softened.

“What happened?”

“Nothing.”

Then, quietly, she admitted everything.

“I know how to make men leave.”

Nico waited.

Vanessa stared toward the window.

“I do not know what to do when I want one to stay.”

The silence that followed was real.

No cardigan needed.

No glasses.

No act.

Nico stood, walked around the table, and crouched slightly beside her chair so their eyes were level.

“Vanessa.”

She looked at him.

“I liked you when you were lying about Kevin.”

Her mouth twitched.

“He is real.”

“Emotionally.”

Nico almost smiled.

“I tolerated the cardigan.”

“Liar.”

“I tolerated the cardigan better than most men would.”

“Better.”

“I liked the woman wearing it.”

Vanessa went still.

“I liked the woman pretending not to understand finance while correcting people under her breath.”

Her eyes warned him.

“I liked the woman who sabotaged dates.”

A tiny smile appeared.

“The woman who stole dessert.”

Another smile.

“The woman who becomes impossible when she is comfortable.”

Vanessa laughed.

Nico touched her hand.

“I am not waiting for you to become easier.”

There.

That was the thing nobody else had ever said.

Not prettier.

Not quieter.

Not more suitable.

Not less complicated.

He wanted her already.

Vanessa leaned forward and kissed him hard enough to surprise him.

Good.

He deserved it.

Around that time, Vanessa’s career changed.

For years, she had quietly consulted on hospitality finances.

Not through her father’s company.

Through her own.

Small.

Private.

Profitable.

Only a handful of clients knew.

Then one of them offered her a partnership opportunity involving boutique hotel management.

Real responsibility.

Real growth.

Real risk.

Vanessa wanted it.

Her father did not.

Thomas Parker believed the deal was unnecessary.

Why take on more work when her relationship with Nico was becoming serious.

Vanessa stared at him.

There it was again.

The old assumption.

Marriage should replace ambition.

Love should quiet a woman down.

A powerful man should become the new container for her future.

Three years of performance suddenly felt unbearably heavy.

For once, Vanessa did not invent cats.

She did not pretend ignorance.

She did not make herself undesirable.

She simply said, “No.”

Her father frowned.

She continued clearly.

No more introductions.

No more suitable husbands.

No more treating her future as family strategy.

She intended to take the partnership.

She intended to build her career.

If she married one day, it would be because she chose the man.

Thomas looked toward Nico.

Huge mistake.

Nico said nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

He remained beside Vanessa with relaxed hands and a neutral expression.

Thomas expected him to step in.

Offer compromise.

Control something.

Nico did not.

Vanessa noticed.

Her father noticed too.

Finally, Thomas asked him directly.

“What do you think?”

Nico looked at Vanessa, then back at Thomas.

“It is not my decision.”

That changed everything.

Thomas Parker stared.

Vanessa felt something inside her settle.

Not because Nico defended her.

Because he did not take her voice.

The partnership went through.

Vanessa handled the negotiations herself.

Nico helped only when asked.

The first time she asked his opinion on a lease clause, he gave it.

The second time she asked about a lender, he gave two names.

No takeover.

No checkbook performance.

No Belandi ownership quietly swallowing her work.

Her business stayed hers.

That mattered.

Then the cardigan disappeared.

Not completely.

Vanessa packed most of the ridiculous clothes away.

The fake glasses went into a drawer.

She kept the brown cat cardigan.

Nico discovered it folded carefully on a shelf.

“Why?”

Vanessa looked offended.

“History.”

“That thing should be prosecuted.”

“It survived seven men.”

“Six.”

“Michael counts.”

“He barely survived appetizers.”

“Exactly.”

Nico laughed and kissed her.

The Belandi Foundation winter gala was the first major event Vanessa attended without the disguise.

No announcement.

No dramatic reveal.

No intention to shock anyone.

She simply arrived.

Deep emerald gown.

Softly styled hair.

No glasses.

No cardigan.

No slouch.

No exaggerated expression.

She looked exactly like herself.

That was the point.

The reaction was immediate.

Not because Vanessa had suddenly become beautiful.

She had always been beautiful.

The difference was that she no longer asked anyone not to notice.

People stared.

Former suitors stared harder.

Daniel Russo saw her from across the ballroom and began laughing.

Vanessa walked toward him.

He shook his head.

“You are terrible.”

“Thank you.”

“You wore fake glasses.”

“Yes.”

“The cats.”

“One.”

Daniel closed his eyes.

“One?”

“Oliver.”

“What happened to Elizabeth?”

“Never existed.”

“Gerald?”

“Political fiction.”

Daniel laughed.

Genuinely.

Then he shook her hand.

“You got me.”

Vanessa smiled completely.

He nodded toward Nico across the room.

“And him?”

Vanessa’s eyes followed.

Nico was already looking at her.

Different from everyone else.

No shock.

No surprise.

Just warmth.

“He got me.”

Daniel understood.

He smiled and walked away.

Nico crossed the ballroom slowly.

Unhurried.

He stopped in front of her, looked at the gown, her face, then her eyes.

Vanessa waited.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Your face disagrees.”

“I was thinking dangerous.”

His mouth curved.

Someone nearby asked, “Did you know?”

Nico looked toward them.

“Know what?”

The person gestured vaguely at Vanessa.

At the transformation.

At everything they thought had changed.

Nico looked back at Vanessa.

“I knew enough.”

That was perfect.

He did not claim credit for discovering her.

He did not turn her authenticity into his achievement.

He simply took her hand.

They moved on.

Later, outside on the same terrace where Nico had first said, “You are faking it,” Vanessa stood beside him in the cold night air.

The city lights glimmered.

Music drifted behind them.

She looked toward the ballroom.

“Everyone seems disappointed.”

“Why?”

“I did not secretly own twelve cats.”

“Society will recover eventually.”

A pause.

Vanessa smiled.

“You were not surprised.”

“No.”

“Not even a little?”

“The dress is new.”

She hit his arm.

He laughed.

Then his expression softened.

“Nothing important changed.”

Vanessa went still.

Nico looked at her.

“Same woman.”

Her chest tightened.

“Same laugh.”

She smiled.

“Same habit of stealing desserts.”

“Those are communal.”

“They are plated individually.”

“Communal in spirit.”

He ignored that.

“Same mind.”

Warmth spread through her.

“Same impossible personality.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“Careful.”

His smile deepened.

“The rest was wardrobe.”

Vanessa looked away because, for once, she had no joke ready.

Nico noticed.

Naturally.

He kissed her temple.

No performance required.

Vanessa knew something was wrong weeks later when Sophia became too normal.

Marco stopped making proposal jokes.

Nana Lucia smiled every time Vanessa entered a room.

Nico started asking suspicious logistical questions.

What time would she finish Friday.

Could she leave the evening open.

Could she avoid scheduling a late meeting.

Vanessa noticed.

Of course.

She said nothing because, for once, she wanted to be surprised.

Friday arrived.

Nico invited her to dinner.

Vanessa stood in front of her closet, looked at her dresses, then slowly turned to the shelf.

The brown cardigan waited.

Oh, yes.

Absolutely.

Nico opened the door and stopped.

Vanessa stood outside wearing a beautiful black dress under the oversized brown cat cardigan.

Cats everywhere.

Nico stared.

“No.”

Vanessa smiled.

“Hello.”

“No.”

“You have not invited me inside.”

“You wore that.”

“It is sentimental.”

“It is evidence.”

Vanessa walked past him.

Nico closed the door.

“Take it off.”

She gasped.

“On the first date?”

“We have been dating for months.”

“Scandalous.”

He laughed.

Good.

Whatever nervousness had been hiding in his shoulders disappeared.

Vanessa saw it.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

Dinner was private.

Simple.

Warm.

Nico cooked badly.

Not catastrophically.

Enough.

Vanessa ate anyway.

He asked if it was good.

She lied.

He caught her.

Naturally.

Dessert arrived later.

Chocolate.

Professional intervention.

Then Nico grew quiet.

Vanessa’s heart shifted.

There it was.

He stood, walked around the table, and took her hand.

No audience.

No Belandi family.

Supposedly.

Vanessa still suspected windows.

Always suspect windows.

For once, the controlled mafia boss looked nervous.

Slightly.

Enough.

Vanessa smiled softly.

Nico told her that for three years, she had become versions of herself designed to make people leave.

Too awkward.

Too strange.

Too inconvenient.

Too difficult.

Whatever worked.

But with him, she would never need to build another version.

Not now.

Not later.

Not after marriage.

Not ever.

He wanted Vanessa.

The woman with one real cat and eleven imaginary liabilities.

The woman who corrected executives.

The woman who argued over dessert.

The woman who made his family laugh.

The woman who could walk into a room wearing the world’s ugliest cardigan and somehow become the only person he saw.

Vanessa’s eyes filled.

Damn him.

Nico reached into his pocket.

The ring was beautiful.

Elegant.

Nothing theatrical.

Exactly right.

He asked her to marry him.

Vanessa looked at the ring, then at him.

Emotion climbed into her throat.

For once, she could have simply said yes.

Naturally, she did not.

“Does marriage mean you finally meet all twelve cats?”

Nico stared.

“You have one.”

Vanessa gasped.

“Gerald will be devastated.”

“The cat is Oliver.”

Her mouth fell open.

“You investigated me.”

“I investigated the cat.”

Vanessa laughed through tears.

Nico smiled.

“Vanessa.”

She looked at him.

“Yes.”

His expression froze.

She laughed harder.

“Yes, Nico.”

Clear.

Certain.

Happy.

He slid the ring onto her finger and kissed her.

No rules.

No fake courtship.

No performance.

Just real.

For approximately fifteen seconds.

Then something moved outside the window.

Vanessa opened one eye.

Sophia’s head disappeared.

Marco ducked.

Nana Lucia did not bother.

She waved.

Vanessa broke the kiss laughing.

Nico turned toward the window and closed his eyes.

“I told them not to come.”

Vanessa looked at him.

“You told Nana?”

“Yes.”

She laughed harder.

“Then you invited everyone.”

The doorbell rang.

Naturally.

Months later, at another Belandi family event, a younger woman approached Vanessa near the dessert table.

She looked toward Nico, then back at Vanessa.

“How did you do it?”

Vanessa frowned.

“Do what?”

“Get Nico Belandi to fall in love with you.”

Vanessa looked across the room.

Nico was already watching her.

Of course.

She smiled.

“I spent three years becoming exactly the kind of woman men would reject.”

The younger woman looked confused.

Nico reached them.

His arm slid naturally around Vanessa’s waist.

He looked at her, then at the woman.

“She was terrible at it.”

Vanessa turned.

“Excuse me?”

“You failed with me.”

“Eventually.”

Nico kissed her temple.

Vanessa smiled.

“Only with you.”

Somewhere in Vanessa Parker’s closet, one hideous cat cardigan remained carefully folded.

Not because she needed armor anymore.

Not because she intended to disappear again.

But because it reminded her of the night one man looked past every ridiculous thing she invented.

Past the glasses.

Past the cats.

Past the awkward smile.

Past the performance.

He saw exactly what everyone else had missed.

Her.

And when Nico Belandi finally saw the truth, he did not ask her to become easier.

He simply stayed.