“The wife thing.” He’s looking at me like he wants to own me, which should piss me off. But I want him to own me, too: with parameters, with the understanding that it’s not for real. “I still don’t understand this, Angelo. Why exactly do you need me to pretend to be your wife?”
He finishes his whiskey and lays it on the bar, and then leans close to me. “A powerful man needs to believe that I have a wife. The exact reasons are not your concern. All you need to know is this: it will not be forever. A few months at the most. I can get your brother back into college, providing that he does not f**k up like this again. And you will be paid well for your services.”
“So I’m a hooker now,” I drawl. That services comment stung a little too much. But what do I care? Isn’t this why I came here anyw
