ELENORA

I survived the weekend being on lockdown at my parent's house, recovering from the joyous and memorable meet and greet between the Barone's and our family.

Okay, okay, I don't remember much about the night. But thanks to my sisters, who generously shared their versions of what happened—bits and pieces of the night came back to me while I regained my strength after suffering from wine flu.

Luna barely managed to get through her take on it, laughing hysterically. "Girl, you were legendary! That will forever replay in my mind whenever I'm having a bad day."

Jackie repeated the same advice my parents lectured me with. "I'm all for having fun, but after your hospital stay earlier this year, I think you should pace yourself when you're drinking, Nora."

My parents kicked it up a notch. "You're moving back, and you will not be spending time with Clara anymore."

I laughed. "Yeah, that's not happening, on both accounts."

My Nonno's reaction is precisely what I expected as he reminded me of all the terms of endearments he prefers to address me by instead of my actual name. However, all things considered, I left their house relatively unscathed.

I haven't heard from Rico after that night either. No news is good news, right? Clara's plan may have done the trick, and they are backing out of the ridiculous arrangement after meeting the crazy-train girlfriend of their polished, Rico.

I chuckle as I lift the strap of my equipment bag over my head, hoping for the best; I may finally be gaining control of my life even if I had to do it with a hit to my dignity.

Small price to pay in the long run, Nora.

I grab my keys and phone, heading out for a photo shoot at Central Park.

Ruben waves back at me while he's on the phone at the front desk. I inhale deeply when I step outside, smiling before hailing down a cab. The weather is perfect for the shoot today. The sun is out, but there's a crispness in the air with a slight breeze.

The park is not as busy early in the day, but that usually changes in an hour or two. Even during the week, the park is swarming with tourists, so we wanted to take advantage of the minimal crowd in the morning.

Nigel, a regular client, greets me with a wave and a smile. He directs his people to set up some of the backdrops and other equipment as his models sit around idly on their phones while their makeup and hair are being fixed.

He says hello with a kiss on my cheek. "How are you, Nora?"

"I'm good, you? The natural lighting is perfect, don't you think?"

"Yes, we couldn't have planned this out better if we tried." He observes the staff milling around, moving from one area to the next, rushing to get things ready.

Once everything and everyone is ready, we begin the shoot, and I call out instructions on where we should start placing people first.

A few bystanders stop to watch as we work and change out the poses and positions of the models. But, overall, people are respectful of our work, and we have minimal interruptions.

"I'll send you the RAW files later tonight, Nigel."

"Sounds good."

I start to set my camera in its case but stop finding a single black rose sitting on my bag. My heart rate accelerates as my mind immediately goes to the notes and flowers I've been getting. I haven't received anything in a while; I was so preoccupied with this damn get-together that I didn't think much about it.

But now, I realize whoever it is, is getting bolder. I quickly scan the people in the park as I reach for the rose. There's nothing and no one that stands out. Some people are walking their dogs, others are jogging, and some are reading on the benches, but I can't shake the feeling I'm being watched.

I glance at the flower again before I throw it in the nearby trash can, and start packing my things.

"Don't look, but I think you have an admirer. Maybe a potential client?" Nigel says to me.

My heart is so loud in my ears that I could barely make out what he said. Am I ready to find out who's been sending me these unwanted gifts?

I stand, taking a calming breath, focusing on the comforting familiarity of Nigel.

"Where?"

He nods his head behind me, and I follow his gaze, then turn back around immediately, muttering under my breath. The fear almost paralyzing me a few seconds ago is now aggravation. "That's no client. More like a cockroach that won't die."

Nigel chuckles. "Ouch, but you gotta admit he's much better looking than a cockroach. Oh damn, he's coming this way."

I keep working on putting my equipment away, hoping he goes away since I didn't acknowledge him, but that's just wishful thinking, of course, as Rico's smooth voice comes from behind me.

"Elenora, it's nice to see you."

I glance over my shoulder. "You must be a glutton for punishment."

An arrogant smile plays on his face. "Depends on who's giving the punishment." I roll my eyes, turning back to focus on stuffing my equipment in my bags.

"I went by your place, and Mrs. Jones mentioned you were doing a photoshoot here today."

"What do you want?"

"How are you?"

I look up, zipping my last bag. "What?" I half-laugh, wondering what the hell he's doing.

Rico's eyes skirt around us and then shift to Nigel before holding his hand out to him. "Hey, I'm Rico, Elenora's boyfriend."

I groan, rubbing my temples, wishing there was a way to travel in time, to never have gone to that stupid speed dating event.

"I'm Nigel...Nora, you didn't tell me you were dating again."

"I'm not."

"It's fairly new," Rico adds. I glare at him as I pick up my bags, and Nigel takes one over his shoulders.

"See ya." I brush past Rico.

Nigel hurries to catch up to me, chuckling. "Um, is this a new type of foreplay I don't know about? That was pretty brutal."

"It's a long story."

"Elenora!" Rico calls out for me, but I keep walking. It doesn't take long for him to catch up to me though.

"Elenora, wait; we need to talk. Here, let me take that. Do you mind giving us a moment?" He takes the bag from Nigel and even mine.

Nigel eyes Rico but keeps a polite smile on his face. "Do you want me to stay, Nora?"

"No," I say. "I'll be in touch later." He kisses my cheek before he leaves.

"Pretty friendly if he's a client," Rico states, watching Nigel's retreating form.

"He's European, and he has manners, unlike you. So what do you want, Rico?"

"I wanted to see how you're doing?"

"You could have used this modern technology called a phone; there's no need to grace me with your unwanted presence." I can't control the spitefulness that I keep spewing at him, but I don't care either; if anything, he should appreciate my cold demeanor now matches his.

His eyebrows furrow as he looks around. Usually, he's quick with the insults or witty asshole comments. He looks down at his shoes. "I wanted to see you."

"What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing."

I step up to him and lift his face with my hands, to look into his eyes. "You're fucked up, right?"

"What?"

I exhale, frustrated, and reach for my bags, but he holds on to them and summons someone with a wave of his hand. A large man in a suit comes over to us; his clothes must be custom-made for his hulk-like frame. Rico orders him to take my bags to the car; he does so without looking back.

"That's the only way you can stand to be around me, remember?"

He blows out a frustrated breath. "I fucked up, alright? I didn't mean it. And by the way, your drunken shitshow didn't work."

I shrug as I take in the scenery around us. "I don't know about that; you downgraded yourself from fiancé to boyfriend. That's progress in my book."

He gives me a cold smile in return. "Sorry to disappoint you then, but everything is still in place for this to play out."

"Oh goody." I reply and step into his personal space, fixing a determined look on him. "But like I told my parents, I'm not faking being happy when I can't stand you either."

"You will because your family's well-being depends on your acting skills, portraying being in love with me."

"I'm not an idiot, Rico. If someone really wants to hurt me, my dad, or my family, it will happen. It's the fucking mafia. Whatever this is—" I gesture between him and me. "Has nothing to do with the men who are after my family. I don't know what you're planning, but I will find out."

He stares at me for a long moment, contemplating what he wants to say. "You watch too much TV. This is a partnership, nothing more, nothing less. The image of you and I together will have an impact, whether you believe that or not."

We keep glaring at each other; neither willing to back down.

"How do you know this will work?"

A cocky smile spreads on his face. "Because I control almost every aspect of my life. I make sure I always get what I want."

"That's impossible."

"Not for me. Sure, things come up, but I'm pretty good at working through things without losing time or even making up for it in other ways."

"Hmm. Interesting." Realization hits me that he's telling me things about himself, whether he means to or not.

"No one likes a control freak, Rico."

He breathes in deeply and rubs the stubble on his chin. "Look, I don't want to keep arguing, especially if we're supposed to sell the idea that we're together, and the sooner we can get people talking about us—pictures will start circulating, gossip will spread—the sooner we can end it and be done with it. We walk away and never have to see each other again."

He holds his hand out and smiles. "Clean slate. Hi, I'm Rico."

I stare at his hand before I lift my eyes to his again. There's still something not adding up about this whole thing, and there's something hidden in his eyes, but what?

However, the idea that we could start and end this whole thing just as quickly is more appealing than having to deal with him for who knows how long and worrying about what he's hiding.

"Nora." I shake his hand but let go before the warmth holding his hand spreads. "So...what do you do?" I begin walking and look around, as he steps in line with me; I make my way towards a hotdog vendor. I'm starving.

"I handle the finances for my family's hotels." His eyes follow my hand as I pull my wallet out, and then they move to the hot dog vendor before they shift back to me.

"What? I'm hungry." I place my order and ask him if he wants anything, but he shakes his head with disgust.

I moan through a mouthful of food. "Mmmm, so good!"

Rico doesn't bother hiding the repulsion on his face. "I'll take your word for it."

I chuckle. "I'm learning more about you in these last fifteen minutes than I have over the last month since I first met you."

"Like what?"

"Well, I already knew you're arrogant, conceited, and judgmental. So I guess I shouldn't be surprised to learn you're also a control freak, a food snob, and you're definitely hiding something."

"The guy didn't have any gloves on, Elenora. Do you know how many germs you're eating right now?"

I take another huge bite. "And you're a germaphobe." I smile through my chewing.

He gives me an exasperated look. "And I'm not hiding anything. What you see is what you get."

"Take a bite, and I'll believe you." I hold the hotdog in front of his face, but he pushes my hand away.

"I'd rather eat glass. I don't put anything in my body unless it's to fuel it."

I burst out laughing, and he narrows his eyes at me.

"I'm sorry, but did you really just say that?" I ask, trying not to choke on my food. "The guy who smokes and drinks?" He takes a deep breath and rolls his eyes. The action makes him appear younger, since he's usually scowling.

"See, that just proves me right. You can't control everything; everyone has vices."

"I don't smoke daily, only if I'm anxious." My mind travels back to the speed dating night, and I have a hard time believing he was anxious then.

"And yes, while you may not understand it, I control everything around me and what I do at all times."

I scrunch the hotdog wrapper and toss it into the nearby waste basket. "Wow. I've never known anyone with a reason for everything that happens. I mean, besides making a bad choice—shit just happens; there's no explanation for it. I just figured you can't control everything in life, yet here you are telling me you do. But I have to know," I cross my arms as I smirk at him. "What reason do you have for purposely stepping in dog shit?"

His eyes widen, and he pulls his hands out of his pockets when he registers what I said and looks down at his shoes.

"Son of a bitch!"

I can't contain my laughter as he awkwardly walks toward the grass and begins dragging his foot, trying to get the dog shit off his expensive shoes. I pull my phone out and take pictures of him trying to clean his shoe, swearing the entire time.