In a wedding filled with laughter, a solitary and melancholic single mother found herself the target of scornful comments from guests. Just when she thought the evening couldn’t get any worse, a sophisticated man approached, introducing himself in an unusual manner: “Pretend to be my wife and dance with me.”
The giggles surrounding Amelia felt louder than any melody emanating from the speakers. Sitting at the back of the venue, her hands were tightly clasped on her knees, eyes fixed on an untouched glass of champagne. Her borrowed floral dress, slightly worn out, failed to mask the fatigue that clouded her gaze. Couples across the room swayed seamlessly beneath golden chandeliers, while whispers of judgment circled her table like predatory birds.
- “Look, it’s the single mother,” one bridesmaid snickered.
- “Her husband left her. No wonder she’s alone,” another chimed in.
Amelia swallowed hard, promising herself she wouldn’t shed tears—at least not today, not at her cousin’s wedding. Yet, witnessing a father-daughter dance cracked something deep within her. Memories of her little boy, Daniel, nestled at home with the babysitter washed over her. She recalled the many nights spent pretending life was fine.
Then, a deep and calm voice broke through her thoughts. “Dance with me.”
Turning around, she beheld a man dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit, with broad shoulders and captivating dark eyes that commanded the room’s attention. She immediately recognized him: Luca Romano, a powerful figure in New York’s business world, although some whispered he was more than that—a mafia boss.
“I… I don’t even know you,” she stammered.
He replied softly, extending his hand, “Let’s pretend. Just for one dance, be my wife.”
Gasps erupted as she rose, her hesitant fingers slipping into his steady grip. The orchestra shifted to a slow, mesmerizing tune as Luca led her to the center of the floor.
As they moved, she felt the atmosphere shift. The mockery faded, and the whispers died away. For the first time in years, Amelia felt visible—real, protected.
When Luca leaned in, speaking barely above a whisper, she caught words that would alter her path:
“Don’t look back. Just smile.”
As the music concluded, no one dared to break the silence surrounding them. All eyes were fixed on the enigmatic man and the single mother, who suddenly seemed regal. Luca’s hand rested gently on her waist while his eyes scanned the onlookers with acute awareness.
Once the song ended, he guided her off the dance floor.
“You did well,” he murmured.
Amelia blinked, still processing the whirlwind of events. “What just happened?”
“Let’s say,” Luca replied, a hint of a smile forming, “I needed a distraction.”
They settled at a table tucked away in the corner, her heart still racing. He poured her a drink, every movement smooth and collected.
“Those people won’t bother you anymore,” he remarked, glancing at the whispering group. “They fear what they don’t understand.”
She observed him—noticing the line of his jaw, the faint scar near his ear, that blend of danger and kindness in his demeanor.
“You didn’t have to help me.”
“I didn’t do it for you,” he said quietly. “Someone here wanted to humiliate me. You helped me turn the tables.”
Amelia furrowed her brow. “So, I was merely a cover?”
“Maybe,” he replied. Then his expression softened. “But I didn’t expect you to look at me the way you did. As if I were… human.”
Before she could respond, two dark-suited men approached him and whispered something in Italian. Luca’s demeanor shifted. He stood up abruptly.
“Stay here,” he instructed, his tone firm.
However, curiosity overcame Amelia as she followed him outside, the sound of her heels echoing on the marble.
By the valet service, she spotted Luca conversing with another man—his gun discreetly tucked beneath a jacket. Their words were terse and strained. After a moment, the stranger left, and Luca turned to find Amelia staring.
“You shouldn’t have seen that,” he said approaching her.
“I didn’t intend to…”
“You’re brave,” he interrupted. “Or perhaps reckless.”
Their gazes locked.
“Now that you’ve seen who I am, you can’t just vanish from my life, Amelia.”
The night breeze carried scents of roses mingled with tension.
In that moment, Amelia realized she had stepped into something far beyond her understanding.
Two days later, Luca knocked at the door of her modest apartment. Inside, Daniel was playing with Lego blocks in the living room. He looked up and asked:
“Mom, is that your friend from the wedding?”
Luca smiled. “Something like that.”
Amelia froze, debating whether to let him in.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“I know,” he replied, stepping forward. “But I don’t like leaving things unfinished.”
He noticed the peeling wallpaper, the second-hand furniture, and especially the quiet strength in her gaze.
“You’ve been fighting alone for a long time,” he said. “You don’t have to keep doing that.”
Amelia crossed her arms. “You don’t even know me.”
“I understand what it’s like to be judged by society,” Luca spoke softly. “To be the villain in someone else’s tale.”
A heavy silence enveloped the small room. Daniel peeked out from behind the couch, clutching a toy car. Luca crouched down.
“Nice ride,” he said.
Daniel smiled—a genuine, rare smile that melted Amelia’s heart.
Days turned into weeks, and Luca began to visit more frequently. Sometimes he brought groceries, other times he simply fixed the broken lock on her door. Occasionally, without uttering a word, he would sit quietly as Amelia read bedtime stories to her son.
Whispers about him circulated—power, danger, blood—but none of that mattered when he was in her kitchen, helping Daniel with homework. He was not the man she imagined. He was just… Luca.
One evening, as rain poured outside, Amelia finally asked:
“Why me?”
He looked at her with tranquil intensity.
“Because when everyone else looked away, you didn’t.”
She wondered if she could ever fully trust him—but for the first time in ages, the future didn’t intimidate her. The woman who was once mocked and pitied had regained her strength, not from fairy tales, but from something real—raw, imperfect, alive.
As they gazed out at the rain, Luca murmured:
“In the end, pretending might not have been such a bad idea.”
Amelia smiled.
“Maybe not.”