Back to the present
Susan's POV
"So let me get this straight," I said, still wrapped in my silk cocoon on the floor. "We got married. In a chapel. With Elvis. And I hit him with flowers."
"Don't forget your passionate speech about fertility," Raphael added, looking far too amused for someone whose life had just been tied to a complete stranger. "Or your attempt to serenade me with 'That's Amore' in the car."
I groaned, burying my face in my hands. "Please tell me there's no video of that."
"There's a video of everything, Cara." He reached for his phone. "Would you like to see?"
"No!" I scrambled to my feet, nearly falling again as the sheet tangled around my legs. "What I would like is a divorce. And maybe a time machine. And definitely some aspirin."
Raphael's expression shifted, something dark and possessive flickering in his eyes. "A divorce? I'm afraid that won't be possible."
"Won't be possible?" I laughed, though it came out slightly hysterical. "Of course it's possible. People get divorced all the time!"
He stood up, and I suddenly realized just how tall he was. And how small this room felt. And how very, very alone we were.
"Susan," he said my name like he was savoring it, "do you know who I am?"
"A stranger who's about to be my ex-husband?"
"I'm Raphael Marino."
I stared at him blankly.
"The Raphael Marino," he emphasized like that should mean something to me.
"Are you... famous?" I squinted at him. "Wait, are you that guy from that cooking show? The one who always yells about risotto?"
He slapped his forehead, muttering something in Italian.
"I'm your father's employer," he said finally.
The room started spinning, and not just from the hangover. "My father's... you own the food factory?"
"I own many things, Cara. The factory is just one of them."
"Oh God." Memories of my drunken fertility promises came flooding back. "Oh God. Dad's going to kill me. No, wait, Mom's going to kill me first. Then Dad will kill whatever is left."
"Your parents will be thrilled," Raphael said confidently. "In fact, I've already sent a car to bring them here for breakfast. They should arrive in..." he checked his watch, "about thirty minutes."
"THIRTY MINUTES?!" I clutched the sheets tighter. "How did you get them to accept such an invitation? Oh my God, I need to shower! I need clothes! I need to flee the country!"
"The bathroom is through that door," he pointed, smirking. "Your new wardrobe is in the closet. And the windows are bulletproof, so I wouldn't bother trying to escape that way."
How had he arranged all that in the space of few hours? I didn't want to think about it, all I cared about right now was how to remove myself from this mess.
I stumbled toward the bathroom, then stopped as something he'd said registered. "Wait... why are the windows bulletproof?"
His smile was both charming and terrifying. "Welcome to the family business, Cara mia."
I felt a shiver run down my spine as I processed the implications. What kind of family business requires bulletproof windows?
I pushed the thoughts aside, focusing on the task at hand - cleaning up. I entered the bathroom. Locked myself in and let the warm water wash away everything.
I emerged from the bathroom twenty minutes later, wrapped in what had to be the softest towel in existence, only to find a dress laid out on the now-made bed. The kind of dress that definitely didn't come from the usual thrift stores.
"You've got to be kidding me," I muttered, lifting the designer label. The price tag was still attached, and the number made me choke on air.
A knock at the door nearly gave me a heart attack.
"Are you decent, Cara?" Raphael's voice sounded through the door.
"Define decent," I called back, frantically pulling on the dress. "And stop calling me Cara! I don't even know what that means!"
"It means 'dear,'" he said, opening the door despite my undressed state. His eyes darkened as they traveled over me. "And you look anything but decent in that dress."
I yanked the zipper up, ignoring the heat in his gaze. "Listen, about my parents…"
"They've arrived early."
"What?!"
"Your mother seems particularly excited. She's already browsing diamond catalogs in the dining room."
"Oh God." I collapsed onto the bed. "This can't be happening. This is just a bad hangover dream. Any minute now I'll wake up in my own bed, and…"
"SUSAN MARIE THOMPSON!"
I jerked upright at my mother's voice. She stood in the doorway, practically vibrating with excitement, my father hovering anxiously behind her.
"Mom! Dad! I can explain everything!" I jumped up, then remembered I was wearing a dress that probably cost more than their car. "Actually, no, I can't explain anything. I'm just as confused as you are."
"Oh, honey!" Mom rushed forward, engulfing me in a perfume-scented hug. "When Mr. Marino called this morning, I couldn't believe it! My baby, married to…" she lowered her voice dramatically, "you know!"
"No, Mom, I don't know!" I extracted myself from her embrace. "What exactly do I not know?"
Dad cleared his throat nervously. "Sweetheart, maybe we should sit down for this conversation."
"Excellent suggestion," Raphael said smoothly, appearing beside me. His hand settled on the small of my back, and I tried not to jump at the contact. "Shall we move to the dining room? The chef has prepared breakfast."
"The chef," I repeated weakly. "Of course, there's a chef. Why wouldn't there be a chef? Everything is perfectly fine."
As Raphael led us through what I was starting to realize was not just an apartment but an entire penthouse, I noticed something odd - the way the staff melted into the shadows when we passed, the bulges under their jackets that definitely weren't cell phones, the way my father kept his eyes down like he was afraid to make eye contact with anyone.
"Mr. Marino," Dad started hesitantly as we reached the dining room.
"Please, Robert," Raphael interrupted, pulling out my chair with ease. "Call me Raphael. We're family now."
The color drained from my father's face. "Yes, of course… Raphael."
I looked between them, at my mother's beaming smile, at the armed men trying to be invisible in the corners, at the wedding ring on my finger that definitely wasn't there minutes ago. When did he slip it in? This is too much.
"Okay, someone needs to tell me what's going on right now," I demanded. "Who exactly did I marry last night?"
Raphael's smile was devilish as he leaned in close, his lips brushing my ear as he whispered:
"Haven't you guessed yet, Cara? You married the head of the Marino crime family."
The fork I'd been holding clattered to the table.
"I married the WHAT?"