I stare up at the house. It’s gorgeous, all dark wood with a shingled siding and roof. It looks like something out of a fairy tale. Like Aurora’s cabin, only bigger. Much bigger. It’s hard to believe people actually live here. I take in the mountains surrounding us and breathe the crisp, cool air. “Wow.”

Marc smiles. “You like it?”

“What’s not to like?”

“Good,” he says, falling into step beside me. “I expect one day it’ll all be mine.”

“What?” I stare at him, my mouth agape.

“Well, I’ll have to share it with my siblings of course, but I can be pretty persuasive when I wanna be.”

An uneasy feeling slides through my gut. Something tells me Marc always gets what he wants. Like last night, when he fell asleep immediately after he came, without once making sure I was okay, or whether or not I’d even gotten off. A shudder runs through me. Just a few more hours and I will never have to see Marc Moretti again.

The front door opens, pulling me from my thoughts, and an elderly man in a bow tie and suspenders steps out. He holds his arms wide and Marc tugs me toward him. Once we’re on the porch, he abandons me to hug the man who I assume is his grandfather. Beyond them, more people are coming down the hall. Marc lets go of his grandfather and I’m swept up in a huge hug and kissed all over my face. It’s like being greeted by an over-excited puppy.

“All right, Nonno, hands off my woman,” Marc says, steering me away from his grandfather. A pang of guilt hits me in the stomach. Maybe I should have broken up with him last night, left a note. Sent a text. Hired a freaking Mariachi band.

“Ah! It’s true. He has a fidanzata?” a woman’s voice calls and I’m spun away from Marc’s nonno and find myself face-to-face with an adorable little nonna.

Not just any nonna.

Elio’s nonna.

My stomach flips and bottoms out as she studies my face and clearly her shrewd mind comes to the same conclusion mine does: I’m here with the wrong man.

This is Elio’s grandmother. The nonna I begged to adopt me. I’ve shared a meal with this woman. She practically shoved her grandson at me and forced him to propose. All of the blood drains from my face as she studies me with a stern expression.

“Nonna, this is my girl, Romy,” Marc says.

“Romy,” she says with her thick Italian accent. Her eyes bore into mine, but her tightly knit brows tell me she’s just as confused as I am right now.

“H . . . hi,” I say sheepishly.

The woman must decide to take pity on me because she envelopes me in a hug and whispers, “I think you came with the wrong Moretti.”

Yeah, no shit, Nonna.

I give her a weak smile, forcing down the lump in my throat, and blinking back tears that I refuse to shed. I would have been here in a heartbeat with Elio, if only he wasn’t married.

Within seconds, I’m ripped away from Nonna’s warm embrace and passed between Marc’s parents. They each greet me as if I were family, kisses on both cheeks, hugs that are so warm, so welcoming. It’s vastly different than the greeting I receive at my own parents’ house, and it makes my eyes burn hotter with unshed tears.

From beyond Marc’s mother down the hall comes another familiar face. I can’t do this. I need to get out of here. I need to be far, far away from Marc and Elio, and his perfect wife. I can’t look her in the eye after what I did.

And then I find myself face-to-face with her gorgeous smile, and despite the aching in my heart, and the guilt worming its way through my stomach, I can’t help but smile back because she’s just that lovely. No wonder Elio married her.

“Hi, you must be Romy. I’m Sophia,” she says, in an accent so glorious and exotic that I wonder how Elio ever could have taken a second look at me. She extends her hand. I look at it, and then up at her beautiful face, afraid she might bite . . . Oh, God. Does she know?

“Romy?” The question comes from behind her, and I glance away from Elio’s beautiful wife to see Bianca running toward me. “Oh, santa merda. Did you come here with Elio?”

“Pfft.” Marc makes a face. “Why would she come with Elio?”

“Why indeed?” Nonna adds, and I want to die. I seriously contemplate throwing myself down the mountain.

“What the fuck?” B demands, glaring at Marc. Her brows knit together in agitation.

“Bianca,” all of the older adults chide her at once. Elio’s wife looks confused. Marc does too as his possessive arm wraps around my waist. B’s eyes are narrow and furious as she tracks the movement.

“This is not good.” She stares at me, and then at her . . . brother. Oh God. How could I have missed this glaringly obvious detail? “You’re here with Marco?”

“I-I . . .”

“What the fuck is the matter with you?” Marc snaps. “Of course, she’s here with me. She’s my girlfriend.”

His girlfriend? I feel sick. I close my eyes, trying my best to ignore the sweat beading on my forehead and the way my head and stomach swim.

“Hey, cuz,” Marc says to Sophia, and that’s when I lose it—my grip on reality.

“Cuz? As in cousin?” I don’t realize I’ve said it aloud until everyone turns to look at me.

“Yeah. Sophia is my cousin. She's over here playing nanny to my brother's kid. Why? Do you two know each other?”

“No. Not really,” Sophia says. “I’ve seen her only once, in your brother’s bakery.”

Oh God. There it is again. Affirmation that I’m the world’s biggest idiot. Sophia’s not Elio’s wife at all. She’s his cousin, and I . . . I had sex with his brother. I came here with his brother.

Marc frowns. “At Bittersweet?”

“Si.”

“Oh yeah, you live upstairs, right?” Marc turns his gaze on me, but I can’t answer. I glance at B, who looks like she’s ready to slap me, or Marc, or . . . both of us. She might be small, but the woman is truly terrifying.

“Romy is Elio’s . . . regular customer,” Bianca says.

I close my eyes, wishing she hadn’t finished that sentence, wishing I hadn’t been such a fool.

“Well, no wonder you were so fat when you walked into my gym,” Marc says, patting my ass.

“Marco!” comes the exclamation from all the women on the porch

My jaw drops, my face turns crimson, and I lower my gaze to the sun-bleached boards of the front porch so I won’t open my mouth. If I do, I’m not sure what will come out.

Marc grins and shrugs. “What? Romy knows I’m kidding, don’t you, babe?”

I give him a half-hearted smile and follow him inside when all I really want is to run in the other direction.

God, I can’t wait to ditch this egotistical ass.