He Called Me His Bedmate

My parents called with the news: a welcome dinner for my childhood sweetheart's new fiancée. An arranged marriage. The punchline? Dylan, my so-called sweetheart, was sound asleep in my bed.

"Dylan," I whispered, thinking it was a sick joke. "I heard the family arranged a marriage for you."

He just hummed, pulling me tighter into his arms. "Sera, you can help me pick out an outfit later. A tie, too."

I froze. He opened his eyes, a cruel smirk twisting his lips.

"What's wrong? We're just sleeping together. You didn't actually think this meant I'd marry you, did you?"

————————

1

For a moment, my mind went blank. I couldn't comprehend what Dylan Marcone had just said. The only instinct I had was to scramble away from him.

I didn't dare look at him. I shoved him away, snatched my silk chemise from the floor, and frantically pulled it on.

"Sera, look at me," he said, propping himself up on an elbow, a playful smirk dancing on his lips. "You didn't really think this was something more, did you?"

The words "just sleeping together" echoed in my head. My hands trembled so violently I couldn't fasten my bra.

Dylan tossed the covers aside, his lean, chiseled abs on full display as he knelt on the bed. Then, with practiced ease, he reached around and fastened the clasp for me.

I lowered my head, a bitter laugh escaping my lips.

"Who is she? Don't tell me Don Lorenzo just plucked some random woman off the street for you."

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My skin was a canvas of dark hickeys, my legs aching with a familiar soreness.

Wearing only his briefs, Dylan came up behind me, burying his face in the crook of my neck.

"It's Genevieve Valenti."

He lifted his captivating, commanding eyes. "To be honest, I'm a little excited about an alliance with the Valenti family."

My hand, holding a tube of lipstick, froze mid-swipe.

Of course, I knew Genevieve. She was the principessa of another powerful crime family. This marriage alliance had been a rumor for years.

And he'd had a crush on her. But before he could make a move, she'd left for France.

I had assumed it was just a rumor.

Dylan watched me, his lips pursed.

"Sera, don't overthink it. We grew up together, remember? Sure, you're alluring, but I see you as my best friend."

He grinned. "You're my favorite person to eat with, drive with, and sleep with..."

His words were a punch to the gut. A chill shot through me. I forced a smile that felt like my face was cracking.

He went on. "I can predict your every move, guess what you're going to do or say next. To be honest, it gets pretty boring sometimes."

"Some nights, I wake up and see you next to me, and it actually startles me. It makes me think—what if my father's old joke came true and we actually got together? My life would be over before it even began. I know you too well. If we got married, life would be so damn dull."

He seemed to shiver, as if the very thought was exhausting.

I dug my nails into my palms, willing myself not to cry.

"I have things to do," I said flatly, pulling on my coat and fleeing his penthouse.

I had once believed Dylan and I were building a future together.

We did everything a couple would. We managed businesses, attended family meetings, went on dates, slept together…

Every time a storm rolled through Chicago, he would drive across town just to pick me up. At family dinners, he would find my hand under the table, his fingertips tracing patterns on my palm.

I never realized that for me, it was years of devotion and love. For him, it was just a game.

"Sera?" My mother, Elena Rossi, knocked on the car window, peering in with concern.

I snapped back to reality. Seeing my tear-streaked face in the rearview mirror, I hastily wiped my cheeks, got out of the car, and plastered on a smile.

"Mamma!" I threw my arms around her before she could get a good look at my face. "I missed you."

Clutching a designer leather handbag, she took my arm, her relief palpable. "You scared me to death, just sitting in the car like that. Are you alright?"