A Thousand Paper Cranes
Alessia Moccia stared at the wedding invitation pinned to her otherwise immaculate bulletin board, the elegant script mocking her with its cheerful promises of eternal love. Her younger sister’s Sicilian wedding loomed like a storm cloud, and with it, the inevitable barrage of well-meaning but relentless matchmaking from every aunt, uncle, and distant cousin in her loud, loving, and utterly exasperating family. She could already hear Zia Rosa’s voice, thick with implication: “Alessia, cara, isn’t it time you settled down? Look at your sister, so happy!”
A notification pinged on her phone – another text from Mamma, wondering if Alessia was bringing anyone special. She groaned, rubbing her temples. The pressure was becoming unbearable. She needed a buffer, a human shield against the onslaught of romantic expectations. A desperate, wild idea began to form.
She looked across the open-plan office, her gaze landing on Emiliano Bianchi. Charismatic, quick-witted, and infuriatingly handsome, Emiliano was the structural engineer everyone loved – and the man least likely to be tied down. He was leaning back in his chair, a lazy grin on his face as he charmed the receptionist. Alessia hesitated. It was a terrible idea. But then Mamma sent another text, this one with a picture of a cousin’s newly born baby and the caption “Isn’t it wonderful? Your turn next!”
That decided it.
Alessia stood, smoothing her sensible pencil skirt, and walked over to Emiliano’s desk. “Emiliano,” she said, her voice low and urgent. “I need to ask you something. A favor. A big one.”
He swiveled to face her, one eyebrow quirking upward. “Alessia Moccia, asking me for a favor? This must be serious. Did you finally realize you can’t live without my brilliant engineering insights?”
She ignored the teasing. “My sister’s getting married in Sicily next month. Big family wedding. Lots of… expectations.” She took a deep breath. “I need a date. Someone to pose as my boyfriend. Just for the weekend. To get my family off my back.”
Emiliano’s other eyebrow joined the first. “You want me to be your fake boyfriend?”
“Yes. I’ll pay for your flight, your accommodation, everything. You just need to pretend to be madly in love with me.” She couldn’t meet his eyes, focusing instead on a stray paperclip on his desk. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but I’m desperate. If I show up alone, I’ll be subjected to three days of endless setups with every single man my relatives can scrounge up. Please, Emiliano.”
He was silent for a long moment. Alessia braced herself for rejection or, worse, mockery. But when she finally dared to glance at him, there was a mischievous glint in his dark eyes. “Madly in love with you, huh?” he mused, his voice a low rumble. “That’s quite the acting challenge. I’ll need to study up on my romance techniques.”
Alessia’s breath hitched. Was he… flirting? “Does that mean you’ll do it?” she asked, hope blooming in her chest.
Emiliano grinned, slow and devastating. “For you, Moccia? I’ll be the most devoted fake boyfriend Sicily has ever seen. On one condition.”
“What?” she asked warily.
“You have to promise to return the favor someday. I might need a fake girlfriend for my nonna’s 80th birthday party. She’s even more relentless than your family sounds.”
Relief washed over Alessia, so potent it left her lightheaded. “Deal,” she breathed, a genuine smile tugging at her lips for the first time all day. “Thank you, Emiliano. You have no idea how much this means to me.”
“Oh, I think I have some idea,” he murmured, his gaze sweeping over her face with an intensity that made her pulse flutter. “This is going to be an interesting weekend, Alessia Moccia. Very interesting indeed.”
As Alessia walked back to her desk, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d just set something irrevocable in motion. She’d invited Emiliano Bianchi, the office heartbreaker, into her carefully ordered life. It was a terrible idea. It was a disaster waiting to happen.
It was also, a small, traitorous part of her whispered, the most exciting thing she’d done in years.
As Alessia navigated the winding coastal road leading to her family’s villa, the tension in the rental car was thicker than the Mediterranean humidity. Beside her, Emiliano lounged with infuriating ease, one arm draped casually over the back of her seat, his fingertips occasionally brushing her shoulder. Every touch sent sparks skittering across her skin.
“You’re awfully quiet, Moccia,” he drawled, his stare locked on the stunning ocean view outside his window. “Nervous about introducing me to the famiglia?”
Alessia tightened her grip on the steering wheel, the leather creaking under her palms. “It’s just… they’re a lot. My family. They’ll ask invasive questions. They’ll scrutinize everything we do. You need to be convincing.”
Emiliano chuckled, low and warm. “Relax, amore mio. I’m an excellent actor. By the end of the weekend, they’ll be convinced we’re planning our own wedding.”
His use of the endearment, even in jest, made her pulse stutter. “Just… don’t overdo it,” she muttered, pulling through the wrought-iron gates of the sprawling villa. “Subtlety isn’t really their forte.”
As if on cue, the massive front doors burst open, and a flood of Moccias descended upon them. Zia Rosa, all floral chiffon and lavender perfume, reached them first, enveloping Alessia in a cloud of scent and damp kisses.
“Alessia, bella! You look too thin. And who is this?” Her sharp eyes landed on Emiliano, raking over him with blatant appraisal.
“Zia Rosa, this is Emiliano Bianchi, my… boyfriend.” The word felt foreign and dangerous on Alessia’s tongue.
Emiliano, to his credit, didn’t miss a beat. He turned the full force of his charm on Zia Rosa, taking her hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “A pleasure, signora. Alessia has told me so much about you. I feel like I already know you.”
Zia Rosa tittered, her papery cheeks flushing pink. “Oh, such a gentleman! And so handsome!” She leaned closer to Alessia, stage-whispering, “This one’s a keeper, cara. Don’t let him get away.”
Alessia forced a smile, her cheeks aching. “I don’t intend to, Zia.”
The whirlwind of introductions continued – uncles clapping Emiliano on the back with bone-jarring enthusiasm, cousins eyeing him with speculative curiosity, and Mamma, her face an inscrutable mask, watching everything with narrowed eyes.
Through it all, Emiliano played his part flawlessly. He laughed at Nonno’s off-color jokes, complimented Mamma’s cooking with genuine enthusiasm, and even endured Zia Rosa’s increasingly personal questions about his intentions with an easy grace that left Alessia breathless.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, streaking the sky with tangerine and amethyst, Alessia led Emiliano up the winding staircase to their room. The villa, while spacious, was packed to the rafters with wedding guests, leaving only the smallest guest room available.
Alessia pushed open the door, revealing a cozy space dominated by a single wrought-iron bed barely big enough for two. “I’m sorry,” she blurted, heat rising in her cheeks. “I thought there would be a pull-out couch, but apparently, Zio Emanuele’s snoring is so bad he got exiled to the storage room.”
Emiliano’s gaze swept the room, lingering on the bed before returning to Alessia with a slow, mischievous smile. “No need to apologize, cara. I’m sure we can make it work.” He stepped closer, his fingers grazing the small of her back as he reached around her to set his suitcase down. “I’ve shared tighter quarters. Though usually with fewer clothes involved.”
Alessia’s breath hitched at the casual intimacy of his touch. “Emiliano,” she warned, her voice sharper than she intended. “We have to be careful. One slip-up and they’ll know this is all a charade.”
“Relax, Moccia.” He turned to face her, his dark eyes glinting in the dim light filtering through the lace curtains. “I’m a professional, remember? This is just another role.” He stepped even closer, his chest brushing hers as he reached past her to flip on the bedside lamp. “Though I have to say, the company is a definite upgrade from my usual coworkers.”
The lamp cast a warm, golden glow over the room, illuminating the sudden flush on Alessia’s cheeks. She swallowed hard, acutely aware of the heat radiating from Emiliano’s body, the faint scent of his cologne – sandalwood and citrus – wrapping around her senses.
“Right. Professional.” She took a step back, needing space to breathe. “I’ll just… get ready for bed.” She rummaged through her suitcase, pulling out her most modest pajamas – a cotton t-shirt and loose-fitting shorts that did little to conceal her long legs.
In the cramped en-suite bathroom, she splashed cool water on her face, trying to calm her racing heart. This was a terrible idea. Sharing a bed with Emiliano Bianchi, the man who featured in far too many of her late-night fantasies, was pure madness. How was she supposed to sleep lying next to him, separated by nothing but a few threads of fabric?