Chapter 3 - Sunday at the Estate
By Sunday morning, the arrangement had evolved without Clare ever officially agreeing to it. Every morning at 8:00 AM, Roman’s black sedan would idling near the curb. Lily would walk into the bakery, take her seat at the counter, and help Clare prep the morning display boxes while Roman sat in his corner booth, working silently on his leather-bound ledger while sipping black coffee.
He hadn't mentioned the fake girlfriend scheme again. He hadn't offered money. He simply showed up, paid his tab in full every day, and watched Lily slowly come back to life under Clare’s firm, motherly guidance.
Then came the invitation.
“It’s not a request,” Sophia Duca’s voice had purred over the bakery’s landline on Friday afternoon. “It’s Sunday dinner at the estate in River Forest. If Roman shows up without you, I’ll assume he lied to me, and I will personally arrange six dates for him with the daughters of my bridge club.”
When Roman arrived that evening to pick up Lily, Clare confronted him near the back kitchen.
“Your aunt called,” Clare said, wiping her hands on a towel.
Roman closed his eyes briefly, leaning his forehead against his hand. “I will handle her.”
“She threatened to matchmake you with half of Chicago.”
“I am used to her threats.”
“She said if I don't come, she’ll start dropping off prospective brides at your house while Lily is trying to study,” Clare added, raising an eyebrow.
Roman opened his eyes, a look of genuine horror crossing his dark face. “She wouldn't.”
“She sounded very confident.” Clare sighed, tossing the towel onto a stainless-steel table. “Look, Roman. I still think this whole fake girlfriend thing is absurd. But Lily told me today that she’s dreading Sunday because the family always talks about her parents when you’re not around.”
Roman’s jaw set into a hard, rigid line. “Who talks to her?”
“Your cousins. Your aunt’s friends. People who mean well, but make her feel like an orphan project,” Clare said gently. “If I come... I can draw the attention away from her. Your aunt will be so focused on judging my waistline and my lack of a family pedigree that she’ll leave Lily completely alone.”
Roman looked at her, his expression unreadable. “You would endure my family for Lily?”
“I’d endure a firing squad for that girl if it kept her from crying,” Clare snapped. “Besides, I’ve worked three Christmas rushes in a commercial bakery. Your family can’t possibly be more stressful than fifty suburban mothers fighting over the last gingerbread house.”
On Sunday at five, a dark grey Bentley pulled up outside Clare’s apartment building.
When Clare walked downstairs, wearing a tailored emerald-green dress that hugged her curves and accentuating her rich hair, Roman was standing by the open car door.
He didn't move for three full seconds. His eyes swept down her dress, over her bare shoulders, and back to her eyes with an intensity that made Clare’s breath catch in her throat.
“You look...” Roman began, his voice surprisingly thick.
May you like
“If you say 'nice', I’m going back upstairs,” Clare warned.
“Magnificent,” Roman finished smoothly, stepping closer to offer her his arm. “You look absolutely magnificent, Clare.”
