Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
He steps away. “You’ll find matching earrings on the dresser.” Backtracking to the bathroom, he adds, “I need a shower. I’ll be ready in ten.”
The earrings are as classically beautiful as the necklace with a big ruby surrounded by smaller diamonds. I fit the earrings and dab perfume on my wrists. I wish I had a phone to check on Sophie. I wouldn’t mind calling my family either. Angelo only let me speak to Ryan that once.
Exactly ten minutes later, he enters the room dressed in a bespoke suit cut to the latest fashion. The pants and jacket are fitted, showing off his muscular shape. A crisp white shirt and black bowtie round off the outfit.
He offers me his arm. “Shall we?”
The cocktail party is hosted in the big ballroom. The guests are dressed in flamboyant evening gowns and tuxedos. My mom would’ve approved. Angelo takes two glasses of champagne from a waiter and offers me one.
“Thank you,” I say, scanning the crowd, not that I’ll find any familiar faces. My dad never introduced me or anyone in our close family to the players in his business circles. The reason why he took such pains to keep his professional and private lives apart leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. Whatever happened to Daisy and Laura, my dad’s second family? How is Mom coping with that?
“All right?” Angelo asks softly in my ear, brushing a thumb down my spine.
I shiver. “Can I have a phone?”
“No.” He sips his champagne, keeping his gaze trained on the partygoers. “You shouldn’t ask when you know the answer.”
“Can we call Heidi?” I stare at his profile, noticing the straight line of his nose, the high cheekbone, and the square jaw. “I just want to know how Sophie is doing.”
His eyes soften marginally as he turns his face toward me. “She’ll be fine. You have to stop worrying about her.”
“What about my family?”
The warmth vanishes from his gaze. “What about them?”
“Will you let me call them again?”
“If you behave.” He brings the glass to his lips, watching me with an intense, dark look as he swallows. “You better put your best foot forward tonight.”
A lump lodges in my throat, pulsing there with suppressed anger. “Do you expect me to embarrass you?”
His lips quirk. “I’ll put nothing past you.”
Before I can reply, a group of people descend on us. Angelo introduces me to everyone as Mrs. Russo, his newly acquired wife. I swallow my dislike at being portrayed as a possession, which, in truth, I am.
I’ve never been a fan of cocktail parties. I almost missed my own sixteenth birthday party because I hate these gatherings so much. Come to think of it, if I hadn’t been late, I wouldn’t have run into Angelo at the service entrance. He wouldn’t have manipulated my mom into letting me keep my stray cat, Pirate, and I wouldn’t have fallen so hard for him that night.
If only I’d been more like Mattie, I would’ve been dressed in the gown Mom had chosen, and I would’ve been mingling with the guests by the time he arrived. My introduction to my future husband would’ve been very different. Although, I doubt I would’ve been unaffected. Angelo’s presence is too huge to leave anyone untouched. I’d like to think I would’ve been repelled, but deep down, I know that’s not true. I would’ve been curious about him regardless. I would’ve let my heart rule my mind ten times over. If I’d met him in a hundred different scenarios, I would’ve left my heart right there at his feet every single time. It’s what happened afterward that changed everything.
Absent-mindedly, I place a hand over my stomach and slide it down to rest over the mark Angelo burned into my skin. He steps in front of me, his gaze trained on the action, and brushes my hand away to trace the mark with his thumb. The touch is too intimate for a public gathering, but I can’t bring myself to push him off me because underneath his fingertip, my skin tingles. I need his hand there for reasons I can’t explain.
As he looks over my head, he pulls away and sets his features in a polite expression. I turn sideways. A man in his late fifties with an attractive woman on his arm makes his way to the bar.
Angelo offers me a hand. “Come.”
He intertwines our fingers and pulls me across the busy floor. The woman veers off toward the ladies’ room while the man heads straight for the liquor table.
“Mr. Powell,” my husband says as he almost bumps into the man, pretending not to have seen him. “I didn’t expect to run into you here.”
He’s lying so smoothly, it’s hard not to believe him.
“Mr. Russo,” the man says, pulling up his nose. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”