Total pages in book: 18
Estimated words: 16246 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 81(@200wpm)___ 65(@250wpm)___ 54(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 16246 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 81(@200wpm)___ 65(@250wpm)___ 54(@300wpm)
"Mr. Marchetti. Welcome. Please, go right in. The cocktail hour has just begun."
Once inside, I see my timing is slightly off. It seems I'm early, but it doesn't matter. I just have to bide my time until everyone starts taking their seats. I can feel the leather folder tucked against my body under my suit coat, waiting like a time bomb, and I almost laugh to myself at how normal everything appears. Normal, high class, no one the wiser that all of Laurent's accounts are in the red.
Skirting the main hall, I cut through the hallways and make my way to the back entrance. The kitchen is buzzing with life, but there's a door leading out to the empty back patio.
It's a relief to be alone, but that relief is short-lived when I hear a muffled sob. I follow the sound around some manicured bushes and stop abruptly. I don't recognize her at first, but I've seen her sweet face enough in my research that it doesn't take me long to make the connection. It's Elena Moreau, the bride-to-be, crying to herself as if her heart is breaking.
In my plan she’s only supposed to be collateral damage and nothing more. This is proof to me that her heart is really not in this marriage.
Elena's head snaps up, her eyes wide as she quickly wipes her cheeks. She thought she was alone, and I'm ruining her moment of private misery. The weeping bride isn't expecting an audience.
And I'm not expecting what I felt when Elena's eyes meet mine.
I'd already known she was beautiful, but I've seen beautiful before. Elena practically glows, a heartbroken goddess. She's the most stunning creature on the planet, her caramel-kissed hair tumbles down her back, her heart-shaped face made even more interesting with her nose red and enormous blue eyes gone red from crying. And in that moment, I forget that I was about to ruin her life. Instead, I want to be the one to stop her tears.
It isn't just her beautiful face or her knockout curves that have me stricken, either. When I meet Elena's eyes, it feels like a sizzling connection flares to life between us.
Suddenly, I don't give a fuck about shaming Laurent anymore. All I care about is making his daughter mine...forever.
It's an unwelcome and inconvenient shock to my system.
This young woman, this symbol of the man I despise, is making me feel something I haven't felt before. Something dangerously close to compassion. To desire. To possession.
I need to get a handle on this, whatever this is, and fast.
Her gaze flickers, assessing me. She looks just as shocked as I feel, her tears stop as her mouth falls slightly open. Elena can't look away, and neither can I.
In what is surely less than a minute, I see the well-thought-out plans I made fall to pieces in my mind, and something new, something foreign to me, takes its place.
I am a Marchetti. I take what I want. When I want.
And I want Elena.
My mind races--this is a reckless, insane, emotionally-driven deviation from my plan, but suddenly I can't stomach the idea of this woman in a miserable marriage to a fossil, or humiliated when I tear her father down. I can give her something else. Something real. My mind races frantically as I think this through.
My revenge can wait. Laurent will suffer more, watching his daughter disappear into my world, than he would from a simple business deal falling through.
This is better. This is personal.
My decision is made in the space of a single heartbeat. I take a deliberate step forward, and the movement breaks the spell between us.
Elena flinches back, her hand flying to her throat. "Who are you?" Her voice is a shaky whisper, but she's trying so hard to sound steady.
"I'm Adrian. A friend, if you listen well." I move close enough to see the dusting of freckles across her nose. "I hate to see you out here crying, Elena. All alone."
Her chin lifts, a flash of pride showing through her distress. "I'm fine. It's just...cold feet."
"Or is it that you're marrying some old fuck when you're only twenty-four? In the prime of your life, but relegated to nothing but a pawn in your father's schemes." I grin, and I know it looks sharper than I intend, but it's too late. I'm enjoying this too much. "Good thing I'm here to change that." I don't wait for a reply, reaching out to grab her bare arm. Her soft skin makes my mouth water, even as she tries to pull away.
"Let go," she hisses. “You…”
"Not a chance, princess." I tug her gently towards the shadows at the edge of the patio, her heels clicking against the flagstones as she stumbles along beside me, her wide eyes fixed on my face.
"Who are you? What do you want?" she repeats, her voice a little stronger this time. "My father is Laurent Moreau."