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Chapter One
Iris
I seethe guy well before he sees me, one of my great uncle’s rented suits standing in a chauffeur’s costume with a sign that says “James.”
Really.I roll my eyes. It’s like they’re not even trying.
The sign isn’t important, of course. It’s the insignia on the man’s chauffeur’s cap that tips me off to his identity, one of the lesser known Siccario crests. The goon dutifully surveys the crowd with sharp eyes and a tight set to his impressively chiseled jaw, but he’s looking for someone with long black hair and a thousand-dollar travel ensemble.
I pull the pink ball cap down further over my blonde bangs, my ponytail bouncing merrily as I hike my oversized backpack over one shoulder. I made the outfit switch before the last leg of my flight, when no one was checking IDs anymore. By then my great uncle’s goons were tracking my progress using apps, not eyeballs. No one’s expecting me to step off the plane from Atlanta in a wash-and-wear sundress and cute pink tennis shoes, and I won’t need much time to give the local security guys the slip. I’ve been doing this my whole life, after all.
And seriously, Uncle Falcone should’ve assumed I’d need some alone time after he dropped his little bomb on me via email, not two hours before my flight. Trotting out the phrase “family obligations” is code for only one thing among Siccario females: you’re about to get married off.
Married off! In the 21st century!
But I’m too smart to outright argue with my great uncle, at least not right away. Better for me to make the man realize I’m not same doe-eyed little girl who stared up at him with unabashed awe and more than a little fright every time he visited our home in Greece. Falcone Siccario hasn’t even seen me in five years…and they’ve been a busy five years. I’ve finished college, traveled, become a damned fine sketch artist and perfected my escape routine along the way. My personal best in evading my family’s security team is two weeks, and even then I only let them catch me because I got bored.
But every time I pull a vanishing act, I learn something new. Now I could live for several months in Europe by myself before anyone would find me, I’m sure of it. The U.S. would be trickier, no question, but then again, I never planned to try escaping my “family obligations” from a U.S. location.
I frown, picking up my pace. Did Uncle Falcone know I’d feel less comfortable in America? Is that why he arranged for me to meet him here to announce my engagement, rather than bring my fiancé-to-be to Greece?
My stride lengthens as I clear the doors to the ground transportation area of the Charlotte airport. The goon with the sign will be getting nervous soon, especially when I don’t come strolling out with my matching carryon bags along with everyone else from my flight. I need to be gone before then.
I pull out my second phone, purchased specifically for this trip. My official phone, the one I know for a fact is lo-jacked to the gills, is currently making its way out of the airport in the enormous tote of a young mother with a diaper bag as big as her head. If the goon’s tracking me electronically, that should buy me a little time too.
I use the burner phone to secure a car, but I don’t direct my driver out of the city. I’m not trying to irretrievably piss off my great uncle on my first day in the States, I simply want to let him know he can’t order me around anymore like I’m a child. I’m a grown woman; that should count for something.
And who knows? If he’s chosen someone worth marrying, maybe I’ll consider honoring the obligations the family has arranged for me. Failing that, I’ll at least buy myself some time to hammer out a legitimate plan of action.
Either way, I’m not showing up to Uncle Falcone’s house on anyone’s terms but my own.
The scenery outside gradually changes from sprawling suburbs to a more exclusive, manicured neighborhood canopied with beautiful trees, and I’m immediately entranced by the lush greenery of the area—and all the flowers. Early summer in the southern United States has to be its most beautiful season, with everything in bloom. I impulsively lean forward as the driver takes a turn and drives us along the edge of a city park.
“Can you drop me here?” I ask him. “I’ve changed my mind.”
A few moments later, I’m out of the car and wandering through the gorgeous park, ponytail still bobbing. The warm, humid air seems to hug me as I move through the dappled sunlight, and I smile to see all the young families playing in the park—young families and groups of laughing friends and even…
I bite my lip, slowing as I approach an elderly couple with their heads bent slightly toward each other, their hands entwined, their short, shuffling steps perfectly in sync. They may be old, but anyone can tell at a glance how very much in love they are, and I sigh, clasping my own hands together in front of me.
This is what I want, one day—this. The kind of enduring passion you can only find in romance novels and American Hallmark movies, where two hearts leap toward each other from the first moment and never are parted again. It’s the kind of love I always dreamed of as a little girl back home in Greece, and, if I’m honest, still dream about. No matter what my family obligations are.
I move alongside the elderly couple, and they both beam up at me, their faces practically glowing.
“Beautiful, beautiful,” the old woman sighs, and I realize with a jolt she’s speaking Greek.
I respond with a quick rush of Greek as well, unreasonably happy—when a warm, gentle arm snakes around my shoulder, a hand curving over my bicep. It feels so natural, so right, I don’t even balk when I turn to realize I’m being drawn into the embrace of a man I’ve never seen before in my life.
I have a vague impression of golden eyes, dark hair, and a mouth so lush and full it seems made for kissing—and my heart seems to swell to three times its usual size. This isit, I think. This!
“Yes, beautiful,” he murmurs. Then his lips come down on mine.
My knees buckle, and the man’s arms move around me, anchoring me, steadying me. All the while the kiss continues, turning my insides into a pool of warm, delicious want. Suddenly I can think of nothing but this man’s hands on me, his mouth, his body, transporting me to such heights—
I’m scarcely aware of the chattering old woman beside me or her chuckling husband. All I can focus on is the feel of this man’s mouth as his lips whisper across my skin, his tongue slipping out to lick, to taste, claiming more of me as his.
Then his hand reaches to the crown of my neck…
And I break free of my lust-filled haze to realize he’s not steadying me so much as ensuring my wig doesn’t fall off.
