Page 12 of Lorenzo

I hadn’t planned on marrying until I was in my forties or more. Not when gorgeous women throw themselves at me in the club every night.

“You ever think of tying the knot, Max?” I ask.

“Hell no,” he says. “Don’t you remember that pact we made when we were thirteen and discovered girls?”

Girls were fresh and seductive and mysterious back then. And nothing had changed since . I’ve never grown tired of the chase.

“Have you seen your bride’s picture yet? What’s she like?”

My lips tighten as I see that picture again in my mind’s eye.

The white Peter Pan collar, the girlish spray of freckles across her face.

Even in the photo, she boasted a sassy snarl of her lips that suggested a feisty attitude to match.

And red hair indicating she’s as ornery as hell.

All I can do is shake my head at Max and flash the thumbs-down sign.

“She can’t be that bad.”

My phone buzzes. “See for yourself. Dante texted me. She’ll be here in a few minutes.”

CHAPTER 5

EMILY

Darcy. Darcy. Darcy.

The walk from the park to the fashionable Circle Hotel is only ten minutes. Yet my mind keeps drifting back to him.

The Darcy-like gentleman who saved my life.

The way he moved with such grace.

Like someone who had never once doubted where he was going. Always strong and in command.

Ready at a moment’s notice to save a damsel in distress.

I try to reconstruct his face but can only retrieve fragments. The strong jaw. The solid fabric of his well-fitting jacket. The brief warmth of his hand before he was gone.

Two doormen in ivory gloves pull open the heavy brass doors of The Circle Hotel in one synchronized motion.

It’s as if they have been waiting for me all along.

Inside, the air is cool and still, carrying the scent of expensive flowers arranged in a tall vase near the entrance.

One of the well-dressed concierges at the desk smiles up at me.

“Ah, Miss Fisher. Mr. Ricci told me to expect you,” he says, coming out from behind the desk to greet me. “I’m Samuels.”

“Nice to meet you. I had a driver who was supposed to bring my bag…”

“It’s already in the apartment. I’ll take you up to Mr. Ricci’s apartment,” Samuels says, guiding me to the elevator.

I’m not used to such service. Even though my great Aunt Jane grew up with money as a young girl, we didn’t live lavishly like this.

“I see The Circle is a hotel. But Mr. Ricci lives here? Owns a room?”