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I pinched the bridge of my nose.
Less than an hour after moving in, Vivian was already causing chaos.
Discord with my staff was only the start.
She would move things around. Disrupt the environment I’d carefully cultivated. I would come home not knowing what to see or expect.
Aggravation rose in my chest.
I stalked out of the living room and into my office, where I attempted to review the materials for my meeting.
But even though I’d closed the door and was sequestered on the opposite side of the house from Vivian’s room, I still smelled the faint, maddening scent of apples.
CHAPTER7
Vivian
Iwas a law-abiding citizen, but if anyone could drive me to mariticide, it was my future husband.
I hated his arrogance, his rudeness, and themocking way he called memia cara.
I hated the way my pulse kicked at the rough span of his hand around my neck.
And I hated how he always seemed larger than life, like the molecules of any space he entered had to fold in on themselves to accommodate him.
Are. We. Clear?His maddening voice echoed in my head.
It was clear, all right. It was clear Dante Russo was Satan in a nice suit.
I forced my lungs to expand past my anger.In, one, two, three. Out, one, two, three.
Only when my blood pressure returned to normal levels did I open the door to my new room instead of hunting down the sharpest knife I could find.
As promised, a business card with Dante’s assistant’s number and a black Amex waited on the nightstand next to a distinctive red ring box. When I popped open the lid, a six-carat diamond winked back at me.
I brushed my fingers over the dazzling gem. Five carats, a rare Asscher cut, with smaller baguette diamonds adorning each shoulder.
I should’ve been thrilled. The ring was stunning and, judging by the diamond’s color and clarity, worth at least a hundred thousand dollars. It was the type of ring most women would kill to have.
But when I plucked it from the box and slid it onto my finger, I felt…nothing.
Nothing except the cool brush of platinum and a heavy weight that felt more like a prison than a promise.
Most engagement rings were a symbol of love and commitment. Mine was the equivalent of a signature on a merger contract.
A strange tightness gripped my throat.
I shouldn’t have expected anything more than what Dante gave me. Some arranged marriages, like my sister’s, turned into real love, but the overall odds weren’t great.
I sank onto the bed. The tightness spread from my throat to my chest.
It was stupid to feel sad. So what if Dante had proposed in the most impersonal way possible? I’d known since our first meeting we wouldn’t mesh. At least he’d been honest about his intentions and boundaries.
Still, a part of me had hoped our previous interactions were flukes and we would gradually warm up to each other, but no. My future husband was simply a jerk.
The buzz of a new text interrupted my wallowing.
I picked up my phone, expecting another congratulatory message or a reminder from Isabella to invite her over once I settled in.
