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Talking back was strictly verboten in the Lau household. I was beholden to its rules even as an adult, and disobedience was always met with swift punishment and sharp words.
“We want to move things along as quickly as possible,” my mother jumped in. “It takes time to plan a proper wedding, and your fiancé is, er, particular about the details.”
Funny how she was already calling him my fiancé when I hadn’t met the man yet.
“Mode de Vienamed him one of the world’s most eligible bachelors under forty last year. Rich, handsome, powerful. Honestly, your father outdid himself.” My mother patted my father’s arm, her face glowing.
I hadn’t seen her this animated since she scored a seat on the Boston Society Wine Auction’s planning committee last year.
“That’s…great.” My smile wobbled from the effort of keeping itself intact.
At least my match probably had all his teeth. I wouldn’t have put it past my parents to marry me off to some decrepit billionaire on his deathbed.
Money and status came first; everything else came a distant second.
I took a deep breath and willed my mind not to spiral downthatparticular path.
Get it together, Viv.
As upset as I was at my parents for springing this on me, I could freak out later,afterI got through the evening. It wasn’t like I could say no to the match. If I did, my parents would disown me.
Plus, my future husband—my stomach lurched again—would be here any minute, and I couldn’t make a scene.
I wiped a palm against my thigh. My head felt dizzy, but I clung to the mask I always wore at home.Cool. Calm. Respectable.
“So.” I swallowed my bile and forced a light tone. “Does Mr. Perfect have a name, or is he known only by his net worth?”
I didn’t remember everyone who’d been onMode de Vie’s list, but the people Ididremember didn’t inspire much confidence. If he—
“Net worth by strangers. Name by select friends and family.”
My spine stiffened at the deep, unexpected voice behind me. It was so close I couldfeelthe rumble of words against my back. They slid over me like sun-warmed honey—rich and sensual, with a faint Italian accent that made every nerve ending tingle with pleasure.
Heat slipped beneath my skin.
“Ah, there you are.” My father rose, a strangely triumphant gleam in his eyes. “Thank you for coming at such short notice.”
“How could I pass up the opportunity to meet your lovely daughter?”
A hint of mockery tainted the wordlovelyand instantly washed away any budding attraction I had to a voice, of all things.
Ice doused the heat in my veins.
So much for Mr. Perfect.
I’d learned to trust my gut when it came to people, and my gut told me the owner of the voice was as thrilled about the dinner as I was.
“Vivian, say hello to our guest.” If my mother beamed any harder, her face would split in half.
I half-expected her to prop her cheek on her hand and sigh dreamily like a schoolgirl with a crush.
I pushed the disturbing image out of my mind before I lifted my chin.
Stood.
Turned.
And all the air whooshed out of my lungs.
