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Thick black hair. Olive skin. A slightly crooked nose that enhanced rather than detracted from his ruggedly masculine charm.
My future husband was devastation poured into a suit. Not handsome by conventional means, but so powerful and compelling his presence swallowed every molecule of oxygen in the room like a black hole consuming a newborn star.
There were generically good-looking men, and there washim.
And, unlike his voice, his face was eminently recognizable.
My heart sank beneath the weight of my shock.
Impossible.There was no way he was my arranged fiancé. This had to be a joke.
“Vivian.” My mother disguised her rebuke as my name.
Right.Dinner. Fiancée. Meeting.
I shook myself out of my stupor and summoned a strained but polite smile. “Vivian Lau. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
I held out my hand.
A beat passed before he took it. Warm strength engulfed my palm and sent a jolt of electricity up my arm.
“So I gathered from the multiple times your mother said your name.” The laziness of his drawl played off the observation as a joke; the hardness of his eyes told me it was anything but. “Dante Russo. The pleasure is all mine.”
There was the mockery again, subtle but cutting.
Dante Russo.
CEO of the Russo Group, Fortune 500 legend, and the man who’d created such a buzz at the Frederick Wildlife Trust gala three nights ago. He wasn’t just an eligible bachelor; he wasthebachelor. The elusive billionaire every woman wanted and no one could get.
He was thirty-six years old, famously married to his work, and up until now, showed no intention of giving up his bachelor lifestyle.
Why, then, would Dante Russo of all people agree to an arranged marriage?
“I would introduce myself by my net worth,” he said. “But it would be impolite to categorize you as a stranger given the purpose of tonight’s dinner.”
His smile didn’t contain an ounce of warmth.
My cheeks heated at the reminder he’d overheard my joke. It hadn’t been malicious, but discussing other people’s money was considered uncouth even though everyone secretly did it.
“That’s very considerate of you.” My cool reply masked my embarrassment. “Don’t worry, Mr. Russo. If I wanted to know your net worth, I could Google it. I’m sure the information is as readily available as the tales of your legendary charm.”
A glint sparked in his eyes, but he didn’t take my bait.
Instead, our gazes held for a charged moment before he slid his palm out of mine and swept a clinical, detached gaze over my body.
My hand tingled with warmth, but everywhere else, coolness touched my skin like the indifference of a god faced with a mortal.
I stiffened again beneath Dante’s scrutiny, suddenly hyperaware of my Cecelia Lau-approved tweed skirt suit, pearl studs, and low-heeled pumps. I’d even swapped out my favorite red lipstick in favor of the neutral color she preferred.
This was my standard uniform for visiting my parents, and judging by the way Dante’s lips thinned, he was less than impressed.
A mix of unease and irritation twisted my stomach when those dark, unforgiving eyes found mine again.
We’d exchanged only a handful of words, yet I already knew two things with gut certainty.
One, Dante was going to be my fiancé.
Two, we might kill each other before we ever made it to the altar.
