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Her eyebrows shot up when she spotted my new whip. Her blond ponytail bobbed as she walked towards us, whistling. “Where did that come from?”
Alberto walked away to give us privacy.
I leaned against my car and crossed my arms. “It was a gift from Zeno.”
“Darla…”
“I know what you’re going to say.”
“You’re getting comfortable.” Dacia bent at the waist to look into my side mirror, frosting her lips with pink gloss. “I told you to be careful.” She smacked her lips together and hiked an eyebrow my way. “You need to establish boundaries. No matter how nice he’s being, you can’t forget this is the same man who’s blackmailing you into an arranged marriage.”
“I know that,” I said through gritted teeth.
“Do you?” she hedged with attitude.
Taking my new Lambo for a joyride around Montardor suppressed that thought. Now I floated back to reality—a reality where my mother was a pain in the ass, my sister overprotective, and my fiancé a manipulative asshole who’d given me an expensive gift to pacify my worries until we tied the knot.
Wasn’t I worth more than a luxury sports car?
Did Zeno think he could snap his fingers and I’d do his bidding just because he, for lack of a better word, purchased me?
“I just want the best for you,” Dacia said after a moment of tense silence. “Promise me you’ll be careful around him.”
I had every intention of keeping my distance from Zeno until the wedding. Whenever the hell that was. He’d probably control every detail of our big day the way he’d done for the engagement party.
“I’ll keep my distance,” I promised Dacia. “I’ll be indifferent throughout this entire marriage.”
And once our time was over, I’d walk out with enough ammo to hurt my husband. Call me Nancy fucking Drew, if you will.
“Wonderful.” Satisfied we were in agreement, Dacia gave me a sneaky smile. “Though I have to admit, this is a sweet ride.”
“I know, right? I hit two hundred in less than ten seconds.”
“No way.” Dacia glided a palm over the green hood. “Forget husband, looks like you got yourself a sugar daddy.”
I shoved her aside.
It was a quarter to three and my mother was due any minute.
So I was in her office.
Making a statement.
I sat in her chair with my Louboutin-clad feet resting on her desk. If my green Lamborghini didn’t give her a heart attack, the ends of my heels scraping the wooden surface would.
I had a half-eaten apple in my hand and a queen chess piece in my other. It was white, vintage, and very symbolic to me. As a child, my mother taught us how to play chess.
But I was no good at it.
She was always white and I was always black. She would injure my defenses and kill my queen, while I barely put a dent on her end. She never let me win. She always laughed when I lost.
I was eleven.
Sixteen years later, things were about to change.
Last night at the engagement party, my eyes finally opened. Family should have loyalty to you. Family should have qualms about embarrassing you in front of others. Diane Hill had no reservations about making the other person feel bad, as long as it made her feel good.
She walked into her office forty seconds later. Grey pantsuit. Blond bob. Blue eyes. Scowl. “What are you doing in here?”
