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Raphael Visconti is a picture of polished perfection. And something about that…well, it makes me feel out-of-sorts.
He smirks and an electric thrill crackles down my spine.
He remembers exactly who I am.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Penelope.”
My cheeks grow hot at the sound of my full name. He’s just been told my name is Penny, and yet he’s assumed it’s short for something. Arrogant ass. I refuse to correct him, because it feels like he’d be winning something if I did. Instead, I hold his stare and attempt to match his silky tone.
“The pleasure is all mine, Raphael.”
Triumph. It flickers in my chest as a slither of annoyance precedes his polite smile. It was fleeting, and if I’d have blinked, I’d have missed it.
I’m glad I didn’t blink.
My high slips away the longer he holds my gaze. His stare is easy and unwavering, and yet the heat of it leaves me feeling like I’m running my hand under a warm tap. It grows hotter and hotter until I can’t bear the burn and have to look away.
I turn my attention to Nico, partly to cool off and partly in the hope he’ll save me.
“I’ve got to go,” he grunts, swiping the whiskey glass off the bar. “Benny’s about to catch a sexual harassment charge if he backs that server any farther into that corner.” He stops beside me and squeezes my shoulder. “Let’s catch up after the ceremony, Little P.”
“Wait—”
But it’s too late. I turn to watch as he slides through the crowd toward his older brother, and my stomach sinks like a deflating balloon. With that unrelenting stare still on my back, I know I have no choice but to grow a pair of lady-balls and turn around.
Raphael winks.
I scowl.
Then he pushes himself off the bar and takes a step forward. Before I can take one back, he slides his hand out of his pocket and reaches for the opening of my coat.
I hold my breath as he slowly sweeps one side of my coat open, revealing more of my blue dress underneath. His knuckles lightly graze against my rib cage through my thin dress, creating a crackle of electricity that contrasts with the blistering December chill now coasting over my hip.
I bite down a shiver and turn my attention back to his face, just in time to watch his gaze fall down the length of my body. His expression is indifferent, observant, like he’s shopping for clothes and only stopped to look at me because I’m on sale, not because I’m his style.
Although, I’d bet every meager dime I have this man has never shopped the clearance rack in his life.
His eyes move back to mine, soft humor behind them. “Nice dress. Did you steal this one too?”
I blink. Then, coming back to my senses, I rip my coat from his hand and take a step back. “Yes,” I snap. I mean, probably.
His dimples deepen, as if he’s pleased with my answer. “Ah.”
Burning with the desire to insult him back, I open my fat mouth before I can consider the implications of what’s about to come out of it.
I nod to the Omega Seamaster on his wrist. “Nice watch. Would you like to lose that one too?”
“What? Sold my other one for crack, already?”
I—what?
His comeback is fast and unexpected, at odds with his buttery tone. Bewildered, I look around to see if any other wedding guests overheard, as if someone catching my eye and raising their eyebrows will confirm I didn’t imagine his rude retort. But there’s nothing but curious glances and whispers over crystal tumblers.
Before I have the semblance to think of a comeback, he turns toward the bar and rests his forearms against it. I don’t know why I do it—perhaps I’m a glutton for punishment, or perhaps I like role playing as a kicked puppy—but I slip in beside him.
“Amanda, allow me.”
I tear my gaze from his profile long enough to realize the bar girl is still struggling with the champagne bottle. She freezes, turns scarlet, and reluctantly hands it to Rafe.
