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But it can’t be. Pyotr Veles doesn’t go to Rosehill. He’s all the way up in New York, studying at some prestigious universities.
Still, as I watch the broad-shouldered man approach, it can’t be anyone else. His hair is perfectly tousled, his trim waist, strong chest, and muscular arms are visible beneath his T-shirt. The strong jaw and stubbled chin confirm it. Pyotr’s here, on the Rosehill campus.
Giddy excitement floods me. I don’t know why he’s here, but I haven’t seen him since the night we met. I’ve been daydreaming about him since. Picking up my pace, I head toward him.
“Pyotr!” I say brightly as soon as he’s close enough. The thrill of saying his name out loud makes my pulse quicken.
His curious gray eyes flick up from the piece of paper in his hand to meet mine. “Silvia?”
My name on his lips fills me with a ridiculous amount of pleasure.
“Did you transfer to Rosehill?” I ask, closing the distance between us.
“Yes.” His brows furrow as he scowls down at his schedule.
“Did you need some help finding your way around campus? The buildings can all kind of blend together at first. I’d be happy to show you where to go.”
His eyes narrow as he scrutinizes me, and the look unnerves me. He seems to evaluate me with a new level of cold assessment. Gone is the open curiosity, replaced by something less friendly–almost hostile.
“Do I look like I need your help?” he demands.
“Um, well…” I sense that the honest answer might not be the best one right now.
Maybe he doesn’t like looking vulnerable in front of me. I could get that. Not only am I his betrothed–and therefore someone he’s expected to take care of–but I’m also a Marchetti. The need to show strength in front of his enemies has probably been ingrained in him since a young age. And just because we’ll be marriedsomedaydoesn’t mean he should automatically trust me today.
Still, this new, cold side to him catches me off guard. It’s a stark contrast to the man I met a few short months ago.
“I just thought you might not have had the opportunity to attend orientation,” I provide, trying to take the edge off his discomfort. “Sometimes, I think students get lost in the mix if they don’t start at Rosehill as freshmen.” I smile nervously.
That’s a convincing reason he might need someone to show him around, right?I’m not about to tell him I offered because I thought it would be fun to spend time with him.
“Yeah, well, I can find my way around this pathetic campus just fine, thanks,” he snaps.
I close my lips, biting back my response to his sharp tone. Not to mention the clear disdain with which he just spoke about Rosehill. This college has been important to my family for generations. I know it might not be as prestigious as an Ivy League school he probably could have attended, but it’s still an excellent school.
“So… what brings you to Chicago?” I ask more tentatively. Now I’m genuinely curious why he left New York. It doesn’t seem like that was his first choice.
“Does it matter?” he challenges.
He looks at his schedule, giving me a fraction of his attention as he goes back to making sense of where he’s going.
“Um, well, I guess not. I just thought I’d make some friendly conversation. Seems like a long way from home, and I figured you might like having someone to talk to.”Ugh, I did a terrible job of masking my defensive tone. I sound almost whiney.
Clearly, Pyotr thinks so, too, as disgust flickers across his face. Releasing a heavy sigh, he steps closer to me. As he looms over me, the enticing scent of his apple and birch cologne tickles my senses.
“Look, I’ve already been sent to this hellhole against my wishes. I don’t need the added torture of trying to play nice with you today, okay?” he says with painstaking patience. “So, how about you kindly fuck off?”
I’d have been less surprised if he had slapped me in the face.
“Excuse me?” I ask, my shock coming out as exasperation.
“I said get the fuck out of my face,” he snaps, contradicting his words as he leans dangerously close to mine.
“Okay, what is your problem?” I demand. “You were all charm and politeness the night I met you, and now you’re being a complete ass.”
I bite my lip as my temper comes out hotter than I’d intended. I don’t normally mouth off to people–least of all, someone I know is important to my family’s well-being. But I seriously can’t make sense of Pyotr’s one-eighty.
“What’s my problem?” Pyotr scoffs. He mumbles something that sounds Russian but is so low I can’t be sure. “Youare. I got sent to this shithole to ensure you and your family don’t get any funny ideas about dishonoring our agreement. Which means I’m stuck here for the next three years.”
