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“That’s why I hate it.” He angles away, and our conversation dies a miserable death.
Who hates art? The obvious answer is Roman De Luca. I guess the real question is: Why?
CHAPTER11
Roman
Offering the girl my hand, I help her out of the limo. I chose an appropriate two-Michelin-starred restaurant for us tonight, where we can be seen together. The rumor mill will start, and by tomorrow morning, we’ll be the talk of the city. Everyone will know that Sophia Pontrelli is mine. That I intend to marry again. If she’ll truly have me. Which is a deal I plan to seal tonight.
So far the evening’s not off to the best start. I shouldn’t have shut her down over our discussion of art. The truth is, I was about to confess to her exactly why I don’t like art and the emotions that it summons.
I almost slipped up and let her in. It can’t happen again. Emotion is a sign of weakness, and in this world, the weak are destroyed. Someday, even this girl will learn that lesson.
With a possessive hand resting on her hip, I steer us into the restaurant where we’re seated at a table overlooking Central Park. Already I feel the burn of people’s eyes on us. Excellent, I want them to look their fill.
From the fake smile plastered on Sophia’s face, I can tell she’s familiar with this game, too. Good. Her parents really did train her well.
I order for us: A bottle of their best wine and a four-course meal that will keep us here for several hours. Once the server leaves, I scan the room, noting the whispers have already begun.
Roman De Luca doesn’t date.
Who is that woman?
Why is she with him?
They haven’t seen a woman on my arm since…my wife. Six and a half years ago. Back in a time when I didn’t know how cruel this world could be, even to a man like me.Especiallyto a man like me.
I gaze across at my companion. She sits ramrod straight in her chair, excellent posture, dressed to kill, and stunningly beautiful. She’s the epitome of a mafia princess, and soon to be my perfect wife.
“This may seem like a social occasion,” I tell her, “but we’re here for business tonight.”
She quirks a brow. “Oh? What business do we have to discuss?”
“Our future, of course.”
“I thought that was set in stone.”
“And what does your version of that look like? Give me the details.” I’m curious where she sees us going after having known each other for so short a time.
“Okay.” Our wine arrives, and she takes a sip before continuing. “You’ll spend the next two and a half months parading me around like a show dog—”
I choke on my wine.
“—then, when the day arrives, you’ll drag me to the altar where we’ll be married. A simple honeymoon somewhere tropical, where you’ll claim your spoils, then you’ll deposit me in your formidable house where I’ll produce numerous heirs for you while I die of boredom. At some point, we’ll grow to resent each other, but that resentment will morph into bored acceptance as we grow old.”
I stare across the table at her. She’s fucking serious.
“I’m glad we have the same vision for our marriage.” I lean slightly forward.
She rolls her eyes. “Is that really what you want?”
“Is that what you want?” I counter.
“What I want doesn’t matter.”
“What if it did?”
She pauses, scrutinizing me. “Stop talking in riddles and get to the point, Mr. De Luca.”
