Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 66952 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66952 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
I shift my weight to one leg and look back at him.
He eyes my dirty T-shirt, shorts and army boots. It’s not my usual attire, and I know he hates it. There are expectations for how his daughter should be seen, after all.
“Gabriela,” he says, his voice elegant and rich. “How’s Alex?”
“You know how he is.”
His reply is a mean grin.
“I’m tired. If you don’t mind, I’ll go to bed. You can punish me tomorrow if that’s why I’m here.”
For as close as I was to my mother, so am I distant from my father.
Someone clears their throat and my head snaps to the far-right corner.
There’s a man standing there, leaning against the wall. I hadn’t realized there was anyone else in the room. I can’t tell who it is. His arms are folded across his chest and his face is hidden in shadow.
He’s tall, and built. I can see the thickness of his arms, his wide shoulders. He’s dressed in a dark suit and from here, I can see his shoes are expensive.
He moves, unfolding his arms, checking his watch. When he drops his hand to his side and I see the ring on his finger, I gasp.
I know this man.
“The McKinney deal is off,” my father says, forcing me to turn my attention to him.
“What?” I ask, my gaze shifting back to the stranger.
To his hand.
To that ring on his finger.
What’s he doing here? In my father’s study in the middle of the night?
“McKinney. The contract with the boy. It’s off,” my father says.
I face my father, confused. By contract, he means my forced marriage because to my father, everything is business, even his daughter’s life.
Not that I’m surprised.
And that contract he’s referring to is why I’d run.
I’ve had to do a lot of things in my life that I didn’t want to do, but I won’t marry someone just because my father deems it good for business.
“Waverly has drawn up a new contract.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask. I can’t seem to process what he’s saying.
There’s a sound behind me and I turn to find the man stepping out of the shadows. He’s adjusting the cuff of his shirt and a gold cufflink glints in the lamplight.
I can’t seem to drag my eyes away from his hands. From that ring.
And I don’t want to look up. I don’t want to see his face.
“The marriage will take place in one month’s time,” my father’s words are slow to sink into my brain because I have to do it, have to look up at this man’s face. “In the meantime, you’ll be taken to the Sabbioni estate in Sicily for safe-keeping.”
Still, the words, they’re like physical things. Like they’re lining up, waiting just outside my ears for when I’m ready to hear. To process. Because he can’t be saying what he’s saying.
“Mr. Sabbioni,” Waverly says, his tone neutral.
Mr. Sabbioni.
Stefan Sabbioni.
“We’ll need your initials on this modification,” Waverly continues. He must have moved around the desk when I wasn’t paying attention.
The man—Stefan Sabbioni—takes a step forward and I have to look at him now. I have to meet his strange hazel eyes. And when I do, I think they’re darker than they were that night. Or less bloodshot. Maybe it’s just that tonight, he’s not drunk. Not raging.
“What’s happening?” I ask. I don’t know who I’m asking as I can’t drag my gaze from Stefan Sabbioni.
He gives me a smirk and when he moves past me, I don’t know if it’s on purpose that his arm brushes my shoulder. I smell his cologne and I remember how he smelled that night.
God, I don’t think I’ll ever get that smell out of my head.
He stands taller than all the men here and I watch him lean down, pick up my father’s favorite fountain pen. I see my father’s jaw tighten and I know Stefan did it on purpose, choosing that particular pen.
Before signing, he reads the text, nods, then quickly puts his initials down.
“Dad?” I ask, because I’m starting to understand what my father meant when I watch Waverly turn the page and Stefan puts his signature in the designated spot.
He hands the pen to my father and I take a step backward.
“Dad,” Stefan says, his tone mocking me or my father or both of us.
My father takes the pen and turns the document around to sign it.
When I move backward toward the door, John grips my arm. Maybe he knows that I’m about to bolt, even though I know there’s nowhere for me to go.
“Gabriela,” my father says, holding his pen out for me to take it.
I shake my head as all the men turn to me and my eyes are drawn to Stefan’s. He’s watching me with such intense curiosity I feel like he can see right inside me, see the chaos, the panicked beating of my heart.