I force the memories away as I head for the door. That was a lifetime ago. We were kids then, and she was the youngest O’Malley daughter, who was off-limits. Now she's the boss's little sister who's off-limits, except the boss is her brother instead of her father, and I'm no longer the charity case living in their house.
I’m never going to be good enough for Annie in Ronan’s eyes. And if he thought I accepted his offer just for a shot at seducing his sister?—
I shudder to think what he’d do to me.
The drive to Yvonne’s—another fancy Boston restaurant that I never could have afforded eleven years ago—is slowed down by traffic, giving me plenty of time to rehearse conversation topics that have nothing to do with Annie’s blue eyes or the scent ofher perfume. Gia's education. Her family's business interests. The weather. Anything that will keep my mind occupied and my thoughts away from the woman I can't have.
Twenty minutes later, I’m still struggling to keep my thoughts where they should be as I arrive. Gia isn’t here yet, and I wait near the hostess desk, checking my messages. Ten minutes later, the front door opens, and she walks in. Two men in black suits are off to the side—probably her security, but I ignore them, focusing instead on the woman who is the reason I’m here tonight.
She looks gorgeous. There’s no denying that. She’s wearing a sleek dark blue suede trench coat against the cold with tall black heeled stiletto boots, and I watch as she shrugs it off, handing it over to the hostess, who hangs it on a nearby rack. In the few moments before she sees me, I take in what she has on beneath it—a silk slip dress in the same navy blue, with a black lace inset at the top and black lace along the hem, fragile straps all that’s holding it up. It emphasizes her narrow chest, her sharp collarbones, and her slim shoulders, drawing the eye to all of those things. Her black hair is tumbling down around her shoulders the same way it was in the photo, and I catch a glimpse of sapphire earrings winking in the light, nearly brushing the tops of her shoulders—a series of teardrop stones chained together.
Gia turns to see me, and I force a smile. “Elio?” Her gaze sweeps over me, taking me in the same way, and I can tell from the way her eyes gleam that she likes what she sees. She steps forward, holding her hand out, and I see a smattering of gold rings on her fingers, most of them dainty, except for a large blue sapphire cocktail ring on the middle finger.
The rings remind me of Annie—all those delicate stacking rings she always wears on her long, slim fingers. My cocktwitches at the thought of Annie’s fingers, and I force it out of my head, taking Gia’s hand in mine.
Her hand is slender and soft. I catch a whiff of her perfume, something gourmand, vanilla with a hint of warmth. I grasp her hand gently in mine, and Gia smiles at me.
“I’ve been looking forward to this,” she says softly. “Should we eat?”
“By all means.” I glance toward the hostess, who gathers two leather-backed menus and a wine list, and takes us to our table.
The restaurant is stunningly beautiful, with crystal chandeliers scattered across the ceiling, sending warm light throughout the space. The chairs are brocade-backed, the wood surfaces gleaming, and a fireplace crackles at one side of the restaurant. I pull out Gia’s chair for her, and she sits down daintily, barely resting on it as I slide it back in. When I sit down across from her, she smiles at me—or maybe the smile never left her face. Either way, I can tell she’s beyond happy to be here.
“Elio,” she says softly. “It’s such a pleasure to see you again.”
There’s no trace of a Boston accent in her voice—ofanyaccent—despite having lived here all her life. Her voice is delicate and cultured, and it’s clear that anything else has been trained out of her speech professionally.
Everything about her has been professionally sculpted into perfection. Her hair, glossy and perfectly cut and styled, her nails, impeccably manicured and painted a soft pink, her clothing clinging to her enough to draw any red-blooded man’s eye without being immodest. Her body is utter perfection, too, no doubt honed by the finest nutritionists, fitness trainers, and strict diets that her father’s money can buy.
This woman has been bred to be a powerful man’s wife. Shaped by her family into a prize that can win them higher status. The Marcellis are a lesser crime family, one that’s worked with the O’Malleys for decades. Gia is a carrot, bait for a manwho needs exactly what she can offer and is willing to give her family a step up on the ladder in exchange for it.
Everything about her screamssuitable wife for a don. Everything about her should make me forget about curly copper hair and blue eyes, and an Irish lilt.
I return her smile as best as I can. "The pleasure is mine, Miss Marcelli. Thank you for agreeing to dinner."
"Please, call me Gia. And I hope you'll call this evening what it is—an audition." She smiles as she says it, taking any sting out of the words. "My father was quite clear about Mr. O'Malley's… recommendation."
I can appreciate her directness. It makes this easier somehow, knowing we're both here for the same practical reasons. No pretense of romance or love at first sight. Just two people evaluating whether they can build something without making either of us miserable.
"I appreciate your honesty. And you're right—this is an audition. For both of us." I look at her for a moment. “I don’t expect you to marry me if you don’t like me, Gia. And neither does Ronan, for that matter.”
She laughs pleasantly. “My father might disagree. But I’m glad you don’t intend to pretend this is some romantic gesture. I’d rather honesty than anything else.”
The waiter appears a moment later, and I order a bottle of red and white for the table, when Gia says she prefers white. She raises an eyebrow as I put in the order.
“I hadn’t expected you to be so accommodating.”
“Like I said. I don’t intend to make you do anything you don’t want to do. Including drinking a wine you don’t prefer.” I shrug. “I have money now, Gia. You wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. So what are two bottles of wine to me?”
She looks at me approvingly. “I like that. You’re considerate, but still aware of who and what you are. Your position comeswith danger. And by marrying you, I expose myself to that danger. We’re all aware of what happened to Siobhan O’Malley. I want a husband who is strong enough to keep anyone from threatening me. A husband who will protect his family and do what needs to be done in order to make sure that we’re safe.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Siobhan was also cheating onherhusband. That was a factor in her death.”
I’d wondered if Gia might take offense, but she doesn’t. “I won’t be unfaithful, if that’s what you’re suggesting,” she says smoothly, reaching for her water. “I’d prefer that you don’t, either. I know a lot of men have mistresses, or enjoy the women at their clubs, and I can’t stop you, of course. But I’d do my best to keep you satisfied, and I hope that you’d do the same. Although you would be my first,” she adds hurriedly. “I’m well aware of the importance of that.”
Christ. I should be halfway to hard already, listening to this gorgeous woman speak so casually about pleasing me, about how I’d be the one to take her virginity. The first and only man to taste her silky skin, to run my hands and tongue over her body, to prise little cries and moans from her lips as I make her come. The first and only to be inside of her, to claim her.
I should be aroused. But I’m not. Not the slightest twitch or feeling of building desire. And yet, the slightest thought of Annie, just a hint of her perfume, has me stiffening. I can’t be near her without being aroused.
