Covering my mouth with my fingertips, I look down at the path to hide my amusement until I can pull myself together.
When I finally lift my eyes again, I find Leonardo watching me, that molten gaze burning into my soul, curiosity and suspicion present in equal measure.
“You paint a comical picture,” I explain, heat pooling in my cheeks, and again, I’m grateful for the makeup my mother insists we wear for public occasions.
“At least one of us can laugh about it,” he says, guiding me to our next set of guests—none other than the governor of Chicago and his wife.
The range of people who made the guestlist to our engagement party stretches from the city’s upper crust who occupy the penthouses of the Golden Mile to the heads of the Irish and Russian Mafias, along with the more prominent members who pay tribute to either Leonardo’s family or mine.
Each person lavishes us with praise, complimenting us on what a beautiful couple we will make and how our union will make one hell of an alliance.
But I can see the truth behind their flattery, hear the whispers once we walk away—comments about the “poor girl” who couldn’t possibly tame such a notorious playboy like Leonardo Chiaroscuro.
In their eyes, he’s no doubt already been unfaithful to me, and they pity me for it.
They’re probably right, which makes this celebration only more humiliating.
Especially when I can’t shake the confounding sense of jealousy that twists inside me every time a woman flutters her lashes at my husband-to-be or touches his arm affectionately.
Leonardo seems oblivious to it all, his charm and charisma drawing smiles from even the most stoic guests.
And he plays the part of the adoring fiancé with shocking finesse, going so far as to insist that I call him Leo—even if we’re not yet married—while we’re talking to Mayor Henacey and a handful of socialites.
I play along, knowing it’s my job to look like a smitten young bride who’s eager to be with such a man.
I laugh lightly at the underhanded comments about how shocking some people find it that we could be getting married when our families have a reputation for feuding as terribly as the Montagues and Capulets.
I ignore the sidelong looks and whispered judgments that Leo will chew me up and spit me out as soon as I give him an heir.
And I subtly lay claim to my intended whenever women try to horn in on my man.
I barely have time or energy to register the miles of garden pathways we walk along as he parades me in front of our guests.
And when we finally find a moment of peace in a more secluded area, I feel as though I’m seconds from suffocating.
The tall hedge is enough to limit the number of guests in sight, and while my family has been following at a respectful distance, this is as close to alone as Leo and I have been all day.
“Shall we take a breather?” he suggests as if reading my mind, gesturing to the beautiful three-tiered fountain occupying the center of the space.
“That sounds nice,” I agree, pausing and turning to admire the rushing water that drowns out the sound of people’s distant conversations.
Taking my now-empty lemonade glass from my hand, Leo stacks it with his and sets it on the edge of the fountain, then turns his attention fully to me for the first time since I arrived.
“Well, Miss Tanaka, now that you’ve had more time to think about my proposal, have you reconsidered your position?” Leo’s tone is light, his brown eyes intense as he peers down at me, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.
So much for a breather. He’s jumping right into business, and I know he’s not going to like what I have to say.
“I’ve considered it,” I say sweetly, looking up at him through my lashes.
“And?” he presses, taking half a step closer. “Are you ready to back out of our engagement?”
He lifts a hand to brush a stray strand of hair from my cheek, his fingers following the curve of my ear as he gently tucks the lock away.
The touch is so soft it borders on intimate, and despite my conviction to not let him get under my skin, it makes my breath catch.
Heat infuses my cheeks, and I glance toward my family, who have stopped alongside Leo’s father near the entrance to the hedges to keep a subtle eye on us.
I’ve already gotten a lecture from my father about what kind of physical contact I am allowed with my “uncivilized groom” and what I’m not until my wedding day, and this most definitely walks the line of unacceptable.
