He leans back, casual and powerful. “Oh, princess. I’m in everyone’s chair.”
The man beside Lorenzo snorts under his breath, swirling his drink. Who is this asshole? One of his hired goons?
My father clears his throat like he wants to reclaim some authority he hasn’t possessed in weeks. “Please. Sit, Victoria.”
I slide into the chair opposite Lorenzo, my parents flanking me. The candles flicker between us, casting shadows across his face. If this weren’t bad enough, now he looks downright deadly.
Great,I love this for me.
A server pours wine, and another brings plates, but Lorenzo . . . he just watches me.
The asshole sitting beside Lorenzo, and whose name I still haven’t gotten, breaks the tension first, lifting his glass toward my parents with a lazy half smile. “Thank you for hosting us. It’s not every day I get to attend a secret wedding.”
Secret wedding?
Why is it a secret?
And by secret . . . what does that mean?
My mother’s laugh comes out brittle. “We’re . . . honored to have you.”
Lorenzo taps his fork against his plate, the metallic ring slicing through the room. “Relax. I only commit arson when it’s necessary. So have no fear, now that I’m getting what I want, you’re perfectly safe . . . well, unless Victoria chooses to disobey.”
My father chokes on his wine.
“And we should believe you?” I stare at him across the table. “You burned down our factory, and don’t even get me started on the rest of what you did.”
Lorenzo’s gaze slides to mine, amused. “Allegedly.”
“Allegedly? You admitted to it.” My fingers tighten around my fork. “You called it leverage.”
He shrugs, unbothered. “Semantics.”
Dessert forks clatter softly as the staff reset the table between courses. No one has touched the food yet.
Who could possibly have an appetite right now? His friend, that’s who. He’s currently lifting his fork to his mouth.
My father clears his throat. “We should discuss logistics. The wedding is . . . in a few days. The guest list, the ceremony, press control—”
“As I’ve said before. This is private. No guests,” Lorenzo cuts in, slicing into his steak with calm brutality.
“Will your mother be attending?” I ask.
“My mother is dead.” The rough baritone of his voice leaves no room for questions. I want to ask more, but I don’t dare.
“As I was saying…no press. Priest is already booked . . . someone I can trust. Other than that, not a word.”
My mother blinks. “I thought—”
He smirks. “You thought what? That I was going to make a big announcement.”
My stomach twists. “Well, you did go out of your way to strong-arm me into the sham of a marriage, so why is it a secret?”
He spears a piece of meat and lifts it. “You agreed to marry me.”
“Cut the shit, we both know I didn’t really agree to shit.”
He chews, slow and deliberate, eyes locked on mine. “Little Bird, I don’t like your attitude.”
