I can’t believe itrepeats through my mind. It’s almost too good to be true. Sitting in my penthouse on the thirtieth floor in Soho, exhilaration courses through my veins as I gaze at the contract. I stare at the bottom of the page where her name is signed on the dotted line in elegant script, like if I blink my eyes or turn my head for a second, it will disappear.
Today feels otherworldly. Today feels like a dream. It’s something I’ve wanted, but I never believed that I could actuallyobtain. And now, I’m still struggling to grasp the fact that she’s finally mine. Maybe not by choice because I did force her hand, but the day I’ve been longing for has arrived.
With a sigh of relief at seeing her name, I toss the papers onto the glass coffee table in the sitting area and head toward the sliding door that leads to my terrace. I slide open the glass door, step out, and walk to the black railing. I grip it while taking in the breathtaking view of the New York skyline.
The sky is filled with billowing gray clouds casting a shadow over the landscape, while the crisp, cool air nips at my face. Inhaling deeply, I fill my lungs with cold air and marvel at how different life seems with just the sight of her name elegantly written on the dotted line.
She’ll be mine in a matter of days.
Eleven years ago, I buried my mother. This day serves as a bittersweet reminder of both the past I’ve left behind and the future that awaits me. The future that awaits me with her.
My Beauty.
My mother’s hopes for my life may come true after all. There’s no doubt in my mind that Arabelle will fall head over heels in love withFlorian. That side of me will lavish her with love and shower her with gifts to show her how much she means to me. She’ll never want for anything, including love. She already has my heart, and I’ll give her whatever her heart desires. But can she accept the beast that lurks inside? The beast will always be a part of me.
I don’t want this to be just an arranged marriage where we are both living separate lives. I hope that’s not what she wants either because I want a marriage filled with genuine love and commitment. I want a wife I can worship and who’ll also worship me as her husband and the love of her life. The person she can lean on for anything and everything.
Will she accept our relationship without any conditions? Will she open her heart to me so we can have what we both desire?
The rapid knocks on my door tank my mood immediately. I just want to enjoy this one win before being brought back to reality. Stepping inside, I walk to my front door, then look through the peephole and confusion blankets my face. Opening it, I’m faced with two men in cheap blue suits.
“Florian Larsson?” one of the men asks, flashing a badge.
Fuck!
“How may I help you?”
“Mr. Larsson, I’m Detective Regan, and this is Detective Logan. We’re from Chicago PD, and we have some questions about the disappearance of Pierre Gaultier.”
“I don’t know how I can help you with that. I don’t know any Pierre Gaultier.”
“If you let us in, we can discuss this matter further,” Detective Regan says.
“Well, I’m sorry, gentlemen, I’m on my way out for an important meeting, but I can give you my attorney’s card, and he will set up a meeting for a later date.”
“An attorney? If you have no involvement, what do you need an attorney for?” Detective Regan asks.
“Gentlemen, I’m a very wealthy man. I don’t go anywhere or discuss anything without the advice of my attorney.”
“Were you recently in Chicago?” Detective Logan asks as I retrieve my wallet from my back pocket.
“Depends on what’s recent. I travel a lot,” I say as I pull my attorney’s business card from inside my wallet. Detective Regan grabs it, looks at it before focusing back on me.
The insistent ringing of my cell phone is a welcome intervention. I reach into the other back pocket of my dress slacks and groan at Alrick’s name on the caller ID, which means my evening is about to change.
“Sorry, gentlemen, I have to take this.”
“We’ll be in touch,” Detective Regan says, and I nod before shutting the door in their faces.
“Alrick?”
“We have a problem.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, feeling the pressure and tension building. Of course, we have a problem. I can’t even fucking celebrate my upcoming nuptials. No matter what, life seems determined to crush my happiness at every turn.
“What kind of problem?”
“Didrick.” He sighs. “He was in the alley behind the warehouse in Hell’s Kitchen.”
