She was sure it would be a text from her mother, checking she’d arrived safely. Remembering her mother made her spiraling thoughts come to a screeching halt. If her mom discovered that Matteo was engaged, that Sam’s trust in him had been misplaced—and that she herself had been right about him—she’d never let Sam live it down. Would never let her forget. She’d jump on the next plane and make an unholy spectacle until Sam had no choice but to leave with her.
Fresh anger surged through her at Matteo.
Even now, with his fiancée on the other side of the door, he was glaring at his brother. Didn’t that woman deserve better?
She despised confrontations. She’d always hated being the reason for the constant, emotionally taxing fights her parents had engaged in for so long. The guilt that they were fighting because of her, worried over her health and her future, over her long-term care, over the medical debts they’d accrued had hurt more than the pricks of the hundred needles she’d had to endure.
The thought of Matteo’s fiancée, the guests at the party and his family learning about her sent a fresh tremor down her spine.
Instantly, the arm around her waist tightened, long fingers pressing into her hip without hesitation. “You’ll be fine, Ms. Fischer,” Mr. Ricci whispered, despite his declaration that he didn’t do kindness.
Matteo flicked a dark glance at his brother’s arm around her waist before he opened the doors. Ms. Bianchi was petite and curvy and vivaciously beautiful in a way that couldn’t be achieved solely by designer clothes and expensive makeup. Her gaze immediately fastened on Matteo.
A large, lean man—clearly Vittorio Bianchi—surveyed them, his shrewd gaze not missing Alessandro’s arm around Sam’s waist. He barked something at Mr. Ricci in Italian.
Mr. Ricci shrugged in return, an arrogant smile ghosting across his lips.
Sam’s cheeks burned. No doubt it was about her. And nothing decent either.
Sam breathed out a sigh as the older man left.
“Matteo, what happened?” Angelina said, tangling her arm through his.
Matteo smiled tightly. “Nothing,cara mia,” he said, switching to English. “I wished to inquire about something with Alessandro.”
“And you were shocked to find him in here with a woman?” Angelina said with a tinkling laugh. Her gaze flicked to Sam and cut away. She clearly thought Sam wasn’t worth a second look.
Sam didn’t know whether to feel relieved or insulted. She didn’t know what to feel about anything right now. Least of all, her constant awareness of the man propping her up like a cardboard cutout.
“I know your mother wishes for Alessandro to bring a date to our wedding,” Angelina said, laying her palm on Matteo’s chest, “but you must trust his judgment, Matteo. If he’s hiding this woman, she is not suitable company for us.”
A gasp escaped Sam’s mouth, a slow burn of anger humming beneath her skin.
But for her casually sexist attitude toward other women, Ms. Bianchi wasn’t to blame. That Sam had to listen to it and not even offer a token protest…the fault lay with Matteo for making her face his fiancée as if she were the other woman. It also lay with Mr. Ricci, who let his friends and family talk in such a way about the women in his life.
She’d had enough. When she tried to step away, those fingers gripped the curve of her flesh tight, branding her. Tilting his head down, Mr. Ricci studied her, a mocking slant to his mouth. “Such outrage is not warranted, Ms. Fischer. Remember, you’re onlypretendingto be mine.”
Sam shivered as his words trickled down her spine like a lover’s caress. She placed her palm on his chest, goaded beyond common sense. He was hard and hot against her fingertips. His heart thundering away belied the mockery in his eyes. “You wish I were yours. I do have standards.”
His laughter enveloped her, a deep, sensual rumble, as arousing as the man’s physicality. This close, she could see the warming of the gray of his eyes. The small scar across his brow. The flare of interest as he said, “And what are those?”
“No liars. And no arrogant, judgmental men who mock others’ weaknesses.”
The cold frost of his eyes returned. “I never mocked you.”
“You aren’t as inscrutable as you’d like to believe.”
His gaze dipped to her mouth. It was as if one look, one word between them could generate an electric charge that surrounded them. “Or you read me better than anyone has in a long time.”
“Shall we join the party,caro?” Angelina’s loud voice cut across their murmurs.
Looking away from Mr. Ricci felt like fighting gravity.
“You shouldn’t keep Vittorio waiting,” Mr. Ricci said.
“You two should join us,” Matteo retorted.
Sam shook her head.
