He called his grandmother, and Potenziana answered after a single ring. “Buongiorno,bambino.”
“Why are you letting Sarica run wild?” he demanded.
“Why do you think that is any of your business?”
“If this is another dig about my marriage—-”
“It is,” Potenziana acknowledged without shame.
“Justina and I are already divorced,” he grated out. “And even Sarica knows it was not a real marriage—-”
“And if I told you that Sarica and I have made a similar deal, will that be a good enough reason for you? She has agreed to marry whoever I choose for her next—-”
Giancarlo hung up on his grandmother for the first time. Justina and Nassif exchanged glances as he walked out of the conference room without a word.
“How much are you willing to bet he’s on his way to Boston now?” Justina asked, amused.
“I’m afraid I have to decline,” the sheikh said politely. “I don’t take bets I’m guaranteed to lose.”
DAUPHIN TUEUR’S CLUBin New York was everything Giancarlo expected and disliked. Crowded. Loud.Chaotic. Women threw themselves at him, but his attention was fixed on one person.
Sarica.
She was on the VIP floor, beams of colorful light illuminating her face. Her hands clasped the railing as she watched the crowd below. Her hair was the shade of the sea this time, her dress a scrap of gold silk that exposed the creamy swell of her breasts and the silken length of her legs.
Giancarlo took the steps three at a time. His fingers curled around her wrist, and he dragged her to the nearest room. The door had barely shut when Sarica was in his arms, her mouth finding his with desperate hunger. He backed her against the wall, drowning in the taste of her.
But just as his hands slid beneath her dress—-
“S-Stop.” Her voice trembled.
Giancarlo froze, forehead pressed against hers, hearts racing.
“Why are you here?”
“You know why,” he growled.
“Tell me anyway—-”
“Nonna,” he bit out. “She told me you’ve agreed to marry someone else—-”
“And you don’t want me to?”
He already knew her answer by the look in her eyes. His chest tightened.
“I can’t, Sarica.”
Her face paled. “I haven’t asked anything yet—-”
“I can’t marry you.”
Sarica stumbled back, the pain in her eyes nearly destroying him. He reached for her, but she pushed his hands away.
She took another step back. And another. One more, and she’d be out of the room.
Out of his life.
And into another man's arms.
