I like women well enough, but I don’t like how I feel around her.
Intrigue and desire for a woman are distracting, and I can’t afford distractions.
Truth is, I haven't been able to stop thinking about Isabella since our meeting.
Those sea-green eyes.
That sharp tongue she tries so hard to control.
The way her composure slipped just enough to reveal something smoldering beneath the surface.
Something that the man in me wants to explore.
The car slows as we approach our destination. Of course, Marco would choose something so ostentatious. So public.
I step out onto the sidewalk, scanning the entrance for a glimpse of her.
My pulse quickens when I spot her standing beside the revolving doors, wrapped in a cream-colored dress that makes her look both innocent and wanton.
And for just a moment, I forget why I'm really here.
I tear my gaze away from Isabella and signal to my men.
Four of them immediately fan out, disappearing into the hotel's interior, while another three position themselves at strategic points outside.
"Benito, I want every exit mapped, every blind spot identified," I mutter to my head of security. "Check for secondary access points, service elevators, anything the Vitales might use."
"Already on it, Don Dante," he responds, his eyes constantly scanning our surroundings.
This is what matters. Not the curve of Isabella's lips when she spots me, not the way her posture straightens.Focus, Dante. Security. Strategy. Survival.
I approach her, holding my breath as I kiss her on the cheek.
I break away, continuing to guard against her allure.
Yet somehow, I find myself walking through a gaudy reception hall, pretending to consider security angles while actually stealing glances at Isabella.
"The balcony overlooks the harbor." The venue coordinator gestures grandly. "Perfect for sunset photos."
I nod absently, calculating sight lines and exit routes out of professional necessity. That's what I tell myself.
"What do you think?" Isabella asks, those sea-green eyes turning to me expectantly.
What do I think? I think I'm losing my fucking mind.
I've rejected dozens of calls about cake flavors and floral arrangements, delegated everything to my staff.
This marriage is a business transaction, nothing more.
So why am I here, personally inspecting this place?
"The eastern windows are a vulnerability," I say, voice flat. "Too exposed."
Isabella tilts her head, studying me. "That's what you're concerned about? Not whether it's beautiful enough for our big day?"
Her sarcasm rips through my agitation. I find myself fighting back a smile. "Security comes before aesthetics."
"Of course it does." She sighs. “We could try a prison.”
