"Time to go. Father says we can't be late."
"Heaven forbid we keep Alessandro waiting," I reply sweetly, gathering my clutch. "After all, you've been so diligent about ensuring we spend quality time together."
His smile falters at my sarcasm. "This arrangement isn't about romance."
"No," I agree, brushing past him into the hallway.
But as our car pulls away toward Manhattan, I can't help wondering if this pull between Alessandro and me could become more than just a business arrangement.
He’s clear that he’s not a man for sentiment. He doesn’t want children. But he’s not cold toward me. He’s agreed to respect me.
And there are moments when I see something more in his eyes that makes my breath stall.
The car pulls up to the hotel. Photographers hover near the entrance, hungry for a glimpse of New York's elite. Father exits first, helping Mother, then Enrico offers his hand to assist me.
"Remember who you represent tonight," he whispers, his grip tightening painfully around my fingers.
“How could I forget?”
The grand ballroom is abuzz with wealth and power. The mayor, bought and paid for by families like ours, greets everyone with the shallow enthusiasm my father shows toward attendees as well.
My parents immediately drift toward their circle of allies, Enrico following close behind after shooting me a warning glance.
The crowd shifts, and I see him.
Alessandro stands near the far wall, deep in conversation with the police commissioner.
His tuxedo fits his broad shoulders perfectly, the stark black and white highlighting the olive undertone of his skin.
His dark hair is swept back, revealing the sharp angles of his face.
My heart stutters in my chest.
As if sensing my gaze, he looks up. Across the crowded room, our eyes lock.
The air between us crackles with electricity. My lungs forget how to function. The room around us blurs into insignificance, fading away until there's only him and the magnetic pull drawing me toward him.
Alessandro excuses himself from his conversation, never breaking our gaze as he begins moving in my direction. His expression remains neutral, but his eyes burn with an intensity that makes my skin flush.
He reaches me, and before my brother can materialize to intervene, Alessandro extends his hand.
“Isabella. May I have this dance?"
I place my hand in his, electricity shooting up my arm at the contact. "I was beginning to think you'd forgotten what I looked like."
His lips quirk. "Impossible."
My brother starts toward us, but my father presses his hand on Enrico’s shoulder and shakes his head.
My father knows that part of tonight’s show is the merging of two powerful families.
He wants the world to see how he’s handed me over to Alessandro Dante.
Alessandro guides me onto the dance floor, his hand settling at my waist as he pulls me close, not inappropriately so, but close enough that I feel the solid warmth of him.
"Your brother has been quite the dedicated chaperone," he murmurs as we begin to move. "I was considering having him fitted with a tracking device so I could avoid him more effectively."
A laugh escapes me before I can stop it. "He's been insufferable. I half expected him to install bars on my bedroom windows."
