Damn, Zara, stop ogling him.
“We’ll marry today,” he says matter-of-factly, ripping me from my thoughts.
“What?” I ask, dumbfounded.
I can easily read people, particularly men; however, his poker face remains strong. Just like his bedroom. The dark colors reveal nothing personal about him. The high-end furnishings and king-sized bed indicate an interior designer who spared no cost, but the room lacks a homey feeling.
He walks away, unconcerned, while I am one second away from throttling him. I am the one who gives orders and decides, yet he does it for me with such nonchalance that it maddens me.
Who the hell does he think he is?
“No,” I say, sounding like a petulant child.
“I didn’t stutter, Zara.”
I march over, blocking his way even if, physically, I pose no real threat. I crane my neck to look at his face. He’s an impressive masterpiece defined by the sharp elegance of a predator, sinuous valleys of muscle, and a chiseled face made to tempt.
“We aren’t even married yet and you’re itching for a fight?” he asks, arching a brow.
“I will not marry you. Not today.”
“It’s as good a day as any.” He shrugs, not understanding what this day means to me.
It’s the day I had the accident. It took me months to piece some of the puzzle together. Someone erased all evidence, everything about what happened. There’s someone out there who knows the truth, and I won’t rest until I find that person. Why hide my damn right to know?
Not entertaining this ludicrous notion, I say, “I don’t have a dress.”
“I needed the month to prepare the wedding,” he smirks, disarming me.
I follow him inside his neatly organized and spacious walk-in closet. “It’s oddly romantic, but presumptuous to think I will like it.”
He shakes his head at me, leaving me once again to question this strange feeling that there’s more. “You have so little faith in me.”
I jerk my chin at him, wishing to find out how much he knows about me. “What about my family?”
“You don’t have any.”
He grabs some trousers and a shirt, and I watch enraptured as he buttons it, leaving the top one undone. Damn, even that is sexy, sending a heat wave through my body as I imagine his skilled hands on me.
“I will keep my maiden name.”
He gives me a strained nod and shoves his hands into his pockets, but not before I notice him clenching them into fists. Silent tension emanates from him, causing me to suck in a breath.
“Let me give you a tour of your new home,” he says, voice clipped.
Walking down the curved hardwood staircase, I spot a modern circular light hanging from the ceiling. Spanning two floors, the penthouse includes four bedrooms, five bathrooms, a game room, a home office, a gym with a sauna, and a shiny steel kitchen with a marble island in the middle. An ample terrace with a pool and two lounge areas invites relaxing nights and lazy days. The entire space is impressive, and I could easily get lost.
The living room boasts a theater, a seating area by the window, a shiny bar in the corner, and a dining room surrounded by floor-to-ceiling windows that offer a spectacular view of the city.
I hear a woman’s voice down the hall. My heart clenches, thinking there’s someone else, and she came to stop the wedding. Nerves gnaw at my insides, puncturing holes in my composure. I remain frozen in place in the middle of the living room, not understanding this visceral fear. Why would it even matter? Good riddance, but I might kill him for putting me in such a disrespectful position.
He must read the panic draining me, and he rushes to say, “My cousin, Noemi, is here.”
The relief is so potent, it unbalances me. Nothing new with him. I should leave, but something tells me it’s too late now.
On unsteady legs, I turn around. She blinks at me, opening and closing her mouth, but no words come out. I don’t know what I expected, but she appears to be pure sunshine with her warm blue eyes and wavy long pastel pink hair, so different from her cousin.
Vian glares at her. “Haven’t heard of announcing yourself first?”
