Page 44 of To Tango, with Desire

“Wear the ring, Amira. We have a wedding to plan.”

And just like that, he turned on his expensive as fuck sneakers and left.

I counted to thirty before screaming. I wanted to hurl the damned ring box across the room, but I knew it must have cost a fortune. It wasn’t the ring’s fault that I was caught up in this mess with the world’s biggest bastard.

There was no other way around it, I had to tell my parents the truth. Sure, they’d be devastated. Angry. Naturally, they’d blame me, but they’d get over it.

Could I live with myself if something happened to my dad because I didn’t accept Zane’s proposal? The fact that he’d even agreed to see a doctor was astounding. The thought of being able to help my father, to give him a chance at a comfortable retirement ate at my conscience.

I picked up the box. Against my better judgment I opened it, examining how the light shone through the diamonds, admiring—for only a second!—how exquisitely beautiful it was before snapping it shut.

How the hell could I marry a man who was, for all intents and purposes, a stranger?

More to the point, how could I marry a man I didn’t love?

ELEVEN

ZANE

TWELVE

AMIRA

Ilaughed up at Eli, the tall blond guy I was dancing with, and couldn’t help but feel a little giddy. He was the long-time boyfriend of Edward, a friend of mine from college. Not only was he an amazing dancer, but he was also hilariously flamboyant and proud. After their recent trip to South America, he and Edward were only too happy to showcase their moves on the dance floor.

And given it was my birthday, they treated me like a queen.

Deciding on a last-minute party, I’d hired out an inner-city tango bar and invited everyone I knew. And the DJ, a friend of Alejandro’s, played a mix of salsa, tango, and Latin beats so we could dance for hours without being interrupted.

At that moment, I was enjoying twirling and swirling in my red dress, a little excited to see Zane again. We had only spoken once or twice on the phone, short conversations about when I was free for a date that he wanted to plan for us, so I hadn’t seen him since he’d proposed last week. And I was nervous.

I hadn’t officially agreed to marry him. I couldn’t seem to form the words over the phone. And telling someone you were thinking of saying yes just didn’t seem like a text message kind of conversation.

My stomach lurched.

I must be crazy, and it must be the cocktails getting to my head, but the terms and conditions that I’d come up with made me feel a bit better about entering into this sham of a marriage.

Zane had no idea. What would he say when I told him? Part of me wanted to see how dating went first, to test the waters before I revealed anything.

I tugged at the sweetheart neckline of my dress, knowing it did amazing things to my cleavage. I wanted Zane to drool when he saw me. It was my birthday after all, and I was letting loose tonight.

I had flicked my hair up into a ponytail and added dangling diamond drop earrings to complete the look. I wanted to enjoy tonight without worrying about anything, except what song the DJ would play next.

“Where’s this new man of yours?” Eli asked as the song ended and we made our way to the bar.

“He had to work late but said he’d be by soon.”

“All work and no play . . .”

“If you met Zane, you wouldn’t say that.”

He may be busy, but dull would be the last adjective anyone would use to describe him.

I mingled with my friends, fielded questions about my shotgun engagement (no, I wasn’t pregnant), and grabbed another drink at the bar.

I felt a telltale tingling up my spine and seconds later Zane’s hand snuck around my waist.

“You look like a siren in that dress.”