by Nina Levine
Bella Isles Ciccula is no fucking pushover.
Give up my job?
The man is fucking insane if he thinks I’m giving up anything to marry him.
Upstairs it’s a whole new world. Plush carpet. Marble walls. Chandeliers hanging from the vaulted ceiling. Everything in a shade of antique white.
But I barely take it all in as I storm down the hallway, ready to lose my shit.
I stop at a pair of closed twin doors. He’s behind those doors, I just know it. I can’t explain how I know or why.
I just know.
Furious, I push down on the elegant gold doorknobs and burst through the doors.
He is sitting behind a large desk looking at something on his computer screen.
“Who the hell do you think you are?” I yell.
A mean-looking man with no hair and big arms steps toward me, but Alessandro stops him with a wave of his hand as he slowly rises to his feet.
“Bella—”
“You chauvinistic jerk!” I spit out, slightly breathless from storming up the stairs because clearly, I am not an Olympic sprinter.
“Alessandro, I’m so sorry!” Anastacia pants as she and Imogen come to a halt behind me.
But I ignore them.
“You think you can snap your fingers and I’ll do what you say?” I take an angry step farther into the room. “It doesn’t work that way, buddy. If you want a wife who will give up everything she has worked hard for, then I strongly advise that you find somebody else to marry. Do you know how hard I worked to get where I am today? I worked my ass to the bone, that’s how hard. I’ve put in hours that would make you weak just thinking about them. So if you think I’ll give it all up for a narcissistic, chauvinistic asshole who wants to boss me around, then you’re as delusional as you are a manipulative jerk!”
My tirade makes me out of breath.
It also makes me slightly emotional.
While Alessandro simply stares back at me, his arms folded across his chest, his stupidly beautiful face calm and assured.
I hate him.
I hate him so much my bones ache.
“Why?” I glare at him, my anger deepening when I remember I am standing in front of the boy who broke my heart.
Alessandro moves slowly around his desk and clears the room with a nod. Imogen looks at me questioningly. Silently asking me if I want her to leave. I give her a small nod and she leaves with a pinched-face Anastacia. I turn back to glare at Alessandro and am only vaguely aware of the two bodyguards leaving when the door clicks quietly behind them.
“I’ve agreed to your sick business deal in the name of peace, at least show me the same respect and tell me why,” I demand.
“Why what?”
His voice is deep and smooth. And I hate that it sounds so damn delicious.
“Why me? If you need a wife so badly, why didn’t you pick from the legion of women clamoring for the attention of the King of the Boroughs?” I glare at him. “Why pick the girl whose heart you broke?”
The words tumble out, thoughtlessly, and I regret them immediately. The last thing I need is for him to think he has any kind of power over me. Or that him failing to show up on my eighteenth birthday actually meant something to me.
Yet, there they are, out in the open. The admission that he did indeed break my heart.
Stupid emotionally charged words.
His dark brows pull together, but slowly smooth back into place.
God, he really is handsome.
I don’t give him a chance to respond because I’m on Angry Avenue and it’s a one-way street.
Plus, I don’t think I’m ready to hear the answer.
“Expecting me to give up my job just because we’re married is chauvinistic and archaic.”
“My wife is expected to be with me at all public events. And I travel a lot for business.”
“I don’t care if you travel to Mars for business. I’m not quitting my job!”
“I’m open for negotiation.”
“You say that like it’s something I’m prepared to negotiate, and it’s not.” I step closer and shove a pointed finger in his rock-hard chest. “Let’s get one thing straight, Mr. Lastrantonio. I may have agreed to marry you, but I won’t be forced to do anything else. Do you understand me?” He smiles and it’s devastating, and it catches me completely off guard. “And stop smiling while I’m yelling at you!”
But of course, he doesn’t. Infuriatingly, he shakes his head and unfolds his arms casually. “You’re just as feisty as I knew you would be.” His smile softens. “It’s good to see you, Bella.”
I don’t know what infuriates me more. Him looking so damn beautiful it hurts? Or the fact that he’s talking like we’re old friends who haven’t seen one another for some time?
I cross my arms. “Are you kidding me? You think you can smooth talk me right now?”
His demeanor doesn’t waver.
“I know this probably comes as a surprise. But it will all make sense in time,” he says.
He’s so confident, it’s sickening.
“What does that even mean?” My arms fall open. “Ugh, you’re so…infuriating!”
He steps closer and I forget to move, momentarily spellbound by the look on his face. It’s a mix of happiness and smoldering heat. And suddenly, I’m sucked into his orbit and unable to look away, let alone move.
“God, it’s good to see you,” he says.
“You expect me to tell you it’s nice to see you? You’re ten years too late for that.”
A shadow falls over his face. He opens his mouth to say something, but of course I beat him to it.
“Whatever you’re about to say, don’t bother. Unless you’re about to tell me you take it all back and I don’t have to marry you. Otherwise, don’t waste your breath. Nothing you can say will make any of this okay.”
Amusement shines in his stupid, big brown eyes.
And on those stupid full lips that make me slightly achy between my thighs.
“I can see you’re going to be a giant pain in my ass,” he says calmly.
“Good!” I snap, walking toward the door. “Because I’d hate for that to be a surprise.”
7
Alessandro
She slams the door and the sound waves ripple through the room.
She’s going to be a handful.
A real pain in the ass.
So why does it excite me so much?
A smile tugs at my lips because she’s so damn feisty— just as I’d imagined she would be.
My body is humming from the encounter. I was hard the moment I looked up from my desk and saw her standing in the doorway, her beautiful eyes blazing with anger, her wild red hair swirling around her like fire. I had expected it. The moment she’d looked at the CCTV camera and flipped me the bird, I knew I had poked the bear, and oh how I ached for the bite.
Another smile spreads across my lips as I think about her stomping toward me and shoving her finger into my chest. About the way she stood up to me with so much heat in her words.
She’s not afraid of me.
She hates me.
I let her down.
Why pick the girl whose heart you broke?
My smile quickly fades.
If I had thought for a second that me not showing up to her eighteenth birthday would break her heart…
I push away the memory.
In good time my reason for not turning up will come out. But for now, it is a truth I will keep close to my chest.
I return to my desk and sit down. Opening the bottom drawer, I remove a bottle of grappa and splash the grapey liquid into a glass tumbler. Taking a mouthful, I shake my head.
I’ve set something in play, and as much as I think I am in control, I have a feeling I won’t be.
Bella will make sure of that.
8
Bella
The ridiculously large flower arrangement arrives the next morning.
I watch as the delivery
man brings it in and places it on my desk. Behind him, my assistant’s face is glowing with excitement.
I look at the card.
Let’s start over.
A
Alessandro.
The nerve of him. Thinking he can win me over with a bunch of flowers.
I mean, they are gorgeous, and they obviously cost a lot of money. But what the hell? I would have more respect for the man if he’d had the stones to bring them to me personally.
But he is right to stay away.
Because I’d probably throw them at him.
I signal to the delivery guy to not leave before quickly scribbling my reply on the back of the card.
Let’s not start at all.
B
I tuck it back into the flower arrangement. The delivery guy looks uncomfortable and I feel bad for him, so I tip him twenty and thank him for ensuring the flowers are promptly returned to Alessandro.
“And make sure you bill him for the return trip.”
I’m probably being childish. But hell, there’s so much wrong with this situation. After yesterday’s encounter I’m still drunk with anger, and really shouldn’t be held responsible for my reactions.
The day drags by slowly, I’m feeling edgy and restless, and I can barely keep my mind focused on the paperwork in front of me. So I give up and open my laptop and do what I’ve avoided doing since this mess started. Actually, avoided doing for the past ten years.
I google Alessandro.
My emotions are immediately spun in circles when I see all the photos of him splashed all over the Internet.
Alessandro looking dark and dangerous in a custom suit.
Alessandro looking like an international player as he arrives at a glittering social event.
Alessandro leaving a café looking perfectly put together in casual clothing.
A shirtless Alessandro looking like a god emerging from the ocean in some glamorous location somewhere in the world.
There is plenty of information about him too.
How he grew up in a small coastal town in Italy.
How he took over the reins of the family business when his father died.
How he came to America and took it by storm, in both business and social circles.
They even touch on his rumored association with organized crime. But it is more glamorized than condemned.
He is Mr. New York.
The King of the Boroughs.
Rich.
Handsome.
I shut my laptop in disgust.
Hating him.
When five o’clock rolls around, I almost run out of my office. I contemplate calling Imogen to see if she wants to meet for a cocktail, and there’s even a brief moment when I consider hitting the gym. But what I really want to do is dive into a tub of Ben & Jerry’s, so I catch a cab home where I kick off my heels and head straight for the refrigerator.
In the living room, I whip off my bra and put on my favorite, well-worn John Lennon t-shirt, and a pair of faded pink bed shorts I bought back in college.
Ten minutes later, I stare mindlessly at the TV screen as I spoon chocolate fudge ice cream into my mouth, not caring that it drips down my chin.
Tomorrow night is our engagement party—a fact I only learned this morning via a rather curt email from Anastacia— and I’m praying for a miracle to stop all of this nonsense from taking place.
Maybe there will be a terrible weather event.
Or some kind of outage.
Or maybe aliens will land and make first contact.
Or maybe—just maybe—Alessandro fucking Lastrantonio will grow a heart and tell me the deal is off and I can be on my merry way.
The buzz of the doorbell makes me drop the spoon of ice cream onto my t-shirt. Dammit.
“Hold on!” I call out, running to the bathroom to quickly rinse the ice cream off before it stains. In my haste, water splashes down the front of my shirt, completely soaking the fabric.
The door buzzer rings again, so I give up what I’m doing.
It’ll be Imogen, I’m sure, and she’ll have wine. Hopefully, lots of it.
Except, when I look through the peep hole, it isn’t Imogen.
It’s Alessandro.
Reluctantly, I open the door.
“What are you doing here?”
His scent hits me with the force of a tsunami. Spicy notes of sandalwood and the earthy perfume of the woods after rain. It’s infuriatingly sexy. And I hate it. Just like I hate him.
“I felt bad after our encounter yesterday. It’s not how I wanted our first meeting to be.” His warm brown eyes find mine. “Can I come in?”
No.
You.
Can.
Not.
Come.
In.
Is what my heart and head scream.
But my body doesn’t get the memo and opens the door the rest of the way to the enemy.
His eyes sweep over me, and I’m suddenly very aware that I have no bra on, and that my nipples have tightened to points poking through John Lennon’s forehead. “Nice shirt.”
I hurriedly wrap my arms around my waist. “How did you find out where I live? Let me guess, Anastacia and her trusty planner?”
He smiles and I hate how beautiful it is.
“I know everything about this town.”
I pull a face at his self-assurance. “What are you doing here? Have you come to inflict some more ridiculous demands on me?”
“I know what I am asking of you is —”
“Preposterous? Archaic? The idea of an insane man?”
He raises a perfect eyebrow. “I was going to say unique.”
As I close my front door, he looks around my modest apartment.
“You sent back my flowers.”
“I did.”
He smiles. “Nice touch.”
“Thank you. Did it get my point across?”
“That you don’t like flowers? Absolutely.”
“No. I love flowers. But I can’t be bribed by them. And just for the record, you’re not going to impress me with money, gifts, or by showing me how awesome you are. All the money in the world isn’t going to change how I feel about you and this absurd situation.”
“Duly noted.”
The damp fabric of my t-shirt clings to my breasts, and I silently curse the fact that I’m not wearing a bra.
“So, what are you doing here?” I demand.
“I wanted to apologize.”
“For forcing me to marry you?”
He gives me a weak smile.
“There is so much I want to tell you, but I don’t know where to start,” he says, and just like that, the emotion in the room flips on its ass. Suddenly, I don’t feel like I have the upper hand anymore because his words are said with a softness that cradles my heart.
I want to fight him, but the way he is looking at me dampens the fire in my chest.
“Say what you came to say and then leave.”
He ignores the harshness in my tone.
“I know you think I’m a monster making you do this.”
I fold my arms. “Go on.”
He pauses for a moment, his face softening as he looks for the words.
“Have you really forgotten, Bella?”
I raise an eyebrow. “Forgotten what?”
“How it was between us?”
“That was ten years ago. Hell, two years longer than that since we’d seen each other. We were kids. What, you think I’ve been holding on to that dream all this time?”
His jaw tightens.
“I remember those days like they were yesterday,” he says, his voice is soft as he reaches for my hand. “You were my best friend. I loved you from the moment we were born.”
Then why did you never turn up on our birthday?
The memory makes me angry, and I pull my hand away from his, taking a step back from him. “I stopped loving you the night of our eighteenth birthday.”
My words cut into the t
ightened air around us. His eyes burn with a dark fire as he steps closer. “Can you honestly look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t love me anymore? That what we had all those years ago doesn’t still live in your heart.”
My chin raises. “You never showed up. You broke your promise.”
I see a flicker of remorse cross his beautiful face. But it is so brief, I wonder if I imagined it.
“Do you want to know why I chose not to show?” he asks.
Hearing him admit it hurts. Because somewhere deep inside me I was still clinging to the hope that maybe I’d gotten it wrong. That some wild act of God had prevented him from showing up to my birthday party and whisking me away to be his queen. A flood or a tornado, perhaps. Maybe a bad case of the flu. Fucking anything. But to hear that he chose not to show up… it fucking stings.
My heart aches. Its natural state of being is to love him and it wants permission to do so. Desperately. But I will not give it permission. Not now. Not ever. Because the asshole chose to give me up. Chose to break my heart.
“No, I don’t want to know. Because your reason means nothing to me. You mean nothing to me.” My tongue is sharp. But fuck it. He deserves this. “You might’ve backed me into a corner so I have to marry you, Alessandro. But there is nothing in this world that can make me love you.”
His eyes grow darker, if that is even possible, and his jaw tightens. “Is that so?”
“I’m just your toy, Alessandro Lastrantonio. You can bend me any which way you like, and you can play make believe with me until the cows come home. But just like a toy, I won’t feel anything toward you. It will all be in your head. Do you understand me? Nothing but the imagination of a sad little rich man.”
We glare at one another.
“You drive me crazy,” he growls finally.
“Good,” I say as I walk past him to open my front door so he can leave. “Then I’ll consider my job here done. Good night.”
9
Bella
“How are you feeling about tonight?” Imogen asks over coffee at a quaint bakery on Charles Street.
“Like I’m walking the plank. Can you believe it’s my engagement party and I can’t stand my groom?”