“Miss Nova will be Mrs. Ryan Vitucci as of November,” Pietro informed her proudly.
“That soon, huh?” She lifted a brow at the guard before looking back at me. “What is it with you kids getting married so young? I’m not knocking it, just curious.”
“I’m not getting married in November,” I assured her. “We’re still working on the date, but I told Ryan I refuse to be a teen bride.”
Something darkened in her eyes as they met mine, and not for the first time, I got the weird feeling that she could see all the way to my soul. It made me feel exposed, vulnerable. “Just do what feels right, Nova. Marry him today or a decade from today. As long as you are happy, fuck everything else.”
I was saved from having to reply to that loaded advice by the receptionist informing Emmie that they were ready for Rossi. It was only then that I spotted the second Italian rocker sitting on an ottoman in a back corner, Rodger and Marcus on either side of him. In their suits, and with all of Rossi’s ink and him dressed in tattered jeans and a T-shirt that was so full of holes I doubted Goodwill would even accept it, they could have been two FBI agents transporting a convict. All that was missing was Rossi in handcuffs.
Emmie motioned Rossi up, and he slowly stood. Moments later, the elevator off to my left opened. Park Min Gi and his translator stepped off. There was no time for pleasantries as Emmie rushed us inside the elevator and up for the interview.
The rest of the morning was exhaustingly busy. By lunchtime, I was feeling the effects of skipping breakfast. Everyone could hear my complaining stomach, and Pietro grew tenser each time it grumbled. When we were rushed from one location to another with no talk of stopping for lunch, the guard pulled out his phone and started texting.
Not wanting him to concern Ryan, I touched the guard’s arm. “I’m okay. Really.”
“Nardo is bringing you food,” he informed me, pocketing the phone.
I was too hungry to argue. In an attempt to distract myself from the emptiness of my stomach, I focused on work. Most of the interviews were on-air, and because I was translating, that meant I had to speak into a microphone just like the rockers did. I’d only listened to a few of the interviews online, but I had to admit it was exciting to know that millions of people were listening to me.
We were sitting in a recording room with the producers in another room, visible through a glass window. Emmie was in there with them, listening and advising me whenever I glanced at her to see if the rockers could answer a particular question. Pietro had been with me the entire time, and considering I’d had to translate for all three rockers at this location, I’d already been in there for close to an hour. Thankfully, Garik was the last to interview, and I was hopeful it would be over soon.
Maybe by then, Nardo would arrive with my food and I could eat on our way to the next interview.
Just as the thought filtered through my mind, my stomach gave another angry growl and I touched my hand to my abdomen with a small groan, but I tried to focus on what Garik was saying so I could translate for him. The door opened, causing all conversation in the room to halt abruptly as all eyes went to
the newcomer.
Ryan walked in like he owned the place, and honestly, I didn’t know if he did or not. His family was into a little bit of everything, and for all I knew, they could have stock in radio just as easily as they could have in any other communication medium. Dressed in another tailored suit and with his long coat open, he commanded the room with nothing more than the powerful aura emanating from him. The host’s mouth dropped open, his eyes nearly bugging out of his head as he watched Ryan cross to me and place a brown paper bag in front of me with my favorite deli’s logo on it.
There were no other seats in the room, so he lifted me and sat, pulling me onto his lap. “Eat,” he commanded. I didn’t argue. Opening the bag, I pulled out the ham and cheese grinder and bit into it.
Ryan motioned to the host. “I apologize for the interruption. Please continue. I will be happy to translate.”
Hoping Emmie wouldn’t get mad at me for the interruption, I glanced at the window to see what her reaction was. Her green eyes were narrowed on us all, but when she caught my gaze, she smirked for a moment and gave me a thumbs-up, mouthing, “Nice.”
The man stumbled over himself for a moment before shaking his head as if to clear it and asking the question he’d started to ask before the interruption. Ryan listened intently, then shifted his gaze to Garik and repeated it in perfect Russian. While he spoke, my eyes stayed glued to his lips. He was the reason I’d gotten so interested in learning different languages. Listening to him speak, no matter if it was English, Italian, or Russian, was one of my favorite things. I could do it for hours and never once get tired of hearing his voice, the way his accent changed with each language, how confident he was when he spoke.
It was both soothing and sexy all at the same time.
I was so entranced by it, I stopped eating just to listen and watch his lips form each word. Without pausing, Ryan wiped a smear of mayo from the corner of my mouth then licked his thumb clean. “Eat,” he commanded quietly, turning his mouth away from the microphone so no one else could hear. “Nardo said that Pietro was concerned you were hungry. I don’t like you going without meals, my heart.”
Sighing, I took another bite of my sandwich and got lost in listening to him talk again. The others in the room were nervous yet in awe as they kept their eyes locked on him. No one spoke his name, but there was no doubt they knew exactly who he was. In New York, the Vitucci family was treated like royalty.
And the heir to the throne wanted me as his queen.
27
Ryan
“I didn’t tell you she was in town because I didn’t know,” I spoke into the phone, trying to soothe Ciana. She’d called me, pouting that I’d hogged all of Nova’s time in New York.
“You didn’t know? Are you two still arguing?” she demanded, the pout thankfully gone. “Ryan, how many times have I told you that you have to tell her how you feel?”
“She’s well aware of my feelings.”
“Nova is smart as hell, but she’s not a mind reader. Even if it does seem like it at times where you are concerned. Tell her you love her, dumbass.”
Before she could go off on a tirade, I cut her off. “We both admitted our feelings last night, C.”