I think of Sara and what happened to her on his turf. Anger flares up in my stomach.
I smile at him. “I don't know. After the gross pizza we just ate, I'm not sure I should.”
He makes an exaggerated pout. “I'll make sure to get you a cheese pizza just for you next time.”
I laugh, but don't respond to the pizza comment.
“I get it, I get it. Thursday night was a one time thing.” He says it so nonchalantly that it makes my chest ache.
“That's not it, I just... I just don't know if we should do this again so fast.”
That, and I won't want to stop. If he comes in, I'm likely to say something I shouldn't. I'll say something about what happened to Sara. I'll mess up the partnership my aunt and uncle have worked so hard on. I don't want to screw this marriage plan up because I couldn't keep my temper under control.
I look up at him and nearly give in. Those dark eyes draw me in. There's danger in them, but they're dark and warm. “I don't know if I'll get to see you again.”
Damn. He's really trying hard to break down my defenses. It takes all the effort I can muster to stop mooning over him and turn toward the inner door to my apartment building. For a moment after I turn my back to him and put the key in the lock, I have the terrifying thought that he'll try to force his way in. He does nothing of the sort, of course, and I feel silly for thinking it.
“Good night, Bond.”
“Good nigh, Vesper.”
I close the door to my apartment and immediately regret turning Dante away. As far as he knows, he's going to meet some bimbo tomorrow and he'll never see me again. Or, he'll have to cheat to see me. I appreciate that he thinks he isn't going to cheat. He seems to feel that this marriage thing is pretty final.
“Just one more day,” I whisper to myself. Then I'll be able to think clearly again.
Chapter 8
I wear a white dress. That seems like the color I should wear to meet my future husband. It's short enough to be flirty, but still long enough that my aunt won't give me the evil eye. It's classy. I combine it with white pumps and I make sure my hair and makeup look amazing.
Now that it's time to officially meet him, I'm nervous. Ethan says that the men who assaulted Sara were definitely Russo's.
It makes me wonder who I'm getting into bed with.
Not to mention that he's not expecting me. He's expecting a stranger. Someone who doesn't play piano. It should be a good surprise, but not everyone reacts well to surprises.
We stopped throwing surprise parties for my grandfather after he pulled out his Glock and shot the balloons. I just hope that Dante takes surprises without a gun.
Ethan picks me up outside my apartment. He tells me he hasn't heard anything new about Sara. He tells me that I better behave myself. Aunt Sophia and Uncle Tony have a lot riding on this. This meeting isn't about me. It's about the Savios and the Russos.
I know he's just looking out for me and the family, but I can't think of anything other than Dante.
I'm supposed to meet Dante in the lobby of a hotel. We're supposed to then go to dinner with the families. I'm shocked that both sides agreed to let us meet on our own. I suppose it does make things a little more romantic. At least we won't have our families breathing down our necks.
I'm so nervous at this point, I'm afraid I'm going to throw up.
When the limo pulls up, I can already see Dante in the lobby, leaning against a pillar. He's wearing a sexy suit, obviously dressed to impress. He is about to meet his future wife.
Ethan opens the limo door, and I step out. Dante sees me get out of the limo and I see him smile. For a moment, I think that everything is going to be okay, that maybe he knew who I was all along, that maybe he just doesn't care. I let relief wash through me.
I begin to walk up to him, a smile on my face. He takes a second look at my body and face, and then a third. Confusion fills his face.
I step right up to him. “Hello, Mr. Russo.”
“You can't be here right now,” he tells me. “You need to leave.”
I shrug, not knowing what to say. My stomach has stopped twisting and is now just a pit of ice. I'm not sure if it's an improvement or not. “My name isn't really Lucia. It's Cara. Cara Lucia Savio.”
His eyes go wide. “Who put you up to this? I told Frank about you. Did he put you up to this? This isn't funny.”