Vivian

Chapter 7

I was a law-abiding citizen, but if anyone could drive me to

mariticide, it was my future husband.

I hated his arrogance, his rudeness, and the mocking way

he called me mia cara.

I hated the way my pulse kicked at the rough span of his hand

around my neck.

And I hated how he always seemed larger than life, like the

molecules of any space he entered had to fold in on themselves to

accommodate him.

Are. We. Clear? His maddening voice echoed in my head.

It was clear, all right. It was clear Dante Russo was Satan in a

nice suit.

I forced my lungs to expand past my anger. In, one, two, three.

Out, one, two, three.

Only when my blood pressure returned to normal levels did I

open the door to my new room instead of hunting down the

sharpest knife I could find.

As promised, a business card with Dante's assistant's number

and a black Amex waited on the nightstand next to a distinctive

red ring box. When I popped open the lid, a six-carat diamond winked back at me.

I brushed my fingers over the dazzling gem. Five carats, a rare

Asscher cut, with smaller baguette diamonds adorning each

shoulder.

I should've been thrilled. The ring was stunning and, judging

by the diamond's color and clarity, worth at least a hundred

thousand dollars. It was the type of ring most women would kill to

have.

But when I plucked it from the box and slid it onto my finger, I

felt…nothing.

Nothing except the cool brush of platinum and a heavy weight

that felt more like a prison than a promise.

Most engagement rings were a symbol of love and

commitment. Mine was the equivalent of a signature on a merger

contract.

A strange tightness gripped my throat.

I shouldn't have expected anything more than what Dante

gave me. Some arranged marriages, like my sister's, turned into

real love, but the overall odds weren't great.

I sank onto the bed. The tightness spread from my throat to my

chest.

It was stupid to feel sad. So what if Dante had proposed in the

most impersonal way possible? I'd known since our first meeting

we wouldn't mesh. At least he'd been honest about his intentions

and boundaries.

Still, a part of me had hoped our previous interactions were

flukes and we would gradually warm up to each other, but no. My

future husband was simply a jerk.

The buzz of a new text interrupted my wallowing.

I picked up my phone, expecting another congratulatory

message or a reminder from Isabella to invite her over once I

settled in.

Instead, I saw a text from the last person I'd expected to hear from.

Heath: Happy Pumpkin Hot Chocolate Day :)

I stared at the words, waiting for them to disappear like I'd

accidentally conjured them. They didn't.

My stomach twisted.

Of all the days he could've texted out of the blue, it had to be

today, right after I moved into Dante's house.

The universe possessed a sick sense of humor.

There were a million things I wanted to say, but I stuck with

something safe and neutral.

Me: Do they have those in California?

Heath: Pumpkin hot chocolate? Nah

Heath: You're only allowed to drink smoothies and green

juices here or you'll get voted off the island

My small smile faded as quickly as it appeared.

We shouldn't be talking, but I couldn't bring myself to block

him.

Heath: I've been emailing Bonnie Sue's every day asking

them to open shop in SF, but no dice so far

A pang hit me at the mention of Bonnie Sue's.

It was a popular cafe near Columbia, where Heath and I had

attended undergrad. It was famous for its seasonal pumpkin hot

chocolate, and even though I didn't like pumpkin and he didn't like

hot chocolate, we'd showed up every year for its annual return in

mid-September.

Forget the fall equinox; the real first day of fall was the day the

drink reappeared on Bonnie Sue's menu.

Me: It'll happen. Persistence always wins

Guilt ballooned in my chest as Heath and I exchanged more

small talk. He asked about my job and the city; I asked about his

dog and the weather in San Francisco.

It was our longest conversation in years. Normally, we only

texted each other on holidays and birthdays, and we never talked on the phone. It was easier to pretend we were casual

acquaintances that way even though we were anything but.

Heath Arnett.

My college best friend. My ex-boyfriend. And my first love.

Once upon a time, I thought we'd get married. I'd convinced

myself we would overcome my parents' objections and live

happily ever after, but our breakup two years ago proved my

hopes had been just that—hopes. Flimsy and insubstantial in the

face of my parents' wrath.

I shook off memories of that day and tried to refocus.

Me: How's your company doing?

After our breakup, Heath moved to California and expanded

his language-learning app into the powerhouse it was today. The

last time I checked, it was one of the top fifteen most downloaded

apps in the U.S.

Heath: Pretty amazing. We're going public at the end of

this year

Heath: We're expecting a big IPO. Perhaps…

The three dots that indicated he was typing popped up,

disappeared, then popped up again.

Heath: We can revisit things after it does

My guilt hardened into dread.

He didn't know about the engagement. I hadn't posted about it

online, we didn't have mutual friends anymore, and Heath didn't

follow the society pages, which meant I had to tell him. I couldn't

lie by omission and let him think there was a chance of us getting

back together.

Heath: If you want to, of course

I could practically see him pushing his hand through his hair

the way he always did when he was nervous.

My teeth dug into my bottom lip.

I knew part of the reason he'd worked so hard on the startup

was to prove my parents wrong. They'd been furious when they found out I'd kept our relationship from them for years and even

more furious when they discovered Heath didn't come from an

"appropriate" background.

At the time, he'd made a good living as a software engineer

who'd worked on his app on the side, but he wasn't a Russo or a

Young. My father had threatened to disown me if I didn't end

things with Heath, and in the end, I'd chosen family over love.

Heath probably thought my parents would change their minds

after his company went public and he became a millionaire. I

didn't have the heart to tell him they wouldn't.

My family had plenty of money, but we were nouveau riche. No

matter how much we donated to charity or how many zeroes we

had in our bank accounts, certain parts of society would always

remain closed to us…unless we married into old money.

Heath would never be old money, which meant my parents

would never approve of him as a love match.

Just tell him.

I eased a deep breath into my lungs before I bit the bullet.

Me: I'm engaged

It wasn't the smoothest transition, but it was short, clear, and

direct.

I resisted falling back into my childhood habit of biting my nails

while I waited for a reply.

It never came.

Me: It happened a few weeks ago. My parents set it up.

Me: I meant to tell you earlier

I should stop, but I couldn't hold back my text version of word

vomit.

Me: The wedding is in a year.

Crickets.

Five minutes passed, but my phone remained dark and silent.

I let out a small groan and tossed it to the side.

I shouldn't feel guilty. Heath and I broke up a long time ago

and, honestly, I was surprised he wanted a second chance. I

would've thought—

A soft knock interrupted the chaos of my thoughts.

I sucked in another lungful of air and smoothed my expression

into one of polite neutrality before I answered. "Come in."

The door opened, revealing distinguished silver hair and a

perfectly pressed black suit.

Edward, Dante's butler.

"Ms. Vivian, Mr. Dante requested I take you on a full tour of the

house," he said, his British accent as crisp as his clothes. "Is now

a good time, or would you like me to return at an hour of your

choosing?"

I glanced at my phone, then at the cold, beautiful room around

me.

Like it or not, this was now my home. I could lock myself in my

suite, throw a pity party, and agonize over the past, or I could try

and make the most of my situation.

I stood and summoned a smile that felt only mildly forced.

"Now is perfect."

~~~~

That night, Dante and I ate our first meal together as a couple.

I meant that in the loosest sense of the word.

I wore his ring, and we lived under the same roof, but the

chasm between us made the Grand Canyon look like an ordinary

hole in the ground.

I made a valiant attempt to close it. "I love your art collection," I

said. "The paintings are beautiful." Except for the one that looks

like cat vomit. The piece, titled Magda, was so out of place in his

gallery I did a double take when I saw it. "Do you have a favorite piece. "

It wasn't the most inspired topic, but I was grasping at straws.

So far, I'd pulled six words out of Dante, three of which had been

pass the salt. He was basically two devolutions away from being a

nicely dressed mime.

"I don't play favorites." He cut into his steak.

My teeth clenched, but I swallowed my irritation.

Since our less-than-stellar interaction during my move-in, I'd

moved past the shock and anger stages of our engagement into

resignation.

I was stuck with Dante, whether I liked it or not. I had to make

the most of it. If we didn't…

Images of cold days, lonely nights, and fake smiles filled my

head.

My stomach tightened with unease before I took a sip of water

and tried again. "What are your expectations in private?"

His knife and fork paused over his plate. "Excuse me?"

A noticeable reaction. Progress.

"Earlier, you said we'll play the part of a loving couple in public

and warned me to, quote-unquote, get rid of any romantic notions

I may have of us falling in love. But we never discussed what our

private lives would look like beyond separate bedrooms," I said.

"Do we eat dinner together every night? Discuss our work

problems? Go grocery shopping and argue over which brand of

wine to buy?"

"No, no, and no," he said flatly. "I don't grocery shop."

Of course you don't.

"We'll live our lives separately. I'm not your friend, therapist, or

confidante, Vivian. Tonight's dinner is simply because it's your first

night, and I happen to be home." His knife and fork moved again.

"Speaking of which, I have a business trip in Europe coming up. I

leave in two days. I'll be gone for a month."

He might as well have slapped me in the face.

I stared at him and waited for him to tell me it was a joke.

When he didn't, a surge of indignation washed away my attempts

to play nice.

"A month? What type of business trip requires you to be gone

for a month?"

"The type that makes me money."

The indignation fanned into anger. He wasn't even trying.

Maybe the business trip was legitimate, but I move in, and he

leaves for a month? The timing was too convenient to ignore.

"You have plenty of money already," I snapped, too annoyed to

mince words. "But you clearly don't have an interest in even being

civil, so why are you here?"

Dante cocked an eyebrow. "This is my house, Vivian."

"I mean here. This engagement." I gestured between us. "You

avoided my question the first time, but I'm asking again. What

could you possibly get out of our match that you couldn't get on

your own?"

Lau Jewels was a big company, but the Russo Group eclipsed

it tenfold. It didn't make sense.

My father told me it had something to do with market access in

Asia, which was admittedly Lau Jewels's strong point and the

Russo Group's weak one, but was that important enough for

Dante to upend his personal life for?

His expression stiffened. "It doesn't matter."

"Considering it's the reason we're together, I think it does."

"No, it doesn't. Why do you care about the reason we're

together?" His voice turned cold, mocking. "You'll marry me either

way. The dutiful daughter who does everything her daddy says. I

could be gone for the next year until our wedding, and you'd still

go through with it. Wouldn't you?"

An icy claw of shock snatched the breath from my lungs.

I didn't know how the conversation had escalated so quickly,

but somehow, without trying, Dante had hit me right in the ugliest, most undesirable part of myself. The part I loathed but couldn't

shake.

"Now I understand." I fought for calm, but a tremble of anger

bled through. "An arranged marriage is the only way you could get

someone to marry you. You are so…so…" I struggled to find the

right word. "Horrible."

Not my best work, but it'd do.

Dark amusement slid through his eyes. "If I'm so horrible, then

tell your family the wedding's off." He nodded at my phone. "Call

them right now. We'll move you back into your apartment like this

never happened."

It was equal parts challenge and seduction. He didn't think I

would do it, but his voice was so rich and coaxing it almost

compelled me to obey.

My fingers curled around my fork. The metal dug into my skin,

cold and unforgiving.

I didn't touch my phone.

I wanted to even more than I wanted to toss my wine in

Dante's smug face, but I couldn't.

My father's anger. My mother's criticism. The failure if I didn't

go through with the wedding…

I couldn't do it.

Dante's amusement disappeared into the tense atmosphere.

Something sparked in his eyes. Disappointment? Disapproval? It

was impossible to tell.

"Exactly," he said softly.

The finality of that word cut deeper than a freshly honed knife.

We finished dinner in silence, but my steak had lost its flavor.

I washed it down with more wine and let the warmth eat away at my shame.