Chapter 2
FABIANA
“Hello, Fabiana.”
For one suspended second, all I could do was stare at him.
What was that? Some kind of a test? He’d known who I was the whole time. And I just— Oh God. Had I really spilled my guts to the man I couldn’t help but think about every time I looked at this painting?
I felt tricked. Trapped. My gaze drifted over him in a desperate attempt to orient myself.
He looked just like the photo I’d seen, but somehow more.
A picture couldn’t capture someone’s presence, and Cosimo had the kind of presence that permeated through the entire room.
He was huge—tall, broad, well proportioned.
A prominent vein ran down the side of his neck and disappeared beneath the collar of his white dress shirt.
The steel-gray suit fit him perfectly, but even all that expensive fabric couldn’t soften the hard, powerful shape of him.
His lips were just like I remembered from the photo—a little too full, a little too soft for his angular face.
The short beard covering his jaw made him look a few years older than his twenty-eight.
His hazelnut hair curled slightly, and he’d brushed it out of his face, keeping it in place with a bit of gel.
What struck me most about him were his eyes. In the photo, they’d been flat. Unremarkable. But in person, they were a vivid dark-blue color, and they bore their way into you with a relentless force.
I got the sense this man read people the way mere mortals read ink on paper.
And right now, he was reading me.
I swallowed. The marriage was a done deal, but I still wanted to make a good impression on Cosimo. This was the man I was expected to spend my life with. To eventually have children with.
“Cosimo. I hadn’t realized you’d be here tonight.”
He moved closer, his steps measured and unhurried. “I couldn’t resist seeing the event my fiancée has put together.”
So he knew I’d organized tonight. He probably also knew I was the one who’d advised Rafe to purchase this painting. All of this had been some kind of provocation. Why though?
“Guess I don’t need to ask you what you think about the collection.” If he thought Bride’s Door was “unfinished,” I could already guess what he thought about the rest of the art on display tonight.
His lips twitched. “No.” He stepped around me slowly, his gaze drifting over my body in a way that made my skin prickle with warmth.
I tracked his movements. The top few buttons of his dress shirt were undone, revealing a tattoo of a crown of thorns wrapped around the base of his neck.
“Don’t expect me to let you spend my money on things like this once we’re married. Unlike Messero, I don’t throw money at vanity projects and I despise frivolous spending.”
His words landed with a sharp sting. Wow. Vanity project. That was his verdict regarding tonight.
Somehow—miraculously—I managed to maintain my composure. “Rafaele asked me to help him choose a few new pieces. I don’t make a habit of acquiring fine art.” I lifted my chin. “And should I ever decide to indulge in frivolous spending, my trust fund is more than capable of financing it.”
I’d get access to the money once I was married. My father had made it contingent on the one thing he thought my sister and I were good for.
Cosimo completed his slow circle and stopped in front of me again, close enough that I had to tilt my head back to hold his gaze. God, he was tall. When I breathed in, I caught the dark, expensive edge of his cologne, and something low in my stomach tightened.
“Rafaele told me you worked in Geneva. Event planner at the UN.”
“That’s right.”
“You enjoyed it?”
It wasn’t my passion, but I was good at it. I nodded. “I did.”
“Couldn’t have enjoyed it all that much if you’re so eager to come back here to play housewife to a man you’ve never met.”
My nails dug into the flesh of my palms. Rafe wouldn’t pair me with an abusive monster like our father. I knew he’d vetted Cosimo carefully before agreeing to this match. But would he pair me with a run-of-the-mill asshole?
I was starting to realize that wasn’t off the table. Cosimo was prodding at me like I was some strange animal trapped inside a cage.
“Who said I’m eager?”
“Why else come back two months before you were expected to?”
“I had just finished a project at work,” I lied. “Instead of taking on something new I might not get to finish, I thought I could help your mom with the wedding preparations. She’s done so much for us already.”
His gaze darkened for reasons I couldn’t begin to comprehend. “Yes, she’s practically a saint.”
“I’m looking forward to meeting her next week.”
“But you met her before.”
“Yes. In Geneva and then in Paris.” The first meeting had been accidental.
We were both guests at a fundraiser, and she was seated at my table.
I must’ve made a good impression on her then, since the news from Rafe that I’d been chosen to marry her eldest son came only a few months later.
The second meeting was after the contract had been signed.
She asked me about my preferences for the wedding before telling me she’d take care of it all so that I could keep my focus on my work. I thought that was kind of her.
“She’s lovely,” I said to him.
“She’s already charmed you the way she manages to charm everyone else.”
I frowned. The mockery in his tone had momentarily slipped, revealing something sharp and bitter underneath.
What was that?
“Most women in your position—educated, with a career, having experienced independence—would fight an arrangement like this.”
I met his unreadable gaze. “I guess I’m not most women. The opportunities my brother gave me were contingent on me coming back when duty called. It did. And here I am.”
“Duty,” he repeated. “That’s why you’re doing this.”
What else? Did he think I had some hidden agenda?
What possible agenda could anyone in my situation have?
“Our families have been at odds with each other for decades. Now there’s a chance to put all of that to rest. If marrying you helps my brother achieve something that important, I’m happy to do it.
I’m not arrogant enough to think my personal preferences matter more than the safety and security of the whole family. ”
His jaw tightened. “How noble.”
I got the sense my answer had annoyed him. Well, it was the truth.
He glanced at his watch. “This was riveting, but I’ve got somewhere to be.”
I felt a strange mix of relief and disappointment. “I’ll see you on Tuesday then. For our lunch.” It had been arranged a few days ago.
“I can’t make it. Something came up.”
“We can reschedule. Wednesday?”
“Reach out to my secretary.”
I stared at his retreating back, a sinking feeling in my gut. Whatever test this had been, I had a feeling I’d failed. My anxiety spiked. Asshole or not, Rafe was counting on me to make things with Cosimo work. “You sure you don’t want a tour of the full exhibit?” I called out.
“I think I’ve demonstrated my poverty of imagination enough for one night.”
I swallowed down my pride. “Cosimo.”
He halted.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. It was rude. You’re entitled to an opinion, even if I disagree with it.”
Slowly, he turned around. At first glance, it seemed my apology had done little to soften him, but he walked back toward me, and when he stopped, he stopped close. Too close.
He towered above me, and I felt very small and very insignificant as he reached into his jacket and produced a black velvet box.
“Almost forgot.” His voice was a low rumble that made something hot drip into my bloodstream. “Your ring. Wear it in public.”
He didn’t hand the box to me. He pressed it against my chest, just above the neckline of my dress.
The velvet was soft, his knuckles were warm, and the pressure was firm enough to make my breath catch.
For one stunned second, all I could do was stand there with his hand between us and his eyes locked on mine.
Then I lifted my palm and covered the box. Covered his fingers.
His jaw ticked. His gaze fell to my lips.
Slowly, he let go and dragged his hand back. His pinkie skimmed the edge of my neckline as he withdrew, pulling the fabric away from my breasts.
Heat pooled low in my belly.
I forced myself to look down and open the box, to pretend I was focused on the ring and not the ghost of his touch lingering against my skin.
Inside was a solitaire diamond on a pavé band.
Elegant, without a doubt, but utterly impersonal. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d walked into a jewelry store and bought the first thing that the jeweler showed him.
He made no move to put it on me. Even that small gesture was apparently more than I was worth. So I plucked the ring from the velvet and slid it onto my own finger while he watched, humiliation burning a path across my cheeks.
“Beautiful,” I said with as much sincerity as I could muster.
“I thought you’d be a better liar.”
My gaze snapped from the ring to his face. “And I thought you’d be a gentleman.” I couldn’t hide from the fact that even my modest hopes for this marriage were crumbling in real time.
The corner of his mouth lifted with dark amusement. “Then I guess we’re both headed for disappointment.”
My pulse stumbled as I watched him leave. What was I getting myself into? I’d assumed Cosimo would approach this the same way I was—as a duty, yes, but one we could survive with basic decency and mutual respect.
Instead, I was marrying a man who appeared to have little interest in either.
For the first time since I’d agreed to the match, I wondered how the hell I was supposed to make this work.