“Don’t start,” I said when I passed a frowning Greta. She was dusting in the sitting room, close enough to hear at least part of my conversation with Vivian.
The movers must’ve already left.
“You were too harsh,” she admonished, confirming my earlier suspicion.
Greta was over seventy, but her hearing gave bats a run for their money.
“Not harsh. Honest.” I checked my watch. I had a lunch meeting with a visiting CEO in two hours, and I needed to prep before I left. “Would you rather I lead her on? Indulge her childhood fantasies about Prince Charming coming in and sweeping her off her feet?”
“How do you know she has those fantasies?” Greta swept her duster over the fireplace mantel with more force than necessary. “She seems like the practical sort.”
“You met her half an hour ago.”
I couldn’t believe I was arguing with my housekeeper over my fiancée. It must be those goddamned cookies Vivian bribed her with. Greta had a sweet tooth and a special fondness for chocolate chip.
“I have good instincts when it comes to people. Otherwise…” Another aggressive sweep over the mantel. “I would’ve written you off as an overbearing clone of your grandfather years ago.”
My face shut down.
“Remember who you work for,” I warned, my tone dark.
“Non osare farmi una ramanzina quando sono stata io ha pulirti il culo da piccolo.” Don’t lecture someone who changed your diapers. “If you want to fire me, fire me. But I know there’s a heart in there somewhere, ragazzo mio. Use it and treat your future wife with respect.”
“I gave her a black Amex and a diamond ring.” Every woman would kill for those things, and they were more than Vivian deserved, considering who her father was.
Greta stared at me for a full minute before she shook her head and muttered furiously in Italian under her breath. I couldn’t hear what she was saying, but I imagined it was none too complimentary.
I stopped next to Greta and placed a hand on the duster, forcing her to still.
“You’re a valued member of my household, but there are only so many liberties I’ll allow,” I said coolly. “If you’d like a vacation to clear your head, let me know and it can be arranged.”
The threat hung in the air as an offer.
Her eyes narrowed. “No vacation needed.”
“Good.”
Greta had worked for my family since I was a baby. She’d helped raise me and Luca since my parents were shit at the job, and she’d run my grandfather’s household until I convinced her to work for me four years ago. Instead of being upset, my grandfather had gifted me a bottle of ten-thousand-dollar wine for successfully undercutting him.
While I had a soft spot for Greta and considered her the grandmother I never had—both of my biological grandmothers died before I was born—I would not tolerate blatant disrespect.
If she were anyone else, I would’ve fired and blacklisted her the second the word harsh left her mouth.
A polite cough pulled my attention toward the doorway where Edward stood with a neutral expression.
“Sir, the movers have officially vacated the premises,” he said. “Would you like me to give Ms. Lau the full tour?”
I’d taken Vivian directly to her room without showing her the rest of the house. Hell, she’d already seen half of it at last week’s exhibition.
“Please do.” She should know the apartment’s full layout. I didn’t want her accidentally wandering into my room or office.
He inclined his head and disappeared down the hall. Greta marched past me and disappeared into another corner of the penthouse without a word, but her disapproval lingered like the scent of her favorite lemon-scented cleaner.
I pinched the bridge of my nose.
Less than an hour after moving in, Vivian was already causing chaos.
Discord with my staff was only the start.
She would move things around. Disrupt the environment I’d carefully cultivated. I would come home not knowing what to see or expect.
Aggravation rose in my chest.
I stalked out of the living room and into my office, where I attempted to review the materials for my meeting.
But even though I’d closed the door and was sequestered on the opposite side of the house from Vivian’s room, I still smelled the faint, maddening scent of apples.
CHAPTER 7
Vivian
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.