AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Galanis.” I extend a hand, and he surprises me when he places a kiss on the top. My palms feel a tad clammy, and a slight blush creeps up my cheeks.
“Likewise, Miss Kastellanos,” Andrew replies with a soft smile.
A sigh of relief slips out of my mouth. He’s nothing like I expected.
When my father told me I’d be marrying one of his associates, I thought he would be an unattractive, old man. But Andrew is young, very tall, and quite handsome, with light-brown hair and a strong jawline. At least he’ll be good to look at and won’t disgust me every time he wants to have sex.
Sex. My stomach churns, my mind drifting back to Dion. His deep, steady gaze that holds me captivated, his touch that ignites a fire within me. Warmth shoots down to my center.
I close my eyes, and I can still feel the patterns he traced on my skin. It’s like a fever dream that slipped through my fingers too soon.
Reality is cruel.
My father’s voice interrupts my daze. “Aria, did you hear me?” he asks from the other end of the hallway. They’ve all started heading toward the dining room, and I’m still frozen in place, assaulted by images of Dion between my legs.
What the fuck, Aria? Your fiancé is standing right there.
When I look up at Andrew, I notice a subtle shift in his expression—a hint of suspicion flickering in his eyes. Fuck. Does he know I’ve been seeing someone else? Surely not. The mere idea sends a shiver down my spine.
A wave of guilt washes over me. I’ve been too careless, too reckless in my interactions with Dion.
I shake my head to clear my thoughts. “Yes, sorry,” I say, hurrying to join them.
Sat across from Andrew, I watch him interact with my family. He’s polite and well-mannered, engaging in small talk with everyone at the table. He even gets Dimitri chatting, and my brother hates these kinds of dinner parties.
My baba leans closer to him, and they start talking, their voices low. Andrew’s expression becomes guarded, thoughtful. I strain my ears, desperate to catch any hint of their conversation. I have to find out if they are responsible for the notes that Dion received.
But amidst the chatter in the dining room, I only hear snippets of meaningless phrases that offer no insight into what they’re discussing.
Frustration knots in my stomach.
Andrew looks up at me, catching my stare, and I try to smile, even though deep discomfort gnaws at me. The entire situation is surreal, like I’ve stumbled into someone else’s life.
I bite my lip, torn between relief and disappointment as their conversation continues without revealing anything. Perhaps it’s for the best, I tell myself, trying to quell the rising doubts.
“Aria, your mother tells me you’re a florist,” Andrew’s mother says, snapping me out of my haze. I turn my head toward her. My future mother-in-law. Mama introduced us before dinner, but I’ve been in such a trance that I forgot her name.
I fiddle with my napkin, my fingers tracing the delicate embroidery as I struggle to find my footing. “Something like that,” I reply with a smile.
“Don’t be so humble, Aria,” my mother quips. “She’s amazing. She created the beautiful arrangements on the table tonight. And she turned the guest house into a floral haven.”
My cheeks heat. “Thanks, Mama.”
I really love working with flowers. Whenever I’m surrounded by fresh blooms and the sweet scent of petals, an immediate sense of calm washes over me. The process of arranging flowers is meditative, like therapy. And right now, I wish I could hide away and do exactly that, because I’m anxious as all hell.
Andrew’s voice cuts into our conversation. “I’d love to see it, if you don’t mind.”
I steal a glance at him. “The workshop?” I ask, trying to decipher his tone.
“Yes. These flowers are beautiful. I’m interested in seeing your workspace,” he responds, his expression polite and masked with a practiced charm.
“Sure. I’ll show you sometime,” I reply with a nod.
Dessert arrives, and I yearn for a chance to retreat and collect my thoughts. As soon as the table is cleared, I rush to the lounge area to grab a strong drink from the bar.
Everyone moves into the room while I stand by the window, looking out to the night sky, deep in thought. One arm tucked under my chest; I swirl my drink in my other hand.
“Gin,” a voice says from behind me. It takes me a second to recognize who it is.
