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"No. But I know your husband. And it is a pleasure to meet his new bride." He studies me, and the back of my neck prickles. "Out in the wild. All alone." He pauses, then adds darkly, "With no bodyguard."
His tone sends a sharp stab of fear into my chest.
He knows I should have someone with me, knows I don't, and wants me to know he knows. This isn't a chance meeting at a jewelry window. This man was waiting for me.
“You have me at a disadvantage, Mr....?”
“Anton Grazalov. And that is my man, Flynn Lemar.”
He says it with an air of inflated self-importance.
His man doesn’t look over. But I have a feeling he’s listening.
"Do you know Dante well?" My voice is calm despite my pulse roaring in my ears.
"Unfortunately, not as well as I would like." His smile widens, and there's something viperish in it. "But I intend to."
He takes my hand, and before I can pull it away, he presses a kiss to my knuckles. It takes everything in me not to rip it back and scrub it down my jeans. His lips are cool and dry, and I stand there and let him do it because some animal part of my brain understands that running would be worse.
"Tell your husband I said hello."
His eyes stay locked on mine way too long to be friendly.
“I will,” I say, forcing my voice to stay even.
When he turns, his man peels away from the window to fall into step beside him. As they pass me, the younger one's gaze skims over me once more before he looks away.
I watch them cross the gleaming floor to the exit. My hand is still tingling where Anton’s mouth touched it, and I rub it against my thigh hard enough to make it burn.
Men like him are obviously the reason Dante wants me to have a bodyguard.
He's going to be so angry if he finds out about this.
I didn’t take his warning seriously enough, but now … now I’m calling security anytime I want to step through those elevator doors.
Abandoning my window-shopping plans, I flee to the elevator and hurriedly press the buttons, relieved when the doors open and I step inside. I ride the elevator up with my arms wrapped around myself, and when the penthouse doors close securely behind me, I sink onto the couch and will my heartbeat to settle.
Every instinct tells me I just looked evil in the face.
I blow out a shaky breath.
Who the hell did I marry?
40
SUNNY
Afew hours later, Charles appears in the penthouse with a hairdresser and makeup artist in tow.
"Mrs. Di Zaro, this is Marigold, and this is Benny. They will be helping you get ready for this evening's gala."
A whirlwind of activity begins to take place in the living room as silver cases the size of small refrigerators open to reveal all kinds of brushes, makeup palettes, and an entire salon of hair products.
Charles sets a cup of tea on the table beside me. "You look pale, Mrs. Di Zaro. Sit down and drink your tea, and let Marigold and Benny work their magic."
I don't know how he does it, but Charles just knows things. He’s obviously picked up that I’m jittery, but he would never pry to ask why. Instead, he tries to help me in his own way, which is with a cup of tea and a wink to let me know everything is okay.
I sit and drink my tea while Marigold does my makeup, and Benny lifts sections of my hair, making small, wounded noises when he sees my split ends.
