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Of course they were both right. Matteo was married, but I hadn’t tamed him. I haven’t even spoken to him. All I knew about my husband of three years was what I’d read in the tabloids—that he was ruthless in ambition, amazing in bed, and highly desired by almost all women.
I’d studied his dark, closely cropped hair, those cold steel-grey eyes, his impressive and dominating physique. I’d remembered how, for the brief moments we’d been together, it had felt as if he’d stolen the air from the room, how he’d just had to look at me and I’d forget to think.
I told myself that couldn’t happen now, because I very much needed to have all my wits about me. But first I needed to find him.
‘Miss, are you coming in?’ A waiter, with a white cloth draped over one black-clad arm and holding a tray of glasses of champagne, raised his eyebrows at me enquiringly.
I swallowed hard. ‘Yes,’ I said, pitching my voice to sound as firm and bright as I could. I was afraid I sounded a bit manic. ‘Yes, I am.’
With my shoulders thrown back and my chin tilted high, I stepped into the ballroom full of the cream of Europe’s society. Barely anyone spared me a glance, and I was hardly surprised. I was a nobody, plucked from a dive of a diner in New York—a waitress with no pedigree, no breeding, no style or standing. Miss Unremarkable indeed.
Even in a gown that had cost an eye-watering amount—Matteo has always been generous with his money, if nothing else—and shoes that had cost more than a month’s rent on my apartment once upon a time, I knew I looked the same. Dull-as-dishwater Daisy Campbell, born in the sticks of Kentucky, who hitched a ride to New York as a starry-eyed dreamer and soon wised up.
I moved through the crowds, keeping my chin up and my shoulders back with effort. Three years on a remote island hadn’t accustomed me to this kind of scrutiny. Back on Amanos I had learned how to be confident. I was sure of my place there, because I’d made it myself. But here...everything felt different. I felt different—more like the nervous country-mouse-in-the-city I’d once been. I had to fight against the urge to ask someone if they needed a refill.
I needed to find Matteo as soon as I could, before I melted into a puddle of nerves or broke an ankle in these wretched shoes.
I wasn’t under any illusion that he’d be thrilled to see me, but I was hoping he wouldn’t be too put out. We’d had an agreement, and I was breaking it. But three years is a long time, and surely he couldn’t have expected me to languish on Amanos for ever? Not that I was languishing, precisely, but I needed to move on with my life.
I’d given Matteo what he wanted. Now it was his turn to give me what I wanted.
‘Good luck with that,’ I muttered to myself, and someone turned to give me a hard stare.
I’d always had the slightly odd habit of talking to myself, and three years on a remote island hadn’t helped matters. I gave the stranger a sunny smile and forced myself to move on.
Where was my husband?
Then I saw him and wondered how I hadn’t before. He was in the centre of the room, the star of the show, standing half a head taller than any other man. My steps slowed and my heart started to beat hard. He was even more magnificent in the flesh than I remembered.
I stood there for a moment just watching him, because he was so beautiful. I didn’t want him to be, because I knew that his cold, hard beauty would distract and unsettle me, and in fact it already was. Matteo Dias was breathtaking—a dark and powerful knight in his tuxedo, the expensive material stretching over his broad shoulders and showcasing his long legs and impressive chest. Even from across the room, I could see how his grey eyes glinted like silver, and his mobile mouth captured my fascination as he spoke.
We’d never kissed, barely even touched, and yet in that moment I was spellbound, caught by his sheer animal magnetism and intense charisma, as if we shared a physical history. As if I could actually remember the way he felt and even tasted, when I knew I couldn’t.
I hadn’t let myself even imagine either of those things, because our marriage had never been like that. Matteo had been clear on that point right from the beginning, his lip curling in derision at the thought of so much as touching me—and I’d told myself I didn’t mind, because I didn’t want to be touched.
I took a deep breath and started forward. ‘Matteo.’
My voice came out more loudly than I’d meant it to, and several people turned. I heard whispers, titters, as their gazes raked over me. So the dress didn’t work, then. I’d suspected as much, but I didn’t care. Colour surged into my face but I kept my chin high, as I had all my life, no matter what it had thrown at me—and it had thrown a lot.
‘Matteo.’
He turned, his eyes narrowing to silver slits as his lush mouth compressed into a narrow, unforgiving line. Clearly he wasn’t pleased to see me. I wasn’t surprised, but stupidly I still managed to feel hurt, although I tried to hide it.
The woman by his side tilted her head towards him, her green cat’s eyes glinting with malicious laughter as she whispered in a voice loud enough to carry, ‘Oh, dear, Matteo, it looks like someone has a little crush on you.’
A crush? Hardly.
‘We need to talk,’ I told him, keeping my gaze focused on his now scowling face, refusing to be intimidated by the women who circled him as if they were a flock of elegant crows and he was their carrion. Except, of course, Matteo was all predator and no prey.
‘Talk...?’
He pretended to look puzzled, and I realised he was going to try to act as if he didn’t know me. The thought filled me with a sudden empowering fury. No way, sucker. Not after three whole years of doing what he’d said and staying out of his way.
‘Yes, talk, Matteo.’ I smiled sweetly even though inside I was trembling like a bowl full of jelly. ‘You do remember who I am, don’t you?’ I forced my smile wider as I started to say the dreaded word. ‘Your wi—’
‘Not here.’
His hand clamped down on my arm and he steered me out of the ballroom as if I were an unruly member of staff. I tripped in my heels and Matteo steadied me, although I could tell the gesture was one of expediency rather than concern. My husband wasn’t merely displeased to see me; he was furious.
