Page 1 of Deadly Don's Arranged Vows

Chapter 1

Carlo

And there she is . . .

My shoes click, capturing her attention as I walk over the marble ballroom floor. The moment her blue eyes meet mine, a smile breaks over her gorgeous face. “Oh, you must be the groom!” Stepping over a bundle of ribbons lying on the floor, she can’t take her eyes off me. “Carlo Vietti, right?”

With a snap of my fingers, all others in the room vanish, leaving us alone. “And you are Isabella Conti, my best friend John’s little sister.”

Closing the distance between us, she holds out her hand. “I can’t thank you enough for allowing me to put your wedding together.”

The electricity bouncing back and forth between us as I shake her hand is undeniable. “I’m glad you could find some time for me, Isabella. John tells me you’re trying to make a name for yourself as a wedding planner.”

“I recently helped a friend of mine with her wedding, and it’s become an obsession.” She scans the room as if looking for someone. “And where is the lovely bride-to-be?”

“She’s not in town.” Offering her my arm, I like that she readily slips her hand into the crook of my elbow and follows me without hesitation. “I’m sure your brother has already told you the specifics of this thing.”

As she’s about half a foot shorter than I am, she looks up at me and gives me a slight nod. “He said you want me to do whatever I want.”

Her golden hair falls in soft waves all the way down her back, and a light smattering of freckles peppers the bridge of her turned-up nose. I find I like the way she looks very much. “Yes, whatever you want.”

She tugs me to a stop. “A wedding isn’t about what someone else wants. It’s about what the bride wants. The groom too—to some extent. But it’s never what the wedding planner wants. Not ever.”

I bet she’s not even aware of how beautiful she is. Long legs, large breasts, and those blue pools that stare right into my soul. “Well, this wedding is going to be whatever the wedding planner wants. We’re busy people, Isabella. Surely, you can understand that.”

“Too busy to plan the biggest day of your lives?” Incredulous, she takes a step back, breaking our physical contact. “Wow. I can’t wait to meet this woman who wants nothing to do with her own wedding. Will I meet her before the big day?”

I love her tenacity. “Probably not.”

“Probably not,” she mumbles to herself before turning her attention back to me. “Well, I’ll make sure she’s stunned when she sees what I’ve cooked up for the two of you.” Moving toward me, she loops her arm through mine again. “So, where are you taking me, Carlo?”

“To the wine cellar. I thought we could pick out the wine for the wedding.” It’s only fitting that she helps choose the wine so that it can match the rest of the style she’s envisioned for the wedding.

“Does your fiancé like white or red?” I feel every move she makes, even the slight shifting of her fingers, which mystifies me. I don’t often connect to people this way.

“What do you prefer?” It should be something she likes.

Shaking her head, she laughs, a sound that makes me smile. “This is just so odd. I suppose I’ll get used to it.”

The door to the wine cellar is large and ornate, something I had brought in from a castle that fell in such disrepair that it had to be torn down. “Here we are.” I watch her eyes, which grow large as she takes in the ancient door.

Placing her hand on the wood, she sighs. “I have only seen things this majestic in magazines.” Her eyes glisten with delight. “This resembles pear wood, and it seems to be from the medieval period. I would think something of this grandeur would have been found in the home of an aristocrat living in Europe.”

I adore a smart woman. “It’s from a castle in Sicily. I must tell you that I find it fascinating that you knew that. Did you study ancient architecture in college?”

“I spent a summer in Italy, roaming the countryside and touring castles with my mother.” Watery eyes tell me how much she misses her mother. “It was a trip for my eighteenth birthday. Our last one together before she . . .” Unable to finish her thought, she closes her eyes while placing her hand on her chest.

I know all about the passing of her parents. Or at least what she’s been told. John never told me how much she misses them. Her pain is obvious. I can actually feel the sad emotions that fill her, and all I can think about is getting rid of them.

“As your brother’s best friend, I know what happened, Isabella.” Running my hand over her shoulders, I want nothing more than to bring comfort to her.

Inhaling deeply, she pulls herself together with a speed that amazes me. “You keep referring to John as my brother. We’re close and always have been, but I have never referred to him as my brother. He’s my stepbrother. His father was my stepfather, and then he became my adoptive father. My mother is the only real family I had. And now she’s gone.” Her eyes close again as emotions threaten to pull her back under. But then she blinks a few times before smiling. “So, what’s behind this door?”

“Wine. Lots and lots of wine.” I open the door, and the lights on the staircase illuminate automatically. “Just down this staircase that came from the same castle the door did, you will find only the very best of wines.”

Running one hand along the stone wall, she moves slowly down the stairs, holding my arm with her other hand to steady herself. “Your wife is sure to enjoy this feature of your home, Carlo.”

“I hope she enjoys all the features of this home—there are many. I should show you around.” She should see the whole mansion anyway.

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