Page 151 of Forced Vows

Fuck.

"So the engagement is official?" Róise asks.

Not what I expected to hear, but I'll go with it. "Not quite."

I walk naked over to my trousers and pull out the small velvet box. There's no logo from a famous jeweler. It's the ring first De Luca who came to America gave to his wife.

I want Róise to feel like she is part of not only our family but of our family's legacy here in New York. She might have been born an Irish mob princess, but now she is Cosa Nostra. Róise will be the mother of another generation of De Lucas who serve the Genovese family.

The next Genovese don.

I open the box and pull out the ring. It's not the biggest diamond in our family's collection of heirlooms. However, the oval center stone surrounded by small diamonds in the delicate Victorian setting is a pink sapphire.

She followed me and is standing near when I turn. She looks down at my closed fist.

"Give me your hand."

Without hesitation, she lifts the small appendage toward me and I slide the ring on her finger. The fit is perfect. It should be. I had it sized for her.

"It's beautiful," she breathes. "Is this a family heirloom? Only, it's antique gold. Like moma's ring from her great grandmother. Vintage gold is darker sometimes, with more of a copper tint."

I kiss her to stop the babble.

She kisses back until my cock is a pulsing column between us. I pull back, reminding myself once was enough.

Not that it ever is with this woman.

"It's from the first De Luca matriarch to make her home in New York a century ago. She came from Sicily to marry my ancestor."

"Wow." She holds her hand out in front of her, examining the ring. "You De Lucas have been doing this marriage of convenience thing for a long time."

"Pretty sure the Shaughnessy's have to." The ring isn't holding my attention, but her bare legs sure are.

"You're right about that." She sighs and drops her arm. "What next?"

"There will be a press release accompanied by a press conference."

She makes a face of distaste.

"We both need to be there for pictures and to answer questions," I inform her.

Her brows draw together in suspicion, like I'm one of the reporters she apparently doesn't want to deal with. "What kind of questions?"

"Whatever questions reporters who report on society stuff ask I guess." This really isn't my thing. But it is necessary.

"They're going to want to know how we met. They're going to ask about our age difference. They'll want to know if our families are friends. Those society reporters can be really invasive."

"It's a good thing we have an easy meet-cute to tell them."

"You know what a cute is?" Her face reflects her surprise.

I don't live under a rock. "I've heard the term," I say dryly.

"What are we going to say? That we met in a club?" She doesn't sound thrilled by this. "That I let you pick me up?"

"Don't sound so horrified. That's what happened."

"Trust my one and only one-night-stand to make it into the papers."

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