Page 5 of Brutal Husband

Two years earlier

The waitress sets a Negroni down in front of me, and I stare at it with antipathy, wondering how much time I’m going to have to waste on Rieta Bianchi tonight. One drink? Two? There’s not much point in us having a lingering conversation when our impending marriage is practically set in stone. I’ve had my orders, and I understand what I have to do tonight. I just want this over as soon as possible.

So where’s my goddamn bride? I glance at the heavy gold watch on my wrist and see that she’s seven minutes late.Seven. Who the fuck does she think she is to keep me waiting?

I’m glaring out the plate glass window onto the street when a sports car pulls up. A young woman in a clinging pale satin dress gets out. At first glance, it looks like an innocent, good girl dress, only it clings to her hips and tits and reveals so much of her legs that she’d barely need to wriggle it up for me to take a look at her panties.

Her dark, reddish hair is piled up on her head, bombshell style, and she pauses for a moment in front of the bar to use the glass as a mirror. She runs her thumb under her full lower lip to correct an invisible mistake with her red lipstick. I’m too busy staring at her lush mouth to notice any mistakes. It’s dark inside the bar, and she doesn’t notice me drinking in the sight of her just inches away.

Holy shit. Rieta Bianchi is a goddamn knockout.

I’m staring at her open-mouthed when she finally breezes through the door on a wave of scent that reminds me of tropical flowers at midnight. She glances around the bar with a slight frown between her brows. Then she spots me, and her expression melts into the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen.

I’m not the only man who’s noticed her. Three other men are staring at my potential fiancée like they’re wondering what she tastes like.

I get to my feet and walk toward her, hands in pockets.

“Hi, Nero?” She tucks her hair nervously behind her ear. Either Rieta Bianchi has no idea just how sexy she is, or she cares what I think of her. Really cares. “I’m Rieta. Lovely to meet you.”

She’s so sweet and trusting. For a moment, I feel a sprinkle of remorse for what she’s getting into. The poor girl has no idea.

I gaze at her for a full minute and then deadpan, “You’re late.”

Rieta’s smile fades. “There was traffic,” she says with a shrug and tries to step past me.

I move in front of her. “What are you doing?”

“Uh, sitting down?”

“I haven’t invited you to sit down.”

Rieta flushes red. Fuck, that’s sexy. I wonder how long I can drag out her embarrassment. All the way to the bedroom?

“I thought this was a date,” she says.

I laugh, genuinely amused. “A date? You think this is a date?”

Annoyance flashes across her face. “You know what? Stick your drink up your ass, Nero Lombardi.” She turns to leave.

I grasp her hand and pull her back to me. “It’s not a date because the moment I laid eyes on you, I knew I wanted you to be my wife.”

Rieta slowly pulls her hand out of mine. “Aren’t you smooth? I’m yet to be convinced that I want you to be my husband. May I sit down?” she asks with exaggerated politeness.

I wait, one eyebrow raised.

She adds, “Please.”

“How pretty you look saying please.”

Rieta narrows her eyes, but I have the feeling that she’s enjoying my praise. Her hips have a sassy sway to them as she moves past me and sits down. She orders a Coke.

“You can have a cocktail if you want,” I tell her.

“I’m nineteen.”

That doesn’t matter because this is my bar, but I let it go.

When her drink arrives, she toys with the straw, watching me. “I was surprised when you wanted to get to know me. I’ve heard you’re not a…” She searches for a polite way to phrase it. “Not a people person. I wondered if the first time I would see you would be at the altar.”

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