Page 11 of Forced Arrangement

She studies me for a long moment, searching my face for any sign of deception. I want her safe, yes, but I also want something more—something I’m not quite ready to admit to myself, let alone to her.

“Okay,” she says finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “I need some time to think about it.”

“Not too long. Time is the one thing I can’t afford to give you now.”

I signal the bartender for the check, then turn back to her. “I have a car waiting outside. We can leave as soon as you’re ready.”

She nods, her gaze distant as she processes everything that has just happened. I can see the weight of it settling on her shoulders, the knowledge that her life is about to change in ways she can’t yet comprehend.

But she is strong—stronger than she knows. And as much as she will probably hate it, she will rise to the occasion. Of that, I am certain.

We stand up and I gesture for her to follow me. She does, her steps hesitant at first, but growing more confident as we make our way to the door. The rain has picked up again, a steady downpour that soaks through my coat as we step outside.

The car is waiting at the curb, the driver already holding the door open for us. I motion for her to get in, and after a brief pause, she does, sliding into the back seat with a resigned sigh.

I follow her in, closing the door behind me. As the car pulls away from the pub, I glance over at her, noting the way she stares out the window, her expression unreadable.

“Thank you,” she says suddenly, her voice barely audible over the sound of the rain.

“For what?” I ask, surprised by the unexpected gratitude.

“For giving me a choice,” she replies, still not looking at me. “Even if it wasn’t much of one.”

I don’t respond, unsure of what to say. The truth is, I wasn’t sure I had given her a choice at all. I had presented her with the only option that would keep her alive, but I knew it wasn’t a path she wanted to take. And yet, she had chosen it anyway, becausethat was who she was—strong, pragmatic and determined to survive.

As we drive through the rain-soaked streets of London, heading toward the unknown, I can’t shake the feeling that this is the beginning of something much bigger than either of us might have imagined.

And for the first time in a long time, I feel a spark of something more than just duty—something I’m not ready to name, but that I still know will change everything.

***

I watch as Sophia disappears into the entrance of her building, her steps hesitant yet determined. She doesn’t look back, and I didn’t expect her to. She is probably already thinking of ways to avoid seeing me again. But she won’t be able to. Not now.

As the door clicks shut behind her, I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. She is safe, for now. But the real challenge is just beginning.

“Take me back to the hotel,” I instruct the driver. My voice is steady, betraying none of the turmoil swirling in my chest.

The car pulls away from the curb, gliding through the rain-slicked streets of London. I lean back in my seat, my thoughts still with Sophia, replay every moment of our interaction. She is exactly as I remembered—sharp, stubborn, and more beautiful than any woman had a right to be. But there is something else now, something deeper—a vulnerability she tries so hard to hide. But it’s there, simmering just beneath the surface.

It makes me want to protect her, to shield her from the world and all the dangers that are closing in on her. But it also makes me want to break down the walls she’s built around herself, to see the woman underneath—the one who is hiding, even from herself.

When we arrive at the hotel, I step out into the drizzle, the cold air a welcome contrast to the heat still lingering inside me from my time with Sophia. The doorman greets me with a respectful nod, holding the door open as I walk inside. The warmth of the lobby envelopes me, but it does nothing to soothe the restlessness gnawing at my insides.

The elevator ride to the top floor is quiet, the kind of silence that magnifies every thought, every doubt. By the time I reach my suite, I’m itching for something to take the edge off, something to ground me.

Inside the suite, I pour myself a generous measure of whiskey, savoring the burn as it slides down my throat. The lights of the city stretch out beneath me, a glittering sea of possibilities and dangers. Somewhere out there, forces are already at work, conspiring to take what is rightfully Sophia’s. And they wouldn’t stop until they have it, or until they are dead.

My phone buzzes, pulling me from my thoughts. I glance at the screen and see Franco’s name. I let it ring twice more before answering, taking another sip of whiskey as I walk over to the window.

“Angelo,” Franco’s voice comes through the line, calm and measured, but there is an underlying tension there that I knew all too well. “Did you find her?”

“I found her,” I reply, keeping my voice even. “She’s agreed to come back to New York.”

There is a pause on the other end of the line, and I could almost hear Franco’s mind working, weighing the implications of my words. “Did you tell her?”

I knew what he was asking, and the answer was simple. “No. Not yet.”

“Angelo…” Franco’s tone was careful, almost cautious. “She’s your betrothed. She has a right to know.”

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