Page 1 of Borrowed Bride

1

GIANNA

Adistant rumble of thunder through the stone-gray clouds above sends shivers down my spine.

There’s a storm coming.

The subtle rumble adds a note of haste to the stream of people around me who flow, unhindered by my stationary presence, like a river flowing around a rock. No one notices me. No one stops to ask if I’m okay or if I need help.

Every New Yorker is in their own world, floating in a bubble that instantly becomes more secluded with the threat of rain hanging overhead.

I sip the coffee I bargained from the cart a few blocks over, watching men tuck their coats tighter around their necks and women clutch their bags a little closer as they pick up the pace. Traffic flows like the rapids, stopping for no one until the red light acts like a damn and forces a halt to the flow. Horns screech loudly as if the red light is a strange anomaly and a never-before-seen phenomenon. The river of people around me wanes slightly as groups hurry to the other side of the street, and then it starts up again.

This works in my favor. When people are distracted, they’re more interested in getting back to their cozy homes, safe from the rain.

They don’t notice someone like me.

The homeless don’t exist.

I scan the crowd as the last hot dregs of my coffee slip down my throat and pick a target.

I’m not fussy about who, but the man I spot looks like he’s got some cash to spare. I’m cold, and with a storm coming, I definitely don’t want to spend another night on the street.

Topping up my funds is as easy as slipping my fingers into unsuspecting pockets, but in order to get something that secures me a few nights in a decent hotel, I need to steal from someone so careless they won’t think to cancel their missing card until at least a few days later.

From the way my target is barking at the poor girl behind the pretzel cart, he looks exactly like the type. He’s tall and rotund, with a cream coat dragging behind him as the long fingers of the wind whip through the streets. A stronger gust knocks the porkpie hat from his head, and of course, he takes that out on the pretzel girl too.

She keeps her head down, busy with salting the twisted dough in her hand.

I crush my paper cup against my palm and stride forward with my head held high. Weaving around the people of New York is second nature to me now; I’ve been doing this for almost as long as I can remember. It’s as easy as breathing, and in a single blink, I slip into character.

My smile becomes easy, and my auburn locks dance about my shoulders, thick enough to withstand the next rushing gust of wind.

A few inches away from the man, I stumble hard with a soft cry and launch myself into his arms. His tirade abruptly ends as he has no choice but to catch me.

“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?” he barks at me in a deep voice. He’s so angry that his plump cheeks ripple when he snaps his mouth shut. “Watch where you are?—”

There it is.

The moment we lock eyes, this man instantly stumbles over his words and a crimson flush rises in his cheeks. His anger dissipates because a beautiful woman has just fallen into his arms.

“Oh, sir, thank you so much!” I gasp, putting my whole heart into sounding distressed and grateful. “I just got so dizzy all of a sudden and lost my footing.”

“My—it’s…it’s quite alright,” the man mumbles. He grips my arm and uses his body to steady me—just as my fingers slip into his pocket and locate the heavy leather of his wallet.

Within three seconds, it’s stuffed deep into the pocket of my leather jacket.

“I’m so sorry,” I say again, leaning heavily against the man as I pretend to be uncertain of my stability.

“Are you okay? Do you need me to call someone?”

Our eyes meet and the truth of his questions is clear in his eyes. He wants me to be okay. He wants me to be so thankful that he stopped me falling that I throw myself at him and fulfill his wildest dreams. That deep hunger is so apparent that it sickens me.

Men are too easy to read.

“No need,” I say, finally steadying myself and placing a hand over my bust, drawing his eye to my visible cleavage. “I think it was just a dizzy spell. Thank you, thank you so much.”

I step around him, sliding my hand slowly over his forearm. He’s so distracted that he only nods and smiles at me, his eyesstill firmly on my chest. I glance at the girl behind the cart, who stands with eyes wide, holding the pretzel up. I wink at her and make a note to send a tip from this guy’s wallet. Then I melt into the crowd with my prize.

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