Page 1 of The Mafia King's Stolen Fiancée

1

VIVIENNE

It felt as though this night was never going to end. The dress my mom insisted I wear was too tight and scratchy, the food was overly salted, and the company was boring me to death. The topic of conversation should’ve been a bright spot since it was my wedding, but it only made me feel worse.

“I was thinking we should tell the florist to change to orchids.” My future mother-in-law told my mom. “The Worthingtons are planning to use mini callas for their daughter’s wedding, and I don’t want it to seem as though we’re copying them.”

Neither flower was what I would’ve picked since purple roses were my favorite, but that didn’t matter to either woman. Although I was the bride, none of the wedding decisions had been made with my preferences in mind. Everything was being planned for maximum effect on our guests and the press. Not that any of this really mattered to me since I was dreading the whole event.

My mother considered the suggestion as she took a sip of her martini. “What about lily of the valley instead? They’ll be horribly expensive since the wedding is around when they’reonly starting to bloom, but we’ll be the first to use them during this wedding season.”

I held back a grimace. Now wasn’t the time to remind my mom that I was allergic to lily of the valley.

Mrs. Chanler’s lips curved into a satisfied smirk. “Perfect.”

That certainly wasn’t the word I would have used.

Growing up, I thought I was so lucky because my parents spoiled me, buying me just about anything I could ever want. But as I got older, I learned that my sheltered upbringing hadn’t done me any favors.

My mom had prepared me to be arm candy to a powerful man, just like she was. And I didn’t know how to be anything else. This was why I agreed when they set me up with the only son of the Chanlers, a powerful political family they wanted closer ties with. I’d known it was my path in life since I was a little girl.

I barely knew Chet, so I didn’t see through his gentlemanly mask during our two dates before he proposed. It took a while for me to realize just how horrible of a person he was. By then, it was too late because our parents had placed an engagement announcement in all the papers. Backing out after everyone knew we were supposed to get married would embarrass everyone.

It had taken me several months to gather my courage, but the day I planned to talk to my mom about not wanting to marry Chet, he announced his run for governor. With his political aspirations on the line and facing my parents' disappointment, I knew getting out of my engagement would be next to impossible. So, here I was, still engaged and stuck sitting at a table next to the world’s worst fiancé.

Chet leaned close, his hot breath on my ear, and a shiver of unease slithered down my spine. “All this talk about flowers has me thinking we should go for a stroll in the gardens.”

He pretended to speak intimately to me, but his voice was just loud enough for the others to hear.

My dad sent an approving smile his way. “Excellent idea.”

“Yes,” my mom agreed with a nod and beaming smile. “I’ve heard they’re the best in the area.”

“A romantic walk in the garden sounds lovely.” Mrs. Chanler sighed, sending a longing look in her husband’s direction, but he was too busy ogling the server to notice. Something he had in common with his son. I’d brought up his roaming eyes to my mother once, and she’d assured me that he was just looking and was surely being faithful. I didn’t share her confidence.

Somehow, I’d been able to limit my alone time with Chet during the two years we’d been engaged, but there were instances like this when I had no choice. So I put a smile on my face and pretended I didn’t feel the need for a scalding shower after I was close to him.

He gently took my hand and helped me up from my seat. Then he put his palm on my lower back, uncomfortably close to my butt, and nodded at our parents before guiding me toward the doors. He didn’t say anything until we were outside, but the tension I could feel coming off him in waves made me nervous.

“Why are you acting like a spoiled brat tonight?” he growled, wrapping his hand around my upper arm now that we were alone. “My future wife should be overjoyed to talk about her wedding. People are going to notice your sulking.”

I let out a squeak of surprise when he jerked me behind him, making me stumble. “My dress is uncomfortable,” I muttered, the only excuse I could think of besides telling Chet that I hated him and didn’t want to go through with the wedding.

His gaze raked down my body, then back up to my chest, where it lingered. Considering where his attention tended to wander, I was a little surprised to find him often leering at mymore delicate curves. Despite his lascivious stare, he muttered, “Probably because you need to lose some weight.”

I tried not to let his constant criticism of my body get to me, especially when my doctor had urged me to gain five pounds at my appointment last month. Not that it would do me any good to point that out to him. Chet wasn’t the kind of guy who put much value in anyone’s opinion unless they had a penis…or could further his career aspirations.

“You should’ve skipped dessert. The camera isn’t kind to women, and you’ll be spending plenty of time in front of them as my wife. Especially when I’m elected governor of the great state of Tennessee.”

Nobody was near enough to overhear Chet, but he still sounded as though he was on the campaign trail. My narcissist fiancé liked to hear himself talk, which came in handy since talking around him usually just led to more lectures and criticizing remarks. In fact, letting him talk about himself usually gave me a reprieve from his attention.

He didn’t release my arm as he led me along the path, spouting off about how he was all but guaranteed to win the upcoming election.

We were near the back of the garden when he finally ceased talking about his accomplishments and prospects. He looked me over again, then announced, “You’ll ride back with me tonight. We clearly need some time alone.”

The six of us had driven down to Atlanta to meet with a potential donor to Chet’s campaign. Originally, it was only supposed to be the men on the trip, but our mothers had decided this morning that we needed to come along. Luckily, Chet met us at the banquet hall because he’d had a meeting with another donor right before.

His firm tone warned me to obey his order without question. But after biting my tongue for so long, I gathered a little bravery and snapped, “No.”

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