Page 4 of Prideful Union
My eyes land on the group of men near the front entrance. They part like it’s the freaking red sea, and the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen enters the room.
Striking blue eyes. Black hair that has a swoop to it. Scruff on his chin that makes me want to lick his face.
Please tell me this is Santino.
I clutch Gemma’s arm, drawing her attention to the man who just entered. She lets out a low whistle. “Be careful, Lucia. That man looks dangerous.”
I gently smack her arm. “I think that might be Santino.”
“I think you’re right. Mom is coming over right now. She looks incredibly excited.”
Mom grabs my arm. “Lucia, Santino just arrived.”
“Yay!” I clap my hands.
“Let me introduce you.” She guides me over to him. He hasn’t moved from his spot. Santino stands there looking like a king. Soon, he’ll be my king. My husband.
“Santino,” Mom says once she reaches him. “This is my daughter, Lucia.”
He gives me a gruff nod.
“Hi,” I say, holding out my hand.
He just stares at it for a moment before looking away.
My smile falters as I drop my hand. Mom and I share a look. “Are you ok?” I ask him.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asks. His voice is slow low and smooth, and it sends shivers over me.
“Ok. Well, would you like to dance?” I nod toward the middle of the room. “I’d love to get to know you better.”
“I don’t dance.”
My heart drops into my stomach. “You … don’t dance?” I look at Mom, who intervenes.
“Santino, my daughter is a great dancer.”
“I’m sure she is,” he replies. “But I don’t dance.”
“Is that, like, an Italian thing?” I ask, trying to make a joke. He just gives me a deadpan expression.
“No, it’s not,like, an Italian thing.”
It takes me a moment, but it almost feels like he’s mocking me.
Mom pats my arm. “Well, I’ll leave you two be.” She hurries away.
“Did I offend you?” I ask.
“No.”
Man, he’s not giving me much to work with, but he’s handsome. I can work with that. “Well, then, what do you want to do? We can just talk.”
“I’m not really in the mood to talk.” He looks away from me, his gaze sweeping over the room.
“Then what are you in the mood for?” I bat my eyelashes. It’s a tried-and-true trick (or so I’ve been told).
“I’m in the mood to be left alone,” he says pointedly, looking at me.
