Page 21 of Arianna

I learned a long time ago that crying, begging, and praying get me nowhere. It only makes it worse for me.

The chilling feeling grows stronger when I notice a black van from the corner of my eye, heading towards me at full speed before it stops dead in the middle of the track.

I stand still as if frozen in time, waiting to lay my eyes on the person inside the car. The driver and passenger doors open simultaneously, and two men, dressed exactly like the men surrounding me, get out and jog towards the left side of the van while saying something into their wrists.

One of the men stands out the most with his tall height and huge build. From all the way here, I can only tell he has light brown hair. He is the tallest man here, and without exaggeration, I might say he is the tallest man I have ever seen, and that is saying something since the man who drove me here was unusually tall.

This one looks like a Viking wearing a suit.

The man opens the back door, and the first thing I notice are his stylish and expensive black leather Oxfords.

Huh, at least the old geezer has style.

My eyes roam upwards from his leather shoes to his impeccable, modern dark denim trousers and matching two-button single-breasted jacket with double-welt pockets and notch labels. Underneath the jacket, the man wears a white dress shirt.

It kills me to admit, but the man can sure dress and look expensive. The men back home wore expensive Italian suits, but this man gives me the impression that he likes his fashion the same way I do.

Modern, balancing past and present with his choice of style.

Luxurious.

And I already hate him for making me have anything in common with him.

I try hard to turn my face and ignore his presence. Ignore him until he gets sick of me and sets me free, but something deep inside of me tells me it will not ever be that easy.

Not with this man.

He does not seem like the type that would be okay with being ignored and shoved into the background of one’s mind.

The eerie sensation on my neck intensifies as I sense him slowly walking my way while his men stand back, alert and ready to strike whatever threat they sense to their boss.

Christ.

What did father get me into?

My eyes trail a path up his hard chest to his thick neck and notice tan skin, much lighter than mine but not pale by any means. I can’t help but keep looking up until I find myself staring at a face that seems as if Dali, Picasso, and God themselves sculpted it from stone. High cheekbones, a straight Roman nose, and the palest, most beautiful blue eyes I have ever seen. They almost look gray.

And his hair.

God, his hair. Thick and black. A hair most women would kill to have, full and thick, with so much volume. Perfect.

The man walks my way, his head held high, oozing confidence and arrogance. I was wrong.

Dammit.

There is nothing geriatric about this man.

Nothing at all.

I have never been the type of girl to act like an idiot over a man, and I never will, but now, I am struck by how handsome this asshole is.

I find it fascinating yet infuriating that I notice such things and that I think of him as beautiful in a rugged manly way. I am more annoyed now than I was a second ago.

He is too. Annoyed, I mean. By the way, his narrowed eyes are staring daggers right through me, which snaps me out of it. For a stupid second, this man caught me off guard, and it will surely be the last.

Hopeless romantics believe in love at first sight. I don’t. Only the naïve believe that a mere glance at another human’s appearance is a sufficient way to inspire romantic feelings.

Even my sister, Mila, the dreamer of our family, would agree with me. There is no such thing as love at first sight, but there is hate at first glance, or at least, that is what I am telling myself while meeting his wolfish blue-gray eyes.

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