Page 4 of Pretty Little Princess

I don’t have much time to think about it as the next course enters from the kitchen in a flurry of well-dressed waitstaff. The perfectly cooked tagliata served on a bed of arugula makes my mouth water.

As my father explains the dish to the Matron and they fall into light conversation, I glance at Pyotr. He catches me looking and raises an eyebrow once more. Blushing self-consciously, I turn my eyes back to my plate.

“A taste of Italy,” he says mildly, cutting into his steak. “How refreshing. Mother’s all about Russian tradition and knowing our roots, so this is a rare treat. Is your chef from Italy?”

“New York, actually,” I say, cutting into my own steak. “Do you have a chef at home?”

“Only the best. From Moscow, he used to cook for Putin himself.”

“Really?” I can’t keep the surprise from my tone.

Pyotr chuckles, the sound low and deeply masculine. “Really.”

“He must be very good.”

“I’m sure you’ll have plenty of opportunities to experience just how talented he is,” Pyotr assures me.

He takes another bite of food, and I’m blown away by how he manages to make chewing look both regal and sexy as hell.

Casual conversation fills the room. My father engages the Matron in easy topics, like he might any of our other house guests. Clara captures Nico and Anya’s attention as the twins and their partners fall into a humorous debate about their last karaoke night together.

“I hope you don’t take this the wrong way,” Pyotr says quietly, recapturing my attention. “But you’re far more beautiful than I anticipated.” His gray eyes observe me carefully, as if assessing whether I’ll take offense.

I giggle nervously. “What? Were you expecting some old hag with missing teeth and warts all over her face?” I joke. For some reason, hearing him voice my same fear puts me at ease.

He laughs, the deep, rich sound making my heart flutter once again. It sends a thrill through me to know I brought it out of him.Does that mean he likes my humor?

“No, not the old part. I knew we were the same age.”

That makes me laugh. “But everything else you were picturing?”

“Sometimes a good imagination can be your worst enemy,” he says playfully.

He has no idea.“Well, as long as we’re being honest. I’m just grateful you don’t have horns and a tail.”

Pyotr’s eyebrow raises in silent question. “Who says I don’t?” he counters, combing his fingers through his hair.

I release an unladylike snort and cover my nose and mouth in mortification. But aside from Pyotr, who chuckles darkly in response, no one else seems to have noticed my faux pas. And he doesn’t bat an eye. Intense relief radiates through me as I realize that my betrothal might not be the absolute worst thing in the world.

The Veles might have made themselves an enemy of my family. Sure, I might hardly know Pyotr. And yes, he lives hundreds of miles away from my family, who I’d hoped to stay near. But somehow, after meeting my future husband, I get the sense that we might actually be a good fit. Against all odds, I’m surprisingly good with the idea of marrying the heir to the infamous New York Bratva. He seems dangerously close to being a proper gentleman and a charming prince.

I’m sure Nico will tell me that my love of books is clouding my reality. But I’ve always known my role in the Marchetti would be to become someone’s bride. To better our family name. So I’m determined to see this in the best light.

And Pyotr Veles is far from the monster I expected to meet.

He keeps the conversation light, and as dinner starts to wind down, the initial hostility and tension seem to dissipate completely. Before I know it, our dessert plates are being collected, and our espresso cups are running low.

“I must say, after this evening, I have high hopes for the union of our families.” The Matron pats her lips delicately before she sets aside her napkin.

“I’m grateful you and your son could take the time to fly all the way out here,” Father says, maintaining a formal tone.

In my periphery, I spot Nicolo grinding his teeth, the tendon in his jaw popping. Anya places a calming hand on his arm as she murmurs something to him. To mask his irritation, Nico turns his attention to Clara, stroking her dark hair and pulling her close.

A twinge of longing constricts my chest. Nico’s such a good father. He loves Clara deeply. I can see it in everything he does. I’m lucky to have Nico as my brother. He never fails to have my back. But what I wouldn’t give to have my own father love me like that. To want to protect me. To hold me close.

Instead, he’s selling me off in exchange for an alliance. Swallowing my emotions, I remind myself that my father didn’t have much choice. It was either marry me to Pyotr Veles or start a war with one of the most treacherous Bratvas in New York. Still, it hurts to know he agreed to the arrangement without batting an eye.

“Walk me out?” Pyotr asks, calling my attention to his handsome face. He’s standing behind my chair, ready to help me out of it.

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