Chapter 5

...Chapter 5...

...Vivian’s POV...

- What do you mean, you haven't spoken to the man you're going to marry since your engagement ? Isabella exclaims, crossing her arms and scrutinizing me with a disapproving look.  What kind of relationship is that ?

- An arranged marriage, plain and simple.

The bar tips over before righting itself. Maybe I shouldn't have had two Mai Tais in a row, but my weekly happy hour with Isabella and Sloane is the only time I can let loose. No one judges me, and I don't have to be "proper." I'm tipsy, so what ? The bar is called The Tipsy Goat, I'm in the theme.

- But it's better this way. He is far from being good at making conversation.

Even today, the memory of my first and only encounter with Dante Russo triggers a surge of indignation. He showed no remorse after leaving the dinner to smoke a cigar in my father's office, then he left without even a "thank you" or a "good night." Dante may be a billionaire, but he is as polite as a poorly raised troll.

- So why are you marrying him ? asks Sloane. Tell your parents to find you a better fiancé.

- That's precisely the problem. In their eyes, there is no better fiancé. They consider him perfect.

- Dante Russo, perfect ? she wonders, raising her eyebrows. His security agents once sent a guy to the hospital because he had tried to break into his home. He spent ten months in a coma, with broken ribs and a kneecap. Okay, it's impressive, but I wouldn't say he's perfect.

Only Sloane would find something like that impressive.

- I know. It's not me you need to convince, I grumble.

That said, my family doesn't care about Dante's notorious brutality. He could kill someone in the middle of Manhattan and they would say the victim deserved it.

- I don't understand why you agreed to get engaged, Sloane wonders, shaking her head. You don't need your parents' fortune. You can marry whoever you want, there's nothing they can do about it.

- It's not a question of money, I reply.

Even if my parents disinherited me, I have enough money thanks to my work, my investments, and the financial funds they passed on to me when I turned twenty-one.

- It's a matter... of family, I conclude after searching for the right term.

Isabella and Sloane exchange a glance. It's not the first time we've talked about my engagement or my relationship with my parents, but I always feel compelled to defend them.

- Arranged marriages are what my family does. It was the case for my sister, and it's the same for me. I've known since I was a teenager, it was planned.

- Yeah, but what would they do if you said no ? asks Isabella.  They would disown you ?

My stomach knots and I force myself to laugh.

- Maybe, I declare.

Absolutely. They congratulated my aunt for disowning my cousin when she turned down a scholarship to Princeton to open her food truck. Refusing to marry a Russian is a thousand times worse. If I break off the engagement, my parents will never speak to me again. They are not perfect, but the idea of being banished by my family and ending up alone is so unbearable that the Mai Tais rise dangerously in my stomach.

Unfortunately, Isabella can't understand. Culturally, we are alike since our families are Chinese, even though hers is from the Philippines rather than Hong Kong. But she grew up in a loving family that had no problem with her moving to the other end of the country to pursue her dream of becoming a writer. If I shared such desires with my parents, they would lock me in my room to perform an exorcism or throw me out on the street with nothing but the clothes on my back.

- I don't want to disappoint them, I declare. They raised me and sacrificed a lot to give me the life I have. Marrying Dante would help us all.

Family relationships shouldn't feel like transactions, but I can't help but feel indebted to my family for everything I have : the opportunities, the education, the freedom to live and work where I want without worrying about money. These are privileges that most people do not have, and I do not take them for granted. Parents take care of their children, and when they grow up, they take care of their parents in return. In our case, this means that we must arrange advantageous marriages and grow the wealth and influence of our family. That's how our world works. Isabella sighs. We have been friends since we met in a yoga class when I was twenty-two. The classes didn't last, but our friendship did. She knows it's a lost cause to contradict me about my family.

- Okay, but that doesn't change the fact that you haven't talked to him even though you're moving in with him next week.

I'm fiddling with the sapphire on my bracelet. I would have liked to postpone having to leave my West Village apartment to move into Dante's penthouse on the Upper East Side, but what good would it have done ? I would have tired myself out for nothing by arguing with my father. However, apart from the apartment address, I have no other details regarding my move. I don't have the keys, no information about the building, nothing.

- You will have to talk to him eventually, adds Isabella. Stop being a wimp.

- I'm not a wimp! I retort, turning to Sloane. What ?

She looks up from her phone. Technically, none of us are allowed to check our phones during our happy hour, the one who breaks the rule has to pay the bill at the end of the evening. In reality, Sloane has been paying for our drinks for six months.

- Even though I disapprove of Isabella's advice seventy-five percent of the time, this time, she's right. You need to talk to him before moving in with him, she said, shrugging in an elegant gesture. There's an art opening at his place tonight. You should go.

Dante's art collection is famous and valued at several hundred million dollars. His annual private opening, during which he reveals his latest acquisitions, is one of the most sought-after events in Manhattan. Technically, we are engaged, so the fact that I wasn't invited could have been awkward, if I hadn't been so relieved. When I move in, I'll be forced to spend every evening with him, so I'm holding on to my freedom as long as I can.

The idea of sharing a room, a bed with Dante Russo is... unsettling. I see him again sitting at my father's desk, his gaze dark and arrogant, tendrils of smoke enveloping his determined face. A wave of unexpected heat rushes between my thighs. Feeling his thumb on my lip, seeing the spark in his eyes when he looked at me... for a moment, I thought he was going to kiss me. Not as a sign of affection but to dirty me. To dominate and corrupt me.

My groin ignites, until the insistent gaze of my friends brings me back to the present moment. I am not in my father's office but in a bar, where my friends are waiting for an answer. The opening, that's true. Returning to reality feels like a cold shower.

- I can't just show up at his place uninvited, I declare, hoping they will assume my flushed cheeks are due to the alcohol. That's not right.

- You are not just anyone, you are his fiancée, even if you don't have a ring yet, retorts Isabella. And besides, you're moving in soon. See it as a visit to your future home, but you can't move in there without talking to him.

I sigh, regretting not being able to go back a month to mentally prepare for what awaits me.

- I hate it when you're right.

- Like most people, Isabella agrees with a smile. I would have gladly accompanied you because I love crashing house viewings, but I have to work tonight.

By day, Isabella is an author of erotic thrillers. At night, she serves overpriced drinks to guys who still imagine themselves as students in a shabby East Village bar. She hates this place, its clientele, and its perverted manager. Although she is actively looking for another job, she is stuck there until she finds one.

- Sloane ? I ask in a hopeful tone. If I have to face Dante tonight, I'm going to need backup.

- I can't. Asher Donovan had an accident with his Ferrari in London. He's fine, she adds when Isabella and I gasp.

None of us are sports fans, but the famous football player is too handsome to die now.

- But I have to put out the media fire, she continues. It's the second car he's wrecked in just a few months.

Sloane heads a public relations firm with few clients, but known worldwide. She spends her days managing this kind of thing. She signals the waiter to bring the bill, pays, then makes me promise to call her if I need anything, before disappearing in a cloud of Jo Malone perfume and platinum blonde hair. Isabella follows her to go to work, I stay a little longer, trying to decide what I should do. If I were smart, I would go home and finish packing my boxes. Nothing good can come from crashing Dante's party, and besides, I can always call him tomorrow if I really want to. Boxes, shower, sleep. That's my plan, and I'm going to stick to it.

- I'm sorry, Miss, but you are not on the list. No matter if you are Mr. Russo's mother, his sister, or his fiancée... the hostess replies, staring at my ringless ring finger, I cannot let you in without an invitation.

I keep smiling.

- If you call Dante, he will confirm my identity, I declare without being sure of what I am saying.

In the worst case, I will face this problem when the time comes. It's just a simple oversight. I went home as planned after leaving the bar and held out for twenty minutes before giving in and following Isabella and Sloane's advice. They are right. I can't wait for Dante to show up while my move is fast approaching. I have to swallow my pride and see him, no matter how much he annoys or disturbs me. Of course, to see him, I would first need to get through his front door. The hostess sighs in exasperation.

- I assure you that it is not an oversight. We are meticulous in our…

- Vivian, there you are.

A voice with a British and aristocratic accent interrupts our duel. I turn, surprised to see a handsome man of Asian descent looking at me with a smile. His finely chiseled features and dark eyes would have almost been too perfect if he didn't wear those round black glasses that make him approachable.

- Dante just wrote to me. He is looking for you, but you don't answer the phone.

He steps forward and takes a cream-colored invitation card from his jacket pocket to hand it to the hostess.

- Kai Young and his plus one. I can accompany Miss Lau so as not to disturb Dante.

The woman shoots me a glare, but smiles coldly at Kai.

- Of course, Mr. Young. Have a good evening, she replies, stepping aside just like the two bouncers stationed behind her.

Unlike nightclubs and bars, events as exclusive as this one rarely require ID checks. The staff is expected to memorize the guests' faces and names in advance. I wait until we have moved far enough away to turn to Kai and offer him a grateful smile.

- Thank you. You didn't have to do that.

Kai and I are not particularly close, but we often attend the same parties and chat whenever we run into each other. His attentive and reserved attitude is a breath of fresh air in the egocentric jungle that is Manhattan high society.

- You're welcome, he says in a formal tone that makes me smile.

Kai was born in Hong Kong and grew up in London before studying at Oxford and Cambridge. It is evident that his sophisticated manners are a reflection of his upbringing.

- I'm sure your absence from the guest list is just an oversight on Dante's part, he adds, taking two glasses of champagne from a server's tray before handing one to me. By the way, congratulations on your engagement. But maybe I should rather offer you my condolences ? My smile turns into a burst of laughter.

- The jury hasn't reached a verdict yet.

I heard that Kai and Dante are friends, but not knowing what Dante told him about our engagement, I prefer to be cautious. As far as the rest of the world is concerned, Dante and I are a happy and loving couple who are just waiting to say yes to each other.

- You're right. Most people treat Dante like the Messiah, Kai replies cheerfully. He needs someone to remind him that he is mortal like the rest of us.

- Oh, don't worry about it. I'm far from thinking that Dante is a god. He is rather the devil sent to Earth to drive me crazy.

Kai bursts out laughing, then we chat for a moment before he excuses himself to go talk with an old college friend. Why couldn't I have ended up with someone like him ? He is well-mannered, charming, and rich enough to meet my parents' prerequisites. Instead, I find myself stuck with a taciturn Italian who wouldn't recognize good manners even if they were right under his nose.

I sigh and place my empty glass on a tray before venturing into the penthouse, noting its incredible architecture and decor. Dante seems to have fled the modern minimalist style, usually so popular among his single friends, for handcrafted furniture and warm, bright tones. Persian and Turkish rugs cover the gleaming floors, and thick velvet curtains frame the bay windows that offer a stunning view of Central Park and the famous New York skyline. I pass by two living rooms, four bathrooms, a cinema room, and a game room before entering the long gallery with a glass ceiling where the exhibition is held.

I haven't seen Dante yet, but he is probably... I slow down when I catch sight of his glossy ebony hair. He stands at the other end of the room, deep in conversation with a stunning redhead and a man of Asian descent whose cheekbones are sharp enough to cut ice. He smiles warmly as he listens to them. Dante is therefore capable of having human emotions like everyone else, after all. It's good to know. My blood heats up slightly, because of the alcohol, or maybe it's due to his sincere smile. I prefer to think it's the first option.

Dante must feel the weight of my gaze because he stops talking and looks up. Our eyes meet and his face darkens, like when the sun sets behind the horizon. My heart races. Even at this distance, his annoyance is so palpable that it floats to me and spreads through my veins like a deadly poison. Dante apologizes to his guests, then heads towards me with a determined stride, parting the crowd with the assurance of a predator that no longer takes its eyes off its prey. Worrying tingles run down my back, but I hold firm, even when my survival instinct screams at me to flee. It's going to be fine. He won't kill you in public. For sure. Finally, maybe.

- Great party ! I fear my invitation got lost, but I managed to come, I declare while grabbing a flute from a tray. Champagne ? I ask, handing it to him.

- It's not your invitation that got lost, mia cara.

His familiar address, his nickname, and his velvet voice would have thrilled me if something sinister hadn't flickered in his gaze.

- What are you doing here ? he says without touching the glass.

- I admire the art and the pastries, I reply, taking a sip to give myself courage. You have very good taste, even though your manners could use some improvement.

A cold smile appears on his lips.

- I find it ironic that you constantly criticize my manners, while you crash a party you weren't invited to.

- We're engaged, I retort.

The sooner I say what I have to say, the sooner I can leave.

- We haven't exchanged a single word since dinner, even though I'm supposed to move in next week. I don't expect declarations of love or bouquets of flowers every day...

Even though it would be nice...

- ... but what I expect, on the other hand, is a minimum of courtesy and communication skills. Since you seem incapable of taking the initiative, I did it.

I finish my drink and place it back on the tray.

- Ah, and don't say I'm crashing, but rather that I'm accepting your invitation in advance. After all, you agreed for me to move in with you, didn't you ? I just wanted a glimpse of my new home before moving in.

My heart is racing, but I manage to control my voice. I don't want to set a precedent by giving in whenever Dante is upset. If he perceives the slightest weakness, he will make short work of me.

Dante's smile stretches without reaching his eyes.

- What a beautiful speech ! You didn't have as much to say at dinner the other night, he says in a cold tone that melts away as he looks me up and down. I almost didn't recognize you.

The intimacy of his insinuation triggers a new wave of heat that settles between my thighs. My tweed outfit and pearls have been safely tucked away in the back of my closet since I returned to New York. Tonight, I am wearing a classic little black dress, high heels, and my favorite poppy red lipstick. Diamonds sparkle around my neck and on my ears, even though it's nothing exceptional, it's the best I could do while getting ready in a hurry.

But the intensity of Dante's gaze makes me feel like I've shown up at mass in a bikini. My stomach knots when his eyes leave my chest and pause for a moment on my waist, molded in my dress, then continue their exploration down to my bare legs. Dante takes his time so well that it's almost erotic, like the caress of a lover determined to memorize every millimeter of my body. My mouth dries up and my lower abdomen ignites. Suddenly, I regret not having put on a more traditional outfit. It would have been less dangerous

I would have been less likely to be disturbed by his smooth voice and that electric attraction. What were we talking about, again ?

- Different occasions require different approaches, I reply hoping it makes sense.

I raise an eyebrow, praying that Dante doesn't hear the speed at which my heart is beating. I know it's physically impossible, but I can't help but have the strange and unsettling feeling that this man sees through me as if I were made only of broken and transparent pieces of glass.

- You might want to try that technique one of these days, I add, determined to keep the conversation going to avoid melting under his smoldering gaze. People would probably appreciate you more.

- I could, if other people's opinions mattered to me, he replied, looking up at me with that mocking and cruel expression once again. Unlike some of my esteemed guests, I do not derive my confidence from what people think of me.

His insinuation strikes me to the core and my blood runs cold. I have never seen someone go from tolerable to jerk as quickly as Dante Russo, and it takes all my self-control not to grab the nearest glass and throw it in his face. He has some nerve, but the worst part is, he's not wrong... Insults that have a grain of truth are always the most hurtful.

- All the better. Because I can assure you that they have a very bad opinion of you.

Don't slap him. Don't make a scene. I take a deep breath and decide to end the conversation before going against my own advice.

- As delightful as this conversation has been, I must excuse myself, as I am expected elsewhere. Nevertheless, I am counting on you to send me all the information regarding the organization to my email by tomorrow noon. I would hate to show up at your door and reveal your incompetence to your neighbors, I declare while brushing the diamond pendant around my neck. Imagine how embarrassing it would be if people found out that the great Dante Russo couldn't even manage something as simple as his fiancée's move-in.

Dante's fiery gaze could melt the gilded frames fixed to the walls.

- You might not care what people think of you, but reputation is crucial in business. If you are unable to manage your private life, how could you properly manage your business ? I ask, taking a business card out of my bag to slip it into the pocket of his jacket. I assume you already have my contact information. But if that's not the case, here is my card. I look forward to receiving your email.

I turn on my heels before he has a chance to respond. I feel his furious gaze fixed on me. But before I walked away, I also detected something else in his eyes : respect. I keep walking, my throat tight, almost running to reach the nearest restroom. It is only when the door closes behind me that I allow myself to lean against the wall and take my face in my hands. Breathe. The adrenaline rush that flooded my veins quickly fades, leaving me exhausted and anxious. I stood up to Dante and I won... for now. But I'm not naive enough to believe that I won't have to do it again. Even though it earned me some points in his eyes, Dante will not accept not regaining the upper hand. I don't know how I ended up in a cold war with my fiancé, but tonight was just the first battle.

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