Page 34 of Of Vows and Betrayal

“So, I think it’s time for us to have a serious discussion.”

“Here?” I ask, looking around again. “Now?” I suspect what he’s about to do, and I don’t want it. I need more time.

For what?the voice chimes in my head.

His smile turns flirtatious, and he takes a step forward, his cologne wrapping around me. All I want to do is put distance between us, but my back hits the pillar of the bar.

“Now is as good a time as any. Listen, Ophelia, I like you,” he says, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass. He hesitates, then looks up, meeting my eyes. “My father might not think you’d make a good wife, but it’s your wild side that I find entertaining.”

I fight the urge to cringe, forcing myself to listen to his presumptuous words.

“Anyway, my father mentioned it to your father, and he’s quite excited at the idea.”

I clench my fists, biting back a retort as Romero smirks, clearly proud of himself for talking to our fathers without consulting me.

“Ah, that’s quite unexpected.”

“Is it?” He arches an eyebrow. “You must have known.”

“There are so many other options…betteroptions.”

He shrugs. “Let’s go on a date.”

I swallow hard, trying to think of a polite way to decline. “I?—”

Romero leans in closer, and I can feel his breath on my skin. “Just one date,” he pleads. “Give me a chance to change your mind.”

I glance around, desperately hoping for a distraction. My eyes land on Javier, standing at the edge of the room, his gaze locked on us. There’s a storm brewing in his eyes, and I know he’s ready to intervene if I give the slightest signal.

The thing is, in the Mafia, a date is never only a date, especially now that he threw the wordmarriageout so casually. I see it happen around us—depending on where you go and with whom, it immediately becomes a claim. As stupid as it sounds, it’s basically an agreement that you’re willing to date him seriously.

“Is it because of your cousin? You know Francesca and me, it never went anywhere. We didn’t even go out officially—not even once.”

I look up to the ceiling. Relief floods me, a miracle in this precarious moment, giving me an escape from Romero’s presumptuous proposal. Because even I know that rejectingthe son of the Gambino’s consigliere is not an easy task.

“I—yeah.” I glance at Francesca, who’s laughing too loudly and leaning too close to one of the guys at the party. “We already have enough problems between us. I need to talk to her first. You understand.”

He looks at Francesca, too, and then nods with a sigh. “Fine, I get it.”

I try to enjoy my drink, keeping the conversation surface level. It’s harder than it seems. I used to speak without a filter before joining this family, and I speak freely with Javier. My gaze drifts back to the bodyguards’ section, searching for Javier’s familiar silhouette.

“You want to go home, don’t you?”

I turn back toward Romero, having almost forgotten he was here. “Desperately,” I reply with a little laugh, relieved that he misunderstood my searching look for a desire to go home.

He nods, brushing his forefinger on his lips. “I tell you what, finish that glass of wine, and I’ll help you escape.”

I love the idea, but cock my head to the side. “And what will that cost me?”

“A kiss.”

I frown, about to refuse when he chuckles, resting his hand on his chest.

“Damn, Phee, you know how to hurt a man’s ego. A kiss on the cheek, all innocent.”

I blush, not at his mention of my nickname but at the kiss—my kiss on Javier’s cheek was all but innocent. “Okay, you have a deal.”

I finish my wine, feeling the buzz of alcohol take theedge off my nerves. Romero stands up and offers his hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

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