Page 69 of No Promises, No Lies

Niko, on the other hand, has been nearly impossible to shake. We’re back to business as usual, but with a drastically shorter leash. Niko’s taken to watching every move I make. He’s even moved back into his old room, the one right across the hall from mine.

My brother’s new habit of dropping by my room at random times of night to make sure I am in it has led to me expandingmy vocabulary of expletives as I brainstorm new and exciting ways to expel him from my space.

It’s unnecessary.

Following the Volkov attack on the mansion, my father finally ramped up security. It’s practically Fort Knox now. And while I’m reassured no one is getting in, unfortunately, it also means no one is getting out.

The Breakers are on a bye week after their win over the Falcons. I should enjoy the time off, but all it does is increase the intensity the black cloud of misery that is my impending nuptials. Skating is both my distraction, and my outlet, and without it, I’m left to stew in my anxiety over marrying someone I don’t know.

The increased security and lack of ice time is probably the only reason I’m actually looking forward to the party tonight. Niko and my father will be plenty distracted by all the guests. I might be able to slip away without their knowledge.

The last roadblock in my way is Matteo.

Father informed me he will be my escort to the party tonight. I haven’t even seen myintendedsince our first meeting over brunch a couple of weeks ago. But Niko was kind enough to inform me the other day the contracts have been drawn up. It’s only a matter of setting a date.

All week, I’ve tried to pry information about my fiancé from anyone I could corner; my family, the cook, my guards, and even the maids. I quickly came to the conclusion, from all of their tight-lipped replies, that either they know very little of Matteo Carroza, or they don’t want to tell me what they do.

He was pleasant enough at brunch, and it’s my only hope that he’s nice, because my father has decided; I will marry Matteo, and it won’t matter whether or not I want to. In the Mafia, marriage is for life. Divorce will not be an option.

Perhaps I can coax some more details out of the man himself tonight. Maybe I won’t have to run away after all. He was nice enough the other day. Sure, he was preoccupied with talking with my father, but it’s hardly enough information to decide whether or not to marry the guy. But we are grasping at straws here.

That was until he sent the dress… A sense of fashion? Check no on that one.

I stare at the dress laid out on the bed. It’s gold. And not in a shimmery, pretty, polished-gold way. It’s gold in a gaudy, tacky,look-at-mekind of way. Short too… Almost indecently so, seeing as we’re attending a formal black-tie event where I’m to be paraded about in front of the Bratva and other made men. Our engagement will be formally announced.Why would Matteo want me to wear this?

I chew my lip and glance toward my closet, at the dress I’d originally planned to wear tonight. The red color makes it a little ostentatious for my taste, but I couldn’t help but fall in love with it the other day when Elle forced me to try it on. The material is soft satin, with a structured bodice that dips down into a deep V, held up by thin straps before tightening at the waist and flaring out at the hips. It’s elegant, sophisticated, and, most definitely, the dress I’m wearing tonight.

My mind made up, I stride across the room, pulling out the dress before I can talk myself out of it. Matteo won’t care.He’s a man. He probably won’t even notice,I even pair it with gold, strappy heels and dainty gold teardrop earrings for my fiancé’s benefit.

Pulling my long hair half back, I leave a few curled tendrils out to frame my face. I keep my make-up light, with only a little mascara, a brush of blush, and soft pink lips.

I smooth the skirt of my dress and take a few steadying breaths before braving the foyer.

Taking my time, I descend the staircase, hoping Matteo’s only just arrived and I’m not running late.But when I reach the midpoint landing of the stairway, I freeze.

Because it’s not Matteo Carroza standing at the bottom of the steps below…

It’s Aidan O’Rourke.

42

THE BRIDE WORE RED

RORY

The last person I ever expected to see tonight leans casually against the railing of the stairwell, waiting—but not for me.

I see him before he sees me—paused on the landing, frozen at the sight of him.A quick glance around shows the foyer empty besides the two of us.

No one else around…

My pulse races when our eyes connect, and for a second, I consider turning tail and running for my room. But some unknown force propels me forward, moving my feet as I descend the rest of the stairs. My hand glides gracefully along the banister as I go. Each step brings me closer to him.

Aidan’s green eyes follow me down.

I search his face for the usual arrogant smirk—noticeably absent. In its place, an unreadable expression—an unfamiliar softness in the dark pine of his eyes. They trail down my body from my eyes to my gold painted toes. He pushes off the banister when I finally reach the bottom, straightening to his full height.

“Gorgeous,” he murmurs, just loud enough for me to hear.

---