Page 6 of The Proposal

I glance up and catch her gaze, once again struck by her beauty. Her flawless skin, the perfectly symmetrical nose … and those full, irresistible lips that look incredibly soft and kissable.

“That can be arranged,Tesoro(Sweetheart),” I retort.

“I despise you and everything you represent,” she spits with a look so lethal it could burn through steel.

“I can assure you the feeling is mutual.”

“Then why are you doing this?” she asks.

“I have my reasons.”

“If you think this is going to be a traditional marriage, you’re in for a rude shock,” she bites, lifting her chin in defiance. That move has my cock jumping in my trousers. “Thethought of you touching me makes me want to purge my breakfast.”

I would never force myself on anyone. There’s nothing appealing about that, but her statement has me grinning for some reason. Her words may have been spoken with conviction, but I don’t believe her.

I drop her hand, leaning in to whisper, “I look forward to removing that stick from your arse once we’re married,Bellezza(Beauty), and replacing it with my dick.”

My crudeness has her gasping as she raises her hand and slaps my face …hard. The sting hits me instantly, but I don’t react the way she likely expects. Instead, I flash her one of my most devastating smiles.

Being married to this woman might actually be fun.

Chapter 2

Dante

Istand in front of the mirror in my bedroom at my family’s estate in Italy, adjusting my bowtie with a steady hand despite feeling anything but that on the inside.

Today’s the day, and if I’m being honest, the vows I’m about to take make my stomach twist with unease. I didn’t even feel this unsettled on the day of my father’s funeral.

The thought of marrying Arabella Rossi and being bound to not only her but also her father makes me sick to my stomach.

I always presumed this day would come, but I’d hoped my marriage would be for love.Not like this.Not to a person who can’t stand the sight of me. To someone who recoils from my slightest touch.

In the past few days, we’ve crossed paths countless times as we finalised the details for the wedding, and with each encounter, the tension between us grew more charged and unyielding than the last.

We are not taking a honeymoon. What’s the point? She’s already made it abundantly clear that the thought of me touching her is repulsive. Instead, we’ll board my father’s private jet in the morning and return to Australia. I haven’t thefaintest idea what I’ll do with her once we arrive, though. I’m used to the no-strings lifestyle, so I guess it will be challenging.

I take a step back and assess myself one more time in the mirror. I’m wearing a tuxedo, one I purchased for this very occasion. I fiddle with my cufflinks, then straighten my jacket.I’m stalling because I know my life will never be the same once I leave here.

Opening the drawer beside my bed, I reach for my gun and slide it into the back of my trousers. Stefano Rossi is unpredictable, so I’m not taking any chances by being unarmed.

As I descend the stairs, I exhale a long, resigned breath, accepting my fate. I make my way towards the door, snatching the keys to the Bugatti from the side table as I pass. I grasp the handle of my suitcase, pull back my shoulders and step out of the house.

It’s time to marry my bridezilla.

I stand in front of the altar of a small stone church nestled on the edge of the village where the Rossis reside. My nostrils flare as I take a deep breath through my nose, and my nerves become more frayed by the second.

From the outside, this place isn’t much to look at, but inside, it’s a different story. Sunlight filters through the stained-glass windows, casting vibrant patterns of colour across the worn stone floors. The high, vaulted ceilings seem to enlarge the small space.

The arches above are adorned with intricate frescoes depicting scenes of saints, angels, and divine moments. My mother would’ve loved this place if she were still alive.

Given the short notice, only around fifty people are inattendance today, mostly Stefano’s men and a few family members. Apart from the two guards I flew over earlier in the week, I’m going it alone.

I didn’t even tell my brother about today, but I had my reasons. I know he’d be here supporting me if he knew, but given the person I’m marrying and the reasons why, I thought it better not to say anything just yet.

He would disagree with what I’m doing; hell, I even think this is ludicrous, but there’s no backing out now. Not unless I want to leave Italy in a body bag. Stefano kept his side of the bargain by getting my nephew, Giovanni, back. So I need to do the same. My reputation is on the line if I renege on the deal.

I glance over my shoulder at the ornate wooden doors at the entry to the church, which are now closed and guarded. Is that at my expense?

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