Page 47 of Precious Hazard

“Very good. Good Italian.” He slaps me on the back and thrusts a beer bottle into my hand. “Cheers.”

I watch as the wacky grandpa walks away, headed toward the garden shed a few yards from the kitchen loading doors. He grabs a rake from where it leans against the structure and lumbers over to a flower bed that’s still covered in last season’s leaves. Great. Even Popov’s gardener is now dishing out death threats.

Squeezing my temples, I sigh. This marriage is an idiotic idea. A fucking mistake. If anything deserves that label, it’s this. What alternate reality did I land in? I’m just thankful that Tara and I agreed to set an expiration date for this disaster. Otherwise, if I were forced to associate with this family for the rest of my life, I might go completely bonkers.

Turning away, I let my gaze sweep the crowd around me, looking for a particular pale-blue dress. A moment later, I locate Tara squatting next to the fallen speaker, a platter of ruined salad in her hands. A scrawny black cat is beside her, licking the offering as my fiancée runs her fingers along the feline’s back.

Suddenly, everything around me seems to fade. The people and their clamor. The dreadful music that is way too loud to be ignored. That damn black cat, which looks identical to the one I’ve run into on several occasions in the past few months. All that’s left is the dark-haired woman in an outrageously sexy blue dress. She becomes the focal point of my attention. The only thing I see.

When did her lips become so rosy and soft-looking? Are they to blame for the overpowering urge I feel to kiss her?

Nah, it must be just a trick of the light. And I only kissed her to play my part in this unhinged escapade. There’s no other reason. There never could be. Thinking otherwise would surely mean I need to see a shrink.

As if hypnotized, though, I keep staring at Tara as she pets the cat. Her slender fingers comb through the animal’s silky fur, and I all too vividly recall how it felt to have them rake through my hair while I devoured her lips. The very air around us felt heated, and each of my nerve receptors pulsed with raw, fervent voltage. I wanted to be somewhere else. Somewhere without other people. Just me and her. Alone. So I could do much more than merely kiss her. So I could slide my hand beneath that dre—

Enough!

I lift the bottle of beer to my mouth and throw back the contents. Exhaustion and lack of sleep are obviously taking their toll on me. That’s the only explanation for me losing my fucking mind. Tossing the empty bottle into the trash can, I set off toward Tara.

“The wedding’s in two weeks. Have you started packing?” I bark when I come up to her.

“No. Why?”

“Get started. But don’t bother with this getup or anything like it that makes you look like a common tramp. No one wants to see you flashing your ass in civilized society.”

I believe my words have momentarily stunned her. But she recovers quickly and juts out her chin. Her green eyesharden into clear crystals. Cold. Narrowed. Shooting daggers at me.

That did it. Reset us to how we were before.

Loathing everything about each other.

As we should.

Good.

Chapter 11

“So?” I adjust my veil and do a quick pirouette in front of the wall mirror. “What do you think?”

The horrified look on Sienna’s face is outright comical. She’s frozen in the middle of my room, her frantic eyes roving up and down as she gapes at my wedding dress.

“Arturo is going to lose his shit,” she whispers.

“I don’t see why. I’ve followed each of his specified parameters.”

My dress is floor-length, covering me from my neck to the tips of my pointy shoes. The matte satin skirt falls in a graceful A-line. An empire waist and modest chapel train exude timeless sophistication and create a flattering silhouette. The fitted long sleeves and body-hugging bodice are a fusion of draped panel detail and lacy fabric, and a delicate belt and a beautiful pearl-encrusted brooch cinch just below the bust. A stunning blooming motif adds a hint of intrigue to the hidden décolletage. For additional drama, a waterfall sash flows from the raised waistline down the front of the gown. I smile at my reflection in the mirror. The dress is elegant and a thousand times better than I ever imagined it could be.

“It’sblack,Tara!”

“It’s not my fault your brother didn’t specify the color in the prenup. That meant I was free to choose whichever shadeI wanted on my own. He set the rules, and I merely exploited a loophole, so he doesn’t have anyone but himself to blame. At least the dress isn’t as depressing as what I initially requested. Originally, I just asked Zahara Spada for something suitable to wear to a funeral. This is gorgeous, no?” My cleavage is not on display. The regal high neckline completely takes care of that, actually. Granted, there is a little peekaboo action happening through the elaborate three-dimensional floral pattern. But that’s lace! No slits means no one is in danger of seeing my unmentionables. ’Cause God forbid an old Italian man gets a glimpse of my backside. Jeez! “And look, it comes with a vintage-inspired beaded fishnet headpiece.” I slide the headband on and arrange the edge of the short veil over the upper part of my face. “Perfect.”

“You can’t show up to your wedding dressed in black! It will cause an epic scandal.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it.”

Sienna grabs my shoulders, spinning me around to face her, and pulls the hair band with the veil off my head.

“Listen, I get it. You want to stick it to Arturo for making you marry him. But, the two of you did come to an understanding, didn’t you? It’s just for a year. Why not try to make it as painless as possible, for both your sakes?”

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