Page 3 of Stealing Her Heart
“No, Iam notpleased. We’re told from the time we little girls to have dreams. To want big things. Until we’re told our dreams have to fit inside small spaces that they create for us.”
Stunned by her insight, by the strength in her voice, I realize why I wanted to talk to her. Gianna is not the first woman promised to a man to pay a debt or create a truce. I cannot make it, so she is the last. What I can do, whatI willdo, is give her a choice. I am not against breaking rules, as I said.
“Tell me one of your dreams, Gianna,” I tell her gently, coming up behind her as she turns to stare out over the lake below.
Standing close behind her, I feel the warmth of her thighs, the softness of her backside. I can smell her sweet strawberry scent. I am addicted to it now, and I make a mental note to fill my penthouse with plenty of strawberry scented things. Until I can get her there, I will need it to get me by.
“I....well I have never said it out loud. I want to get drunk at the Lampshade. Just once. Listen to bad music, eat peanuts and drink beer.”
Smiling, I nod my head. I can make that happen. I can make anything she wants happen. Unable to stop myself, I drop my hands to her hips. For a moment, I consider how dangerous this is. If we’re caught together, it could cause a war between two of the five families. As she presses back against me, letting out a dreamy little sigh, I decide something.
Any war would be worth it if she is what I am fighting for.
“I will take you there someday. Go inside, princess. Behave for tonight. You can do that, for me, can’t you?”
Gianna turns just enough to gaze up at me. My hands tighten on her wide hips to yank her back against me. Slowly, she nods. My chest aches as my heart swells. In the span of a few moments, my entire mindset has changed. All I can think about is taking care of her, protecting her, giving her anything that she wants.
“Goodnight, princess,” I call as I watch her head inside.
“Goodnight, Gabriel.”
Those words stay with me for the rest of the night. I hear them over and over. As I make small talk with the other capos, I hear her voice. As I talk with her fiancé and deem him absolutely unworthy of her, I hear that sweet voice calling my name.
Whoever I was before, whatever vows I made as a capo, none of that matters now. Nothing but Gianna matters. My whole world narrows down to one thing and one thing only.
Claiming my princess before someone else beats me to it.
Chapter Two
Gianna
Being an afterthought is kind of my thing.
My mother barely remembers she has a daughter. Not when she is too busy banging the pool guy, the gardener,andher security. Father doesn’t care because he married her for one reason: to create an alliance with her father. Too bad he had no idea her father had long ago burnt his bridges and had alliances with no one.
My father almost forgot about me entirely. Until I was useful. Once his creepy boss from the waste disposal company set his sights on me, it was over. They started talking about weddings and agreements I have had no say in. It is not uncommon for marriages to be arranged in our world. I thought perhaps I would escape that fate, but it seems my father has other thoughts.
“Behave tonight. You must make a good impression on him.”
“Well, being as he wants to marry me without us ever speaking, I assume I made all the impression I need to.”
“Do not make a fool out of me, Gianna!”
Cowering under his shout, under his glowering look, I nod. I do not want to get married. Least of all to one of the men in the five families. Marconi is a spoiled brat who wants me just because he thinks he can have me. We’ve never spoken more than a hello. We know nothing about each other. All he cares about is how I fill out a dress and how docile I will be.
Newsflash: docile is not a word ever used to describe me.
Take for instance tonight’s affair. It is black tie as these stupid engagement parties often are. Black or white dresses for the women and dark suits for the men. I bypass the handful of dresses my mother set out for me. I choose a bright, pink, sparkling number that I have no other excuse to wear.
It is not demure or docile at all. I will stand out and cause a scene I suspect. It is the least I can do at my own engagement party. If I have to be there, I will be there on my own terms. My father calls me a spoiled brat, just as Marconi is. He says we’re a perfect match. I disagree.
I am not a spoiled brat. I am a princess. A strong, proud,warriorprincess willing to do whatever I can to screw up this engagement. There are no rules I won’t break or lines I won’t cross to run him off. I willnotbe his bride.
Slipping on high heels my mother and father would never approve of, I brush out my thick hair, leaving it down. It is wild and slightly unkempt. They will hate that too. I do not bother with makeup which will also upset them. They prefer I am made up to look like a doll, some inanimate object.
Knowing I am about to piss off plenty of people, I head downstairs. My would-be fiancé is down there ahead of me, shaking hands, taking wads of cash from everyone here to wish us a good marriage. No amount of cash tucked into my palm could make me want this marriage.
When I step into the foyer, I let out a little sigh. I barely know all of these people. They’re around all the time, yet I doubt I’ve spoken to more than a handful of them. I have done my best to fade into the background. To never be noticed. It worked until Marconi decided he liked awallflower.
