Page 378 of Rosetti Family New York
The Marchetti family patriarch nods approvingly when I introduce her. "Stunning choice, Matteo. The Callahan girl has excellent breeding." His eyes linger on her neckline with the appreciation of a man who collects beautiful objects.
I want to break his fingers for looking at her like that. The impulse is sharp, immediate, and completely irrational. She's not mine to protect beyond the terms of our arrangement. Not mine to defend from wandering eyes and inappropriate comments.
But my hand tightens on her waist anyway.
"Mr. Marchetti," Isabella says smoothly, offering him exactly the right smile. Neither too warm nor too cold. "I hope you're enjoying the evening."
"Immensely, my dear. Immensely." His laugh is too loud, too appreciative. "You know, your mother was just as lovely at your age. Such a tragedy what happened to your parents."
Something flickers across Isabella's face. Brief, barely visible, but I catch it. A tightening around her eyes, a slight stiffening of her shoulders. The same tension I felt in her body when my hand was wrapped around her throat.
"Yes," she says quietly. "It was."
She excuses us gracefully, guiding me toward the bar with movements that look casual but feel urgent. I order whiskey, she asks for champagne, and we stand in comfortable silence watching the crowd swirl around us.
"You did well with Marchetti," I tell her, noting the way her fingers wrap around the champagne flute. Delicate hands that I remember digging into my shoulders, that trembled when I touched her breast.
"He's harmless," she says, but there's something in her voice. A note of weariness that wasn't there before.
"Are you all right?"
"I'm fine." The response is automatic, practiced. The same way she probably answered that question for years after her parents died. "Just need a moment."
Before I can respond, a familiar voice cuts through the crowd noise behind us.
"Matteo Rosetti. I was hoping I'd find you here."
I turn to see Tanya Ashford, stunning in red silk that hugs every curve and diamond earrings that catch the light like captured stars. Old money, impeccable breeding, and the kind of connections that make or break political careers. We had a brief thing two years ago, mutually satisfying and completely uncomplicated.
The kind of woman who fits in my world without questions or emotional entanglements. The kind of woman who knows exactly what she wants and how to get it.
"Tanya." I don't move away from Isabella, but I feel her stiffen slightly beside me. "You look beautiful tonight."
"Thank you." Tanya's smile is predatory as she takes in the scene before her. Isabella's flushed face, our proximity, the obvious tension crackling between us. Her gaze lingers on my hand where it rests on Isabella's waist, and something calculating flickers in her eyes. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything important."
"Not at all," Isabella says smoothly, that composed mask sliding back into place. "Perhaps you two would like to catch up."
She starts to move away, but I catch her wrist. The contact sends heat up my arm, reminding me of how her pulse raced when I held her throat, how she melted when I claimed her mouth.
"Stay," I say quietly.
The word comes out rougher than I intended. Isabella's eyes widen slightly, and I see her pulse jump under my thumb. The same rapid flutter I felt when my fingers were wrapped around her throat, when she was surrendering to my touch.
"Actually," Tanya says, moving closer with feline grace, "I was hoping to steal Matteo for a dance. It's been too long since we've had a chance to... reconnect."
The invitation is clear, loaded with memory and promise. Two years ago, Tanya was exactly what I wanted. Beautiful, sophisticated, sexually adventurous. She knew the rules of the game and played them without complaint. No emotional complications, no deeper expectations. Just mutual pleasure and mutual benefit.
Everything I thought I wanted in a woman.
But as I look at her calculated smile and predatory eyes, all I can think about is the way Isabella's voice broke when she talked about her parents. The way she kissed me back in the library despite every reason to resist. The way her breast felt in my palm, soft and warm and heavy.
"Thanks, but I'm exactly where I want to be," I hear myself say.
Tanya's eyebrows raise slightly, genuine surprise flickering across her features. She's not used to being refused. "I see." Her gaze shifts to Isabella, assessing and dismissive. "Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me."
She glides back into the crowd, leaving us alone at the bar. Isabella stares after her, something unreadable in her expression.
"She's beautiful," she says finally.
