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My gaze turns to Vito, fully expecting him to be shocked, appalled, or just plain scandalized, but I find him staring at Betsy’s cleavage. Gaping, in fact. Fucking men.

“Where were we?” Betsy brings her attention back to us after grilling the poor waiter, demanding flavors of iced tea that probably don’t exist before she huffed and ordered a peach one.

“The groom?” I cock my head, not sure if I should laugh or run while I can.

“Oh yes. Sorry, he is late… Ah, here he is.” She beams, raising her hand.

I lean sideways to get a better view of the entrance, but the man turns before I can catch his face.

Holding his hand on his hip, he seems to bark something into his phone, and then he listens, staring at the wallpapered wall in front of him.

Okay, he’s tall and well-dressed. Like even from here, I can see his suit is tailored. I’ve been around fashion and clothes all my life, so I know how to spot quality.

His Ferragamo shoes are polished to the nines. When Vito said my potential husband was rich, he wasn’t kidding.

But it’s the way his jacket hugs his broad shoulders that steals my attention. It’s like someone dressed a Greek god in expensive clothes.

And his ass. Well, from behind, it looks like it won’t be such a hardship to spend my time by his side.

Turning, he puts his phone into his jacket, and I’m mesmerized by his fluid movement while adjusting his sleeves and cuffs. Such a simple, automatic motion, but he executes it with such grace.

Despite wanting to play aloof, the corners of my lips quirk up. And then my gaze lands on his face, and I freeze.

Over. My. Dead. Body.

Chapter 5

Corm

Iput my phone into my pocket and fidget with my cuffs, briefly revisiting all my recent choices. Choices that got me into this fucked-up situation. One I really don’t want to be in.

When Vladislav suggested I settle down—meaning, I marry and divert the media attention—I seriously considered giving up on the deal.

Do I need more money? Not really.

Do I want to fail at establishing the best financial group in the country? Fuck, no.

And if it should cost me my bachelor status for the time being, so be it. It’s not such a steep price to pay.

According to my overpriced PR handler, Betsy Ham, I might get away with a fake engagement and a few staged photo ops in the next few months. With the right fiancée on my arm, she could get my image cleaned up pretty fast.

As soon as the deal between AetherTech and Atlas is signed, I’d break off the engagement and move on with my life, laughing at the fuckers with their archaic views and expectations.

I close my eyes briefly, reining in my irritation about the situation. Betsy promised I’d like the bride. And who knows, we might hit it off and enjoy the next four months.

My gaze follows the sound of Betsy’s throaty laughter and lands on… Fuck. My. Life. What are the odds?

With her dark blonde hair styled in waves around her angelic face, Saar van den Linden looks like a supermodel. Obviously. No wonder fashion designers and brands pay to work with her. That face can sell air in a jar.

I came here with the let’s-get-over-with-this-bullshit attitude. But seeing that Saar van den Linden is my potential bride just increased the value of this transaction.

The only woman who ever fascinated me enough to even consider having a wife.

I adjust my collar, ignoring the subtle jump in my heart rate. This is going to be fun. Or a complete disaster, if her glower is any predictor of the outcome.

When I saw her in one of my clubs recently, I didn’t realize she was in town for longer than her usual day or two. Not that I’ve been keeping tabs on her.

Her nostrils flare, and she leans back in her chair, folding her arms across her chest. Her dark blue eyes shoot daggers in my direction.