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“No,” I say, my stomach dropping. “He didn’t mention it.”

This has been the one silver lining of our engagement, if I can call it that. After slipping that massive diamond onto my finger three days after I returned from San Diego, Gio has mostly kept his distance. He’s always claiming to be away on business, handling “important things” that require his immediate attention. I don’t want to think too hard about what kind of business requires the level of security I’ve been witnessing. Every time I see him, there are more men in suits, more earpieces, more guns hidden beneath expensive jackets.

We barely talk except to discuss wedding logistics and appearances we need to make together. Part of me has been hoping this arrangement might stay exactly that. An arrangement. Cold, distant, purely transactional.

But I’m not naive enough to think that will last forever.

“Honestly, Audrey,” Lucille sighs as our SUV comes to a stop. “How do you expect to build a marriage if you don’t even know his schedule?”

The driver opens my door, and I step out onto the circular driveway, my heels clicking against the stone. The late afternoon sun glints off the mansion’s windows, and I can see a figure moving behind the sheer curtains of the front parlor.

Gio is waiting.

“Maybe he wanted to surprise me,” I say weakly, though we both know that’s not his style. Giovanni Vega doesn’t do romantic surprises. Everything he does is calculated, planned, designed to serve his purposes.

Lucille’s heels tap a sharp rhythm as we climb the front steps. Before we can reach for the door handle, it swings open to reveal Maria, our longtime housekeeper.

“Miss Audrey,” she says with a warm smile. “Mr. Vega is waiting for you in the library.”

Of course, he is. The library is my father’s old sanctuary, the room where he used to retreat to make his most important business decisions. Gio claiming that space feels like another small violation, another way he’s inserting himself into every corner of my family’s legacy.

“Thank you, Maria,” I say, handing her my purse. “How long has he been here?”

“About an hour, miss. He’s been making phone calls.”

Lucille touches my arm. “Go to him. I’ll have Maria bring tea.”

I want to argue, to insist that this is still my home and I shouldn’t have to report to anyone. But the words die in my throat. This stopped being entirely my home the moment I agreed to marry Gio. Now it’s a shared asset, part of the deal we’ve struck.

The library door is slightly ajar, and I can hear Gio’s voice before I reach it.

I take a deep breath and push open the library door, stepping into the room that still smells faintly of my father’s cologne and old leather. Gio stands with his back to me, phone pressed to his ear, but he turns the moment he hears my footsteps.

His face transforms into that devastating smile that probably melts most women’s hearts. At thirty-six, Giovanni Vega is undeniably gorgeous. He is six feet three inches of perfectly tailored masculinity. His dark hair is styled with just enough product to look effortless, and his broad shoulders strain against his expensive suit jacket in a way that hints at the fighter he used to be. Even I can admit he’s objectively beautiful. It’s everything else about him that makes my skin crawl.

“I’ll call you back,” he says into the phone, his eyes never leaving mine. He ends the call and slips the device into his jacket pocket. “There’s my beautiful fiancée.”

I force my lips into what I hope passes for a pleasant smile. “Gio. I wasn’t expecting you until later.”

He crosses the room quickly and leans down to kiss my cheek. His lips are warm, his cologne expensive, but all I can think about is how different this feels from Reign’s rough stubble and cedar scent.

“I thought we should get there early tonight,” he says, his hand settling possessively on my lower back. “I want to introduce you to some people, and I’d like to stop by the locker room to wish Ben good luck before the fight.”

Ben Mitchell. Gio’s latest obsession and most promising investment. The heavyweight moved down from Montana six months ago and signed with Vega Promotions, much to the delight of everyone in Cooper Heights who follows boxing. Tonight’s fight against Reyes could send him straight to a title shot if he wins. It’s huge for Ben, and even bigger for Gio’s reputation as a promoter.

“That sounds nice,” I lie, already dreading the spectacle of being paraded around as Gio’s trophy fiancée.

A soft knock interrupts us, and Maria appears in the doorway with a silver tea service.

“Perfect timing,” I murmur, grateful for the interruption.

“Just set it on the side table, Maria,” Gio says with the kind of easy authority that makes it clear he considers himself master of this house already.

Before Maria can respond, Lucille glides into the room, her face lighting up the moment she sees Gio.

“Giovanni!” she exclaims, moving toward him with the kind of enthusiasm she rarely shows me. “What a lovely surprise.”

“Lucille.” He takes her hand and brings it to his lips in a gesture that’s both old-fashioned and slightly theatrical. “You look radiant as always.”