Chapter Eight-Riley

SURPRISINGLY, MATTEO LEAVES me alone after dropping his bombshell on me. He tells me to make myself at home, then strides away, stating that he has business to take care of that can't wait.

I watch his ass as he leaves. The realization that somehow, someway, I'm about to marry that ass seems like something from the Twilight Zone.

It's not a real marriage, Tremaine. Get it through your head before you get hurt. I know this, and yet... I can't help but feel a tremor of excitement.

The choice has been taken out of my hands—I'm embarking on this wild ride. And I know I could protest further, but let's be honest here.

What just happened, with the police? It scared the ever living hell out of me. Somehow, someway, I've found myself in way over my head. And marrying Matteo serves the dual purpose of letting me have the adventure that I not so secretly want, as well as protecting me.

But I only need so much protecting—maybe it's the trailer park trash in me, but the more I think about the way Matteo's bitch of a stepsister set me up, the more I feel the need to prove myself.

If I'm going to be married to someone like Matteo Benenati, then I'll earn my keep by refusing to be an easy target. If I was in possession of my right mind, I'd never even dream of doing what I'm about to. But one thing I've never been able to tame, no matter how much I've tried, is my kneejerk reaction to all things unjust. It got the best of me in the airport, and it's getting the better of me now.

I don't care if Matteo's stepsister is a rich, powerful woman. I only care that she tried to get me sent to prison.

Oh, hell to the no.

The blind fury carries me right out the door of that monstrosity of a house, right into the car that's still waiting, and all the way to Benenati Enterprises, which is where Franco, the driver, thinks that Signorina Emilia will be today. I'm almost thwarted when I get inside the giant tower that houses my soon to be husband's empire—I'm dressed like a bum, after all, and security doesn't think I have any business there, strangely enough.

But as I argue with security, I note that, behind the lobby reception desk, an icy cool blonde has pressed a phone to her ear. She's one of those ones who is tall, slim, and effortlessly stylish, and just looking at her makes me want to turn and run.

That's the kind of woman that Matteo should marry, not a penniless American student with a whore—a literal whore—for a mother.

But though I can tell that she thinks she's being sneaky about it, this woman is very, very interested in me. And when she puts the phone down and approaches the place where I'm standing, hands on my hips, glaring at the security guards, I know that I don't mistake the slight glare that shoots out of her eyes.

I wonder if she's slept with Matteo.

I tell myself that it's none of my business, but I once again feel my self esteem take a hit. I can see it all over her face...

She's heard of me. But what, exactly, has she heard? Whatever it was, she's clearly not that impressed. I wouldn't be, either—I'm not who I would pick as a bride for a billionaire, either.

"Signorina Guerra says to send the American up." The woman's voice drips with disdain. Watching her wraithlike eyes look me over and effectively dismiss me, as if she's decided she has nothing to worry about, rids me of the worst of my self-consciousness, stiffening my spine once again, reminding me of why I'm here.

I may not run with the rich and famous. I may not have been born with a silver spoon up my ass. But that doesn't make me less. I know this, even if I sometimes have to work to believe it myself.

"Thank you." I arch an eyebrow, staring the girl right in the eye as the guards tell me which floor to go to. She seems startled that I'm being so direct, but I'm gratified when she flushes and looks away.

"Won the battle, but not the war," I mutter to myself as I head for the elevator. The snotty girl at the front desk? I have no doubt that she's a teddy bear compared to Matteo's stepsister.

Eyes scrape over me as I wait for the glass elevator, abrading me, chipping away at the shield that I've erected around myself. I don't blame them. I look like hell, and everyone here is a shark, dressed in suits and ties and sky high heels that still manage to scream business.

It's more than clear that I don't belong.

Matteo says you do, a little voice in my head insists. And though I shouldn't really care about the opinion of someone I've just met...

Remembering this infuses me with strength. So when the elevator opens onto the second highest floor in the massive building, I know that I appear calm and cool, even though inside I'm an uncertain, angry mess.

That calm facade is quickly tested. I step out of the elevator into a massive waiting area. Massive, elaborate... and empty.

Though there is a large, dark paneled reception desk, no one sits at it. A quick peek shows me steam still rising from a foamy latte, so someone was forced to leave their desk rather quickly.

The sliding door that sits behind the reception desk, like a nest guarded by a dragon, is firmly shut. I know the bitch who set me up is in there, and I want to crash through and pull her hair out strand by strand.

I don't want to give her the satisfaction. She knows I'm here. She's playing games.

I seat myself in a cushy armchair that faces the fortress of a door, and cross one leg over the other, wishing like hell that I was wearing something else.

I wish that for twenty long minutes, before Emilia finally deigns to appear. My head snaps up when the door slides open almost soundlessly... she must have some sort of remote opener, because she is standing in the middle of her office, revealed like a wicked witch dropping in from the sky.

She poses for a moment—there's no other word for it—allowing me to take in her undeniable beauty. Tall and model thin, she shows off that body in a severe black suit that probably cost more than a car. She's not wearing anything beneath the blazer, and the combination is both intimidating and ridiculously gorgeous.

Her dark hair is in some kind of sleek up do, her skin and makeup are flawless. And her eyes sparkle with cold amusement as she saunters toward me, seating herself primly in a chair that faces me directly.

"Oh, look at those leggings. So cute. I remember wearing those back when they were in style." A plastic smile on her face, a cruel glint in her eyes, the woman crosses her legs, smoothes a hand over her hair.

Every movement she makes is... sensual. Like sexiness just seeps out of her pores. Sexiness, and a razor sharp perfection.

It makes me, in my Walmart discount clothes, feel fat, ugly, out of place. But if there's anything growing up in a trailer park taught me, it was how to fake it.

I stand abruptly, which should startle her, I think. But she just looks up at me with those jet black eyes, and for a moment I've thrown off of my tirade.

Anger, amusement, derision... something should be showing in those eyes, right? But there's nothing. They're just... dead.

It's creepy as hell. She reminds me of a snake poised to strike, the way she sits there, so still and perfect. Goose bumps pop out along my skin, a bead of cold sweat tracing my spine, and suddenly I question the brilliance of confronting this woman.

I don't know for sure, but... somehow, I think she could do a lot worse to me than try to get me thrown in jail.

In for a penny, Tremaine.

I look down into those dead eyes and swallow past the sudden knot of fear in my throat.

"Don't fuck with me again."

There—there is a spark of something, a tiny light that has been nearly swallowed by black. But it's gone so quickly that I might have imagined it, absorbed back into the darkness as those perfect, glossy lips curve into a smile.

Leaning forward, she places a finger against the line of my jaw, slides it downward in a touch that can only be described as... seductive. My heart thuds in my chest and my words catch in my throat as I wonder what the hell she's doing.

"So sweet. So... untouched, am I right? I can see why Matteo is so drawn to you." Emilia leans forward, and for a frantic second I think that she's going to kiss me. Instead I feel a sharp stab of pain when she digs her glossy burgundy nail into the tender flesh of my chin.

I swallow back a cry of pain. Back home we have wild dogs that live just outside the trailer park. If you look them in the eye, speak to them with authority, they'll leave you alone. But if you show even a hint of weakness, they'll go for your throat.

This woman is like those wild dogs, and I refuse to let her scent blood.

"I understand why you don't want Matteo to get married," I say carefully, making a point of maintaining eye contact. Too bad you don't have any scraps to throw, I think, and barely suppress a hysterical giggle. "But trying to get me thrown in jail when I haven't done anything wrong isn't any way to do things."

The dark eyes narrow to fathomless slits, and the nail on my chin presses further. I can't quite swallow my hiss as she breaks through my skin, and the rich, coppery scent of blood reaches my nose.

Holy shit, this bitch just drew blood. I rear back, unable to keep a leash on my temper any longer, but Emilia follows, standing and grabbing my chin in her fingers. She twists it until I cry out in pain.

"You jumped down the wrong rabbit hole, sweetheart." Her breath is hot as it fans out over my face. "Let me enlighten you. Matteo and I belong together. We are part of the same world. The same world that won't bat an eyelash if a delicious, untouched morsel like yourself gets eaten alive. In fact, we would enjoy it."

My spine stiffens and my temper flares. I'm already quite aware that I'm out of my league here, but to hear her lump Matteo in with her? The man who took care of me for no reason but the goodness of his heart?

I won't have it.

"Just because Matteo is part of this world doesn't mean he's anything like you." And in that instant, I relax about my impending nuptials.

If Matteo has shown me anything over the last two days, it's that he won't hurt me. Quite the opposite, in fact... he defended me against this woman, right here.

And then it hits me.

"You didn't just want me out of the way," I say slowly, backing further away from Emilia as she tilts her head to the side, examining me as though I'm a bug she'd love to squash beneath her stiletto. "You want him for yourself."

Oh man, that's fucked. I may have hillbilly blood running through my veins, but even the people I know don't get it on with their stepsiblings.

Though I assume that if there had been any actual getting it on, Emilia would be a lot less cranky.

Without warning, Emilia springs forward a step, landing her right in my face again. I want to flee, but lock my knees in place.

"You don't know what the fuck you're talking about, little girl." Emilia gets right in my face, close enough that I can see a very thin sheen of perspiration film her forehead. "And if you know what's good for you, you'll walk away before something very bad happens to you."

I may have little reason in my lie to believe in fairy tales, but one thing my past has shown me is that taking the easy road doesn't lead to rewards. I'll be honest and true to myself until I die.

"I didn't steal the money." I annunciate every word. "And Matteo knows that."

Emilia smirks, and damn her, looks gorgeous even though she's quite clearly half crazy. "No, but you could have."

"Does he know?" I back up a step. Even though retreating goes against everything inside of me, I calculate in my mind how far away I am from the elevators, or even the stairs... she can't follow me in those heels, I'm sure, and I want the hell out of here.

But not before I've made my point.

"Does he know how you feel about him?"

Emilia rears back as though I've struck her. She looks at me, wild eyed, beautiful lips party. She stares at me wordlessly for a long moment—I've struck her dumb.

"Get out of my face." She whispers, gesturing wildly toward the elevator. I back up quickly before she decides our chat isn't actually over.

Turning, I walk briskly toward the elevator. She repeats herself, her voice growing louder each time.

Hurry up, hurry up. The elevators take entirely too long to arrive, and when the clear glass doors finally part, I all but throw myself inside. I don't dare slump against the walls with relief the way I want to, but I do cast one last look over my shoulder as I try to counter the adrenaline that has surged into my veins.

But Emilia is gone.