"princess, this is Nicolas Russo. Nico, this is (readers name), my eldest daughter." *I'd done this dance a hundred times, just a different day, a different man. However, this time my breath was cut short, as though I was about to be pushed off a plank and into shark-infested water if I looked up at him. He's just a man, I reminded myself. A man with the worst reputation in New York State.

Why did I glare?

Inhaling for courage, I tipped my head, not being able to see him under the brim of my hat. A warm rush of recognition ran down my spine as I met his heavy gaze. Light brown eyes, the color of whiskey on ice, and thick, dark lashes. It gave him a brooding expression, almost as if he was looking into the sun, yet he was looking at me as though he was being introduced to one of the servants and not someone he would call "sister-in-law." even in my heels the top of my head wouldn't hit his chin. I had the strong urge to avert my gaze and focus it eye level on his black tie, but it felt like he'd be winning something if I looked away, so I held his stare. My tone was as polite as it always was in company. "It's a pleasure-“

"We've already met."

We what? His indifferent voice ran down my spine, with a strange thrill following in its wake. He'd hardly said anything, but it now felt like I was standing on Russo turf instead of Abelli. As if a six-foot diameter around him was claimed as Russo no matter where he stood. Papà frowned. "When did you two have the chance to meet?"

I swallowed.

Something amused and dangerous played in Nicolas's gaze.*

"Earlier at church. Remember?"

My heartbeats collided with a crash. Why had my name rolled off his tongue like he was more than familiar with it? My papà stiffened beside me, and I knew why he did: he thought I'd done something inappropriate with this man, like his tone had suggested. Heat rushed to my cheeks. All because of one mistake I'd made six months ago, my papà thought I'd come on to my sister's fiancé?