Chapter 1 - The Woman Who Didn't Run
A suitcase struck the marble floor as Clara Bennett stumbled forward and gasped, "Please don't let me fall!"
Adrian Vale caught her with one hand while a folded marriage contract slid from her suitcase.
A handwritten number had been circled beside his signature.
Three.
Clara was not the first bride.
She was still gripping Adrian's shirt when she realized the entire entrance hall had gone silent.
Not quiet.
Silent.
There was a difference.
Quiet was the bakery at four in the morning before the ovens started humming.
Quiet was snow settling on the apartment fire escape outside the room she'd rented above Mrs. Holloway's laundromat.
This silence was twenty strangers holding their breath because Clara Bennett had just grabbed the most feared man in northern Colorado by the front of his six-thousand-dollar suit.
Her first thought was embarrassingly practical.
I'm going to have to pay for that shirt.
Her second thought arrived when she tilted her face upward.
And upward.
And a little farther upward.
Oh.
That explained the photographs.
The photograph the marriage broker had shown Clara had been taken from the shoulders up.
Very strategic.
Adrian Vale was enormous.
Not grotesque. Not unhealthy. Not the lumbering monster some of the rumors had made him sound like.
He was simply built on a scale that made ordinary men seem unfinished.
He stood well over six feet, with broad shoulders stretching the tailored black jacket Clara was currently wrinkling between her fists. Dark hair fell in loose waves across his forehead. His face was sharp, controlled, handsome in the dangerous way that made Clara instinctively think of storm clouds over mountains.
His left hand had closed around her upper arm.
His right was around her waist.
He had prevented her from smashing face-first into the marble.
And now neither of them moved.
Clara swallowed.
"I'm sorry."
Nobody breathed.
She glanced at her hand.
"I'm especially sorry about the shirt."
One of Adrian's eyebrows moved.
That was it.
A fraction.
But the elegant brunette standing beside Clara reacted as though someone had fired a gun.
"Miss Bennett," the woman said carefully, "perhaps you should step back."
"I would love to."
Clara looked downward.
One of her heels had become hooked in the strap of her fallen suitcase.
She gave Adrian an apologetic smile.
"I'm sort of attached to my luggage."
Something unexpected happened.
The corner of his mouth moved.
Not a smile.
Almost one.
Adrian bent slightly, keeping one hand on Clara while he kicked the suitcase strap away from her heel.
"You can stand now."
His voice was deep enough that Clara felt it in her ribs.
"Thank you."
She released his shirt.
The expensive fabric remained wrinkled where she'd held it.
Clara automatically smoothed it with both palms.
Several guards stiffened.
Adrian looked down at her hands.
Clara froze.
"Sorry again."
This time, she definitely saw it.
A smile.
Tiny.
Gone almost instantly.
But real.
The elegant woman looked stunned.
Clara slowly stepped backward.
"I'm Clara."
"I know."
"Right. Of course you know. I'm the stranger someone apparently ordered from Denver to marry you."
A guard coughed.
The elegant woman shut her eyes briefly.
Adrian stared at Clara.
She wondered whether sarcasm was punishable by disappearance in Mafia households.
She should probably have researched that.
Instead, Adrian said, "No one ordered you."
"The contract says otherwise."
"You could have refused."
"I could have."
"But you didn't."
Clara looked at him.
That was the real question, wasn't it?
Why hadn't she?
Three weeks earlier, Clara had been standing behind the counter of Bennett's Bread & Butter when a lawyer named Thomas Grayson entered the bakery five minutes before closing.
He had ordered one cinnamon roll.
Then another.
Then he'd informed Clara that her late father's bakery owed nearly $180,000 to a private lender.
Clara had laughed because she'd thought he was joking.
He wasn't.
Her father had borrowed the money before his death to save the bakery after a fire damaged the kitchen.
The lender had recently sold the debt.
The new owner could foreclose within sixty days.
Clara had spent the next week calling banks.
Every answer was the same.
No.
Then Thomas returned with an unusual offer.
A legal marriage arrangement.
One year.
A wealthy client wanted a wife.
Clara's bakery debt would be cleared immediately.
She would receive enough additional money to rebuild the failing business.
No romantic obligations.
Separate bedrooms.
She could leave after twelve months.
She had demanded the man's name.
Thomas had hesitated.
"Adrian Vale."
Clara knew it.
Everybody did.
Vale Vineyards.
Vale Construction.
Vale Hotels.
And if newspapers were to be believed, Vale organized crime.
She had nearly thrown Thomas out.
Then she'd seen the foreclosure notice waiting beneath her apartment door.
She had signed two days later.
But now, standing before Adrian, Clara realized the photographs had hidden more than his height.
They had hidden loneliness.
It was strange that she noticed that first.
Behind the intimidating posture and expensive black clothing was a man who looked as though he'd trained himself never to expect kindness.
"Why did the other women refuse?" Clara asked.
Silence returned.
The brunette beside her whispered, "Clara."
"What?"
"Perhaps we should discuss that later."
Adrian's gaze remained on Clara.
"No."
His answer surprised everyone.
"She should know."
The brunette's jaw tightened.
Adrian released Clara completely.
"Come with me."
He walked toward a sitting area beyond the grand staircase.
Clara hurried after him, leaving her suitcase behind.
The brunette followed.
"My name is Elena Rossi," she said quietly. "I'm Adrian's cousin."
"Nice to meet you."
"Please think before speaking."
"I usually do."
Elena glanced at her.
"That concerns me more."
They entered a library.
Adrian stood before tall windows overlooking a mountainous valley covered in pine trees.
Clara stopped several feet away.
"You asked why the others refused."
"Yes."
"Because they were afraid."
"Of you?"
"Of my name."
"And your size?"
Adrian turned.
Clara immediately regretted being so direct.
Then he said, "That too."
There was no anger.
Only weary acceptance.
Three women.
The number on the contract suddenly made sense.
"Three?"
Elena stiffened.
Clara held up the paper she'd picked up from the floor.
"Someone circled a three beside his signature."
Adrian's expression changed.
He took the contract.
"Who gave you this?"
"Thomas Grayson."
Elena stepped closer.
"Let me see."
Adrian handed her the document.
The number wasn't printed.
It had been written with black ink.
Three.
Below it, almost hidden beneath the signature line, was another tiny mark.
An X.
Adrian stared at it.
"That wasn't there when my attorney prepared the agreement."
Clara felt the mood change instantly.
"What's wrong?"
Adrian looked toward the door.
"Marco."
A guard entered.
"Sir?"
"Find Grayson."
"Now?"
"Now."
Marco left.
Clara folded her arms.
"Am I missing something?"
Elena and Adrian exchanged a look.
Clara hated when people did that.
"I'm standing right here."
Adrian turned toward her.
"The previous three arrangements didn't simply fail."
"What happened?"
"The first woman left before meeting me."
Clara waited.
"The second saw me from across a restaurant and refused to enter."
That hurt her heart more than she expected.
"And the third?"
Adrian didn't answer immediately.
Elena did.
"She disappeared."
Clara's breath caught.
"Disappeared?"
"Two nights before she was supposed to arrive here."
"Was she found?"
"No."
Adrian's voice had gone colder.
Clara looked at the handwritten three.
Suddenly it wasn't funny.
"Do police know?"
"They investigated."
"And?"
"No evidence connected her disappearance to Adrian," Elena said.
Clara studied Adrian.
He wasn't defending himself.
Wasn't insisting on his innocence.
He simply stood there, waiting for Clara to make the same decision every other woman had made.
Run.
Clara folded the contract slowly.
"If you're expecting me to sprint out of here, I should warn you I'm terrible at running."
Elena blinked.
Adrian stared at her.
Clara continued.
"I've been here fifteen minutes and already tripped once."
"This isn't a joke," Adrian said.
"I know."
"Then you should understand the risk."
"What risk?"
"Being near me."
Clara looked directly into his eyes.
"Did you make that woman disappear?"
"No."
She believed him.
Perhaps that was foolish.
Perhaps completely insane.
But years of running a bakery had taught Clara a surprising amount about liars.
Customers lied about ordering cakes.
Suppliers lied about deliveries.
Landlords lied about repairs.
People usually rushed to fill silence when hiding something.
Adrian didn't.
"Then I don't see why I should blame you."
His expression hardened.
"You don't know me."
"No. That's why I'm here."
Elena stared between them.
Clara nodded at the contract.
"So what's the plan?"
"The plan?"
"Marriage. Ceremony. Rings. Awkward photographs where you have to bend approximately twelve inches so both our faces fit in the same frame."
Adrian looked almost offended.
"I'm not that tall."
"You really are."
Elena covered her mouth.
Clara suspected she was hiding a laugh.
Adrian exhaled through his nose.
"The ceremony is tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?"
"You were informed."
"I thought tomorrow was dinner."
"That was changed."
"Why?"
"Security."
There it was again.
That word.
Clara glanced toward the library doors.
"Does everything in your life involve security?"
"Most things."
"That's depressing."
"Miss Bennett—"
"Clara."
Adrian stopped.
Nobody seemed to interrupt him.
Clara was learning quickly.
"Call me Clara. If we're getting married tomorrow, 'Miss Bennett' feels ridiculous."
His expression softened slightly.
"Clara."
Something about hearing her name in his voice made warmth rise into her cheeks.
She hated that.
Absolutely unacceptable.
This was contractual.
Financial.
Temporary.
Adrian was a terrifying Mafia boss.
Not a man she should find attractive.
Definitely not when she had known him for seventeen minutes.
Elena's phone rang.
She answered.
Her face changed.
"What?"
Adrian turned.
Elena listened for several seconds.
"Lock the front gates."
Clara's stomach tightened.
"What's happening?"
Elena lowered the phone.
"Thomas Grayson's car was found three miles down the mountain."
Adrian's jaw flexed.
"Where is he?"
"No one knows."
Clara looked at her contract.
"Could he have left?"
"His driver's door was open."
Adrian crossed the room.
"Stay here."
Clara laughed nervously.
"You say that like I'm going somewhere."
He stopped at the doorway.
"Clara."
She looked at him.
"For once, do exactly what I ask."
The seriousness in his voice erased her smile.
Then he left.
Elena remained.
Clara sat slowly.
"What exactly have I gotten myself into?"
Elena looked toward the closed doors.
"I wish I knew."
Thirty minutes later, Clara's suitcase was carried upstairs.
Her room was enormous.
Too enormous.
A four-poster bed occupied one wall. French doors opened onto a balcony overlooking snowy mountains.
Someone had placed fresh flowers beside the window.
Clara walked to her suitcase.
She knelt.
The lock was open.
She stopped.
She had locked it before leaving Denver.
Maybe the fall had opened it.
Maybe.
She lifted the lid.
Her clothes were folded exactly where she'd put them.
Her recipe notebook.
Toiletries.
Shoes.
Then she saw the envelope.
It rested on top of her yellow cardigan.
She hadn't put it there.
Her name was written across the front.
CLARA BENNETT.
Her mouth went dry.
She opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
A woman stood outside the Vale estate.
Beautiful.
Blonde.
Maybe twenty-eight.
On the back was written:
BRIDE THREE.
Clara stared.
Another line had been added underneath.
YOU ARE FOUR.
A floorboard creaked outside her bedroom.
Clara looked toward the door.
May you like
The handle slowly turned.
Someone was coming in.
