Chapter 1 - The Wrong Dress
Harper reached for the zipper and whispered, “I’m taking it off.”
Sebastian Valerio lowered the pistol in his hand and stared at the crimson velvet.
One drop of blood landed on his white cuff.
Then he said one word.
“No.”
Harper Evans froze.
For two years, she had heard Sebastian use that word in a hundred different ways.
No, the shipment could not wait until Monday.
No, the senator’s aide could not move the meeting.
No, Dante was not allowed to shoot anyone in a restaurant again.
And, most memorably, no, Sebastian did not care that a Sicilian financier had threatened to burn down one of his warehouses.
Sebastian’s no usually ended conversations.
This one started something.
Harper slowly turned around.
Behind Sebastian, Dante Moretti directed two security men toward the boutique entrance. Shattered glass glittered across the marble. Madame Celeste stood behind a display counter clutching a pair of sewing scissors like she intended to duel the next attacker personally.
Sebastian seemed to have forgotten all of them.
His eyes remained on Harper.
She crossed her arms.
That finally broke whatever spell had caught him.
“Are you hurt?”
“Only my dignity.”
“Harper.”
“My knee.”
He glanced downward.
A thin red mark showed beneath the hem when she shifted.
Sebastian’s jaw hardened.
“Who did it?”
“The stairs.”
He stared.
“I fell.”
“The stairs attacked you?”
“They were extremely aggressive.”
Dante coughed into his fist.
Harper suspected he was hiding a laugh.
Sebastian did not laugh.
But something moved at one corner of his mouth.
It disappeared almost immediately.
Harper became painfully conscious of the dress again.
Crimson velvet hugged her waist before falling over her hips. It did not disguise her body. That had been the shocking part when she first faced the mirror.
She had spent years learning how to make herself smaller.
Smaller opinions.
Smaller movements.
Smaller expectations.
Clothes that hid instead of celebrated.
Then Madame Celeste had handed her a gown made for a woman who had apparently abandoned an opera career for a violinist.
For ten astonishing seconds, Harper had looked into a mirror and liked what she saw.
Then Sebastian Valerio had arrived with a gun.
Naturally.
“What happened?” she asked.
“Someone followed our car.”
“You’re bleeding.”
“It’s nothing.”
“That is blood.”
“I know what blood looks like.”
“Congratulations.”
His eyes narrowed.
Harper sighed.
“Sit down.”
“Harper—”
“Two years.”
“What?”
“I’ve spent two years arranging your meetings, correcting your schedules, stopping you from surviving on espresso, and explaining to grown men why arriving forty minutes late to see you is a terrible life decision. You can sit down for thirty seconds.”
Dante looked fascinated.
Nobody ordered Sebastian Valerio around.
Harper did it every Tuesday.
Sebastian finally put the pistol on a nearby counter and sat.
Harper found the boutique’s first-aid box.
As she approached him, Sebastian looked up.
That was worse.
Standing, he towered over her.
Seated, their faces were close enough that she noticed tiny droplets of rain caught in his pale hair.
“Hold still.”
“I am holding still.”
“You’re glaring.”
“That doesn’t require movement.”
She dabbed antiseptic against the cut.
Sebastian’s eyes never left her face.
Harper tried to ignore it.
Fourteen women.
She reminded herself of the number.
Fourteen beautiful, connected, carefully selected women had met Sebastian during the past month.
He had rejected every one.
Tomorrow, the Commission expected him to announce number fifteen.
Bianca Conti.
Harper had personally arranged their dinner.
Bianca was beautiful enough to make strangers turn around on sidewalks. Her family controlled half the private gambling network between Chicago and Detroit.
She was also cruel.
Harper had watched Bianca make a waitress cry because a lemon slice touched her mineral water.
But alliances were not romances.
Sebastian needed Bianca’s family.
Or so everyone said.
Harper taped a small bandage over his forehead.
“There.”
Sebastian caught her wrist before she could step away.
Not hard.
Just enough.
Her breathing stopped.
His thumb rested against her pulse.
“Why are you wearing that?”
“My clothes were soaked.”
“Why that dress?”
“Celeste gave it to me.”
His gaze shifted briefly toward the designer.
Madame Celeste lifted her chin.
“She needed dry clothes.”
Sebastian looked back at Harper.
“It suits you.”
Three words.
That was all.
They hit harder than they should have.
Harper gently removed her wrist from his hand.
“You’re concussed.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re complimenting your assistant.”
“I have complimented you before.”
“You once said my spreadsheet was acceptable.”
“It was exceptional.”
“Be still, my heart.”
This time he almost smiled.
Almost.
Then Dante approached.
“Boss.”
Sebastian’s expression changed immediately.
The softness disappeared.
“What?”
“The shot wasn’t random.”
Harper’s humor vanished.
Dante placed a flattened bullet on the counter.
“It hit the window six inches from where your head would’ve been.”
Sebastian stood.
“Shooter?”
“Gone.”
“Cameras?”
“Checking.”
Harper looked toward the entrance.
“You were followed here?”
Sebastian said nothing.
That silence answered her.
Her stomach tightened.
He had come to the boutique because she was here.
“Why?”
His gaze returned to her.
“What?”
“Why were you coming here?”
Dante suddenly found the shattered window fascinating.
Sebastian buttoned his jacket.
“You were late.”
Harper blinked.
“Seventeen minutes.”
“Twenty-three.”
“You came across Chicago because I was twenty-three minutes late?”
“You always call.”
Her irritation faded.
He had noticed.
Of course he had noticed.
That somehow felt more intimate than the compliment.
Sebastian turned to Dante.
“Take Celeste somewhere secure. Inspect the building.”
“What about Miss Evans?”
“She comes with me.”
Harper straightened.
“I have an apartment.”
“Not tonight.”
“I also have rights.”
“Exercise them at my house.”
“Sebastian.”
His voice dropped.
“Someone fired into a building while you were inside it.”
“And they were shooting at you.”
“We don’t know that.”
“You just—”
“We don’t know.”
Something in his face stopped her.
Fear.
Not for himself.
For her.
Harper had seen Sebastian angry.
Cold.
Amused.
Bored.
She had never seen him afraid.
Dante returned from the front counter holding a black garment bag.
“Bianca’s dress.”
Harper exhaled.
At least the ninety-thousand-dollar nightmare had survived.
“Put it in the car,” Sebastian said.
Harper looked at the crimson gown.
“I still need my clothes.”
“They’re wet.”
“I can’t leave like this.”
“Why?”
She stared at him.
Sebastian looked genuinely confused.
“You expect me to walk through Chicago dressed like I’m attending the opera?”
His eyes moved slowly over her.
“Yes.”
Heat climbed into her cheeks.
Madame Celeste appeared beside them.
“The dress is hers.”
Harper nearly choked.
“What?”
“The singer paid for it before she discovered the violinist. She told me to give it to someone who needed courage.”
“I can’t accept—”
“You can.”
Celeste smiled.
“Perhaps she finally found the correct woman.”
Sebastian’s expression became unreadable.
Harper changed behind the curtain only long enough to retrieve her phone and shoes. She kept the gown on because her other clothes were genuinely unwearable.
When she emerged, Sebastian was waiting.
He offered his hand.
Harper looked at it.
Then at him.
“This is becoming strange.”
“It became strange when you started interviewing women to marry me.”
“That is literally my job.”
“No. Your job is managing my schedule.”
“You added ‘find me a wife’ to the schedule.”
“I was under pressure.”
“You rejected fourteen women.”
“They were unsuitable.”
“Bianca?”
His face hardened.
“Tomorrow.”
That was not an answer.
They left through the rear entrance.
A black SUV waited in the alley.
Dante drove.
Sebastian sat beside Harper in the back.
For several minutes, neither spoke.
Rain moved across the windows.
Harper stared at the city lights.
“Why did you reject them?”
Sebastian looked at her.
“The women.”
“I know.”
“All fourteen.”
“They wanted something.”
“Everyone wants something.”
“Yes.”
“What does Bianca want?”
“Power.”
“At least she’s honest.”
“She isn’t.”
Harper turned.
Sebastian was watching her again.
“And what do I want?” she asked.
His expression changed.
He answered quietly.
“That is the problem.”
Before Harper could ask what he meant, her phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
A photograph appeared.
Harper opened it.
Her blood went cold.
It showed her inside Madame Celeste’s fitting room.
Wearing the crimson dress.
The picture had been taken before the glass shattered.
Before Sebastian arrived.
Another message appeared beneath it.
DON’T LET HIM CHOOSE YOU.
Harper stared at the screen.
Then a second photograph loaded.
This one showed Sebastian standing behind her apartment building the previous night.
And beneath it were five words.
WE KNOW WHY HE NEEDS A BRIDE.
A final message began appearing.
One name.
Harper recognized it immediately.
May you like
Bianca Conti.
And then the phone rang.
