A powerful man would probably want his woman sweet and composed, someone ready to submit to him without question. I should probably have gone for softer makeup that gave off that vibe, but what was the point? Sooner or later, my fiancé would realize he wasn't getting a dutiful wife with me.
Pouting at the mirror, I admired my perfectly executed smoky eyes, brown cheekbones, and blood-red lips. I usually wore my hair in glamorous blowout waves, and today was no different. As usual, I looked stunning. With parents as attractive as mine, it was difficult not to win the genetic lottery. Tossing my hair aside, I leisurely strolled to my walk-in closet. I wasn't in much of a hurry, regardless that my in-laws were probably already at the door. I figured that if I was worth marrying, then I was worth waiting for.
It didn't take much thinking to decide what I wanted to wear. My spaghetti strap black dress with the plunging V neckline and high slit was plain, but damn did I look edible in it. The neckline was so daring that it would only take the slightest wardrobe malfunction to expose my nipples, and the slit was high enough that my underwear would be in full view if I ever raised a leg. I didn't wear a bra under the dress, it would be a fashion crime to do so, and after much thought, I dipped my fingers under the silky fabric and pulled down my panties.
There wasn't really a logical reason why I was meeting my in-laws completely commando under my gown. Sometimes, I did things just because.
The knock on my door came then, Harold, the old family butler announcing, "Miss Belrose, your father has requested your presence downstairs."
They were here. As I wasn't particularly eager to meet the Diavolos, I wasted a good 20 minutes before stepping out of my room. I was wearing high YSL stilettos, so my arrival was probably heard way before I was seen. Heads turned the instant I strutted into the large living room area, and I was ready to hold their gazes. However, nothing prepared me for the two pairs of icy blue eyes that pierced me. They were the bluest I'd ever seen, so pale that I could feel a chill run down my spine. And that was not the only thing striking about them.
There were only two men in the room aside from my father, and I was immediately taken aback by how good-looking they both were. They were obviously father and son, with one looking to be in his 50s or 60s, and the other probably in his 30s. The older man was majestic, his long legs proof that he was tall even as he was sitting down. He wore a well-tailored black pinstriped suit, his graying shoulder-length sleeked-back hair tucked behind his ear. He smiled warmly as he gazed at me, crow's feet forming at the corners of his eyes.
His son, likely the man I was being married off to, was a replica of him, but at the same time, they were nothing alike. While the old man was the embodiment of the kind, friendly grandpa, there was nothing remotely friendly about his son. The icy blue eyes were there, under thick dark lashes and a bushy brow, but there was not a drop of warmth in them. Rather, they were cold and intense, assessing me like I was nothing more than a piece of jewelry on a rack. His short obsidian black hair was unstyled and fell sexily over his forehead, and his stubble had been allowed to grow in a few days to form an attractive shadow. His features were too sharp, his strong jaw too sculpted. And yet, they did something to me.
I ended up shamelessly staring at his lips, lips that looked like they'd never learned to smile, lips that could no doubt make a lady run wild with just a kiss. Already, I knew. This man was dangerous, a threat to my well-being and mental health, and the insistent tingling between my legs told me I wanted that.
"Solene, you're late."
Nothing snapped me out of a daydream better than the sound of my father's voice. I turned to him just in time to catch his brief frown, and ignored it specifically to piss him off.
"Fashionably." I corrected as I moved to sit beside him on the couch opposite the men.
Likely to save face, the old geezer decided to let the matter go. Once I settled in, crossing my legs so that my bared thigh was the highlight of the evening, he returned his attention to our distinguished guests.
"Solene, these are Mr. Pietro Fabrizio Diavolo," He motioned at the older man, then moved to the younger one. "and his son, Dante Vittorio Diavolo. Gentlemen, this is my daughter, Solene Elizabeth Belrose."
"It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Solene." The old man (Pietro, was it?) smiled even wider. "I must say, you look even lovelier in person."
"And you too are very handsome, sir. The rest of us could only hope to look as good as you at your age." I replied with just as bright a smile. Surprisingly enough, I was actually liking the man. Hard to believe he was a ruthless crime lord.
Pietro laughed, and from the corner of my eye, I stole a glance at Dante. He was paying close attention to me, but he didn't seem to have any intention of joining the conversation.
"Please, you flatter me." Pietro waved off my compliment.
Giving up on Mr. Never Talks, I turned back to the old man. "It's the truth. Both you and your son have great genes."
Pietro smiled kindly at me. "Tell me about yourself, Solene."
"Well," I began. "I recently turned 29 and graduated with a bachelor's degree in Classical Philology from Stanford. I'm fluent in Ancient Greek and Latin and taught those briefly at a local university... But you probably already knew all these about me."
"True, but I'm interested in more than what's written about you on a paper. I want to know about the things that make Solene... Solene."
I smiled, but not because I was enjoying the direction this conversation was going. "There isn't much outside what you can find on paper. I'm hardly an interesting person, but I do promise to love your son and treat him well.""
For a split second, the entire living room fell silent. There seemed to be a strange chill that whisked through, so I turned to my father and was startled to see his eyebrows raised in an amused stare.
"My, my, I fear there has been a misunderstanding, my sweet daughter." His lips raised in a malicious smirk. "Your husband isn't Dante Diavolo. You are to be married to his father, Pietro Diavolo."