Page 5 of Princess Seeks Dragon
Thank God I had my nails done...
“I—Thank you.” I giggle and pray for a sudden dose of suaveness to grace me.
“Charming. So charming. I like her, Ronnie.” Vincenzo looks at me with twinkling eyes and keeps a hold of my hand as he looks into my eyes, then over his shoulder at Ronnie.
“Oh, I think that’s a mutual assessment,” Ronnie chuckles, hands spread. He puts his arm around Mom and gestures to the long line spilling across the wide sidewalks under the theater marquee. “Princess, ladies first,” he says, and gestures for me to get in line.
“Oh, my dates don’t wait in line at the theater,” Vincenzo says with a quiet command that makes my knees unexpectedly buckle. “That’s the kind of leadership you can expect from us, Ronnie.” His smile is broad, and he sweeps us to the head of the line. “Carlo.” He nods to the man in a burgundy vest, and we slide right in.
“Impressive,” I find my tongue and make sure there’s a little hint of teasing in my voice.
“You’re Ronaldo Argento’s daughter. Of course I’ll impress you,” he whispers, bending down so his face is close to mine, lips behind my ear. The scent of his cologne hits me hard, in a good way. Spicy and smoky, with vanilla, bourbon, and citrus.
“Well, thanks for making a business trip so much fun,” I manage to choke out, trying to compose myself.
“With you, business would always be a pleasure. Perhaps we can talk about that tomorrow when you come to dinner?”
“Dinner? Tomorrow?” I admit it. I have the whole “swept off my feet” thing going on. Rich, powerful, gorgeous, and asking to see me again five minutes into date number one?
“You’ll be there, won’t you? Without you, business loses its pleasure, lovely one.”
Lovely one. A pet name. An elegant pet name, right from the start.
Sue me, I swooned. “I’d love to come to dinner.”
“See, Angela? I told you that you two would hit it off! It’s fate.”
As we walked into the glamorous lobby with its plush atmosphere of red velvet and gold, I thought I caught a scowl on Vincenzo’s face, a hardening of his features.
It only made him look hotter.
Fuck, the hidden craving for bad boys. It has to be genetic.Or maybe it’s because he sort of looks like David Bonetti, my ninth-grade crush. New Jersey and New York are prime “hot, dark, and Italian-American” ground, after all.
“I suppose you could call it fate, Mrs. Argento. My father and your husband might like the title,” Vincenzo laughed, good humor and perfect smile suddenly back to the forefront.
We collect our programs, and the crush of bodies all around us, swarming to get to their seats, threatens to undo me. “I guess they did bring us together,” I laugh, eager to be witty and charming and gorgeous.
Vincenzo nods, smile fixed. “Insisted on it. But, to be fair,” his voice drops as we file into the long, well-dressed line, two abreast, walking down the aisle to our prime seats, “it’s my father more than yours. Your father just handles the money. My father handles the products.”
“Oh? And you’re going into the family business?”
“As if first-born sons ever have a choice.” This time his laugh is bitter, but so silky. His hand lands on my hip, but lightly, guiding me into a seat, tripping over pumps and glittering skirts as we take our place in the center of the row.
A dangerous gentleman.
Dangerous? Really?
Nah. Powerful, maybe, but harmless.
“Talk more later, you two! It’s starting!” My mother hisses, waving her program.
***
“THAT WAS MAGICAL,”Mom sighs and spins. “Take my picture, babe. And then one of Angie and Vincenzo. And then one of mother and daughter. Should we get one of the two boys, Ang?”
“Mom, please. You’re acting like a total tourist.”
“I am not! Everyone takes selfies, honey.”
