Nikolai POV
The Moretti house smelled like espresso, polished wood, and a kind of warmth I still did not trust.
Valentina stood at the top of the front steps with a mug in one hand and enough composure on her face to make it seem as though she greeted dangerous men at her family estate every afternoon.
Rain had darkened the stone behind her and silvered the air between us, but she remained dry beneath the overhang, soft cream against old marble, looking less like a future bride than a private provocation.
I had not been prepared for that version of her.
That was my first problem.
My second was the way my body noticed before my mind did.
No diamonds tonight. No red silk. No chandeliers, turning her into a spectacle.
Just dark hair loose over her shoulders, bare throat, and a dres
