Riley’s POV
I sat by the window of Fiorenza, one of those quiet luxury places tucked near the Upper East Side — dim lighting, velvet chairs, the kind of place you booked two weeks in advance unless your last name opened doors.
Luckily, mine did.
I was early, which almost never happened, but this felt different. I hadn’t even told Harper yet — I wanted to wait until after the dinner. After I confirmed what I already knew:
That he was smart. And funny. And weirdly down to earth, despite being Ethan freaking Reynolds.
That maybe — just maybe — this whole arranged marriage thing wouldn’t be such a disaster after all.
I checked my phone again. No messages. No missed calls.
I didn’t even know why I was nervous. We'd only met once. A brief conversation outside my office, a strange spark I
