The Playgirl's Contract Marriage

chapter 2

The stench of cheap perfume and broken dreams slapped me across the face as I shoved through the doors of Il Diavolo Rosso the local club run by my father. My stolen Louboutins, I had snatched from Sofia's closet during my dramatic exit, they pinched mercilessly at my toes, but the pain grounded me. That, and the five tequila shots I'd downed at that dive bar near the local train station.

"Principessa!" The bartender's eyes widened as I collapsed onto a stool. "Your usual?"

"Not tonight, Marco. Leave me alone." I waved him off dismissively, my gaze locked onto the real prize.

There.

At the end of the bar, bathed in hellish red light, stood Adrian f*****g Vincenti.

God, he looked good in that stupid uniform. The crisp white shirt stretched across shoulders that had clearly never skipped a day at the gym, the sleeves rolled up to reveal corded forearms dusted in tattoos and his hair oh his dark hair.

And his face—Christ. Even scowling like I'd personally pissed in his espresso, he was art like greek god level art. Sharp cheekbones that could cut glass, a jawline so defined it belonged on a Roman coin, and those eyes—honey gold flecked with amber, currently burning holes through my soul.

"You." His voice dripped venom as he stalked toward me. "What the f**k are you doing here, you know your not meant to be in your father’s club? Get out of here.”

I grinned, propping my chin on my hand. “Oh, baby boy, I missed you too, darling."

A muscle in his jaw twitched in annoyance. "Lyra, I'm working."

"Yes! And you're fascinating at it." I dragged my gaze down his body with deliberate slowness. "Do you bend that pretty neck for all the pretty girls, or am I special?"

The glass in his hand cracked.

Before he could retort, a shrill voice cut through the tension. "Excuse me! Hello? Is this club without any waiters?"

We both turned fast. A woman in a dress clearly two sizes too small for her waved a manicured hand, her blood-red nails clicking against the counter. Her face took on a look of impatience. "I've been waiting ten minutes for a proper drink, hurry up!"

I know her.

Cara.

An arrogant b***h.

Adrian's posture shifted instantly—shoulders bowing, chin dipping. "My apologies, signora. What can I get you?"

Something ugly twisted in my chest at the sight. Adrian Vincenti, heir to the Vincenti empire, reduced to taking orders from some overfilled socialite as if I would let that happen. However, he always refuses my help. This annoyed me!

The woman smirked, trailing a finger up his arm. "Something strong enough to make you look good or even worth fucking."

I saw the exact moment her nails dug in. Saw the way Adrian's fingers tightened around the shaker. Saw the vein throbbing in his temple as he forced a smile.

"Of course. If you need it, I'll have someone else provide you with the service you want."

SMACK!

The sound of her palm meeting his cheek echoed through the bar. But the voice was too small, swallowed up by the loud music.

Why is Adrian still standing there quietly?

That b***h hit him!

My body moved before my brain caught up.

"Problem, Cara? This is not a place where you can attack people at will." I purred, sliding between them with my most dangerous smile. The woman recoiled smart girl. Even drunk and disheveled, I was still a Rossi, and I had the temper of one.

She sneered. "This servant can't follow simple f*****g…”

CRACK!

Her cocktail exploded across her designer dress as I knocked it over with deliberate precision.

"Oops!" I blinked, all fake innocence. "Now your drink matches your personality, broken and rotten."

"Lyra, what are you doing?!" Cara's scream rang out, which made me laugh.

The bar erupted, and many people gasped backward. They whispered. Someone snapped a photo—great, that would be on Twitter in five minutes.

Adrian's hand clamped around my wrist. "What the hell is wrong with you? If your father finds out, punishment will await you." He hissed, dragging me into the back hallway.

The moment the door slammed shut, he pinned me against the wall, his body pressed flush against mine. His breath came in ragged bursts, his eyes wild with fury and something else. Something hotter.

"I didn't need saving or helping by a little girl! I need even less of your sympathy!" He growled.

I tilted my head, my lips a breath from his. "Liar."

For a heartbeat, we stood there chests heaving, lips nearly touching, the air between us charged like a live wire. Then I dropped the bomb, I said it without hesitation...

"Marry me."

He recoiled like I'd struck him. “What the f**k?"

"Fake marriage. Real money." I reached into my bra (where all good secrets lived) and produced a folded check with enough zeros to make his eyes bulge. "You get this, plus access to Rossi resources. I get out of an arranged marriage to my psychotic adopted brother."

Adrian laughed, the sound harsh and disbelieving. "You're f*****g insane."

The air between us crackled with tension.

Adrian's hand shot out, caging me against the wall. His eyes darkened to molten gold. “Why? Why me? You have more choices, Lyra.”

I grinned, all teeth. "Because you'll look delicious in a tuxedo on my arm. Or do you want me to marry another man? But I won't allow it."

And then—because I couldn't f*****g resist—I fisted his shirt and crushed my lips to his.

The kiss was all fire and fury, his mouth hot and demanding against mine. His hands dug into my hips, pulling me flush against him as I bit his lower lip, tasting copper.

When we broke apart, his breathing was ragged, his pupils blown wide.

"Well?" I panted. "Do we have a deal, my husband?"

His answer was a growl and another searing kiss that tasted like revenge and ruin.