The Billionaire's Forced Bride

Chapter 4

Laura's Pov

I was a law-abiding citizen, but if anyone could drive me to commit murder, it was my future husband.

I hated his arrogance, his rudeness, and the mocking way he called me mio tesoro.Giovanni Moretti, CEO of the Moretti Group, and the man who created a buzz wherever he went, wasn’t just an eligible bachelor; he was an elusive billionaire every woman wanted and no one could get.

He was thirty-four years old, famously ruthless and cruel and up until now, showed no intention of giving up his bachelor lifestyle.Why, then, would he of all people agree to an arranged marriage?Are. We. Clear?

His maddening voice echoed in my head.It was clear, all right. Giovanni was Satan in a nice suit for all I cared.

I was already hunting down the sharpest knife I could find in case he tried to speak rudely to me.

As promised, a business card with his assistant’s number and a black Amex waited on the nightstand next to a distinctive velvet green ring box. When I popped open the lid, a six-carat diamond winked back at me.

I brushed my fingers over the dazzling gem. Five carats, a rare Asscher cut, with smaller baguette diamonds adorning each shoulder.

I should’ve been thrilled. The ring was stunning and, judging by the diamond’s color and clarity, worth at least a hundred thousand dollars. It was the type of ring most women would kill to have.

But when I plucked it from the box and slid it onto my finger, I felt…nothing. Nothing except the cool brush of platinum and a heavy weight that felt more like a prison than a promise.Most engagement rings were a symbol of love and commitment.

Mine was the equivalent of a signature on a merger contract.I shouldn’t have expected anything more than what Giovanni gave me. Some arranged marriages, like my sister’s, turned into real love, but the overall odds weren’t great.I sank onto the bed.

The tightness spread from my throat to my chest.It was stupid to feel sad. So what if Giovanni had proposed in the most impersonal way possible?

I’d known since our first meeting we weren't compatible. At least he’d been honest about his intentions and boundaries.Still, a part of me had hoped our previous interactions were flukes and we would gradually warm up to each other, but no.

My future husband was simply a jerk.The buzz of a new text interrupted my thoughts.I picked up my phone, expecting another congratulatory message or a reminder from my friends.

Instead, I saw a text from the last person I’d expected to hear from.

Roman: Happy Chocolate Biscuit Day.

I stared at the words, waiting for them to disappear but they didn’t.

My stomach twisted.Of all the days he could’ve texted out of the blue, it had to be today, right after I moved into Giovanni’s house.There were a million things I wanted to say, but I stuck with something safe and neutral.

Me: You still remember.

Roman: Of course. How could I ever forget one of your favourite days?

My small smile faded as quickly as it appeared.We shouldn’t be talking but I couldn’t bring myself to block him.

Roman: I’ve been emailing Suzie Kim every day asking them to open a shop in London but she refused.

A pang hit me at the mention of Suzie KimIt was a popular cafe in Cambridge, where Heath and I had attended undergrad. It was famous for its chocolate biscuit and we’d show up every day.

Me: It’ll happen. Persistence always wins.

Guilt ballooned in my chest as Roman and I exchanged more small talk. He asked about my job and the city; I asked about his cat and the weather in London.

It was our longest conversation in years. Normally, we only texted each other on holidays and birthdays, and we never talked on the phone.

It was easier to pretend we were casual acquaintances that way even though we were anything but.Roman Castillo.My college best friend, my ex-boyfriend, and my first love.

Once upon a time, I thought we’d get married. I’d convinced myself we would overcome my parents’ objections and live happily ever after, but our breakup two years agoproved my hopes had been just that.

Hopes.I shook off memories of that day and tried to refocus.

Me: How’s your company doing?After our breakup, Roman moved to London and expanded his language-learning app into the powerhouse it was today.

The last time I checked, it was one of the top fifteen most downloaded apps in the U.K.

Roman: Pretty amazing. We’re going public at the end of this year.

Perhaps…The three dots that indicated he was typing popped up, disappeared, then popped up again.

Roman: We can revisit things after it does.

My guilt hardened into dread.He didn’t know about the engagement. I hadn’t posted about it online, online, we didn’t have mutual friends anymore, and Roman didn’t follow the society pages, which meant I had to tell him.

I couldn’t lie by omission and let him think there was a chance of us getting back together.

Roman: If you want to, of course.

I could practically see him pushing his hand through his hair the way he always did when he was nervous.

My teeth dug into my bottom lip.I knew part of the reason he’d worked so hard on the startup was to prove my parents wrong. They’d been furious when they found out I’d kept our relationship from them for years and even more furious when they discovered Roman didn’t come from an “appropriate” background.

At the time, he’d made a good living as a software engineer who’d worked on his app on the side, but he wasn’t a Moretti or the son of a billionaire.

My father had threatened to disown me if I didn’t end things with Roman, and in the end, I’d chosen family over love.

Roman probably thought my parents would change their minds after his company went public and he became a millionaire. I didn’t have the heart to tell him they wouldn’t.My family had plenty of money, but we were nouveau riche.

No matter how much we donated to charity or how many zeroes we had in our bank accounts, certain parts of society would always remain closed to us…unless we married into old money.

Roman would never be old money, which meant my parents would never approve of him as a love match.Just tell him.I eased a deep breath into my lungs before I bit the bullet.

Me: I’m engaged.

It wasn’t the smoothest transition, transition, but it was short, clear, and direct.I resisted falling back into my childhood habit of biting my nails while I waited for a reply.It never came.

Me: It happened a few weeks ago. My parents set it up.

Me: I meant to tell you earlierI should stop, but I couldn’t hold back my text version of word vomit

Me: The wedding is in a year.Crickets.Five minutes passed, but my phone remained dark and silent.

I let out a small groan and tossed it to the side.I shouldn’t feel guilty. Roman and I broke up a long time ago and, honestly, I was surprised he wanted a second chance. I would’ve thought—A soft knock interrupted the chaos of my thoughts.I sucked in another lungful of air and smoothed my expression into one of polite neutrality before I answered.

“Come in.”The door opened, revealing distinguished silver hair and a perfectly pressed black suit.Williams, Giovanni’s butler.

“Miss. Laura, Mr. Giovanni requested I take you on a full tour of the house,” he said, his British accent as crisp as his clothes.

“Is now a good time, or would you like me to return at an hour of your choosing?”I glanced at my phone, then at the cold, beautiful room around me.Whether I liked it or not, this was now my home. I could lock myself in my suite, throw a pity party, and agonize over the past, or I could try and make the most of my situation.I stood and summoned a smile that felt only mildly forced.

“Now is perfect.”