Chapter 2 - The Contract on the Dance Floor
Giovanni didn't just lead me to the dance floor; he claimed it.
The orchestra was halfway through an arrangement of "Can’t Help Falling in Love." As Giovanni’s arm slipped around my waist, his grip was firm, pulling me against the broad wall of his chest with an ease that felt dangerously practiced. The cheap polyester of my dress should have clashed against the cashmere-wool blend of his lapel, but Giovanni moved with such poise that the entire ballroom parted for us.
I could feel hundreds of eyes burning into my skin.
"Breathe, Jessica," Giovanni murmured, his voice rumbling against my ear. "You look like you're awaiting a lethal injection."
"I work in pediatric intensive care," I muttered through a stiff smile. "I'm used to chaos. I am not used to billionaires using me as human shields against their relatives."
"You knew who I was, then."
"I didn't five minutes ago. But the moment you said your name, half the senior partners at Tyler’s firm spilled their scotch. The Fierro Group owns half the commercial real estate on the Eastern Seaboard and holds the primary paper on the harbor redevelopment."
One dark eyebrow arched. "Perceptive. And you read business journals between saving premature infants?"
"I read everything," I countered. "Now explain to me why you know my daughter's name. Because if you’re a stalker with an unlimited bank account, I will take my high heel and drive it through your Italian leather shoes."
Instead of anger, a low, genuine laugh vibrated through him. "A woman of violence. Excellent. I know Lily’s name because two weeks ago, you treated a four-year-old boy named Leo Vance after an asthma attack in the County ER."
I frowned, the memory clicking into place. "Leo. He was cyanotic when EMS brought him in. I stayed four hours past my shift bagging him until the pediatric pulmonologist arrived."
"Leo is my nephew," Giovanni said, his amber eyes darkening with an emotion that wasn't cold at all. "My sister died three years ago. Leo is all she left behind. The hospital board sent me the incident report. They praised Dr. Harrison, but Harrison told me the truth: you caught the tracheal deviation before the monitors sounded an alarm. You saved my nephew’s life, Jessica."
My heart hammered hard against my ribs. "I was doing my job."
"You refused the overtime pay because the department had exceeded its monthly cap," he continued ruthlessly. "You walked home in the rain. I don't forget debts. Ever."
We turned smoothly. Over Giovanni's shoulder, I saw Tyler standing stiff as a corpse. Vanessa was gripping his forearm so tightly her knuckles showed white. Tyler’s eyes were wild, darting between my hand on Giovanni’s shoulder and Giovanni’s hand splayed possessively across the small of my back.
"They're coming," I whispered.
An older woman in emerald silk, flanked by a young woman dripping in diamonds, was cutting through the tables toward the edge of the dance floor. Her expression was like forged steel.
"My Aunt Beatrice," Giovanni murmured. "Smile, darling. Look at me like I am the only man who has ever truly seen you."
He spun me, dipping me just low enough to be scandalous in a room full of old-money conservatives. When he brought me back up, our faces were inches apart. The scent of him—smoke, cedar, and raw power—filled my senses.
"Here is my proposition," Giovanni whispered, his lips grazing my hairline. "Marry me for real. Legally. For twelve months."
I nearly tripped over my cobbler-mended heel. "What?"
"Beatrice has contested my grandfather’s will, citing a clause requiring the executive heir to be married with a family to assume majority control. She wants me tethered to the Moretti family. If I show up with a wife and an adopted heir, Beatrice's legal challenge disintegrates on Monday morning."
"You want Lily and me as pawns?" Anger flared hot in my chest. "I don't sell my daughter."
"Not pawns. Partners," Giovanni corrected swiftly. "Ten million dollars in a blind trust for Lily, accessible on her eighteenth birthday. Full deed to a brownstone in Boston in your name. County General’s pediatric wing will receive a twenty-million-dollar endowment with you as the executive director of nursing. And your ex-husband?" His amber gaze flicked toward Tyler, whose face was purple with disbelief. "I will systematically take apart every deal he has ever dreamed of closing."
The orchestra struck its final chord.
Silence fell across the room like a heavy velvet curtain.
Beatrice Fierro stepped onto the hardwood, her lips pursed in venomous disdain. "Giovanni. What is the meaning of this performance? Who is this young woman?"
Giovanni didn't drop my hand. Instead, he lifted it to his lips, kissing the knuckles where a faint scar from an old needle stick lingered.
May you like
"Aunt Beatrice," Giovanni’s voice rang clear across the cavernous room, silencing even the servers. "Forgive my lack of formal announcement. Meet Jessica Hale-Fierro. My wife."
***
