Nikolas glanced at his watch and rose to his feet, dialing the number displayed on his phone with a slight frown.
"Francesca, why am I at a bookstore?"
There weren't many people present, as it was eight in the evening.
[Because it's romantic? From the information I got on the woman you matched with, she likes books. Confirmed by her friend, by the way. Don't you think a bookstore is obviously an ideal place to meet?]
"Why are you sounding like a matchmaker?"
[Might be my calling. Now, I've got to go, your brother is acting like he can't breathe without me. Good luck!]
"Francesca, it's almost nine. I don't think she's—"
The doorbell rang as the glass door was pushed open.
His head snapped up to see a lady walk in.
Dark straight hair that showered all the way down to her hip, highlighting the delicate skin of her face. She had fine cheekbones, and her lips were smeared with a light reddish lipstick. Like something that walked out of a magazine cover… almost sculpted to perfection by a motivated artist.
But none of that held a candle to her large hazel eyes, the colour of wild honey, flickering between gold and green. She crossed gazes with him and lifted her brow.
His heart punched him in the throat so suddenly.
Those eyes… where had he seen them before?
Of course he knew who she was. She was Viviana Di-grassi. Someone they called "Lady Di-grassi," as she was the only selected heir of the Di-grassi family.
So yes, he'd seen those eyes before. But this was different.
"Hello," she said in a soft, soothing voice, reaching out for a handshake.
Nikolas jolted to awareness. But instead of a handshake, he tilted his head to the side, regarding her with pure curiosity.
Where had he seen her before? Not behind some screen, but face-to-face like this.
Viviana blinked. "That's rude."
Sabrina had given this fellow's photo to her, and that was all there was to it. She told nothing about him, not even his personality or what he was like.
Although… looking at him now, the photo didn't really do him justice.
He was tall, at least six feet five or a little over it, with silky fine dark hair smoothed to the back, a few disobedient strands rather fallen over his forehead. His physique was a slim yet broad type, with eyes like pebbles of bright green.
The man was… ridiculously handsome.
Who was he?
"My apologies. I got a bit carried away staring at you," Nikolas said, voice deepened with an edge. "If you'd like to eat, we can switch to a restaurant."
"No. I prefer this." Viviana sat down opposite him, legs crossed.
"My friend arranged this, so I have no clue who you are," she said as she dusted a bit at the silk bodycon ash dress she wore. "I've never seen you before."
Nikolas stared with interest. "Viviana Di-grassi."
"Yes. That is who I am. Why?"
"I'm curious about something."
She raised a brow.
"Why are you on a blind date?" he asked.
Debating with herself, she took a deep breath, the words rolling off her tongue sharply, "I wanted to. There's nothing wrong with it. I've never dated and thought it'd be a good idea to give it a try."
"But aren't you engaged to Fernando Stolov?"
The expression on her face dropped, hardening. "So?"
"I've had my fair share of rich men, they certainly are not my type, and it's safe to say they get on my nerves," she shot. "I have no interest in those types. Do you have a problem with that?"
Why did the question tick her off?
"No." Nikolas folded his arms, leaning back against his chair. "But what if I am a rich man?"
"Are you?"
"Hmm… no."
"Good." She asked, "What is your name?"
"Nikolas."
"Nikolas who?"
"Nikolas Bastiani."
Viviana's gaze grew cold. She quipped, "You mean you—"
Nikolas smirked at her. "Don't worry. I'm not that Bastiani. I don't own Bratva. I just happen to share a surname with them." Not that she would believe him anyway if he was honest.
He was unsure why she disliked wealthy men. Not to mention the quick change to that blank expression of hers. There was a high chance she would call this date off if she knew he was indeed that Nikolas Bastiani.
Something about her interested him, and he wasn't about to take that chance.
"I see." She cleared her throat. "What is your job then?"
"Is this an interview?" There was a mirth to his tone.
She, however, didn't seem amused. Rather, a conceited frown crinkled her mask.
He'd never met a woman so cold. Where was her humor?
Adjusting the button of his waistcoat, he said, "I'm an office clerk."
All she gave was a nod.
"I know for a rich woman as yourself, I don't meet your standards, do I?" he said, humming.
Viviana slowly dragged her gaze up and down his frame. "Do you look down on yourself?"
"What?"
"I haven't left this seat, does that tell you nothing?" she asked. "I couldn't care less if you're a clerk."
Nikolas blinked.
He had a retort to make, very much enjoying the back and forth. However, the phone in his pocket vibrated with messages abruptly, prompting him to take it out. That distracted him a little bit, but only up until the device was taken out of his hand and kept on the table.
A pair of slim fingers popped under his chin, gently though, turning his gaze back onto the face he'd been staring at all evening.
Viviava batted her lashes in a way that only highlighted how thick and long they were. "Focus on me, Mr. Bastiani."
Nikolas swallowed before he could think, a stunned chuckle leaving his mouth.
Fucking hell!
This woman…
He suddenly got up. "Come with me."
She tilted her head ever so slightly, like a bird.
"Why?"
Nikolas grabbed her hand. His fingers were cold. He walked her out of the store, and the farther they went down the road, the more confused she got.
Stopping abruptly, she raised a brow at him.
"This is uh, this is quite boring and I'm sorry to point it out. It's just, I'd expect you'd have something… You know what? Never mind. Five more minutes, and I think I'll take my leave."
A small smile quirked Nikolas's mouth, and he turned away from her toward the stall on his right.
Viviana watched as he talked to the woman selling a kind of snack she'd never seen before. But aside from that, what in the world was he doing?
By the time he turned back to her, he held a wrapped-up bundle of it.
"You'll like it." Francesca, at least, was obsessed with the snack.
Viviana refused, "No, thank you."
"Have a taste."
"I said no."
"It's not going to kill you."
"I'm aware it won't. But I have no clue what this is."
"Then find out."
She finally gave in, taking a bite out of a single one of them. And her reaction sent a weird jolt straight through his body.
Her beautiful eyes widened, pupils dilating, and lips parting into an O.
She snapped over to him. "What is this?"
"Taralli."
"I've never had anything like this before." Her chest was pounding. Her father would've lost it if he knew she just ate street food.
This was…
Swallowing, she lifted those hazel eyes to him.
"How is it?" Nikolas smiled.
For the first time since they met, the cold look on her face seemed to have loosened, though only slightly. She stared at him, as though he was a foreign film she couldn't understand.
"I have something to say?" Her expression had gone a bit too serious.
Nikolas pocketed his large hands in his slacks. "Let me hear you, then."
She looked straight into his eyes, far enough it could almost reach his soul. And snatched him by the collar of his suit, pulling him down so fast, his face fell dangerously close to hers, his skin basking in the warmth of her hot breath.
"Marry me, Mr. Bastiani."