After my mother seated me near the kitchen for my sister's wedding, my terrifying boss volunteered to be my fake date.

The Naperville Country Club looked like a glowing glass fortress perched on a sea of manicured grass. Valet parking attendants in red vests moved frantically among luxury sedans, their movements sharp and hurried as the black SUV rumbled up the circular driveway.

As Roman brought the vehicle to a stop, Sadi caught sight of a familiar figure standing near the marble entrance pillars.

Her sister, Chloe, stood in a cloud of white lace, laughing nervously while their mother, Helen Miller, gestured angrily at an unlucky catering manager. Standing just a few feet away, holding a glass of champagne, was Derek.

He wore a light grey suit that looked tailored to within an inch of its life. Beside him was his fiancée, Amber—slender, golden-tanned, her hair falling in perfect blonde waves over a dress that looked like it had been painted onto her tiny frame.

Sadi felt her stomach contract into a hard, cold knot. "They're all right there."

"Good," Roman said smoothly, setting the gear shift to park. "Saves us the trouble of hunting them down."

He stepped out of the vehicle before the valet could even reach the door handle. A young valet boy hurried forward, his eyes wide as he recognized the vehicle’s distinct license plates and Roman’s formidable frame.

"Mr. Rossi, sir—" the boy began, his voice trembling.

"Keep it running. Air conditioning on," Roman said, tossing a hundred-dollar bill onto the kid's chest without looking at him. He walked around to the passenger side, opening the door for Sadi and extending his hand.

Sadi stared at his broad, calloused palm. This was the point of no return. Walking out there meant stepping out of the shadow she had hidden in for twenty-eight years and exposing herself to her family's brutal judgment.

She placed her small hand in his. His fingers closed around hers with firm, unwavering strength, pulling her gently out of the SUV.

As her heels hit the pavement, Roman did not release her hand. Instead, he pulled her closer, wrapping a heavy arm around her waist and sliding his palm against the curve of her hip beneath the emerald silk dress.

"Head up, Sadi," he murmured against her ear, his warm breath sending shivers down her neck. "Look at them like they owe you money."

As they approached the lit entrance, the conversation on the terrace died a sudden, unnatural death.

Helen Miller was the first to notice. She turned with a sharp reprimand on her lips, expecting to find an unruly caterer, but the words froze in her throat as her eyes landed on Roman. Her gaze traveled from his bespoke suit to his broad chest, taking in his razor-sharp jawline and the dark, commanding authority that practically radiated off his skin.