Every red-blooded male in the reception would be treated to a vision of her curves, outlined by that unforgiving sheath of a gown he had the misfortune to pick. The curves of her luscious breasts, the indent of her narrow waist, the swell of her tight derriere–all of that bounty on display. As if he didn’t have Markos to contend with, he’d have to fend off other men for sure.
So he had grunted a single word and pretended he didn’t notice how crestfallen she appeared at his reluctant compliment. But he was wrestling with a far worse emotion. Dread.
He dreaded the moment when his friend would clap eyes on Sabrina again.
It just means a lot to me, that’s all.
But what if Markos took one good look at her and decided he wanted another opening? A reconciliation? And what if Sabrina did too? She had pursued him. She must have felt strongly for him. And might still do.
He was giving her the chance to choose when everything in him just wanted to lock her up and keep her all to himself. With her, it was all or nothing.
Princess Lexie’s hazel eyes lit up with pleasure when she spotted him. Her new husband, world-famous polo player Nicolas Fernandez, shook his hand and clapped him congenially on the back.
After some words of felicitations, the couple turned expectantly towards Sabrina.
Luca introduced her as his date. She appeared disconcerted by the use of the term. Like the first time they had met, she blushed. From the base of her smooth, pale neck to the tips of her ears and up to her hairline.
Lexie, used to hiding her reactions from public, acted as if nothing had happened. Her husband though was sporting a small grin.
“Congratulations and best wishes on your marriage, Your Highness, Mr. Fernandez,” Sabrina said, obviously striving for equanimity.
Lexie flashed her a disarming smile. “Thank you, Miss Connelly. I hope you have a nice time tonight.”
“She’s with me,” Luca interjected lightly. “How can she not?”
Sabrina and Lexie both rolled their eyes at the same time. The four of them burst into laughter.
“She’s a keeper, Luca,” Nic Fernandez leaned into him so the ladies couldn’t hear.
“How can you tell?”
The sportsman shrugged. “She reminds me a lot of my wife.” He shot Luca another grin, the same one that leapt off billboards and magazine endorsements and straight into women’s ovaries.
Lucky for Nic Fernandez, Luca knew how besotted the Argentine was with his cousin or else he might consider the man a potential threat.
As with every other man in the ballroom who had given Sabrina a glance. Dio! What you do to me, strega.
They had to cut the delightful exchange short since a line of well-wishers still had to pay their respects to the newlyweds. A woman in a black suit, presumably one of the event coordinators, led them to a table near a raised dais with a music band set up.
The attendees for the evening reception were mostly composed of family and friends of the couple as opposed to the luncheon where dignitaries, older family members, and senior European royals were entertained.
The affair had a younger, more informal vibe. The conversation was more boisterous, the laughter less self-conscious.
“The princess and Mr. Fernandez seem really nice,” Sabrina remarked once they were seated.
“They are,” he said abruptly.
She angled her body away from him, and he regretted his curt response.
They were the first ones to their table. Luca observed her taking in everything. The ornate, gilded ballroom with its French windows, sparkling chandeliers, and marble statues adorning each corner, the women in their elegant gowns and dripping jewels. And then she frowned, this time searching the crowd.
“He’s not here yet.”
She whipped her head to him, fleeting guilt crossing her face before she wiped it away. “Luca, after I talk to Markos-”
Whatever she was about to say was interrupted by new arrivals to the table. Very familiar arrivals.
Raphael had Adriano in tow. Behind them were his cousins Wolf and Johann. All bachelors with no plus ones in sight. Luca groaned silently.
Johann sat beside Sabrina and introduced himself without preamble. “Hello. I’m Johann Jager.” He was looking at Sabrina with obvious delight. “We don’t look like it, but I’m related to your ugly date.”
“Er-Sabrina Connelly.” She took his proferred hand and shook it gingerly, taking in Johann’s ice blue eyes and blond hair and then glancing at Luca helplessly.
“We’re the German cousins,” Wolf volunteered, sitting beside Johann and surveying the dance floor lazily.
“German-American,” Johann corrected cheerfully.
“Out of my way, pup.” Raphael tapped Johann on the shoulder. He let out an aggrieved sigh and gave up his seat for his older relative, settling beside Wolf.