An arranged marriage. An illicit affair. An unforgettable passion. A forbidden love...
A spoiled socialite clashes with a streetwise mechanic who challenges the order of her privileged life while an arranged marriage threatens even more.
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"Stop pouting."
No matter how many times my mother made this demand, I couldn't stop myself from fidgeting and scowling. My stomach was in knots, my palms were sweating, my skin crawled, and I couldn't concentrate on anything else.
This wasn't what I wanted.
On paper, I had it all with no means to complain. And really, there was very little for me to complain about. Born with a diamond encrusted spoon in my mouth, brought up among the upper echelon, attended a decent school for a time, it wasn't a lie that any problems I may have had would be deduced as "First World Problems."
I had never wanted for anything. Didn't know what it was like to go to bed hungry or worry about choosing between paying rent or a light bill. I had never suffered a day in my life. So why was I currently in the midst of a grave mental breakdown?
It was like something out of a soap opera.
My parents had done the unthinkable: they'd gone behind my back and sold me to the Devil himself. And tonight, they were hosting my engagement party.
All of the who's-who of Hampton Hills were filling my parents' lavish home to celebrate this joyous occasion—only, there was no joy to be had on my part.
My ring was gaudy, ostentatious, tacky—whatever you wanted to call the huge diamond my new fiancé had gotten me. A 15-carat cushion-cut ring set in platinum marred the fourth finger on my left hand regrettably.
None of this was what I wanted.
My father was Damon Nichols, co-founder of the Residence Hotel hospitality empire. And in order to solidify his latest contract with Las Vegas casino, Cartier, he promised something he couldn't afford. Something I had no say in.
My father had fallen ill, this new deal was seemingly his last as chairman of the Nichols & Wagner group he'd built, and outside of a percentage of their joint venture, all the owner of the Cartier Casino wanted was me.
I'd spent my whole life living in the lap of luxury, traveling the world and seeing all the exciting places my father had built his hotels in. I would give it all up for the opportunity to choose my future and my partner. Okay, maybe not everything. I loved my purse and shoe collection too much to completely part with it.
Still, this was a disaster.
The guests were down on the first floor, while my mother attempted to coax me out of my old bedroom to make my debut and greet my fiancé.
Stylists had taken care of my hair and makeup as my mother saw to it that a rack of dresses was delivered to the house this morning.
My dress cost ten thousand dollars, and on any other night—that wasn't my engagement party—I would've shined in it. Socializing, taking pictures, laughing at really corny dad jokes—the whole nine yards. But facing the dread that was my first official public appearance with my fiancé, Cain Carter, I was resenting the fact that there wasn't enough material to shrink into the dress.
