Isabella was not interested in falling in love. Marco was not looking for a relationship.
The perfect combination for a foolproof agreement.
Right?
*
Isabella Hammond, the first female billionaire in her city, is a smart, straightforward and stunni...
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Even at first glance, I can tell that the hotel is definitely a Rosalie approved one.
I can tell why she pitched this place to Bianca to host her wedding at.
The chandeliers are classy and high above my head. The tiles are gleaming and match the décor perfectly. There is soft pipe music that fills the air around me and the sensation that the whole lobby fills me with is peace.
My peace is short-lived.
A familiar scent of ice and mint that I've begun to revel in engulfs me and Marco walks up next to me and inhales deeply, almost like he is trying to smell what I'm smelling.
I wonder what I smell like to Marco.
He glances around. "Wonder what time their pool closes."
I stare after him as he walks towards the reception. My face heats up.
A few feet away, he turns his head and looks at me, smirking. Before he turns back around, Marco winks, his gleaming black eyes looking incredibly mischievous.
I'm acutely aware that our friends are scattered around this hotel and I hope to God none of them saw that. Not that they would assume anything, anyway.
It was only about five seconds of interaction in which Marco managed to get my heart racing and I start to feel a bit unsteady on my feet.
Shaking myself off, I walk after him towards the reception, wishing I had chosen a different time to come into the hotel, wishing that Marco hadn't been invited for the rehearsal dinner and would have only shown up tomorrow.
As I walk up to Marco, who is standing at the gleaming granite counter of the reception, I wonder whether anything will happen tonight. I sidle up next to him and we wait until one of the receptionists turn to us.
One of them does and he smiles to us. "Are you guys here for the Brenner-Dartmouth wedding?"
We nod.
"Great. Can I check you in?"
Marco motions for me to check in first, but I gesture for him to go ahead.
The receptionist turns to Marco. "Can I check you in, sir? Do you have a reservation?" he asks.
"Sure, I do," Marco says to him, taking his phone out of the pocket of his jeans.
"Can I have your full name, please, sir? The name that was on ID you made your reservation with," the receptionist says, smiling, his round face, glowing.
Marco leans into the counter with one arm, almost lazily. Lazy looks incredibly attractive on Marco.
I wait to hear if the way he says his name is as attractive as the way he says my name.
"Marciano Huntington," he says.
I let out a burst of laughter and lean into Marco. "Your full name is Marciano?" I ask, in a whisper.
