Free Dante's Marriage Pact by Day Leclaire

despite what you clearly believe. And you are most certainly not a prince, but some ill-mannered creature possessing not an ounce of civilized behavior.” Leticia shot to her feet and gestured toward the door leading to the hallway…and the way out. “Now, if you don’t mind?”
    â€œHere’s the problem.” He planted his feet firmly atop a handmade Tabriz carpet that still carried a whiff of lost elegance. Then he folded his arms across his chest. “I do mind. I mind very much.”
    Leticia stuck out a chin identical to her granddaughter’s, fire burning in eyes as blue as Shayla’s were black. Her only show of nerves was the way she gripped a ring dangling from a gold chain strung around her neck. Based on the glitter of diamonds, he suspected it was her wedding ring, though why she wore it around her neck instead of on her finger he couldn’t begin to guess. Maybe widows in the South did it that way.
    â€œShe’s not here,” Leticia informed him. As though aware she’d exposed her anxiety, she tucked her ring away beneath her elegant silk blouse.
    Draco met her, chin for jaw, putting a spark of fire in his own hazel-gold eyes. “Yes, she is.”
    He didn’t know who would have caved first if a voice hadn’t interrupted the standoff. “Grandmother? I need your opinion.” The sound of her came like a sip of waterto a parched and desperate desert. Painfully slow footsteps crossed the cypress floorboards of the foyer, heading straight for the parlor and sounding like the ring of destiny. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you had company.”
    Leticia fell back into her chair with a word that had Draco’s brows shooting skyward, while her expression soured, threatening to destroy all the hard work of her plastic surgeon. “Why, it’s a miracle. My beloved granddaughter has appeared out of thin air after all these long months.” She bit off each word as if it was acid in her mouth and drummed her synthetic nails against the armrest of her chair. “Hallelujah and kill the fatted calf.”
    Draco spared her a sardonic look before turning. “Hello, Shayla.”
    He heard the sharp catch of her breath the instant she realized who he was. “Draco.”
    His name escaped on a current of emotions, only a few of which he could identify. Disbelief. Wonder. An underscoring of pain. He could understand the disbelief since she’d run so long and hard to escape him. But the other two left him bewildered.
    She stood a few steps inside the parlor, as though poised to vanish as unexpectedly as she’d appeared. She held two small, crocheted blankets clutched to her chest, one a bright and cheerful yellow, the other a tumble of rainbow colors. She looked different than he remembered, softer. More country casual than city chic. Sweet and oh, so not-so innocent.
    Maybe it was her hair, which she wore pulled back from her face and fastened with two clips so it sheeted down her back in an inky waterfall. Or maybe it was her dress, at least what he could see of it around the blankets she held. It was simple ivory, pleated at the neckline and flowing, long and loose, to her calves.
    None of the differences mattered, he knew that much forcertain. All that mattered was the hard joyous thrum of The Inferno and the relentless kick of desire, the intensity building to a fever pitch now that he was finally face-to-face with her. He’d have snatched her in his arms, except for one small detail.
    In the past months he’d come to the conclusion that Lazz was right. His Inferno mate had screwed him over—literally and figuratively—no doubt at the behest of her grandmother.
    â€œHello, Shayla.” There were so many things he wanted to say to her. So many things he planned to get off his chest once he found her. But standing there, staring at her, he couldn’t think of one damn word of his entire speech.