King of Wrath (Kings of Sin #1) by Ana Huang

“Uh, no—”

“No?” His voice boomed louder. “Why the hell not? I’ve been telling him to take you diving since you got engaged! You know, we conceived Luca after—”

I cut in before my parents could embarrass themselves, and me, further.

“Leave her alone, Father. As fascinating”—scarring—”as the story of Luca’s conception is, we’d like to freshen up. It’s been a long flight.”

“Of course.” My mother fluttered around us like a jeweled hummingbird. “Come, come. We have your room all ready for you. Luca doesn’t arrive until tonight, so you have the second floor to yourselves for now.”

“So that’s your family,” Vivian said as we followed my parents into the villa. “They’re…not what I expected.”

“Don’t let their hippie facade fool you,” I said. “My father is still a Russo, and my mother used to be a management consultant. Ask them to give up their credit cards and really rough it and see how mellow they are.”

The airy, two-story villa was filled with natural woods, cream crochet, and bright local art adorning the walls. The backyard boasted an infinity pool and open-air yoga studio, and the four bedrooms were split half and half between the ground floor, where my parents stayed, and the upper floor.

“This is your room.” My mother flung open the door with a flourish. “We spruced it up just for you.”

Vivian’s mouth parted in shock while a migraine bloomed at the base of my skull. “Mother.”

“What?” she said innocently. “It’s not every day my son and future daughter-in-law visit for Thanksgiving! I figured you’d like a more romantic atmosphere for your stay.”

The migraine spread up my neck and behind my eyes with alarming speed.

My mother’s idea of romantic was my idea of a nightmare.

Red rose petals blanketed the floor. A bucket of chilled champagne sat on the nightstand next to two crystal flutes while a box of chocolates, condoms, and towels folded into the shape of swans rested at the base of the canopy bed. A fucking couple portrait of me and Vivian hung on the wall opposite the bed beneath a glittery banner that read, Congratulations on your engagement!

It looked like a goddamn honeymoon suite, except it was infinitely more horrifying because my own mother set it up.

“How the hell did you get the portrait?” I demanded.

“I used a photo from your engagement party as inspiration.” Pride gleamed in my mother’s eyes. “How do you like it? It’s not my best work, but I’m in a bit of a creative rut.”

I was going to murder someone before the end of the trip. There was no way around it.

Whether it was my mother, father, or brother, it was going to happen.

“It’s lovely,” Vivian said with a gracious smile. “You captured the moment perfectly.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose while my mother blushed. “Oh, you’re too sweet. I knew I liked you.” She patted Vivian’s arm. “Anyway, I’ll leave you two to get settled in. If you need more condoms, let me know.” She winked at us before darting out the door. My father followed, too busy on his phone to pay attention to what was happening.

Silence descended, thick and heavy.

Vivian’s smile disappeared after my mother left.

We stared at the portrait, then at each other, then at the bed.

It suddenly hit me that this would be our first time sharing a room. Sharing a bed.

Six days and five nights of sleeping next to her. Of seeing her in those ridiculously tiny outfits she called pajamas and listening to the water run while she bathed.

Six days and five nights of fucking torture.

I rubbed a hand over my face.

It was going to be a long week.





VIVIAN

Dante’s parents were the opposite of their son—free-spirited, effervescent, and gregarious, with quick smiles and somewhat inappropriate senses of humor.

After Dante and I settled in, they insisted on taking us to lunch at their favorite restaurant, where they peppered us with more questions.

“I want to know everything. How you met, how he proposed.” Janis rested her chin in her hands. Despite her bohemian clothing and attitude, she possessed the sheen of a New England socialite—high cheekbones, perfect skin, and the type of rich, glossy hair that took copious amounts of time and money to maintain. “Don’t skimp on any details.”

“I know her father,” Dante said before I could answer. “We met at a dinner party at her parents’ house in Boston and hit it off. We dated, and I proposed a few months later.”

Technically true.

“Ah.” Janis frowned, looking disappointed by Dante’s unromantic summary of our courtship before she brightened again. “And the proposal?”

I was tempted to tell her he left the ring on my bedside table just to see how she’d react, but I didn’t have the heart to crush her hopes.

Time to brush off my acting skills. I hadn’t played Eliza Doolittle in my high school’s production of Pygmalion for nothing.

“It happened in Central Park,” I said smoothly. “It was a gorgeous morning, and I thought we were simply going for a walk…”

Janis and Gianni listened, their expressions enraptured, as I spun a dramatic story featuring flowers, tears, and swans.