Vengeful Proposal Novel – What’s the most embarrassing thing you can do at the airport? Try accidentally stealing a sinfully gorgeous stranger’s bag at the carousel. A stranger who also happens to be a dangerous bratva boss. It doesn’t take him long to track me down. And from the knowing smile on his face when I open the door… I know he saw everything I packed for my best friend’s bachelorette party. From the dresses to the heels to the scandalously tiny swim suit. I thought that was the end of our little mix-up.
Until I learned that he bought me a table at the club. With one expensive bottle of champagne after another. And a very personalized note addressed to me. What am I supposed to do? Not say thank you? Not take up his offer of an unforgettable night? I wish I can say that this is where my story with Konstantin Siderov ends. But that’s before I cross paths with him for a third time… This time, he’s no longer promising me an unforgettable night. This time, he tells me what I’m going to do next: Leave with him. Get on his plane. Be his wife.
If there’sone place that I would call inferno, it would be baggage carousel number six at Naples-Capodichino Airport. Especially when your flight arrived two hours later than it was supposed to, and it feels like the air conditioning in the entire airport is broken. Heck, there’s not even a single fan on! “Sorry, I mean—scusa! Scusa!” I say as I push myself through the large crowd heading in the same direction as me while doing my best to ignore their annoyed eye rolls. Is scusa the right word? I should’ve paid more attention to that YouTube language guide. Whatever, it’s already too late for that. I need to hurry if I want to check into the hotel in time to do my last-minute maid-of-honor duties for my best friend Nadia’s bachelorette party.
I pick up the pace, ducking low to avoid a large backpack suddenly swinging in my direction from a couple of guys talking excitedly about their hiking trip to Mt. Vesuvius. … and come to an abrupt stop when I collide with something right in front of the carousel. No, scratch that. Someone. “Oof!” the sound bounces out of my mouth as I slip and fall to the ground. “Are you alright?” A lightly accented voice—deep and crisp—rumbles in my ear. A massive hand extends out to help me. I look up, and feel my heart skip a beat. Oh my. He has to be the hottest man I’ve ever had the pleasure of being face to face with.
I sit there on the ground, and crane my neck up to gawk awkwardly at him. His mahogany hair is thick on top, textured with a fade that tapers toward his long, tan neck, the perfect complements to his ice-blue eyes. The gray slacks and sienna dress shirt can’t hide his powerful muscles. There’s a lopsided smile on his face that makes the tiny mole below his right eye shift upward. My eyes are drawn to his lips—soft and full. For a single reckless moment, I want to confirm my hypothesis. It takes me a moment to realize that I’m staring, and another moment for me to take hold of his offered hand. A searing warmth instantly rushes through me upon touching his skin, piercing me all the way down to my core, where a delicious fire is stoked between my legs.
The heat grows as he pulls me effortlessly off the ground like I’m weightless. “Sorry, I’m in a hurry and I should’ve looked where I’m going and—” “It’s alright.” He interrupts me, the smile never leaving his face. “First time in Naples?” “First time in Italy, actually,” I laugh nervously. Ugh! His voice is like ear chocolate. “And wouldn’t you know it, I’m already running late.” “That would mean you’re actually early,” he replies. “By Italian standards, of course.” “Unfortunately.” I spread my hands. “The maid of honor can’t be late.” “Destination wedding?” “Bachelorette party, actually.” I correct him, and then in another reckless moment, I add. “In the Amalfi Coast.” “A lucky coincidence,” he muses.
“I’m actually headed there myself.” “Really? For what?” I ask as I scan the carousel, searching for the familiar bright pink Hello Kitty bag tag on my bag handle. “Destination wedding?” His laugh is warm and it sets my face flushing. Suddenly, I’m glad that the air conditioning doesn’t work here. “Work, actually,” he says. “And if you’ll believe it, my flight happened to have arrived two hours early.” “Sounds like you’re really early,” I tell him. “By Italian standards, of course.” “You could say that.” He laughs again. “If you’re willing to wait a bit, I can give you a ride. Free of charge.” “I wish I could,” I tell him apologetically, my heart plummeting. “But like I said, I’m already late. But maybe I’ll see you out there?” “Maybe.” His smile widens ever-so-slightly, and my heart skips another beat. I turn and take another glance at the carousel.
There it is! The black luggage is identical to a number of bags going around the belt, but the bright pink Hello Kitty tag on the handle is unique—a gift from my sister Olivia right before she left home for good. Seeing it is also a punch to the gut. My hand hovers in the air briefly, almost as if it doesn’t want to touch the bag. But it starts to circle out of reach on the carousel. I close my fingers around the handle and yank off at the last second. “Well, good luck with everything!” I tell the handsome stranger. “Have fun,” he replies. “And try your best not to run into anyone else while you’re out here.” You’re the only one I want to run into again.
But for some reason, the words don’t leave my mouth. Rolling my bag through the exit, I walk away from him, sparing him one last look as sweat slowly starts to dampen my white shirt. He never breaks eye contact with me, and for the third reckless moment of the day, I almost want to run back towards him to tell him that I will take up his offer for the ride. But maid of honor duties beckon, and I can’t just duck out on my responsibilities. So, giving the handsome stranger one final wave goodbye, I walk past the doors and emerge into the blistering hot sun as a cacophony of voices erupts around me, beckoning me to choose one of the myriads of taxis lined up at the arrivals gate. “Need a ride, signorina?” I stand quickly to face the man speaking to me.