Don't you just love it when your words have a strong effect on men? I sure do, even if the man in question is a scruffy PI, who was once a hotshot FBI agent. Even if he's someone who hates my guts, liver and toes.

The expression on Ryan's face is marvelous, just marvelous! He's a perfect specimen to use in a class on conflicting emotions.

"Don't look at me like that! Or I might need another croissant to get over the rejection."

"Do you always eat that way?" he asks without bothering to conceal his disgust.

After Luca, his honesty is refreshing, but it doesn't mean I'm ready to lay my soul bare before him. The last thing I ate was a crumb I licked off my finger after the bowl incident. This was sixteen grueling hours ago. Sixteen hours of scheming and self-grooming. Also, crying a little, but Ryan really doesn't need to know that one.

"Not always, no! But I'm so nervous around you, Mr. Lee, it makes me binge eat." I bat my eyelashes and split another croissant in half. "Hmm, herbal butter or goat cheese, what do you think?"

"Both. And toss out the bread. It just gets in the way of your gluttony."

"Toss out this?" The pastry's soft underbelly opens to me. "Never!"

Ryan sighs, and a vision of the flaky goodness absolutely slathered--and I'm not talking about the croissant here--appears in my mind. The higher power has spoken. "Herbal butter it is."

He winces, watching the butter knife slide over the already buttery half-moon like I'm ironing his dick. The suppressed temper suits his thin-featured, long face, I decide. When he twists his lips like that, they pop out against his tanned skin. Too bad he wouldn't eat in the mornings, it would do these gaunt cheeks some good.

"Why do you want to marry me?" Ryan asks and winces again.

Oh, look! The right question. That's another plus in his favor. Give me a man full of questions when I have all the answers he so desperately craves. I might come to like my future husband. "Because if I marry you, Luca loses."

A strand of black hair, left uncut for far too long, slips down and dangles over his brow. He got the grunge down pat, but I bet there's a presentable man underneath his noire persona. A generous application of shampoo, a shave, a long bath, a cup of coffee, a tailored suit, some TLC—and Ryan will do just fine.

Ryan, fine... it even rhymes.

But what's with the twinge to lather the suds into his mop personally, along with that earlier imagining of his buttered parts?

Yes, yes, I would want a quality job performed on my diamond in the rough, but due diligence has its limits. I give my head a small shake to get rid of the persistent image of my fingers threading his wet hair. Marriage—yes, intimacy—no. After Luca I needed an extended vacation from heartbreak.

Besides, there are far sexier things to dream about, like the one I share with my groom-to-be. "Picture this, Ryan. You and I waltz into the ballroom, the newlyweds brimming with happiness. Luca gets humiliated in front of everyone he's jumping out of his skin to impress. We win. He loses."

Seductive, right?

He stifles an annoyed sigh. "And then what? We spread rumors on Instagram that Luca has syphilis? Nazarevich, that's a pitiful plan."

"Ha!" I kick the table's leg with the toe of my shoe. "And what revenge scheme have you've hatched after all these years, my darling?"

For a split second I think his final reaction to my revenge fantasy will be to upturn the table and run out of the coffee shop. Or yell at me.

He does the opposite, sitting completely still.

I can tell that the need to get back at Luca is deep in his bones, because his face draws into a painful grimace. His sharp high cheekbones stand out even more.

My mind spins. I should sweeten the deal. Not only is he the perfect man for the job, I'm simply out of time to interview more candidates. "If you help me out, I'll help you dig under Luca until he falls."

I meant it as a lie, but the resentment for four wasted years rises inside me. For what could have been if Luca wasn't obsessed with his search for ultimate love. If he just agreed it was me all along... Against my will, my eyes shut and the fingers reach for the throbbing temple. Luca, what a fucking moron! We could've had it so good. I could be planning a real wedding right now. I... I might actually come through on my promise to Ryan.

"You're right," Ryan says in a tightly controlled voice. "I've gotten nowhere on my own. But don't think, even for one second, that I'll sleep with an enemy."

FBI agents work undercover and infiltrate criminal organizations all the time, setting aside their scruples. But, naturally, Luca's nemesis has to be this boy scout. He hasn't always been, according to my sources. So, is it me then who makes him fastidious all of a sudden?

"An enemy of your enemy..." I think he is clever enough to figure the rest on his own. He better be, because who wants to marry an idiot? I'd rather pick a disposable loser on the street, and Ilya can shove his compassion where the sun doesn't shine.

Or... I can abandon the whole plan.

Ryan's last barb has drained me of whatever energy the croissants supplied.

For sixteen hours, I lived and breathed only for this scheme. I searched the net, talked to people in ways that wouldn't arouse suspicion and cruised the streets to ambush him. Not once have I stopped and asked myself: is it worth my efforts? Where would it end?

"An enemy of my enemy is my friend," Ryan rotates his teacup over and over. I wish he'd just drunk his damn tea! "I would have believed it, if you hated Luca. But your woman scorned act leaves much to be desired."

No, he won't let me back out. He resists too much, so deep down he must crave it. He wants to be convinced against his better judgment. There's something left of the guy who flaunted the rules in there. I can sense it. I can exploit it.

"You're outsmarting yourself," I parry. "And robbing yourself of your vengeance. Come on, even if the only thing we manage is to knock some of that self-satisfied glow off Luca... even if it's only for a minute... isn't it worth it to you?"

I lean forward, both elbows on the table, because screw etiquette. "Because it's worth it to me, Ryan, and you've just questioned my commitment."

I can't afford to give up now. I can't, I just can't overlook the insults, buy a new dress and do what Papa wants and what Ilya advises. I can't.

I roll the chair back on its back legs, cross my arms under my breasts and watch emotions pass over Ryan's face. They're muted. The habit of many years re-establishes itself, since he's lived down the initial shock of my proposal. But he can't hide everything.

He wants this potshot at Luca. The question is, does he want it enough to overcome his suspicious nature and his obvious dislike of me?

The waiter comes with another pot while we're still at an impasse. He scoots away, picking up on the tension between us, clever boy. I shall tip generously.

I pour tea and pop a grape into my mouth. The tangy globule pops, releasing the juice. The steam rises over our cups, smelling of summer.

Ryan's black eyes survey the coffee shop, the street. He takes in everything, like a convicted man enjoying his last look at the world. Luca is also dark of eye, but his coloring is suave. Ryan's is just so fucking extreme. Good thing he works on his tan. If his skin was pasty, the contrast would be morbid.

His gaze wanders for a long time while he thinks. Finally, it stops on my lips. He winces again—yes, it's the cooperation with me, personally, that is the problem—then sighs.

"I won't divorce you until Luca Tangorello is behind bars."

Holy crap. My groom is a man of changing moods! First he doesn't want to marry me. Then he doesn't want to divorce me—and we haven't even tied the knot yet. Buckle up, we're going for a fun ride.

"Done." I offer my hand across the table to shake on the deal.

"Customarily, I should go to one knee and offer you a ring." He stays seated, eyeing my hand like it's a dead fish. The engagement blob Luca gave me sparkles on my ring finger. "Since you already have one, I presume we can skip that step."

"We'll still have to hold hands, dance together and kiss in public," I list quietly, my hand still extended.

If you go by Ryan's expression, I could be threatening him with torture. "Many people find such PDAs delightful."

"Don't worry, I've read a manual once on pretending this sort of thing." He slowly takes my hand. We shake, also in slow motion. Maybe he thinks he's having a nightmare.

"Listen, Ryan, if you were the last man on Earth, I wouldn't marry you. But since there are billions, finish your tea and let's go. It's the season for everyone's slacking and everything taking too long. And we can't afford to miss our deadline for nuptials."

My husband-to-be burns me with a hateful gaze, before emptying his cup in one gulp. "Hope you've used your very best cyanide."

"Of course, my darling."

Sure, we have work to do on our couple's chemistry, but at least our feelings are mutual.