Chapter 8

• Clara stood in the middle of the huge bedroom, her arms crossed tight over her chest, glaring at Dante Costa like she could burn him down with her eyes. He was her fiancé now—somebody she didn’t choose, somebody she was stuck with. And worse, he was the guy she had to share this room with, this bed with. She hated it. Hated him.
• The room was big and fancy, all decked out in dark colors—black walls, gold trim sparkling in the corners. A fireplace glowed in one wall, the flames popping and snapping against the chilly night air coming through the cracks. The bed was massive, a giant thing with smooth silk sheets that shimmered under the dim light. It sat there across the room, taunting her, like it knew she didn’t want to be anywhere near it—or him.
• She wasn’t going to sleep in it. No way. She’d rather freeze than climb in next to Dante.