Authors: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff
Fate Book Two
FATE BOOK
~
two
~
Mimi Jean Pamfiloff
Mimi Boutique Imprint
His dark eyes narrowed, and I could tell he was pissed.
And yes, it made him look even hotter.
“Fine,” he said. “You’ve never acted your age—I give you that. And yes, you’re strong and resilient, and it’s what I’ve always found incredibly sexy about you. But that mouth of yours…” Suddenly, his eyes were locked onto my lips, and I found myself looking at his. They were full and sinfully sexy and the sort of lips a girl dreamed of on a man. Especially when he’d moved those lips so sweetly over the most intimate parts of my body.
Ohmygod. Ohmygod. Step away from the hot Italian man, Dakota. Step. Away.
I moved back, but he quickly reached for my waist and pulled me into him, stealing my breath in that same moment.
“What are you doing?” I whispered.
His mouth formed into a slow, sensual grin. “Just because I can’t keep you doesn’t mean I don’t want you.”
OTHER WORKS BY MIMI JEAN PAMFILOFF:
FATE BOOK (a New Adult Suspense)
HAPPY PANTS CAFÉ (a Contemporary Romance Series)
THE KING TRILOGY
King’s (Book 1, The King Trilogy)
King for a Day (Book 2, The King Trilogy)
King of Me (Book 3, The King Trilogy)
THE ACCIDENTALLY YOURS SERIES
Accidentally in Love with…a God?
Accidentally Married to…a Vampire?
Sun God Seeks…Surrogate?
Accidentally…Evil? (a Novella)
Vampires Need Not…Apply?
Accidentally…Cimil? (a Novella)
Accidentally…Over? (Series Finale)
COMING 2015
MERMEN (Book 1, The Mermen Series)
IMMORTAL MATCHMAKERS, INC. (Book 1)
MERMADMEN (Book 2, The Mermen Series)
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Copyright © 2014 by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the writer, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks are not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
ISBN-10:0-9903048-3-3
ISBN-13:978-0-9903048-3-8
Cover Design by EarthlyCharms.com
Editing: Latoya Smith, Dina Rubin, and Pauline Nolet
Formatting by WriteIntoPrint.com
CONTENTS
Dedicated to my Fate Book fans.
I swore the first book would be a standalone, but you persisted, and I’m glad you did.
FATE BOOK
two
PROLOGUE
“Today is your wedding day, Dakota. Yours. And nothing will go wrong. Today is your wedding day, Dakota. Yours. And nothing will go wrong. Today is your…” I repeat my cheesy affirmation in the mirror, knowing in my heart that this is going to be the best day of my life.
Sure, I realize that a lot of people might think nineteen years old is way too young to marry. But what if, and this is purely hypothetical, of course, your father was once the most powerful man in the world? Not a king or president, but the sort of man who makes or breaks a government by providing “helpful” information to the “good guys.”
And what if the only thing keeping you alive from terrorists, the mafia, and every enemy of the state in the world was the fact you didn’t exist?
Only, now you do. Now they know.
Not just about you, but your mom, too.
They’ve got your photo, birth certificate, and medical records. They know where you went to school, whom you hung out with, what you like to eat, and where you go shopping—or used to, anyway. And given the chance, they’d either chop you up into tiny bits and videotape it for the world to see or—my personal nightmare—remove your head and ship it off to your parents. If they could find them. But, of course, they can’t. I hope. Because they’re in hiding, too.
Of course, this is all just hypothetical. As is the fact that I’m now living under the name of Julie in a remote beach town in Costa Rica with my smokin’-hot, twenty-three-year-old bodyguard, Paolo—oops, I mean, Santiago—the love of my life.
Again, I know what you’re thinking: typical girl meets hot, dangerous Italian bodyguard with thick, dark hair, dark-as-midnight eyes, and the sort of body that could easily be classified as a deadly weapon. (Yeah, he’s that frigging sexy.)
But this is
not
that type of story. This is the story of two people who met under very precarious circumstances and saved each other from a life of ghosts. By that, I mean our pasts were completely shitty, and somehow being together made us whole again. Does that mean I don’t wish things were different? No. I wish for that every single day. Hiding out in a foreign country, constantly looking over your shoulder is no fun.
Anyway, back to the question at hand: Why would a young woman choose to marry at the age of nineteen?
Because he’s the one.
Also, it doesn’t hurt that he’s smart as hell and equally deadly. Yep, downright ruthless when it comes to keeping me safe.
Think you could pass that up?
I couldn’t. And in two minutes, I’ll be walking down the aisle of that old Spanish church nestled on a quiet rocky hill overlooking the Caribbean, saying “I do” to a man whose lips alone send my head into an unwholesome tailspin too graphic to be shown at a XXX film festival. Not that I’ve ever been to one. But you get the picture. He takes my breath away.
A firm knock on the hand-carved, wooden door of the little room I’m using to make the finishing bride touches lets me know it’s time.
This is your day, Dakota. Yours. And nothing will ruin it.
I smile in the mirror and poke my eye with the mascara brush.
Part One
Happy Ever…
Oh, Look!
A Rabbit Hole
CHAPTER ONE
Cahuita, Costa Rica
“Come in, Dad!” I called out, trying to remove the enormous smudge of black mascara from under my eye while wiping away the tears. Not tears of joy, but tears of “ouch!”
I looked into the portable mirror I’d propped up on the little wooden reading desk in the corner, blinking away the pain from jabbing myself in the eye. Luckily, I hadn’t ruined my two hours of primping and still looked presentable, only now with one red eye.
No time for fixing that.
Wedding day checklist commence:
Makeup: Not too slutty with just the right amount of smoky eye shadow to bring out my baby blues? Check.
Hair: Smooth and silky? Check! (Flat ironed the hell out of you today, you red fiery demon from hell, didn’t I?)
Dress: Awesome frigging curve-hugger with beaded bodice, flown in from New York City, handmade by my BFF slash fashion major at Parsons, Mandy. Extreme lengths taken to ensure the dress doesn’t tie back to me to maintain her safety? Check. Check.
Witnesses: Mom and Dad. Five false identities with five different passports and five different airlines used to ensure no trace left? Check. Check. Check. Check. And…check!
My father, a tall man with an athletic build and cropped silver hair, popped his head inside the slightly dusty book room situated near the church’s entrance. “It’s time, honey.”
I nodded nervously and stood, making sure my train fell behind me. It wasn’t unlike me to trip on stuff from time to time.
“Don’t worry, Dakota. You look…” His face was flushed and his brow slightly sweaty. It was the first time in my entire life I’d ever seen him remotely emotional aside from the handful of occasions he’d chewed me out. Normally, he only looked intimidating and icy cold. “You look beautiful.”
I sighed contentedly. It was really, really nice seeing this softer side of my father. Who knew it would take a wedding to bring it out in him?
“Thanks, Dad. You don’t look so bad yourself.” The tux he wore suited him well; he was definitely more of the clean-cut type of guy. “I’m just happy you and Mom could be here.” Otherwise, Paolo and I would’ve had to pay some random person to be a witness because none of our family or friends could come anywhere near us. The “eyes” could be anywhere, waiting and watching for a chance to snag my mom or me because that would be the only way to get to a careful man like my father, whose brain alone held more secrets than the underground vault at the Pentagon. Not that there is a vault. That I could discuss, anyway.
“I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.” My father smiled and extended his elbow.
“I’m shocked, Dad.”
“Why?” he asked.
“I know you can’t stand Paolo.”
His smile softened a bit. “Perhaps he’s not the ideal choice, but I know he’ll put his life on the line to keep you safe. Not sure I can ask for more.”
My father’s dislike of my bodyguard stemmed from the fact that Paolo’s family was the sort Hollywood liked to make movies about. Only, “
la famiglia
” was ten times more violent and organized. It was the reason Paolo fled the first chance he got and ended up working for my father at the age of twenty after graduating early from Georgetown with honors. But three years later, Paolo would trade in his
Spy Kids
card for a life with me—another reason my father was peeved, no doubt. He’d invested a lot of time and energy into training Paolo. My other guess was that he’d had Paolo in mind to take his place running the organization when he retired.