Page 5 of Claimed At First Sight

Dammit, this man is more distracting than helpful.

I want to send him back where he came from, but something tells me he wouldn’t easily be dismissed, and Mamma would admonish me for being impolite.

Manners, Mia, manners.

If I listened to her voice in my head, I’d also ask his name and make proper introductions, but I don’t want to do that. For some reason, I feel that would give him an opening.

What exactly for, I don’t know, but my gut tells me to keep that door firmly shut. So I ignore him as best I can. Not an easy feat, given we’re playing partners for now.

Still, I can’t help myself. “Try to keep up,” I toss back, not bothering to look at him. “I’ve got a title to defend.”

If he’s expecting gratitude for joining me, he’s going to be disappointed.

“Well, let’s make sure you keep your crown.” His voice is amused, and I sense his gaze burning into me. I swear his eyes have been on me from the moment he stepped onto the lawn.

And not in the casual, appreciative way I’m used to from men who think a smile or a look will get them somewhere since Father’s death. No, this is entirely different.

Sharper, more focused somehow. Like he’s already decided something and is now simply waiting for the rest of the world to catch up.

It makes me… uneasy. And I’m not someone who gets rattled.

I tighten my grip on the racket as I move into position beside him, trying to immerse myself in the rhythm of the game, but every time I move, I feel his attention tracking me.

Argh, that man is not just a distraction. He’s a disruption.

From the corner of my eye, I study him some more, letting the details settle without appearing too interested.

He’s tall, with thick dark hair pushed back from his face and a shadow of stubble along his jaw. His movements are controlled in a way that suggests nothing about him is accidental. Even the way he stands seems deliberate, like he’s used to being observed and has long since stopped caring what anyone thinks of him.

He’s in his early thirties, I’d guess.

Ancient.

There’s a quiet arrogance to him, the kind that usually comes with real power, not the kind men like to pretend they have.

Thank God Father is no longer here. Otherwise, I might have found myself promised to someone like him so that Father could advance his own agenda.

Not anymore. Even now, weeks after his body was found, I breathe a sigh of relief.

With Mari married to Mateo and him stepping up as Don, everything has shifted. Any offers of marriage have to go through him and Mamma. And they promised us something Father never would have.

A choice. Who we marry is up to us.

I might never tie myself to anyone. The freedom we’ve had since Father’s death is too good to give up. I never want someone dictating my every move ever again and deciding what my life will look like.

“Ready?” Isa calls from across the net, her grin already too confident for my liking.

“Always,” I shoot back, bouncing on the balls of my feet as Mari serves.

The shuttle comes straight for me. This time, I meet it cleanly, sending it back with more force behind the shot than the point requires.

Isa struggles to reach it, but manages at the last second. He steps into position without hesitation and returns Isa’s shot with controlled precision.

I flick a glance at him, unable to stop myself. He’s not watching the shuttle. His eyes are on me.

I scowl and snap my attention back to the game.

From here, we fall into rhythm faster than I expect, our movements aligning without discussion or effort. He covers the area I leave open, anticipates my shots before I take them, and adjusts without getting in my way.