Still, the screen had done her no justice.
In person, Bianca was something else entirely.
The woman was a walking menace.
Tall. Elegant.
Her hair fell perfectly around her shoulders.
If she hadn't settled to be a wife, Lord knows she would have made it as a model breaking millions of hearts.
There was a cold sort of perfection about her that made Veronica suddenly aware of every crease in her clothes and every strand of hair that had escaped her ponytail during the long workday.
Bianca looked like she had stepped out of a magazine.
Veronica looked exactly like she had stepped out of a pizza kitchen.
"I've been waiting for you." Her accented voice cut through the silence.
The Italian in it was unmistakable—carrying the quiet authority of someone who expected to be listened to.
Veronica forced her feet to move again.
Of all the things she had imagined happening tonight, running into Luca's wife in her living room had not been one of them.
