Modern Romance Collection February 2025, #5-8

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER SEVEN

W HERE WAS THAT WOMAN ? Dominico paced the length of the suite. The hairstylist had left thirty minutes ago, the dinner booking was set for five minutes’ time, and yet Marianne’s door remained firmly shut. The woman was infuriating. To his horror he’d learned she’d banished the boutique consultant and most of her staff. Clearly madness when she so desperately needed help with her wardrobe. God only knew what kind of outfits she’d chosen.

Dinner tonight was supposed to be the test. To see if she could pull off the role of his partner. His fiancée. They were headed to Las Vegas tomorrow. They would be married in twenty-four hours.

Could she pull it off? She had to pull it off. His mother was expecting him and he had no other option. But sure as hell there would be words if she looked anything less than acceptable.

He heard the snick of a door and spun around.

And it looked like Marianne, except…

She was wearing a long-sleeved black off-the-shoulder mini dress in some kind of rib knit that hugged her waist and flared out over her hips before exposing those legs. And what legs. Long and lean, they ended in perilously high heeled strappy sandals. The dress had a white bow neckline over her breasts and her hair, that he’d only seen tied up in some kind of knot behind her head, now spilled down over her bare shoulders. Sun-kissed hair with chestnut highlights that added a pop of radiance to her otherwise monochrome outfit.

Another pop of colour, because she’d ditched her glasses and her eyes looked bigger and more vividly green than ever.

‘Marianne?’

‘Who were you expecting?’ She sounded breathless, her voice a little husky, and maybe just a little nervous. ‘What’s wrong? Am I late?’

He shook his head. Partly because she wasn’t late. Partly because he couldn’t believe the transformation. And mainly because his loins were suddenly paying attention. His little beige accountant might well have been a caterpillar that had just emerged from her chrysalis, transformed into a bright and beautiful butterfly.

‘So,’ she said, trying to sound confident but still with that slight thread of nervousness. ‘Will I do?’

Interesting. She was seeking his approval.

Very interesting.

‘You’ll do,’ he said glibly, not bothering to disguise the fact that his voice was suddenly an octave lower. ‘Let’s go.’

Heads turned as they entered the restaurant, following the ma?tre d’ down the steps towards their table overlooking the Yarra River. Dominico was used to heads swivelling to follow him, women’s eyes, some men’s too. Hungry eyes. But tonight, he noticed the eyes following Marianne. He saw glances flick to her face, her figure, her legs. He saw their gazes turn to him but only to show their envy. He got it. She was making the right waves to be a partner to him.

He just wasn’t sure he was entirely comfortable with it.

‘You’re making quite the impression on people,’ he said as they were seated.

‘Because I’m overdressed?’ she asked.

‘Because you look beautiful.’

For a moment she stiffened. Before she relaxed herself enough to say, ‘You can thank your team of fairy godmothers for that.’

‘Not all of the fairy godmothers, apparently. I received an earbashing from one of them protesting your high-handed insistence that she and most of her cronies’ services weren’t required.’

‘Audra called you?’

‘If that’s Madame Valentina, she certainly did. She made no secret of the fact she was unhappy.’

He didn’t share the fact that he hadn’t been wholly impressed with Marianne going rogue either, but frankly, Hydra or Audra or whatever the hell her name was had terrified him. She’d arrived with her entourage looking every bit like a crocodile wearing pearls. He for one had been relieved she wasn’t dressing him.

‘Lucky for me, Ella was fabulous. Not to mention your expense account. I imagine this afternoon’s adventures have put a decent hole in your finances.’

‘It’s worth every cent,’ he said, ‘to see you looking this way.’

A waiter appeared, proffering a bottle of champagne for approval. ‘Sir,’ he said.

Mari frowned. ‘Did we order that?’

‘I did,’ said Dom, glancing at the label and nodding at the waiter to proceed.

The cork was duly popped, a taster poured and declared perfect, and two flutes of the golden wine poured.

He raised his glass to hers. ‘I’d like to propose a toast. To you, Marianne, the next Senora Estefan.’

He took a sip of the straw-coloured wine, the tiny bubbles dancing on his tongue like the anticipation fizzing in his veins. ‘And along with a toast,’ he said, pulling a small box from his pocket and snapping it open, ‘I’d like to present you with your engagement ring.’

Mari’s hand flew to her mouth. The ring winked up at her, boasting a massive champagne-coloured diamond that perfectly matched the sparkling liquid in her glass. The toast she might have expected. But a ring the size of a planet she hadn’t seen coming.

‘But why?’ she said, shaking her head. ‘It’s too much. Besides, there’s no need for it. I’ve already agreed to marry you.’

‘There’s every need. Because there’s no way I wouldn’t furnish the woman I am about to marry without a physical token of love.’

Her mouth twisted under her hand. Love? Did he not realise that every reference he made to love was like a hammer blow to her heart? Once upon a long time ago they’d exchanged words of love and she’d believed he’d meant them. As she had meant them. Little had she known that he could bandy words of love around and that they’d be as meaningless as this farce of a marriage.

‘What’s love got to do with it?’

‘All right,’ he whispered while wearing a smile that spoke of love but which carried an edge of menace. ‘So wear it because people will expect you to wear my engagement ring. Like the people watching on at the tables nearby who think I’ve just proposed and who are right now awaiting your reaction. A positive reaction unless I’m very mistaken, so maybe it’s time you started acting.’ He pushed the ring box closer to her. ‘So, what’s it to be?’

So, what’s it to be?

So very not romantic. So unlike the proposal she’d once yearned for. Something personal and private. But then, why would this be personal and private? It was a fake engagement to precede a fake wedding and she was one of the leading actors and the last thing he wanted was for her to take it seriously. The least she could do was get with the programme. But did he not realise that it would take her time to pretend that all was good between them—that what had happened twenty years ago meant nothing and could be swept under the carpet with the mere application of dollars, wallpapering over their fractured past?

But she’d accepted his expensive wallpaper so she could at least make an effort.

She shook her head as she gazed at the ring with as much wonder as she could muster. ‘Yes,’ she gushed. ‘Yes, of course I’ll marry you!’

The occupants of the nearby tables started applauding and despite knowing the truth, their delight was infectious. Mari felt herself blushing, nodding in acknowledgment, when she felt Dominico take her hands and pull her to her feet, slip the ring on her finger and draw her into his kiss.

Dominico’s kiss.

She’d been there before. Experiencing the magic of his kiss. Being swept away by the hotbed of his mouth, the tangle of their tongues and the magical taste and feel of him.

But they were in the middle of a busy restaurant, and she couldn’t afford to let herself get swept away today. She’d keep this short. They didn’t need to make a spectacle of themselves.

At least, that was her intention.

But twenty years evaporated in the heat of his mouth and the sensuality of his lips until old hurts slipped into oblivion as she found herself lost in sensation. She clung to him for fear her knees would give out and she’d fall to the floor. She clung to him for fear that he’d let her go and she’d never feel him against her again. This was the kiss she knew, the kiss she’d missed—and yes, the kiss she’d longed for. For too many years until she’d thought she was over him.

Except, apparently, she wasn’t.

He pulled out of the kiss before she did, taking her hands and smiling down at her as if he’d known she’d been unable or unwilling or both to pull out of that kiss first. Curse the man. Another reason to resent him. And now it seemed every table in the restaurant was applauding, the sound a muffled roar over the sound of the blood still rushing in her ears.

She eased out of his arms, breathless and shaken, before clutching the back of her chair so she could settle into it rather than collapse. ‘What was that for?’ she whispered.

‘Sealing the deal with a kiss,’ he said with another of those smug Cheshire cat smiles, raising a glass of the golden liquid to her. ‘That’s all.’

Was it all? Because it had sure felt like more. It seemed as if he was wanting to prove something, as if she wasn’t immune to him, and smugly liking that she’d fallen for it.

Okay. Well, forearmed was forewarned. He’d blindsided her with his sudden move and his unexpected kiss. She’d let down her guard and he’d taken her unawares. She just had to make sure that he didn’t take her unawares again.

She raised her glass to his and managed a smile she didn’t feel in return before turning her attention to the menu. She needed to focus on something else and stop thinking about that kiss.

‘Tell me about your husband.’

Whoa. Where had that come from? That wasn’t the something else she needed to focus on. Her knees were no longer shaking, the warmth of his kiss evaporating. She blinked and looked up over the menu.

‘Ex-husband, you mean.’

He nodded, smiling as if he’d just asked her what she might be partial to on the menu. ‘Him. Tell me about him. Who was he?’

She smiled back. Two could play at that game. ‘Does it matter? He was someone who seemed nice at the time. Someone I thought was a friend.’ Who had acted like a friend when she’d been grieving and alone, when she’d seriously needed a friend. He was a widower who’d been married to an old school friend of Marianne’s, and who was struggling to raise a baby and a toddler. Her gran had encouraged her to start babysitting for him to earn some money and because she was so concerned that Mari was collapsing in on herself and thought it would cheer her up.

He reached over and took one of her hands. Pressed it to his lips adoringly and asked, ‘Did you love him?’

She resisted the temptation to pull her hand free and laughed instead. ‘Did you ever love any of the women you’ve been pictured with?’

A warning light flared in his dark eyes, but he didn’t let her hand go. ‘I didn’t marry any of them. So, did you?’

‘Does it matter? It’s over.’ She looked back at the menu. ‘What are you having?’

‘And children?’

‘Because I’m not sure,’ she said, ignoring him as he had done her. She didn’t want to go near the children question. ‘I’m partial to the lobster medallions but then the Wagyu beef sounds tempting.’

‘Why won’t you answer? What are you so afraid of?’

She purposefully placed her menu down on the table. ‘Why should I be afraid of anything? Why do you need to know?’

He shrugged. ‘I’m naturally curious. Of course I want to know about your past. We’re about to be married.’

A sham marriage and yet he still insisted on knowing about her past? She shook her head, his questioning heading ever too closely to one of the reasons she’d ended up married to Simon. But not close enough that she couldn’t fire back.

‘Good point. When you put it like that, I’d like to know about your past too. Just how many women have you slept with in the past twenty years?’

His jaw clenched, a muscle in his cheek twitched. Right before the smile returned. ‘You’re avoiding the question.’

‘So are you. But okay, if it shuts you up, he married a friend of mine from high school and they had a couple of kids before she was killed in a crash.’ She shrugged. ‘He seemed nice enough at the time and I thought we might make a go of it, except we didn’t, and no, there were no children. He already had two—and he didn’t want more.’ And she hadn’t either, not after what she’d endured. It had seemed the perfect arrangement, her reluctance to have children meshing perfectly with his insistence that two was enough. At the time she’d been grateful to find someone she wouldn’t disappoint, because she couldn’t bear the disappointment. Someone who was happy just to have her. She was lucky, everybody told her, to find someone who professed to care for her when she’d been so close to rock bottom. At the time it had seemed a second chance, almost too good to be true.

As ultimately it proved to be.

Because it turned out she did disappoint him in so many ways. Only occasionally at first, but then more and more frequently, until it seemed that hardly a day went by when she didn’t do something to annoy him, whether it was buying the wrong brand of tinned tomatoes, or stacking the dishwasher the wrong way, or failing to cook meat loaf exactly the way his mother did. And she realised that all he’d really wanted was someone to manage the house and his kids.

She paused. ‘And now, can we order?’

‘That’s a shame,’ he said, still smiling. ‘I always thought you would make the perfect mother. You seemed such an earth mother back then. All these years I imagined you with a clutch of children living on a farm somewhere close to nature. I’m sorry it didn’t work out.’

Mari’s senses were stretched razor-thin. She closed her eyes against the barrage of pain. They were both performing. Acting. Pretending to voice lines of romance and love to those around them while instead interrogating each other.

But the knowledge that he’d imagined her with a clutch of children… All these years? When had he even given her a second thought? But yes, he was happy to state that he was sorry her marriage hadn’t worked out. And he seriously wondered why she hated him so much. The man had no clue. But why did he have to bring that up now, when they were supposed to be sitting here celebrating and drinking champagne? Why did he have to remind her of the pain that had sliced through her, the pain that they should have shared, but she’d had to bear it alone?

‘I’m sorry he hurt you.’

Her gaze met his eyes. Slate-grey eyes that held a trace of empathy, but there was also a hint of smugness in his smile. As if he’d rescued her, and she was now in a better place.

She gave up any pretence of smiling and studying the menu and put it down on the table. ‘You’d think I would have learned something, wouldn’t you?’

A question mark might just as well have appeared in his eyes. ‘I never hit you.’

‘I never said he hit me. There are other kinds of hurt. Like the hurt when you left me. Like the hurt of you telling me that you’d been delayed. And then months and months later getting a phone call saying it would be best if we called it quits.’

He sighed, raking the fingers of one hand through his hair, his smile all but gone. ‘Come on, Marianne, it wasn’t like that.’

‘Mari,’ she interjected. ‘It’s Mari now.’

‘Look, it was twenty years ago. We were just kids.’

‘I was nineteen. You were twenty-two. Not quite kids.’

Not too young to make babies together.

‘And my father had a heart attack. You knew I had no choice but to go back to Spain. You insisted I went.’

‘Of course I did. And you told me to wait for you. That you’d be back. Only when you told me to expect you, you weren’t on the plane.’

‘How was I to know that my father would have another heart attack? How could I get on a plane and leave my mother then? I’m sorry I was too busy to let you know. I’ve always been sorry I was too occupied at the time to let you know.’

She nodded. ‘So, you didn’t come back. Instead, you call me months later and tell me that you have no idea when you might be able to get back so we should call it quits. That it’s probably for the best.’

God, she hated the way she sounded, but this conversation had been waiting to be unleashed ever since she’d walked into his suite. If he hadn’t recognised her, if he’d let her go then, let her walk out like she’d wanted, this conversation need never have happened. But proximity had brought it to the surface, like a boil waiting to burst and spill its putrid contents, or a volcano about to erupt and unleash its core of molten lava. And then he’d had to go and say he’d imagined her with a clutch of children living somewhere close to nature and it had pulled the pin on her grenade.

‘Did you really think this conversation would never happen? That we could make this deal and that you could brush what happened all those years ago under the carpet and pretend it had never happened? Surely the great Dominico Estefan is not that much of a fool?’

All pretence of smiling was abandoned. His spine stiffened, his eyes flared, sparks on metal. ‘So much for a celebration of our engagement.’

‘Was that what tonight was meant to be? It seemed more like performance art to me, you playing to a crowd.’

He glowered. ‘Are you going to be like this the entire time we’re together?’

‘Don’t blame me. You’re the one who wanted to marry a woman who hated you.’

‘I’m paying you,’ he said. ‘Ten million dollars—’

‘To marry you and pretend to your mother it’s a love match. The hatred comes free of charge.’

He stared at his untouched glass. ‘I don’t see any point extending this dinner date.’

‘At last,’ she said. ‘Something we agree on.’

He tossed his napkin on the table and beckoned a waiter. ‘My fiancée is feeling indisposed. We’ll take dinner in the suite.’

‘Of course,’ he said with a bow. ‘Did you wish to order now, and we’ll have it sent up?’

‘Yes. My fiancée will have the lobster medallions and the Wagyu beef.’

‘And for yourself, sir?’

‘Nothing for me. I’m not hungry. Not anymore.’

* * *

‘Was that completely necessary?’ Mari demanded as the lift whisked them up to the twenty-third floor, each of them standing in opposite corners.

‘Was what completely necessary?’

‘That ridiculous order.’

He shrugged and loosened his tie. ‘You said you couldn’t decide. I made an executive decision.’

Mari scoffed and crossed her arms. She should make an executive decision right now. She should tell Dom exactly where to shove his deal. No faux marriage. No pretending to love him so he could keep sweet with his mother. He wouldn’t be out of pocket much. He could probably ignore Audra’s invoice and return all items—mostly—unworn and with labels attached. Most of all, he wouldn’t have to put up with her any longer.

A win-win solution.

It was tempting. Sorely tempting.

Except…

He’d already advanced her one million dollars. She’d already spent quite a chunk of it and there was no way she could repay it.

She swallowed as the lift doors slid open.

She was trapped.

He closed himself in his sprawling room within the suite—more a suite within a suite—and left Marianne to her own devices. There was a deal firming up in Brazil and he could work in the private study without distraction.

And Marianne was distracting. She’d emerged from her room in that cocktail dress with her hair sleek and burnished bright and he’d been blindsided. The Marianne of twenty years ago had been spirited and free, her hair wild, her outfits composed of colourful cottons. She’d been a teenager, even if vivacious and beguiling and the most exciting creature he’d ever met.

Whereas the Marianne of today was a woman, fully formed, and looking every bit like the kind of woman he liked to be seen with. It had been a pleasure to take her on his arm and escort her to their table amidst the looks of envy from other diners, both men and women.

And then he’d kissed her, and the years had fallen away. He’d been in danger of losing himself in the kiss. It was only knowing that she was more affected than he was that he’d been able to take control and enjoy her vulnerability.

And it made him feel more powerful. Because for all her protests of hating him, she wasn’t unaffected by his kiss.

And that gave him a degree of satisfaction that, despite tonight’s disagreements, he could make this work, that ultimately he would bend Marianne’s resistance to his purpose.

His phone buzzed and he took the call. Things were moving fast, the messenger relayed. Negotiations were moving along, and the paperwork could be ready for Dom’s attention within the next twelve to twenty-four hours. He could look it over on the plane.

Perfect.

Just like the way Marianne had looked tonight. A shame she’d had to ruin it with her obfuscating. Sure, Marianne’s memory was right as far as it went. Dom’s father had suffered a heart attack and Dom had headed home on the first flight he could get, promising Marianne to return as soon as his father’s condition had stabilised. And just when it looked like his condition had stabilised and Dom was about to board a flight back to Sydney, his father had suffered a second massive heart attack, this time requiring surgery, and Dom had meant to let Marianne know he hadn’t made the flight, but things had developed so quickly that he’d waited too long.

Game over. And Dominico had been hit with the responsibility of being the sole heir, while caring for his mother, suddenly a grieving widow, and there was no way he could have got back, not immediately. And there was no way he could have abandoned either role, not in the short-term. It hadn’t seemed fair to keep Marianne endlessly hanging on, so he’d called her, just like she’d said.

Marianne had those things right.

But there was one thing that Marianne didn’t know. A year after that phone call, the one where he’d told her that he didn’t know how long it would be until he could get back, that it was unfair to expect her to wait for him and to go on with her university degree—one scant year later, when the dust had finally settled after finding himself the owner and CEO of a major business—he’d found himself wondering about Marianne. How was she doing? Was she still at uni?

He’d never felt good about the way they’d parted, even though there’d been no choice about any of it. He’d still felt rotten about it. Part of him had still felt as if he’d lost a limb.

So he’d tried calling, but the phone rang out. Her absence had played on his mind. Sure, he’d told her to get on with her life. But where was she, if she wasn’t at her uni digs?

A gap in his timetable had given him the window of opportunity he needed. He’d turned up at her old university accommodation and knocked on the door. A singlet-topped student had opened the door. ‘Yeah?’

‘I’m looking for Marianne Wheeler. She used to live here. Do you know where I might find her?’

He’d looked his caller up and down before he pulled a face. ‘Never heard of her, mate. Sorry.’ And slammed the door.

Dom had stood there a moment. How was he going to find her now? This was the only address he had. He put his hand against the wall and breathed deeply, thinking he’d made a terrible mistake. He’d told her to move on with her life, when what he’d really been hoping for was that she would be here, waiting for him. It would have been unfair for him to expect that of her, but it was what he’d wanted more than anything.

God, what a mess.

The screen door of the next door flat had swung open, a pram with a crying baby emerging, followed by a man Dom recognised. He’d been part of the crowd of student friends that Marianne mixed with.

‘Hey,’ he said. ‘I’m looking for Marianne. Do you know where I might find her?’

The man didn’t look up. He was too busy paying attention to the fussing baby. ‘Shh…shh,’ he said, trying to wrangle a dummy back between the child’s lips. ‘Let’s give your mummy a break.’

‘Marianne—she used to live here. Do you know where I might find her?’

‘Not sure where she is now,’ the man said, giving up on the dummy and rocking the pram by the handle instead. ‘But I know where she was last weekend.’

‘Where?’

‘At her wedding, out of Kempsey. It was a really good bash.’ The guy looked up and recognition popped in his eyes. Recognition along with a frown and a measure of hesitation. ‘Hey, weren’t you and Marianne a thing back then? That is you, isn’t it? Everyone thought you’d be the first of us lot to get hitched. What happened?’

‘Life happened,’ Dom had said before turning away. Marianne hadn’t taken any time to replace him. There was no point him hanging around any longer.

Because life happened, and sometimes life sucked. He remembered how he’d felt then as if it was yesterday. As if he’d lost a part of himself, a part he was hoping he’d only just put in abeyance until he was ready to come back.

Sure, he’d offered Marianne her freedom.

But he hadn’t expected her to take it.

He hadn’t expected to lose her in the process.

Especially not so quickly.

Dom’s phone buzzed again, jolting him out of his thoughts.

There was a problem, his Brazilian project manager messaged, could Dominico, with his experience, offer any insights?

Hell, yes, Dom thought. Because it was so much easier to untangle business problems than it was to unsnarl the tangles that were Marianne.

* * *

Mari managed just a fraction of her lobster medallions and Wagyu beef before giving up on the idea of dinner. She declined the butler’s offer of dessert and decided to take coffee in her room.

Her room.

That was a laugh. A room in the Presidential Suite in Melbourne’s prestigious Langham Hotel overlooking the Yarra River and the lit-up buildings of the city of Melbourne, and she was referring to it as her room.

She was becoming quite the diva.

She found a message from Suzanne as she was turning in and so she called her.

‘I saw an article online about Cooper Industries being sold to a Spanish businessman.’

‘Oh?’

‘By the name of Dominico Estefan. And I got to thinking, isn’t that the same guy who did the dirty on you way back when?’

‘Suzanne, listen—’

‘But that’s not all the article says. There was an update on the story—the weirdest bit is where it says that you’re engaged to be married. To Dominico Estefan of all people. What’s gives, Mari? What the hell is going on?’

Oh, hell, Mari hadn’t counted on the news getting out yet. She’d really hoped it hadn’t got out at all.

‘I know it makes no sense. I’m just doing him a favour. It’s part of that job I told you about.’

‘Getting married is part of the job? What kind of weird job is that? I told you it sounded dodgy.’

Well, yeah, there was that. But a pay packet of ten million dollars made a whole lot more sense of it.

‘It’s a short-term deal, Suze. I’ll be home before you know it.’

‘You’re crazy. I remember what a mess you went through when he left you high and dry before. And then there was the mess you went through with that awful marriage to Simon. I don’t want anything like that to happen to you again.’

Mari swallowed back on a sisterly bubble of affection. Because here was Mari doing this for Suzanne, and yet here was Suzanne looking out for her.

‘I love you,’ she said. ‘You’re the best. But it won’t happen again. This time it’s different. This time he’s paying me a lot of money to pretend to be his wife.’

‘And you trust him? You seriously trust the man after the way he left you before?’

‘I know it makes no sense,’ she said, ‘but right now I don’t have any choice.’

Silence met her words. And then, ‘You’re doing this for me, aren’t you?’

Mari didn’t have to think before responding. ‘I’m doing this for the both of us.’

It was only after she’d ended the call that Mari thought about her words and wondered where they had come from. This deal was all about ensuring security in Suzanne’s ongoing care arrangements. That was why she’d agreed.

Except there was more to it than that. There was another reason Mari was here, doing what she was doing.

Because twenty years ago Mari had been at rock bottom. She’d lost the man she’d thought was the love of her life. She’d lost two tiny babies, and she’d lost herself in the process.

And maybe, just maybe, peeling back the layers of the past might offer a way to find herself again, and to finally lay the ghosts of her past to rest.