Chapter Seven
‘YOU’RE RIGHT. HE’S GREAT,’ Amelia said as Massimiliano’s limousine cut a path across Rome.
She glanced towards her window, regretting the change in scenery.
While this part of the city was undeniably more beautiful and picturesque, she’d loved her time at the trattoria.
The food had been, as Massimiliano had promised, exquisite.
She wasn’t sure she’d ever eaten anything quite so delicious, in fact.
From the squid-ink pasta entrée to the courgette flowers that were served deep fried and stuffed with soft goat’s cheese on the side, to the aubergine and prosciutto Parmigiano stack she’d enjoyed as a main course.
While Massimiliano and Antonio had opted for short black coffees for dessert, served with a bitter almond biscuit, Amelia had chosen a tiramisu, and it had been prepared fresh at the table.
She wasn’t sure she’d ever need to eat again, however.
‘He liked you, too.’
Her eyes lit up as she turned to face him. ‘How can you tell?’
‘Because he’s my grandfather, and I know him.’
Warmth wrapped around her.
‘I’m more like you than you realise,’ she murmured, toying with the bottom of her blazer, running a finger over the discreet stitching.
‘I keep people at a distance, as a matter of course. It’s just so much easier not to rely on anyone,’ she pointed out.
‘I go out of my way not to like people. Not to want them to like me. But he has a way of breaking down your barriers.’
Massimiliano’s eyes, when she glanced up at him, were boring through her, as if weighing the truth of her words.
‘Yes,’ he admitted, finally, giving very little away. ‘He is open and charming. What you see is what you get.’
‘He must have taken things with your father very hard.’
Massimiliano didn’t react physically, as she might have. He simply nodded slowly. ‘It was a betrayal on every level.’
She was silent, wondering if he’d continue, not wanting to spook him away from doing so.
‘My grandfather raised my father to follow in his footsteps. To share his values, his beliefs. To be just like him. But where Antonio is scrupulously honest, my father lied as easily as he breathed. He was deceitful for the sake of it.’
She gasped. ‘I can’t imagine that.’
‘That doesn’t surprise me. You are too inherently good, I think, to appreciate the existence of pure evil.’
‘You think your father was pure evil?’
His eyes narrowed when they met hers, and a muscle throbbed at the base of his jaw. ‘The definition of it.’
‘Was there more?’
‘More than stealing from every single person we knew, pocketing their money and then running away like a coward, to leave my grandfather and me to face the consequences?’
She bit into her lip. ‘When you put it like that,’ she croaked huskily, ‘it does sound pretty bad.’
‘Yes,’ he agreed with a decisive tilt of his head. ‘But you’re right. There was more. Things my grandfather doesn’t know. Things I saved him from discovering, because I didn’t see why both of us should have to live with the truth.’
She pressed a hand to her mouth and then reached over, placing it on his knee. Despite the tenor of their conversation, sparks assaulted her inner wrist. ‘Do you want to tell me?’
His eyes hooked to hers, loaded with feeling, so her stomach squirmed. She felt his pain like a visceral, intense shock to her system.
‘You do not need to be burdened by it either. Suffice it to say, where my grandfather is the best of men, my father was the very worst.’ He put his hand over hers, and her heart lifted, except it was only an act of removal.
He placed it on the console between them, leaving her whole body ice cold.
‘My primary goal in life is to be nothing like him.’
‘Another thing we have in common,’ she murmured. ‘I have spent so long running from my mother, I sometimes don’t even know who I am.’
‘Anyone else might urge you to try to forgive her, even just in your own heart. But I understand the unique anger that parental abandonment and betrayal can stir up. I understand why you would run from her, cara, and keep running. Honestly, I think it’s wise.’
She sighed heavily, turning from him to look out of the window, trying not to let it mean anything that he understood her. And that his understanding somehow meant something to her broken, battered heart, though she knew she shouldn’t let it.
An hour before their wedding, Massimiliano pressed the buzzer for Amelia’s hotel suite.
Dressed in an impeccable tuxedo, he looked every bit the billionaire groom.
And he was surprisingly impatient to see his bride, given the businesslike nature of their engagement.
Tradition, of course, dictated that he couldn’t see her.
That it was bad luck. But going to her hotel was yet another way to underscore the fact this wasn’t a normal wedding. It was business.
Except, it hadn’t all been businesslike, he reminded himself, thinking of that kiss in his limousine.
A stupid move, on his part, because it had built into an obsession in his mind.
A dark, sensual need that had made it impossible to think of anything but taking her to bed and making her his, just as she’d asked him to when he’d proposed.
It was part of their deal, but it was now also a driving force for him.
He heard a noise behind the door and, a moment later, it was pulled inwards by Amelia.
It was like being punched in the gut.
She looked…so young and innocent. The words slammed into him like an accusation.
Her dress was snow white and so traditionally bridal, with a fitted bodice and a full, tulle skirt that fell to her ankles.
What he could see of her skin—her arms and back—was flawless, creamy and soft.
Her hair was long and loose, styled in curls around her face, and her make-up was light, showing the natural beauty of her features.
But also, again, he was struck by the fact she was only twenty-three, and she looked it.
No, she looked a little like a lamb to the slaughter.
‘May I come in?’
She nodded, stepping back, waiting for him to say something, yet he simply stared at her.
‘You don’t like the dress,’ she said, closing the door.
He shook his head, to quickly dispel that idea.
‘It’s fine.’
Fine? Do better, a voice warned. He saw the hurt on her features, the way she withdrew in on herself, and cursed inwardly.
‘Better than fine,’ he amended, walking towards her, his body vibrating with an electromagnetic force, a soul-deep need to pull her into his arms and kiss her again.
To kiss her all over. To remove that pretty, frothy dress and run his hands over her naked body.
‘I thought it was bad luck for grooms to see brides before the wedding.’
‘That might be true, for real weddings.’
Her expression shifted again. Two for two, he thought, suppressing a groan. And yet, it was the right thing to do, to keep them focused on the truth of this marriage. It would save any future complications to be as businesslike about their interactions as possible.
He reached into his pocket and retrieved another velvet box. ‘This is for you.’
She looked from his face to the box, her lips quirking in a curious frown. He popped the top and she gasped. ‘Oh! It’s perfect. It’s exactly the same.’
‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘If it makes you more comfortable, you can wear this instead.’
She reached down and slipped the Moretti diamond from her finger, holding it out towards him.
When she put it in the middle of his palm, he had to fight an urge to close his fingers over hers and pull her against his body.
To hell with the dress, the make-up. He just wanted to feel her against him, body to body, soft to hard.
‘Thank you,’ she said, powder-blue eyes lifting to his.
Innocent and shy. His gut twisted. Light and dark.
Winter and summer. They were two sides of the same coin, but those two sides were never supposed to meet.
In pushing her into this marriage, was he destroying her innocence?
Smudging darkness over her light? ‘I’ll feel so much better knowing it’s just a copycat, and not worth a small fortune,’ she murmured as she slipped the newly made ring onto her finger.
He didn’t tell her that, while it was a copycat, it was still a canary yellow diamond, of perfect quality, that had cost more than an average house. It seemed like something she’d prefer not to know.
‘I have settled the agreed-upon amount into your account,’ he said, sticking to his intention for coming here. ‘If you log in, you’ll be able to clear your debts.’
Her lips parted on a breath of surprise, almost as though she’d forgotten the reason they were marrying. ‘Thank you.’
‘Don’t thank me, Amelia. It was our deal.’
‘I know, it’s just…’ She blinked quickly as moisture filled her eyes, and Massimiliano’s gut twisted again, sharp and hard. ‘I’ve been so worried about money for so long. For years. I can’t believe…it’s such a relief.’
And despite his best intentions, he reached out then, his thumb padding across her jaw, then cupping her cheek, stroking her lightly. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t propose to you a year ago.’
A tear slid from her eye. ‘That makes two of us.’
He wanted to fix this. More than giving her money, he wished he could click his fingers and bring back her father, change who her mother was, do anything to make her smile, as she deserved on her wedding day.
But this is not a real wedding, a voice reminded him, insisting he stick to the professionalism their plan required. Only his body had other ideas as he moved forward, finally doing what he’d wanted since arriving at her suite, and letting himself feel her.
Or feel a hint of her, through the layers and layers of tulle.