Forbidden Until Midnight

Chapter Two

CHAPTER TWO

New Year’s Eve eight years ago, Vienna

W HAT A DIFFERENCE a year made, Eleanor thought as she emerged into the air-controlled environment of the Pichlers’ wine cellars with a diamond ring on her finger and a fiancé on her arm.

Antony smiled at her, the not-so-subtle heat in his gaze making her heart flutter in excitement. Any hesitation she might have had about the fast-paced progression of their relationship had disintegrated beneath her father’s exuberant encouragement three months ago.

The proposal had been nothing short of extravagant, Tony whisking her away for a few nights in a luxurious cabin in the Lyngen Alps, north of the Arctic Circle in Norway. Before the Northern lights, he’d told her that she was more beautiful to him, more precious, and he could never want or think of anyone else ever again.

She wasn’t as na?ve as some people thought. She did understand that her relationship with Tony benefited both businesses and families. Her knowledge of her father’s company was enough to make that painstakingly clear, and if it hadn’t been already then the whispers that such a connection in the group had never happened before would have made it doubly so.

But life had been a whirlwind ever since the last New Year’s Eve party. They’d been almost inseparable since that night. Bouquets of red roses and white lilies had arrived the following day and within weeks she had been whisked away on a romantic trip to Paris. Date by date, each one increasingly extravagant, Tony had teased from her the future that she wanted—a family, just like her own, the importance of the family business, the tenets by which she had been raised, that she wanted to continue. And she’d been thrilled to discover that he wanted the same.

Impassioned declarations of love had made her feel special—desired and loved in equal measure. And if her mother had urged caution then her father’s eager acceptance had swept any concerns aside and Eleanor had fallen head over heels for Tony’s charm and his easy-going nature. She could see it, the lives they would make, familiar and comfortable, solid and successful. It would make her father so happy.

‘I’m going to get us a drink,’ Tony whispered in her ear, pressing a light kiss to the sensitive flesh just beneath, sending a shiver of delight across her body.

She’d been worried about asking him to wait until they were married, wanting her first time to be special, with the person she loved and trusted most in this world. But he had assured her that he wanted her only to be comfortable and happy. But recently she’d been regretting that decision. Maybe she didn’t need to wait until she was married, she thought as he disappeared into the crowd filling the space under the low arched brick walls and ceilings of the Pichlers’ underground wine cellars.

She’d been wrong to think that they would be dark and grimy, because the cellars were actually beautifully lit with carefully controlled temperatures. Racks of wine bottles were displayed behind gleaming glass and she felt as if she were in a gallery. The large wine cabinets created little nooks and corners that were already filling with people dressed in jewels and silks, all glittering in the festive atmosphere.

‘Nineteen years old and engaged to one of England’s finest bachelors—who would have thought it?’ Dilly mused as she pulled Eleanor into a warm embrace and out of her thoughts.

‘Yes, congratulations,’ added Ekaterina Kivi, who had attended Sandrilling in the year ahead of her.

Eleanor smiled happily at the redhead. ‘Thank you,’ she said sincerely. ‘I honestly never thought I could be this happy,’ she confessed as she caught her father’s proud eye from across the room.

‘I bet Daddy is happy,’ Dilly said, leaning into her shoulder. ‘Barely a year out of school and you’re already set for life.’

Eleanor’s smile dimmed a little at the way Dilly made it sound as if her life was over. As if there was nothing else to achieve now that she had a fiancé.

Yes, Tony had talked her into taking another year off from university to help host several incredibly important dinners, as he tried to cement his place in his father’s investment company. But she had enjoyed doing it, and doing it well. She hadn’t found it difficult at all, following her mother’s lead after so many years.

And no, she might not have liked keeping her opinions on their conversations about business to herself after Tony had laughed, excusing her enthusiasm, when she’d disagreed with one of his guests. But she knew what kind of pressure he was under. She’d seen that too, from her father. And she’d always wanted what her parents had. The perfect marriage, the love and the security. It had been what she’d wanted as a child and it was what she wanted now.

So she would happily accept the little adjustments to her life until they settled down and she could return her focus to her studies. Because she did have dreams for herself. Even if they were going to have to wait a little while.

‘Well, I’m sure that you will be blissfully happy together,’ Dilly said, pulling her into a hug. ‘But remember, I want to use your business acumen for my fashion brand,’ she said, releasing Eleanor long enough to point a finger in her direction. ‘Together, we’ll take the fashion world by storm!’

‘Who’s taking the world by storm?’ Antony asked, returning from the bar.

‘We are!’ cried Dilly, her arms slinging across both Eleanor and Antony’s backs, and she guided them onto the dance floor.

Barely an hour later and the crush of bodies was making Eleanor feel a little claustrophobic. Waving her hand at her damp neck wasn’t even taking the edge off. Antony was busy shouting, slightly drunkenly, into the ear of his best friend and Dilly was nowhere to be seen.

She tugged at Antony’s jacket, but he waved her off. She just needed to get somewhere where she could breathe a little easier. Making her way towards the edge of the low domed hall where racks of wine bottles created little nooks, she ducked into one and welcomed the cooler air away from the press of bodies in the centre.

Her head fell back and she took a deep breath of much needed air. She’d not had a lot to drink, but more than she did usually and was hoping that she could avoid the nauseous way it made her feel sometimes.

She opened her eyes, startled to find herself almost toe to toe with Santo Sabatini. There he was, leaning insolently against the back wall, drink hanging lazily from the tips of long fingers, bow tie loose around his neck, looking more handsome than she cared to admit, glaring at her.

And, just like that, her moment of calm was snatched from her grasp. Instinctively, she leaned back, but too far and too quickly, and she was about to fall when his arm reached out and latched securely around her wrist.

Flames licked at her pulse point and connected to places around her body she’d not experienced before. He held her there, the taut lines of his arms connecting them as she read both surprise and confusion in his gaze, before he eventually tugged her forward to regain her balance and she felt foolish all over again. He removed his hand from her but she felt indelibly marked by his touch.

A derisive smirk pulled at a mouth she couldn’t look away from, even as she burned from the impact. His lips were different to Tony’s. The bow of his upper lip curved in a subtle way, pressing sensually against the firmer, more angular shape of the one beneath it. Fascinated beyond rational thought, she took in the rest of his features, just like the year before. Having kept all thoughts of the powerful Italian carefully behind a locked door, her curiosity was let loose as her gaze raked over the hard angle of his jaw and across the firm lines of his mouth. Above those aquamarine eyes were dark brows, one of which was bisected near its end by a scar.

It made him seem so much more than Tony and his friends. Older, experienced... knowing .

That was what she saw in his eyes. Knowing.

‘Had your fill, Princess?’ he asked, not bothering to hide the humour he found in her fascination.

His derision was enough to cut through the heat that had begun to build deep within her, and straight to the heart of the shame she felt at finding anyone other than her fiancé remotely interesting.

She chose to ignore the taunt, for surely that was all it was. A cruel tease at her expense.

‘You startled me, that’s all.’

‘I was here first, so that makes it you who startled me ,’ he said.

‘You don’t look startled. You look...angry,’ she replied truthfully.

Something flashed in his eyes and the muscle at his jaw clenched reflexively. ‘I get that a lot,’ he said in a tone she couldn’t quite decipher.

He raised his glass and took a mouthful of amber liquid without taking his gaze from her face. So why had she suddenly become incredibly conscious of herself? As if she thought he was trying to avoid looking at any other part of her.

‘If you’re expecting my congratulations, you’ll be waiting some time,’ he informed her in a bland tone.

The about-turn of their conversation pulled her focus back to Tony, or perhaps it wasn’t an about-turn. Was he angry that she was engaged? She dismissed the thought as ludicrous.

But clearly whatever moment they had shared last year, whatever intimacy she had imagined might have formed between them, was gone. And in its place rose a defensiveness Eleanor wasn’t used to.

‘I suppose common decency would be too much to hope for,’ she bit back.

‘And there I was on my best behaviour,’ he replied.

‘Formality is not civility,’ she reprimanded.

Something like surprise passed across his gaze before it was quickly masked, and somewhere deep inside her she preened at the realisation that she had caught him off-guard. Before his next words landed with all the weight of a prize punch.

‘Civility?’ he repeated with a laugh. ‘You’re marrying Antony Fairchild. The boy is rash and callow at best. Spoilt and mean at worst. You have only my commiserations,’ he said with a wave of his glass.

‘Are you drunk?’ Eleanor demanded, shocked by his rudeness.

‘Sadly, not enough,’ he replied as if genuinely upset by the thought.

‘Antony is not like that,’ Eleanor said, ignoring his response.

And as if her words had sprung him to life, Santo closed the distance between them, peering down at her from nearly a foot of height above, and said, ‘Illuminate me, Princess. Just how is it that your fiancé is none of those things?’

Her heart trembled in her ribcage, the scent of whisky, the woodsy trace of his aftershave, the heat of his body pressed close to hers, and everything in her felt...electrified. Something forbidden and dark shivered deliciously across her skin and made her squirm deep inside.

Santo looked at her again as if sensing the warring within her, as if knowing what was happening to her when she didn’t even know herself. His gaze flickered between her eyes and her lips and for a heart-stopping moment she thought, hoped , that he might actually kiss her.

With a self-control he wasn’t used to exercising, Santo stepped back from Eleanor and the moment. It would have been so easy. So easy to take what she didn’t know she was offering, to give what she didn’t know she needed. But to do so when she was so young, so innocent still, engaged or not...that would be unconscionable. He didn’t play with girls who didn’t know what they wanted, nor women who wanted more from him than he was willing to give.

He’d not been surprised by the news that she had become engaged, but the disappointment he’d felt was that it was Antony Fairchild of all people. He hadn’t been lashing out at Eleanor when he’d called the Fairchild brat those things—Antony really was that and more. But Pietro had only asked that he make sure that Eleanor was safe, not to guard her from her own terrible choices. But was it really her choice, when Edward Carson would use Eleanor to make a financial match that would suit him and his business? Whether she knew it or not, if it hadn’t been Fairchild it would have been someone else.

His chain of thought led him to the argument he’d had with his mother. One that still rang in his ears.

‘Find a good girl, Santo... Settle down, Santo... Make me grandbabies, Santo...’

It amazed him that she couldn’t understand why he had absolutely no intention of doing such a thing.

Eleanor looked at him, hurt still shimmering in her eyes from his callous words, and shame rose, strong enough to make him regret them.

‘I apologise.’

She nodded in a way that told him he wasn’t forgiven in the least.

‘Truly,’ he added sincerely, which seemed to soften her slightly.

He was in a foul mood. Between his mother and the demands of the Sabatini Group, he was having a rough year. The wildfires had come again and the Sabatini olive groves were suffering, along with a large section of Southern Italy and other parts of Europe. But no one seemed to want to invest in the kind of infrastructure that would actually tackle an immediate, on the ground response to the climate emergency that had near global reach.

He rubbed at his temple with the thumb of the hand that held the glass of nearly finished whisky and Eleanor seemed to look a little more closely at him this time.

‘Are you okay?’ she asked.

‘Just a headache.’

‘Yes, I’ve heard that whisky is the best cure for that,’ Eleanor said tartly, and he couldn’t help it. He threw his head back and laughed.

She might be an innocent, and impossibly young, but that made it all the more delightful when she surprised him with her wry sense of humour. The slight curve to her tightly pressed lips was a sucker punch he wasn’t expecting though.

She rolled her eyes and looked away. And the moment she did, his gaze hungrily consumed her. The panels of the teal-coloured silk of her sleeveless dress clung to her body in a way that showed both her youth and her vitality as well as a promise of the woman to come. It was a heady combination for any man to see and she had no idea of the impact she made. None at all.

He pulled himself back from the brink of something monumentally stupid just as she returned her attention to him, castigating himself silently.

‘Is it about the olive groves? Were they badly damaged by the fires?’ Eleanor asked, wiping all trace of his immediate thoughts from his mind.

She knew about his business? He bit back his shock. All this time he’d been secretly keeping tabs on her it had not crossed his mind once that she might do the same to him.

‘A little,’ he admitted. ‘But we’ll survive.’

‘We?’ she asked, confused.

‘Yes, me. My staff. We ,’ he clarified, and this time she seemed surprised. Knowing Carson, she’d probably only heard business discussed as to how it affected the singular, with no thought to the staff or the wider impact.

He watched her thoughts pass over her features, their expressiveness almost a wonder to see.

‘Do you want some?’ he asked, when he was able to regain his composure. ‘I’ll let you have some if you promise not to spill it over me,’ he teased gently, knowing that he should never have asked.

She looked over her shoulder and back at the crowds.

Go , the angel on his shoulder urged. While you still can .

While I’ll still let you , the devil whispered. A devil he ruthlessly pushed back to hell.

‘Will you stop being such an arse if I do?’ she asked, looking back at him.

‘Probably not,’ he replied, hiding the grin that tugged at his lips as he reached for the bottle on the floor beside him.

He stood up, surprised to hear a ‘Yes,’ come from where Eleanor had been standing.

‘We’ll have to share,’ he said of the glass he waved between them. ‘Still staying?’

She nodded, dropping her gaze, before closing the distance between them. For a moment he couldn’t work out her intention, his pulse reacting to the sudden new proximity to her. Until she came to stand beside him against the brick wall.

‘Wait—’ He stopped her before she could lean back as he had been doing. Shrugging off his jacket, he slipped it around her shoulders. The dust on the wall would have ruined her dress, but it also would have given her hiding place away. He’d witnessed the telltale signs of one not-so-secret assignation already and he had absolutely no intention of letting unfounded rumours damage Eleanor’s reputation.

She shrugged into it, the tuxedo jacket drowning her petite frame, and had to look away. Who would have thought the mere sight of her in an item of his clothing would make such an impact on him?

Bracing his body to ward off the unwanted arousal threatening to make itself known, he reached for the bottle of whisky and poured the sixteen-year-old Lagavulin Special Release into the glass before passing it to Eleanor.

‘So, what are you hiding from?’ he asked, genuinely curious.

‘It just got a little hot out there in the press of people,’ she said before taking a sip.

He wondered if that was all it had been, but had no intention of pressing further. His purpose here was to make sure she was safe, not monitor her for truths and falsehoods.

‘What’s your excuse?’ she asked, passing him the glass back.

He took a mouthful and relished the peat on his tongue and the burn on his throat, the way the alcohol filled the cave of his mouth, and as he looked at Eleanor he noticed that her cheeks had flushed from her own mouthful.

‘I was looking for some peace and quiet.’

‘Well, you came to the wrong party,’ she observed, as if uncomfortable with the noise and press of bodies out there in the larger area of the wine cellars.

‘That I did,’ he agreed, swirling the amber liquid around the glass in his hand.

There was a pause.

He opened his mouth to speak when a noise near the wine stacks stopped him.

‘Here...in here.’

They both heard her fiancé’s voice at the same time. Santo looked to Eleanor, whose eyes had widened in panic, presumably not wanting to be found in a dark corner with Santo. A mean part of him almost wanted it, wanted to see what that boy would do, but just when he expected that confrontation, he realised that no one was there.

He stepped forward just as a feminine giggle could be heard from over the wine stacks.

‘Shh, you have to be quiet,’ Tony could be heard saying.

‘You told me you’d get away,’ a whining voice replied.

‘What did you want me to do? She hasn’t left my side all evening.’

Santo turned to Eleanor just in time to see her realise what was going on, her eyes wide, skin pale, her lips opening to speak. He placed a firm hand over her mouth before she could. She wrestled against the arm he wrapped around her to stop her from rushing out to confront her cheating fiancé. She clearly couldn’t see the situation she was in.

The entire group of families had talked of nothing else than their engagement from the moment it had happened. The joining of two dynasties had always been a long-held dream and, whether she knew it or not, Edward Carson wouldn’t let go of it easily.

‘Wait,’ Santo whispered in her ear. ‘Just wait.’

He looked her dead in the eye and waited until she registered his words, anger and confusion as easy to read as words on a page until she blinked them away and he saw sense return.

Her eyes narrowed and slowly she nodded.

‘Oh, God, you don’t know what you do to me,’ the woman’s voice moaned. ‘I need you, Tony. Now .’

Santo didn’t recognise the woman’s voice, but from the sudden spark in Eleanor’s eyes it was clear that she had. Tears began to gather in the corners of her eyes and it was the one thing, the only thing, that Santo had never been able to stomach.

‘Stop,’ he whispered harshly. ‘Don’t even think about shedding a tear over that bastard or whoever he is with. You have to be stronger than that.’

She blinked slowly, a tear escaping over her cheek. He swept it away with the pad of his thumb, but more tears seeped into the fingers still across her lips.

His gut clenched to see them. Anger, swift, sure and poker-hot, turned his gaze red. Helplessly, Eleanor looked up at him, begging him to take this away, to make it not be happening. And, just like that, he was back home with his mother and his father. And, just like then, there was nothing he could do to make it go away.

He closed his eyes, needing to take a moment, needing to push back the anger that combined a devastating past with the dangerous present. By the time he had regained control, Eleanor was looking at him with concern. He took his hand away from her mouth.

‘Where is your phone?’ he whispered.

‘In my bag,’ she said, offering up the small clutch that hung on a strap from her wrist. He grabbed it and pulled out the slim mobile.

‘The PIN,’ he demanded, showing her the screen.

With shaking fingers, she typed in the four-digit code that unlocked her phone. He found the app he wanted and turned on his heel.

Eleanor stood there shaking, unable to move. Unable to follow Santo around to the other side of the wine stack to where she knew what she would find.

Tony, her fiancé, and Dilly, her supposed best friend, having sex.

She couldn’t believe it. She wanted to howl until she couldn’t hear those noises any more. The betrayal coursing through her made her feel utterly wretched. How had she missed it? How had she been such a fool?

Too many thoughts, too many questions crowded her mind. If she’d slept with Tony, would this be happening? Was it her own fault? Had she somehow brought this on herself? Or had this been going on before their engagement? How could they do this?

The dizziness caused by all the questions made her sway and she was beginning to slide to the ground when Santo came back around the corner. He reached for her and pulled her against him. And for just a moment she sank into him. Into his strength, into the protection he offered her, the strength of him.

He gave her that one moment before drawing her away from what Tony and Dilly were doing. She let herself be tugged along by the sheer power and determination of Santo, despite wanting to do nothing more than sink to the floor and cry.

‘What did you do with my phone?’ she asked with numb lips.

‘Pictures.’

‘You took pictures?’ she demanded, outraged. ‘Of that ? Of them ? Why would you—’

‘Keep your voice down,’ he all but growled, casting looks about them to see if she had drawn any attention to them.

When he had taken her as far away from her fiancé as he was apparently comfortable with, he pushed her gently back into another recess on the opposite side of the wine cellar.

Eleanor hastily wiped at the tears that had fallen on the way, scrubbing at her cheeks as she wanted to scrub at her eyes, her ears and her heart.

Oh, God.

‘Listen, Eleanor—’

She started to shake her head. She didn’t want to listen to anything. Tony had cheated on her.

‘Eleanor,’ he said, taking her shoulders and shaking her a little. ‘You have to listen to me.’

Eleanor clenched her teeth together. ‘Okay,’ she said, even though all she could hear was Dilly’s moans of pleasure, turning her stomach.

‘They’re going to tell you that it wasn’t as bad as you think. They’re going to tell you that it was just a mistake, that he loves you and that it’s not worth throwing your future away for,’ Santo said, his tone dark, his voice full of gravel.

Eleanor bit her lip, the tears building and acid scratching at the back of her throat, wanting to get out.

‘Eleanor, are you listening to me?’

She wasn’t, but she nodded, looking up to find Santo staring at her with an intensity that surprised her.

‘Don’t let them convince you it was nothing. If you feel yourself wavering, if you feel yourself thinking that they might be right, look at the photos. Don’t let them force you into a marriage you don’t want,’ he commanded.

A low moan came from deep within her.

‘Eleanor, this is important,’ he said, shaking her by the shoulders a little.

‘My father wouldn’t do that,’ Eleanor insisted, trying to pull out of his hold. ‘When he finds out about this, he’ll go mad. There’s no way he’ll let Tony get away with this.’

Santo looked back at her with pity in his eyes. As if she were being na?ve. As if she didn’t know her own father.

‘He won’t!’ Eleanor cried out, pushing back against Santo. ‘Why would you say that?’ she demanded. ‘Why would you even think that?’

Santo stilled, something dark filling his intent gaze. He opened his mouth to answer, but her mother’s concerned voice came from over Santo’s shoulder.

‘Eleanor, are you okay?’

Eleanor pushed Santo aside and, shrugging off his jacket, she ran into her mother’s arms.

With her head buried against her mother’s chest and her eyes filled with tears, she didn’t see the look that passed between Santo and her mother, Analise, and, even if she had, Eleanor wouldn’t have cared. Her heart was breaking in two and she thought she’d never recover.