Chapter 21
PAIGE
He spent a hundred thousand euros on a charity that deserves it, and he’s pissed about it. And it’s all because of me.
The joy I feel is almost euphoric.
People applaud, their eyes shifting from me to Rafe. This is brilliant. Now he looks like he can’t get enough of me, and I’ve made a splash. Everyone was already curious about us. Might as well give them something to talk about.
I give a little curtsy, and someone from the side cheers. It’s Leelyn. Sylvie is sitting beside her, shaking her head with a smile.
I walk down the steps. Rafe is there to meet me, arm outstretched. I thread mine through his.
He doesn’t walk us back to our seats.
He steers us toward the open terrace instead, the one that overlooks the Milan cathedral and the large square. He’s tense. It radiates off him, despite the casual, confident demeanor he always adopts.
I’m realizing just how much of a mask it is.
And how delicious it is to make it crack.
Once we’re out of earshot, I lean against the balustrade. “Are you going to yell at me?”
“You auctioned yourself.”
“Sure did.” I give him a sweet smile. “But I’m good at that, don’t you think? I sold myself to you too, for the right price.”
His face turns to stone. “Can you stop embarrassing us every chance you get?”
“Oh no, Montclair. You didn’t win the game this morning. So I didn’t promise to behave.” I’m trying to be his worst nightmare, and I’ve never enjoyed anything more. “But if you really want me to sit quietly at your side when we’re in public… let’s negotiate.”
“Negotiate.” He grinds out the word. “I’ve saved your company from the incompetency and idiocy of your uncle. To do that, I’m forced to stay married to you. And yet you want to ask for more?”
True anger seeps into my tone. “Yes. Because I wouldn’t have turned to you if you hadn’t been taking us over in secret. So yes. I am going to ask for more.”
His jaw flexes. “What do you want now?”
“I want you to promise you won’t fire a single one of our employees.
Not one Mather & Wilde artisan, craftsman, sales associate, or marketing intern.
Not a janitor and not a receptionist.” I step closer, only inches separating us now.
Anyone watching from within will think we’re all loved up.
“Promise me that, and I won’t embarrass you again. ”
“You’re asking for the impossible,” he says. His lawyers said the same when I pushed for this during the marriage negotiations. I didn’t win it then. But I will now.
“I’m asking you to respect the integrity of our company. Which is hard for you, I know. You love tearing heritage brands apart.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He says it with disdain and looks past me to the square. “It’s an unreasonable ask, which is why I haven’t responded to your email.”
I rest my arms against the balustrade that’s digging into my back. My heart is thrashing. “Maybe. But how badly do you want me to behave?” I ask.
This is power, I realize. Being able to ask for things from a man as influential as him. And I’ll be damned if I don’t use it to make sure that my company survives.
“I can’t promise no layoffs ever. That’s impossible, and your company is bleeding money. But six months,” he offers, eyes narrowed on mine. “I won’t let a single person go for six months.”
“A year.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “Six months.”
“Ten months.”
“Six months,” he says. “You know just how poorly Mather & Wilde is structured. There’s bloat.”
“Those are people, not bloat.”
“They can be both,” he says. “Six months. Last and final offer. You acting like an idiot in public is annoying, but I can handle it. I’ve handled far worse.”
He means it, too. I can tell.
I look past him to the glittering crowd inside the venue. Half a year isn’t long enough. But it’s something, and during that period, I can try to sell him on the changes that need to happen. And maybe some of those changes can help people keep their jobs.
“Fine,” I say, and hold out my hand.
His lips twitch. “You want to shake my hand, Wilde? In front of everyone in there?”
“Fine. You want the perfect wife?” I put my hands on his chest. A quick glance over his shoulder shows the auction is over. People are mingling about, and more than a few are looking out at us. After the stunt we just jointly pulled, why wouldn’t they?
His hands come to land on my waist. “I do. In public. No more fountains, no more auctions.”
“Everyone’s watching us.”
“I assume so. Montclairs rarely make public spectacles, and I’ve been making a few lately.” His voice is dry. “If you had asked, I would have funded the charity you liked. No need for the drama.”
“You wouldn’t’ve. You’d say no to spite me.”
“Not if you threatened to do that,” he mutters. His strong hands are a ring around my waist. He doesn’t hold me like it’s for show. He holds me like he’s done it many times before and will do it many times again. I usually hate pressure around my stomach or chest. Reminds me too much of anxiety.
But this feels steadying.
“Why did you bid on me?” I ask. “Scared of me sitting down with an industry professional without your supervision?”
“I knew the guests would see it as me being jealous,” he says, and his lips curve with sarcasm. “Proof of our love.”
“Arguing out here in full view isn’t exactly doing wonders for us.”
He glances over his shoulder and then back at me. His eyes narrow. “Will you be the perfect wife and let me kiss you?”
The balcony suddenly feels too high up. My hands grip his shoulders. “We might have to.”
“Don’t worry. I don’t want to.” His voice is smooth and just a bit sharp.
“I don’t want to either.” I slide my hands around his neck. “Kiss me, then, if you don’t want the audience out there to think your wife can’t stand you.”
Rafe doesn’t do anything by half measures.
I know that by now. And it still takes me by surprise when he takes his time. He smooths his hand up my cheek and down to my chin to tip my face up for a better angle.
He looks at me like he’s expecting me to run. Or to slap him. Instead I hold perfectly still and dare him with my eyes. Go on, then. Claim your prize.
Eventually he dips his head and presses his lips to mine. His mouth is warm and firm, and my eyes flutter closed. It’s been a long time since anyone kissed me. A long time since anyone held me.
But then he lifts his head again and looks at me with green, unreadable eyes.
“You’re almost the same height as me,” he says. It’s spoken almost like it’s a surprise.
“In heels, yes.”
“Mhm,” he says, and swallows. I wonder if what he meant to say was that was nice, and my lips still tingle from his.
His hands around my waist drop, and I slowly let my hands fall from his neck. That was short. Quick. Efficient. Entirely professional.
I shouldn’t be using words like nice to describe anything with him.
“Mes chéris!” Sylvie’s voice calls out. “You both look so tense. In there and out here.” She comes walking toward us with the grace of one of her models. She holds her hands out. “Don’t tell me you two were fighting. Fighting is never good. Not at a party for charity.”
“Just a disagreement,” Rafe says smoothly.
“He doesn’t like it when I make a spectacle of myself,” I say.
“Bah, of course he doesn’t. Neither did his father.
They prefer to stay in the shadows, the Montclairs, and you were made for the light.
” Sylvie looks between us, tapping her nails against her champagne glass with audible sounds.
“You two are too tense. That’s it. This entire thing, from the courthouse to the media to parties, it’s not good for you. ”
Rafe holds up a hand. “It’ll pass. We’ll settle into this… new dynamic.”
New dynamic. Because that’s a convincing way to describe a loving marriage.
“No, no, I will help you. Consider it a little wedding present from both Leelyn and me.” She puts a hand on our shoulders, smelling faintly of floral perfume and cigarette smoke.
“écoutez. My masseuse is in Como for a few more days. She’s a master with her hands, a real therapist. She knows exactly what you need. ”
“Sylvie,” Rafe says. “We’re pretty busy, I’m afraid.”
“Of course, yes, yes, you’re always busy. Toujours. We have the wedding planning and the dress fitting. But Colette is worth the time. Trust me.”
“I’m not sure that’s our thing,” I add with a smile.
“Oh no, listen here, it’s everyone’s thing.
It is absolutely yours too.” Her voice is stern.
“She can read a couple like a book. A real sixth sense, you see, like a psychic. After our last couple’s massage, she pulled me aside and told me that Leelyn was mad at me.
And she was! She was harboring resentment from the weekend prior.
I had no idea! Neither did she! I’m going to send Colette over tomorrow with compliments from me for a two-hour couple’s massage.
” She looks between us, her eyes sharp. “She’ll sort you both out.
Teach you how to best touch each other. It’s helped my marriage, one hundred percent. ”
“Tomorrow?” My voice comes out a little weak. It’s hard to resist the clear demand of a woman half legend, half icon.
“Yes. Tomorrow.” Her lips curve into a smile, and she looks like a shark moments before striking. “Truly, I’ll be very offended if you don’t accept.”
“You’re too kind,” Rafe says. “Thank you, Sylvie.”
“We’re so grateful,” I add.
My eyes meet Rafe’s. Neither of us says another word. For the first time ever, I think we might be entirely on the same page.
What the hell have we gotten ourselves into?