Chapter 2 #2
He grunted. “Because he’s an ornery, difficult son of a bitch.”
“That’s your grandfather you’re talking about.”
“When you meet him, you’ll understand.”
Her face blanched. “Suddenly, I’m not so keen for that.”
“Unfortunately, it’s a necessary part of this.”
She stood, pacing to the other side of the dingy hotel room, deep in thought. “When did you tell him about our wedding? Surely that was a risk, given we’d agreed to an annulment.”
“I didn’t tell him.”
“But you said he was full of good wishes, or something?”
“He was. He saw the photo online, and called to congratulate me, just after you left.”
She whirled around to face him. “There’s a photo online?”
He shrugged, not seeing that it mattered. “I guess paparazzi wait around at these chapels. Or maybe someone who works there calls them when they see a well known name.”
“So you’re telling me a photograph of us is in the papers? Online?”
“Yes. And yes.”
Her eyes were huge. “Why?”
“Because I’m a Di Santis,” he said, grinding his teeth against his legacy and his life.
Though he’d grown up with the weight of expectations on his shoulders, he had also tried to run from this.
Joining the military had been his way of carving out a life for himself that was different to what everyone expected.
He’d been trying to outrun destiny; he’d failed.
“Right. And…now I am too?”
He laughed at the expression on her face. Like a deer in headlights. “It’s not that bad. You get used to it.”
“I just can’t imagine what this will be like. I…I’m torn.”
“Why?”
“I need the money,” she admitted, twisting her fingers in front of her. “But I’m not…”
“You’re not?”
“I can’t really be suitable for this,” she said, shaking her head and spreading her hands wide at her sides. “You’re fabulously wealthy and frankly, very good looking.”
“Thank you,” he nodded, lips quirking in amusement at her frank assessment.
“But you’re the kind of guy who’s meant to marry, I don’t know, some Hollywood star or famous singer, or supermodel or whatever.”
“I’m not interested in marrying anyone, let alone a celebrity.”
She looked down at herself, then back at him, her expression unmistakably helpless. “I’m not in your league.”
Something shifted inside of him. Anger. Disbelief. A long-held sense of injustice for how his biological mother had been treated, just because she was seen to be less than the Di Santis family warranted.
“What I need is a woman who is free to play the part of my wife. You tick that box. I have no other concerns.”
“But I’m—,”
“Come on, Allegra,” he said, finding it impossible to believe she could really think so lowly of herself. “You’re stunningly beautiful, are you actually pretending to have insecurities around your looks?”
Her lips parted in surprise. “It’s not my looks, per se,” she whispered. “But all of me. I’ve never had a manicure in my life, I don’t think I’ve had my hair done in two years, at least. Maybe longer.”
His eyes drifted up to take in the stunning blonde mane—evidently, natural. It glimmered in the morning sun like golden strands.
“I presume the women you usually date are about a thousand times more polished.” Her eyes flew wider still. “I don’t know how to say anything in Italian besides Grazie and Ciao.”
He suppressed another smile. “I’ll hire you a tutor.”
Her full lips pulled to the side. He was an expert at negotiations and he knew he was losing her.
“You need the money,” he reminded, pushing on that one point. “And I am willing to pay more than what you asked.”
She bit into her lower lip. “Why?”
“Because this role will require it. As you pointed out, eighty-five thousand dollars is easy for me. Let’s say one hundred and fifty.”
Her jaw dropped. “You’re serious?”
“Fifty after the wedding party my grandfather is organising, fifty after our six-month anniversary, and fifty at the end of the year.”
Rather than looking delighted, though, she shook her head a little. “I see.” She fidgeted with her hands.
He moved closer, eyes narrowing. “But you need money now. More money than that. You need the full eighty-five up front?”
She nodded slowly, eyes not quite meeting his.
And even though he knew he should keep his distance, he was yearning to touch her in some way, to see if there was anything familiar about that. They’d kissed at their wedding ceremony, but had there been more?
He reached out and pressed his finger to her chin, tilting her face to his. Her skin was as soft as a rose petal at first light. Heat travelled the length of his arm like a sunburst. “Are you in trouble, cara?”
Anguish flashed in her eyes. He held his breath, wondering what his line was. Bringing her home as his wife if she was involved in some kind of criminal enterprise would be a disaster waiting to happen. Better to know the truth now and deal with the fallout of an annulment if necessary.
“No, not really. I just need the money for something specific.”
“And that would be?”
She opened her mouth then clamped it shut. “I’d prefer not to say.”
“You swear it is nothing illegal?”
Her eyes stayed hooked to his. “I’m not a criminal.”
He noticed the slight rephrasing but ignored it. Her indignation was understandable.
“Eighty-five now, and the balance at the end of the marriage. Deal?”
Relief washed over her visibly, so her shoulders sagged. “Yes, thank you.”
“As for your appearance, you should make whatever arrangements are necessary for you to feel ready to be in my world. I’ll organise a credit card for you—use it as much as you’d like.
Buy a new wardrobe, do whatever—,” he gestured to her face and body, “it is women do. We’ll leave America in twenty-four hours. Va bene?”
She looked as though she’d been pulled into a whirlwind, but she nodded.
“On second thought, don’t change your hair.” He reached out with his other hand and caught a thick lock of it in his palm, feeling its silky smoothness. “It’s perfect, just the way it is.”
Her eyes stayed locked to his face and he felt his body stirring with unmistakable need—a need he intended to flatly ignore with his wife.
It was the only way to keep this under control.
He dropped his hands and took a businesslike step away from her, then moved toward the door of her dingy hotel room.
“My assistant will be in touch with a credit card and instructions on our departure.” At the door, aware that his body was pounding with raw, hungry need, he turned back to her, then wished he hadn’t.
Just the sight of Allegra, backlit by the window, made his gut twist and his cock jerk painfully against the seam of his pants.
“One more thing.” He knew he was right to be emphatic and clear about this from the beginning.
“I am not interested in living like a monk for the next twelve months, but I assure you, any liaisons will be undertaken with the utmost discretion. I would expect the same from you. Remember, as far as anyone knows, we are a happily married couple.”
He waited for her sharp nod—which came shortly after her short intake of breath—and then, he left, with a sureness to his step that everything was falling perfectly into place.
The company, finally, would be his, and for the bargain price of one hundred and fifty thousand dollars, and twelve months of pretend marriage. Easy.