Prologue
PROLOGUE
Six years ago
Maybe he wouldn’t show . Maybe Antonio Gallo had come to his senses and decided to not go through with his crazy plan.
Nineteen-year-old Ivy McKellen shifted from foot to foot. She imagined she looked as uncomfortable as she felt, standing alone on the steps of a register office in South West London.
When Antonio had first asked her, she was sure the Italian businessman had been joking.
Marriage? Him? To her? A waitress? Maybe the pressure of his high-powered job, whatever it was, had gone to his head.
She’d offered him a glass of water and he’d laughed.
The sound rich, luxurious, had rolled over her skin and made her blush.
‘It’s simple, cara. I need a wife to get my grandfather off my back.’
‘You don’t even know me.’
‘Exactly! It’s perfect.’
With a dad she hadn’t seen in four years and a mum who had spent the last two years in Majorca bouncing between boyfriends, Ivy was the first to admit she wasn’t an expert in what made a marriage work, but she was pretty sure it required some knowledge of each other.
It had been a Thursday afternoon at Affogato, the café where she worked in central London, the tables eerily quiet, which most likely meant that the pubs were full of the usual regulars.
But Antonio was different from the city boys she was used to serving.
No, he had a focus and a determination that had impressed her.
At least, until he turned that focus and determination on her.
He’d found her at a weak moment, on her break. And offered a solution that would benefit them both.
She’d shaken her head and turned to walk away when he’d reached out to grasp her wrist. And that was the first time Antonio Gallo touched her.
Sparks.
Heat.
‘Please. Hear me out…’
He’d probably be shocked to hear that it had been the ‘please’ that had won her over. At least enough to listen to what he had to say. And what he’d had to say had been unimaginable.
He’d offered her a life-changing sum of money to marry him, all because his grandfather was pressuring him to marry his cousin. And in exchange? He’d give her two hundred and fifty thousand pounds.
Two hundred and fifty thousand pounds .
Her heart had missed a beat.
‘Once we’re married, you’ll never have to see me again.’
With that amount of money, she could pay for her brother to get the help he needed.
She could do that and still have enough money to put a deposit down on a flat so that when Jamie found his feet, he’d have somewhere safe to land.
Somewhere secure. She might even be able to stop working for long enough to go to university.
She could breathe. She could dream again.
Ivy peered along the road to see if she could spot him, not realising that she was holding her breath. But amongst the faceless pedestrians hurrying back and forth, she couldn’t catch even a glimpse of the tall, powerful Italian who would stand out amongst a crowd like this.
She smoothed a hand over the lace detail of the white dress she’d found in her local charity shop. It probably wasn’t anything like what a real bride would wear, certainly not to marry someone like Antonio Gallo. But this wasn’t a real wedding. Not really.
Unlike most young girls, Ivy had never daydreamed about big white dresses and meeting Prince Charming.
Her parents’ devastating arguments too vivid in her mind, the fear of being like her mother, of desperately looking for love in all the wrong places, too powerful a deterrent.
No. Ivy McKellen had sworn never to get married.
But the sudden thought of Antonio not coming, the fear that she might lose her chance to help her brother, brought her out in a cold sweat.
Foolish. She’d been foolish to think Antonio would actually show.
‘Ivy?’
She turned to find him standing right behind her, relief flooding her so quickly that she nearly stumbled into him.
Her swallowed inhale brought the scent of his aftershave to her, something earthy and expensive, fitting the severity of his features.
The wind tussled the tamed waves of his dark hair and ruffled the lapel of his fine handmade suit.
But despite all the trappings of wealth he wore, it was still him that was the most arresting.
The sharp angles of his cheekbones almost painfully beautiful, a mouth so sensual it mocked Antonio’s no-nonsense demeanour.
She braced herself against the luxury of him, standing there in a second-hand dress and simple make-up, feeling more naked than if she’d been wearing nothing. He was so overwhelming her heart struggled to beat in time.
‘I have a meeting to get to, so…’ He gestured for them to enter the register office.
‘Of course,’ she whispered and fell into step beside him.
His assistant, she’d been informed, had suggested the register office closest to her home address, and she’d thought that was sensible until Antonio was standing before her on the South London street, looking about as incongruous as a diamond in the dirt.
If Antonio thought anything of his surroundings, he thankfully didn’t reveal it. No, the one thing that she had noticed about Antonio Gallo was that he wasn’t a snob, unlike some of the other customers of the café where they’d met.
Unlike them, Antonio didn’t try to pinch or grab at her, or peer down her shirt when she came to pick up empty cups and plates.
He’d always treated her with respect, and it was only when he’d caught her feeling vulnerable after a particularly bad incident with her brother and he’d asked if she was okay that—to her horror—she’d admitted that she wasn’t.
That her brother was struggling and she was behind with the rent because…
well, she’d not been able to say that her mother had stopped sending her money for the rent months ago.
But Ivy didn’t have to explain any further.
He’d clearly recognised her dire situation for what it was. Near hopeless.
‘Your boss can’t help?’ he’d asked.
He’d looked aghast when she’d explained that, with her other job, she’d not been able to take on more shifts.
‘You have two jobs?’
She had three, but she didn’t want to reveal that.
And that was when he’d suggested his crazy idea.
Their shoes clicked out a staccato tattoo on the tiled flooring of the register office, Antonio marching through the halls confidently, leaving Ivy to follow in his wake.
They found the right office and Antonio entered without knocking.
He introduced her to the lawyer who had not only organised everything but was also acting as a witness.
The other was provided by the registrar.
In a daze, Ivy watched Antonio’s lips mouth words promising to love, protect and honour her, feeling uneasy about the lie but knowing that the way this marriage would change her and her brother’s life was incalculable.
‘And do you, Ivy Jean McKellen, take Antonio Andrea Gallo as your lawful wedded husband?’
Love, honour, protect. In sickness and in health.
It was such a small thing, really. She knew Antonio didn’t expect her to keep to the vows—she very much doubted he would.
But for all that Antonio was offering, it seemed like such a small thing in exchange.
And as she made her vows—ones she intended to keep—some of the guilt she felt about selling herself in marriage in this way, even if it was for a good cause, eased.
‘I do.’
‘You have decided to forego the rings,’ the officiant said perfunctorily and Ivy blinked, quickly telling herself off for being silly for thinking that there would be rings. After all, Antonio had been very clear.
‘It is a signature on a piece of paper. Nothing more.’
‘I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.’
She looked up at Antonio, just as he bent his head towards her.
It would be the last time he touched her, she thought.
His lips hovered above her skin, long enough for her to take a ragged breath, to feel the heat of his body against the curve of her neck, for him to see the way her pulse fluttered at her jaw, before he placed the most chaste of kisses on her cheek.
She bit her lip to stop it from trembling, suddenly overcome with a wave of longing for things to have been different. For this wedding to have been all the things it wasn’t. To have been loved, to have been protected, to have been honoured. She folded her fingers into a little fist.
It wasn’t different, but it would give her and her brother what they needed, and that was enough for her. It had to be.
Because within five minutes Antonio Gallo’s car had arrived to pick him up and take him back into central London, while two hundred and fifty thousand— thousand— pounds had been transferred into her account.
And there, from the side of the road, watching the car whisk Antonio away, Ivy made the call to the rehab centre to book her brother a place that would save his life.