Buying His Bride of Convenience Read online

  It was like nothing she’d ever worn before.

  Strapless and sleeveless, it showed only the tiniest amount of cleavage and hugged her curves to fall just below her knees. Unlike the wedding dress that had made her feel like a washed-up china doll, this dress made her feel elegant, something she hadn’t had the opportunity to feel for more years than she could remember.

  It made her feel like a woman.

  By the time she’d finished getting ready and met up with Daniele in the cold castello entrance room, tendrils of excitement had curled in her stomach. The look in his eyes when she’d walked in had reinforced that new feminine feeling inside her.

  She’d never suffered from vanity before but with Daniele...

  For reasons she couldn’t begin to understand, being with him made her want to check her appearance every five minutes. She brushed her hair with extra care then became irritated with herself for it and pulled it back into a ponytail or a bun. She kept her make-up minimal. She didn’t want him to think she was making an effort for him. She would deny her attraction to him until she was, as he’d once suggested, blue in the face.

  But she couldn’t deny it to herself. All she could do was contain it.

  A night out, though, was a different kettle of fish from being alone in the castello with him. She remembered all too vividly her humiliation during their ‘date’ in Aguadilla when she’d been in her work clothes and everyone else had been dressed in their finest.

  She’d chosen this dress because she liked it. She’d put the red lipstick on because it complemented the dress, not for him.

  Now she carefully removed her coat and handed it to the concierge, doing her best to appear confident and not betray her nerves.

  Then she met Daniele’s eye.

  Her feminine vanity bloomed to see the unadorned appreciation in his stare.

  He’d removed his own coat, revealing a sharp light grey pinstriped suit and navy tie. His hair was mussed in the way she liked and...

  Mussed in the way she liked?

  Since when had she liked anything about him other than the money he would give to her charity?

  But, gazing into those hypnotising green-brown eyes, she had to admit that she didn’t dislike him any more.

  His eyes glimmering, he held his arm out for her. ‘Ready to go in, Mrs Pellegrini?’

  She couldn’t fight the smile that spread over her face at his insouciance.

  Slipping her arm through his, she said, ‘I thought this evening was all about trying to forget we were married.’

  He walked her to the elevator, his voice dropping into a caress. ‘With you looking like that? I’ve changed my mind. Tonight I want everyone to know you’re mine.’

  Her jaw dropped open at his arrogance while a pulse of heat melted her core in a way that flustered her as much as his words infuriated her. ‘Just as I was starting to like you, you say something like that?’

  ‘You’re starting to like me?’ he asked with interest, tightening his elbow so she couldn’t remove her arm from the crook of his. The elevator door pinged open.

  ‘I was, but then you went and ruined it by saying I’m yours. I’m not yours. I belong only to myself.’

  He steered her inside and pressed the button for the third floor.

  It was an old, creaking elevator and took a few moments to get going, time enough for Daniele to release his hold on her arm and somehow pin her in the corner, his hand resting on the wall by her head, not quite touching her but close enough for the scent of his earthy cologne to play havoc with her senses.

  A smile played on his lips, amusement and something in his eyes that made her belly squelch. ‘You know that every man who sees you tonight is going to want you.’

  She had to swallow to get her throat working. Her words were hardly above a whisper. ‘I know no such thing.’

  ‘They will,’ he said with authority. ‘They will all want you, but I can guarantee that none of them will want you more than me.’

  She felt colour crawl over her face that deepened when he traced a thumb over her cheek.

  Her throat moved but she couldn’t find the words she wanted to say; couldn’t say them or think them. Her brain had turned to mush.

  ‘And you want me too.’ He brought his mouth close to her ear. ‘You cannot tell me you didn’t choose that dress and imagine what it would feel like for me to strip it off you.’

  She wanted to deny it and throw his arrogant assertion back in his face with a cutting retort that would wipe the conceit off it.

  ‘Stop it,’ was all she could whisper.

  ‘We are married now, which means that you, tesoro, are fair game for me to seduce. But I am a man of my word and I gave you my word that whenever you told me to stop, I would.’ He took a step back and raised the palms of his hands. ‘And now I stop.’

  The elevator doors pinged and began their slow slide open.

  The amusement that had been on his face lessened, a serious expression forming on his chiselled features. ‘When I said they would know you are mine it’s because that’s the assumption people make about couples who are married. We will never belong to each other but we are married now and you are an incredibly beautiful woman. There isn’t a man alive who wouldn’t walk with a swagger with you on his arm.’

  Fresh colour suffusing her, Eva had to fight to keep her stare level with his and not let it drop.

  No one had ever spoken to her like that before. No one had ever looked at her the way he did.

  No one had made her stomach melt with a look before either.

  The door now fully open, Daniele took her hand in his. ‘Come on, Mrs Pellegrini. Let’s have some fun.’

  The floor they walked out onto in Florence’s Club Giroud was like stepping into an idealised magazine spread of what a billionaire’s playhouse should look like. Trying to ignore the tingling sensation that having her fingers laced so tightly in Daniele’s as they walked the narrow, higgledy-piggledy corridors evoked, Eva didn’t doubt for a minute that the people spread out in the vast array of rooms were from the ranks of the filthy rich. It wasn’t just the expensive cut of their clothes or the diamonds that sparkled from every woman’s fingers, earlobes and neck but the confidence they carried. It was a confidence she’d seen before, from the guests that had made her feel so inferior at the Eden Hotel in Aguadilla.

  Tonight, dressed as she was, she could hold her head high and meet the curious yet surprisingly friendly eyes that caught hers.

  All the rooms seemed to serve a specific purpose whether as restaurants or gambling rooms or bars. Some had only a handful of people in them, others were packed. Some were quiet, others filled with raucous laughter.

  Daniele led her into a bar that had a pianist in a lounge suit playing contemporary music in a jazz style in a corner and an abundance of dark leather sofas and low round tables.

  As they took their seats on a sofa that managed to be supportive and also incredibly soft and luxurious, a hostess in a surprisingly smart uniform approached them with a welcoming smile on her face. Eva had formed the wrong impression that the hosts would all be squeezed into gold leather or something equally vulgar.

  ‘It’s a delight to have you here again, Mr Pellegrini,’ she said. ‘What will be your pleasure this evening? There’s a poker tournament starting in an hour.’

  ‘Just drinks for us tonight, Anita,’ he answered smoothly, then said to Eva, ‘Champagne?’

  ‘I’d prefer a gin and tonic,’ she admitted.

  ‘Two gin and tonics,’ he said to the hostess.

  ‘I had no idea a place like this even existed,’ Eva murmured as the hostess bustled away, a little overawed but very much intrigued.

  ‘It’s a private members’ club and the best-kept secret in Italy. There’s quite a few Clubs Giroud around the continent. My personal favourite is the Vienna one.’

  She cast her eyes around the walls, tastefully covered in framed photos of famous musicians.

  ‘If y
ou don’t like this room we can move somewhere else.’

  ‘No, this is fine,’ she said, then almost felt her eyes pop out of her head to see a famous movie star sitting on a sofa across the room from them.

  Daniele, seated beside her but with his head to the back of the far end of the sofa, followed her starstruck gaze. ‘I heard she was filming in Florence,’ he mused. ‘Now stop staring.’

  Eva cringed at her own gaucheness. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘The members come to relax and enjoy themselves away from the spotlight.’

  ‘Message understood.’

  He grinned. ‘I brought Francesca here once and she nearly fainted when she spotted her favourite singer in the champagne bar.’

  ‘It’s good to know I’m not the only one.’

  ‘You’ll get used to it. Many of the Club Giroud members are well-known faces. Just remind yourself they’re human and all have the same basic needs as every other human and you’ll be fine. Either that or work on your poker face.’

  As he said that, Daniele thought that on the whole Eva had an excellent poker face. It was very hard to read what was going on in her head or guess what her thoughts were. He’d learned the best way to read her was through her eyes. They never lied.

  Their hostess returned with their drinks, their tall glasses filled with ice and a slice of lemon. Eva took hers and sipped at it then nodded her appreciation.

  ‘It’s good?’ he asked.

  She nodded and settled back in the sofa, carefully crossed her legs then looked around the room again. ‘When I woke up this morning I didn’t think I’d be finishing the day somewhere like this.’

  ‘It’s not finished yet,’ he said, loading his contradiction with meaning.

  ‘Did you have to remind me?’

  ‘Why not? It’s all I can think about. Is it not the same for you? Have you not spent the day thinking that tonight is the first night we spend together in my bed?’

  ‘Actually, I’ve been trying very hard to forget.’

  ‘You’re a terrible liar.’

  ‘And you’re a terrible egotist.’

  ‘And you’re reduced to insulting me because it’s easier than admitting the truth that you want me.’

  The tiniest flash of colour seeped across her cheekbones. ‘Oh, suck on your lemon.’

  ‘My point is proved.’

  ‘Your point is invalid.’

  He shifted to settle against the back of the sofa so he could face her properly. ‘There is no shame in desiring your husband.’

  ‘You’re not...’ Then she checked herself and shook her head. Her loose hair, which was far longer and thicker than he’d imagined, swished with the motion. The scarlet colour suited the dress she wore and her lipstick so well they could all have been made for each other. He could spend the evening doing nothing more than stare at her and not feel any boredom.

  ‘I was going to say that you’re not my husband. But you are.’ And then she laughed and drank half her gin and tonic in one go. ‘You’re my husband. God help me.’ She said the latter with a sigh and a roll of her eyes but with a definite trace of resigned amusement.

  ‘God help us both,’ he said drily before raising his glass. ‘To us and a marriage of the absurd.’

  She chinked her glass to his and in unison they drank.

  They had hardly placed their empty glasses on the table when their hostess returned with fresh drinks for them, placing them on the table before disappearing as unobtrusively as she’d arrived.

  ‘Excellent service,’ Eva commented idly. ‘I can see that being rich has it perks.’

  ‘And you will come to love those perks.’

  She pulled a wry face.

  ‘What would you rather be? Rich and miserable or poor and miserable?’ he asked.

  ‘Rich. But anyone would answer the same. Being poor is a horrible state to be in.’

  ‘Have you ever been poor?’

  ‘Not in the way the people of Caballeros and certain other countries are, but Johann and I struggled for years. I know what it’s like to wonder if there’s enough money to feed you until payday.’

  ‘I’m surprised an intelligent woman like you didn’t go to university.’

  She glowed at the compliment in a way she never glowed when he complimented her on her looks.

  ‘I did go to university. I did a degree in International Business and Languages in Amsterdam.’

  ‘I thought you said you got married at eighteen?’

  ‘I did. Being married and going into higher education aren’t mutually exclusive.’

  ‘How could you fund and support yourself doing a degree?’

  ‘Johann worked.’ She shrugged. ‘I worked weekends and holidays. It wasn’t easy but we managed. When I graduated I got a job as a translator at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs in The Hague and we stopped having to struggle so much. We could even afford to buy our own little apartment.’

  ‘What did Johann do?’

  ‘He worked in a bicycle shop.’

  ‘He didn’t have ambition for himself?’

  ‘He had lots of ambition,’ she said with a trace of sadness. ‘He wanted to be an engineer but we couldn’t afford for us both to study and support ourselves. He had so many dreams but he put them on the backburner so I could pursue mine and never got the chance to realise his own.’

  Daniele’s heart gave an unexpected lurch at the melancholy in her voice for her dead husband.

  Did she still miss him? Was it because of her great love for him that she’d vowed never to remarry?

  Why did that thought make him feel so inadequate? He’d worked hard for his money. He’d been fortunate to have wealthy parents who could afford to put him through university but he hadn’t taken a cent from them since he’d graduated. He’d made a great success of his life and had the satisfaction of knowing everything he had he’d earned for himself.

  But deep down he knew that whatever he did, he would never inspire anything like the loyalty and affection Eva held for Johann. She would always compare him to her first husband and find him wanting, just as his mother would always compare him to her first son and find him wanting.

  It didn’t matter. He would demand Eva’s loyalty as his wife but he didn’t need her approval. He didn’t want her affection in any place other than the bedroom.

  Just as he was telling himself he didn’t care, that Eva’s past meant nothing to him and was irrelevant to their own marriage, he heard himself say, ‘You know what I don’t understand?’

  She shook her head and reached for her drink.

  ‘Why you married so young.’

  She contemplated him as she drank, this time through the straw, her eyes clearly saying, I thought my past was irrelevant to you.

  ‘I’m curious,’ he said with an affected nonchalance to overshadow the heavy thuds of his heart. ‘Most intelligent modern women like yourself choose to marry later in their lives—my sister is an example of that.’ At least she had been until she’d met Felipe and fallen madly in love. ‘But you bucked that trend.’

  She drank a little more, then cradled her glass in both hands.

  He prepared himself for tales of teenage hormones and rebellion.

  ‘We married to protect me.’

  ‘What did you need protection from?’ he asked with astonishment.

  She contemplated him some more but now he couldn’t read the meaning in her piercing eyes. A shutter had come down on them.

  Then her chest rose and she gave the slightest nod before saying, ‘Not what. Who. My parents.’

  His astonishment doubled. ‘You needed protection from your parents?’

  Her lips pulled in before she gave another nod. ‘I would say I left home on my eighteenth birthday but I didn’t—I ran. Turning eighteen meant their authority over me ended but I wanted the protection marriage would give me. I didn’t know what they would do to find me or the lengths they would go. Johann and I knew that if we married and I took his name it would ma
ke it harder for them, whatever they did. I was scared that if they found me they would go to the courts to try and force me back.’

  Scared? Eva? He hadn’t thought anything frightened her. ‘Would they have been able to do that?’

  ‘Legally no, but I know my parents. They would have tried anything they could. They would have had me declared incompetent or...anything, really.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Because I belonged to them. We all did. They gave us life and therefore they owned us. It was for them to choose what we wore and where we went and who we saw. They knew best about everything and their rules were rigid. If we didn’t obey it was because there was something wrong with us and we needed to be punished.’ She took another sip of her drink. Somehow she’d kept her composure throughout this brief retelling of her childhood that he knew hadn’t even scratched the surface, seemingly relaxed into the sofa, her legs curled beneath her bottom, her eyes on his. She’d managed to keep her dress from riding any higher than her knees.

  This composure was all surface, he was sure of it. There were little signs to confirm it, the way her throat now moved of its own accord, the way her back teeth seemed to be grinding together.

  Eva’s family...

  He’d wondered briefly why she hadn’t invited them to the wedding but, assuming it was down to her not wanting to put her family through what they both considered to be a charade, hadn’t questioned her about it.

  A loud, booming voice suddenly chimed in his ear. ‘Daniele Pellegrini! It’s good to see you, man.’

  Standing above them was the mountainous form of Talos Kalliakis.

  Delighted to see him—and, he had to acknowledge, more delighted at the interruption of a conversation that had veered dangerously close to too personal and which he had been on the verge of taking further—Daniele got to his feet and embraced his old friend.

  ‘What are you doing here? I didn’t know you were planning a trip to Italy.’

  ‘Amalie’s playing at the Opera di Firenzi this week,’ Talos replied, referring to Florence’s new opera house, designed by an architect Daniele had long admired. He wasn’t interested in the arts and culture itself but the buildings that housed them had sparked his imagination from a very young age. He remembered being dragged every few months to some production or other at the Teatro di Pisa as a child and spending all his time gawping at the brilliant interior rather than paying attention to the onstage production.