Billionaire Brides: Four sexy cinderella romances

by Clare Connelly

  “Good. I’ll look forward to it.” Corinna’s smile was kind.

  “Mama?” Rafaelo appeared inside the well-lit room. “Nico asked me to send you down. The cocktail party is starting soon.”

  “Fine.” She turned her clear gaze to Emily. “May I?”

  “Of course,” Emily nodded, folding the pages back together and slipping the book into the large bag of art supplies.

  Rafaelo lingered after his mother had left. “How is the piece coming?”

  Emily’s smile was genuine. “It’s easy to sketch your mother. She’s very beautiful.”

  Raf nodded. “I’m sure it will be a picture of great insight.”

  Emily scanned his face, something tipping her off to his worry. “What is it, Rafaelo?”

  He pulled a face, then shook his handsome face from side to side. His brown hair flopped endearingly over his brow. “Forget about it. It was a stupid idea.”

  “What was?”

  He walked towards her slowly, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. “I hate to ask this,” he said apologetically, his accent almost identical to Sabato’s. “But the caterers are in a panic because the bus that was supposed to bring four of their wait staff has broken down. They’re desperately understaffed and I wondered … I mean … I know you’re doing this,” he nodded to her art bag, “But you used to …”

  Both his suggestion and his discomfort gouged marks in her heart. “You want me to help out,” she concluded for him, smiling even though something was aching in her gut. “Why are you worried about that?”

  “You are here as an artist.”

  “So?” Her shrug mimicked a sense of not caring. “Do you think I’d be offended that you want me to hand some platters around?” Uh huh. She found the reason his suggestion hurt. She softened her tone to make him feel more comfortable. “I’m not really a guest at this party, Raf. I’m here to work. Do you think it matters to me if I’m painting or waitressing?”

  He looked uncertain. “I thought you might feel it was rude of me to even suggest it.”

  “No.” She shook her head, her smile steady. What better way to remind herself of the differences between her and Sabato? “I’m not offended. I’m glad to help.”

  And she was. Until she smelled the canapés, she’d been truly pleased to have the opportunity to remember just why she and Sabato were the worst idea in the world. Loving him was one thing. Expecting him to love her back was quite another. Not when there were women such as this at his disposal.

  The apron she wore was a perfect shield. She moved amongst the guests, her professional smile firmly in place, even when she felt like her heart was breaking.

  The tray of smoked salmon tartlets was heavy. She shifted it in her hands a little, then lifted her gaze back to the guests. It was the last event of the weekend. The next morning, the plane would take her back to London, and she could set about working out just what she was going to do.

  Her eyes roamed the group; she was an outsider, looking in, as she ought to be. Her slow inspection screeched to a halt when her eyes locked with Sabato’s. Across the room, he looked as handsome as ever, but exhausted. As his eyes lowered, taking in the apron and the platter, it gave way to unmistakable rage. He moved swiftly across the room, his eyes blistering on hers.

  “What the hell is going on here?”

  His voice was raised, his anger obvious. Emily stared at him, her heart sinking. “Shh,” she murmured, her eyes darting left then right. “You’re making a scene.”

  Sabato reacted as though she’d slapped him. His eyes darkened and his lips were just a gash in his face. He took the tray from her without speaking, and then wrapped a hand around her wrist. He pulled her from the party, and she went with him, grateful not to create a disturbance at the culmination of the birthday celebrations. Not until they had reached a small fountain set a distance from the house did he stop walking and turn to face her.

  “What the hell is the meaning of this?” He reached for her apron and pulled the strings angrily.

  Emily stared back at him, her emotions rioting out of control. A thousand thoughts were tearing through her. “How is your friend?”

  “Basta,” he said angrily, his voice raised. “I have returned to find you like this. Why?”

  Her cheeks flamed, and her temper snapped. “Like what?”

  He pulled the apron over her head and threw it to the ground. “Like this. Serving. Why?”

  She wrapped her arms defensively around her waist. “I was helping out.”

  “Why?”

  “The caterers were down in numbers. It was an emergency,” she explained simply.

  “I do not believe they would have dared ask a guest of mine to wait on the party. So who did?”

  Rafaelo’s face at the moment he’d made the request came back to her. She was fairly confident Sabato would come down on him like a tonne of bricks if she told him the truth.

  “Not my father,” Sabato was intent on discovering an answer, though.

  Emily bit down on her lip. “Does it matter, Sabato? I helped out, and I was happy to do so.”

  “Yes, it matters. It matters to me. This is not your place. You are not a waitress.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Why does it bother you so much? Is it because you think a waitress would never be good enough for you?”

  His expression was unreadable. “You are not a waitress.”

  Her laugh was a short bark of derision. “I was a waitress. I was a housekeeper. I was anything I needed to be to keep food on the table. And I’m proud of that.” She straightened her back and glared at him. “You’re the one who thinks I’m not good enough. You’re the one who’s embarrassed by the fact I come from a completely different background to you.” And just like that, the reason she’d been so intent on their different backgrounds solidified in her mind. She was reacting to his disapproval. She was simply echoing his emotions.

  He didn’t speak. His dark eyes were glaring at her with anger, impatience and frustration. “I do not care about your background,” he denied with ferocity.

  “Yes, you do.” She exhaled an angry breath. “When I met you, I was a housekeeper living in a run-down flat. That wasn’t good enough for you. You turned me into a well-paid artist living in a million pound loft.” She shook her head. “And now I’m good enough to date you, right? We spent three days in your bed, and I never heard from you again. I was just a housekeeper. Now, you want to take me for dinner and invite me to your mother. Now that you’ve morphed me into the woman you think I ought to be.”

  His stomach lurched at her accusation. He’d told himself he’d done it for her. But was she right? Had he been changing her into someone more suitable?

  “You couldn’t be attracted to me when I was just a lowly domestic.” She shook her head sadly. “And I would never have expected such … such … pretentious behaviour from you!”

  “This is not true,” he challenged stonily. Wasn’t it? He’d lost his bearings. He could no longer remember why he’d done half of the things he had. Emily was like some kind of memory blocker.

  She lifted her chin, jutting it at a defiant angle. “So you would have invited me here, as your guest, if I had been a housekeeper in your hotel? You would have been proud of me? You would have wanted me to meet your family and dance with you beneath the star-soaked sky?”

  “You are making it sound wrong,” he ground out, his mind still lagging behind their conversation.

  “No, Sabato. I’m making it sound right.”

  “You’re confusing the issue,” he said finally, changing the subject back to safer ground. For he was no longer sure of what he wanted, or how he ought to have behaved. “Whatever your occupation, you are here as a guest, and should not be expected to carry trays of food.”

  Emily’s cheeks flamed. “I’ve been working all weekend.”

  Sabato’s face was grey beneath his tan. “What?”

  “With your mother, I mean.”

  “Right.
” He nodded, briefly relieved before his anger seared back to life.

  “But that’s different,” she said caustically. “Because you think that’s worthy of me.”

  “God, Emily, would you listen to yourself? You are irrationally angry at me because I have helped you do what you love doing. You are making me into a villain when I’ve done nothing but support you.”

  Her hormones were firing through her body and mind, settling a fog of rage on her shoulders. “Support me?” She had to dig her nails into her palms to stop from shouting at him. “Who are you to support me?”

  His eyes narrowed with determination, and Emily no longer had any idea what they were fighting about, or what he might be about to say. She sucked in a deep breath in an attempt to wrangle her temper back into place. “I don’t think we should talk about this right now,” she said finally. “In fact, I’m not sure I want to talk to you at all.”

  She stalked away from him, aware he was following close behind. With every step she took, she heard his answering one on the gravel behind. Frustration needled her. She hated the idea of things between them being unresolved. She brushed a strand of hair from her face and then spun around. Sabato’s expression was lost. His gaze was focussed on the ground, not on her. Compunction made her pause.

  She put a hand on his arm, drawing his attention to her. “The thing is, you’re right. I’m not good enough for you, Sab. I never was. I think we should both stop … being unrealistic.”

  He groaned, and put his hands on either side of her face. His dark eyes were probing hers gently. “You’re not good enough for me, Emily? How can you be so absurd?” He stroked her cheek gently. “You’re infinitely better than me. How can you think I’m ashamed of you? Ashamed of anything about you? Do you want to get a job as a garbage woman? Fine. I will still love you. I don’t care what you do, so long as you are happy.”

  Her breathing was ragged, her heart pounding. Her head hurt. Her ears were ringing, as though perhaps his words had been an illusion of sound. “You just said you love me.”

  His eyes widened. He had indeed said that. And though he’d never realised it before that moment, he knew it to be true. “I do,” he shrugged, as though her feelings weren’t a complete obsession of his. “I think I …”

  “Shhh,” she shook her head, tears of despair sparkling in her eyes. “Don’t say anything else.”

  His dark eyes flashed as they searched her face, trying to understand her. “I have never said that to a woman before, Emily. I’ve never come close to feeling it for anyone.”

  She sucked in a deep breath for strength. “Sabato, let me speak.”

  He nodded, true anxiety forming a knot in his gut. He hoped against hope she felt the same way that he did, but he couldn’t be sure.

  “This is all very complicated.” She sucked her lower lip between her teeth.

  He straightened, withdrawing himself from her mentally. She didn’t love him. She didn’t want him. He braced for the words he knew were coming. “Love is not complex,” he corrected, his tone cold to hide the ache inside of him. “It is something you either feel or you don’t.”

  Her lips lifted in a watery smile. Hope was something she didn’t dare feel. “I’m pregnant, Sabato.”

  His entire expression changed. His body was held completely still. He stared at her, his face a mask of disbelief. “You’re …”

  “Pregnant.” She nodded, her own anxieties threatening to chew through her now. “It’s still very early.”

  He pushed aside his own reaction, focussing everything on her and her needs. “That could either be very good news, or very bad news, depending on how you feel about me,” he murmured thickly.

  She nodded. “You must know how I feel,” she said, stepping towards him so that he could wrap his arms around her. She pressed her head against his chest. “I fell in love with you the second I saw you. And the first time we made love, I knew I wanted to feel that way all the time. For the rest of my life.” Her cheeks flushed pink. “I do love you, Sab.”

  His relief was immense, but concern chased it swiftly. “So why are you so unhappy?”

  She ran her hands along his back. “Because!” A sob escaped from her. “It’s so completely messed up. You live here, and I live in London. Plus, there’s Andrew to consider. He’s my brother, and I just adore him. Whatever decisions I make in life have to be right for him. I’m not free to just do what I want. You see that, don’t you?”

  Sabato nodded. “Of course I do. He’s your family.” He stroked her hair thoughtfully. “I have never tried to change you, cara. Only to give you the financial independence to pursue your dreams.”

  She nodded against his chest. “I know that.” And she did. Everything he’d done, set against the context of the fact he loved her, made it work. It made it good. It made it noble and gallant.

  She kept her head tucked against his chest; she could hear the steady bump, bump, bump of his heart.

  “Emily,” he said quietly, pulling back a little so that he could look into her eyes.

  “Yes?”

  “When I come to London next week, it will be with a plan for how we’re to make this work. I do not want you to worry. Understood?”

  Emily checked her appearance for the tenth time in as many minutes. The vintage dress was a pale peach colour, and it perfectly flattered the strawberry tones of her hair and skin. She’d teamed it with a chunky gold necklace and a pair of boots. A minute before he was due, the lift doors whooshed open into the luxurious loft Sabato had installed her and Andrew in.

  His eyes drunk in her appearance, as he moved swiftly towards her. He pulled her into his arms and wrapped her in an embrace. They stood there, arms entwined, for several moments.

  “How long do we have until Andrew returns?” Sabato asked, unable to indulge his body’s cravings until he’d put Emily’s worrying mind to rest.

  “An hour,” she said, her nervousness obvious.

  “Please, sit down then,” he nodded towards the table.

  Emily arched a brow, as willing as ever to tease him for his bossy manner.

  He tapped her bottom for good measure, then moved with her to the wooden table.

  “What is all this?” Emily nodded towards the pile of folders he’d brought with him.

  “Problem solving,” he grinned, but he was wound tighter than a coil. He reached for her hands and gripped them beneath his. “I love you. You understand this? You do not question it?”

  Her cheeks flushed and she nodded. Her stomach flipped with pleasure.

  “Here.” He slid the top folder to her. “This is for you.”

  Emily flicked it open and scanned the top page. Her frown deepened as she scanned it again. “What is this?”

  He kept his expression carefully neutral. “Is it not obvious?”

  Emily winced. “I can see what it is. I just don’t understand why.” Her eyes dropped to the page again. It was a letter from a bank. An account had been opened in her name, and a ridiculous amount had been settled into it.

  “Emily, a part of me wants to do this very differently.”

  “Do what?”

  He sighed, and reached into his pocket, pulling out a small velvet box. He opened it and placed it between them on the table top. Her eyes flicked to it and then away again instantly. “I want to marry you. Not because of the baby, but because I love you completely, and I am not the kind of man to do anything half heartedly.” Emily’s face had drained of colour. She was completely shocked. “I thought about taking you on a romantic vacation and proposing on a starlit picnic. But I know you tend to worry, and that you will not agree to marry me until I can show you that everything is organised to make it possible.”

  Emily, if it was possible, felt her love for him increase ten fold.

  “So, this money is for you. It is yours to do with what you would like. As my wife, you will be my partner in every way. But I still want you to feel you have the financial freedom to make whatever decision you
choose.” His voice cracked with the strength of his emotion. His desperation to ensure her wellbeing was driving him. “I need to know that you will be taken care of.”

  “Even if I don’t marry you?” She intoned curiously, watching his expression for every nuance.

  “Yes.” He squeezed her hand, ignoring the cold throb of his heart. “I love you.” As thought that explained everything.

  She grinned and shook her head. “What about …”

  “Andrew.” He nodded. “I’ve thought about that, too.”

  Emily’s laugh was unsteady. “Why am I not surprised?”

  Sabato reached for another folder. He opened it and passed a brochure to her. “What is this?”

  “It’s a home I’ve bought.”

  Emily looked at the brochure, a frown pulling at her mouth. “It’s in Kent.”

  “Yes.” He put his hands over hers. “I’m moving to an apartment around the corner from you. Here in London. Again, if it were just you and me, I’d want to be with you immediately. But for Andrew’s sake, I think we should not rush.”

  Emily expelled a long breath of relief. She nodded. “I feel the same way. I want all of this. I want you. But I can’t let Andrew feel excluded. I need him to be comfortable with all the changes.”

  “Yes.” He reached up and cupped her cheek. “Let us allow him time to accept me, and to gradually adjust to his new living situation.”

  Relief cracked over her. She was on the cusp of everything she wanted and it was within her reach in a way that would not damage her beloved brother. Happiness brimmed at her soul.

  “You know,” Emily murmured, eyeing off the enormous diamond ring between them. “For a man who seduced me within hours of meeting me, this was an incredibly formal conversation.”

  He shrugged nonchalantly. “I’m just lulling you into a false sense of security.” He lifted the ring from the box and slipped it on to her finger. “The first time I met you, I told you that I always got what I wanted. I am a determined man, and I have determined that we will marry.”

  She thought back to that first night, when he’d met her outside the service entry to his hotel. “And so we will,” she murmured, repeating his own words at that time with an enormous smile on his face.