It Started With A Lie: A forbidden fake-boyfriend Cinderella romance (The Montebellos Book 5)

by Clare Connelly

  She shivered, and again felt the intensity of his need, the possessive heat with which he’d been watching her thrilling and unexpected. And then, she remembered that they were already living on borrowed time – the wedding was over. He could leave at any point after tonight. He was just trying to make the most of the time they had left.

  She wouldn’t let that dim her pleasure, though. He wanted her now, and God knew she felt the same.

  “As soon as I can,” she promised.

  He made a gruff noise which might have expressed gratitude or might have expressed relief, and then kissed her again, this kiss slower, more drawn out, teasing her and promising her all sorts of heavenly pleasures just as soon as she could get to their room.

  He waited until she’d rejoined her family, then gave himself a few more minutes to let the visible sign of his attraction diminish. He didn’t exactly want to draw that kind of attention at Bronte’s sister’s wedding. He waited by the urn, watching as water trickled over the top – a water feature that had probably, at some point, spouted a fountain high into the air. He reached forward and ran his finger over the outlet. Yes, it had been cracked at some point, and cheaply repaired. Closer inspection revealed waterproof tape holding it in place.

  With a frown, he straightened, and began to move around the corner of the chapel, tracing the line of the stone base, avoiding the crowds for the moment. He was used to networking – it came part and parcel with his work – but for the moment, he didn’t particularly feel like seeing or speaking to anyone.

  He could taste her in his mouth, feel her on his lips, his fingers tingled with the sensation of touching her soft skin. Was it that she was – on some level – forbidden? Or that he knew this was temporary and therefore it was, in a way, okay to lose his head a little?

  A combination of both, he suspected. Forbidden fruits were ever sweet and Bronte knew the score with him. After his confession in the small hours of the morning she probably wouldn’t want anything to do with him beyond this weekend, anyway.

  “Hey.”

  He stopped walking and looking in the direction of the voice. Great. Ashton. He dipped his head in acknowledgement, feeling a sharp stab of dislike for the man who’d had Bronte in his life and let her go so casually, as though she didn’t deserve a hell of a lot better. The man who’d broken her heart. The man she’d loved.

  “So you and Bronte?”

  Bene, apparently this was going to be an actual conversation, a nod wouldn’t suffice. Luca stopped walking. “Yes. And?”

  Ashton lifted his shoulders in a shrug, drawing Luca’s attention to the man’s outfit. Beige pants that were rolled up at the ankles, brogues, a pale pink shirt and navy blue jacket. He looked like he was going to a folksy music festival or the pub rather than a wedding.

  “Nothing.” Ashton’s jaw squared, as though he were grimacing and trying to hide it. “So I guess she finally worked out how to get off the admin track, huh?”

  Luca frowned, the comment making no sense.

  “Best way to get ahead professionally, right?” Ashton clarified, so Luca felt his fingers itching to form a fist, the temptation to punch him surprising him completely.

  Perhaps Ashton guessed at Luca’s response because he took a step back and waved his hands through the air. “Anyway, I just thought I should say ‘hi’.”

  Luca’s eyes narrowed, his anger still rising. “For what purpose?”

  “Because we used to date.” He laughed a little breathily. “Bron and me. Not you and me.”

  “I think I’d remember that,” Luca drawled, preparing to leave again.

  “Yeah, right, no need to be snipey. I just wanted to say ‘hi’.”

  Luca forced a smile to his face. “I intended it as a joke.”

  “Did you? Well, sorry, maybe with the accent, it didn’t come through.”

  Luca had to bite back a laugh. His Italian accent was barely noticeable, having done two years of college in the States, and spent much of his professional life in America. “Forse,” he shrugged, the other man’s insecurities palpable.

  “Have you been going out long?”

  Luca suppressed his own annoyance. Perhaps this situation could, at least, be put to his advantage. Wasn’t he looking to further Bronte’s cause? To make everyone believe they were a couple was one thing – irritating the hell out of her ex was a silver lining.

  “As a point of fact, we don’t go out much at all,” Luca drawled, earning a look of surprise from Ashton. Enjoying it, he lifted a hand almost as an afterthought to his neck, where the edge of one of Bronte’s many scratches could be seen above the collar of his shirt.

  He saw the other man’s eyes follow the gesture and the paling of his skin was all the reward Luca needed.

  “Oh.”

  “Anyway –,”

  “I’m here with my girlfriend. My other girlfriend. My new girlfriend.”

  Luca might have taken pity on the other man if he’d hurt Bronte less, but as it was, he saw no point. “Are you?”

  “Not right now. She’s having a smoke ‘round the side.”

  Luca nodded. “I see.”

  “So I’ve moved on as well. It’s not just Bronte.”

  Luca lifted a brow and infused his tone with as much condescension as he could muster. “Is it a competition?”

  Ashton’s cheeks went dark purple. “No, I just –,”

  Luca shook his head. “I know for a fact I make Bronte happier than she’s ever been. If some other woman is doing that for you, then I’m sure Bronte would be pleased. You’re in her past, Ashton.”

  “And you’re her future?”

  Luca felt the ground becoming dangerous and was mindful of not backing Bronte into a corner from which escape was difficult. “I’m her present.” He winked. “And that’s much more fun.”

  He walked away before Ashton could offer a response, whistling a little as he neared the grand old house of Athelston Park Estate. As he came to the front steps, a woman walked out, with dark hair and grey eyes.

  “Oh, hi.” There was a harried tone to her voice. “Are you with the wedding party?”

  “Yes.” He frowned. “Are you okay?”

  “I – yes, fine,” she shook her head. “We’ve just had a helicopter land in the East field, apparently a guest of the wedding. Some Sheikh or something?”

  She looked at him as though he’d know something about it, but of course, he didn’t. “Can I help you?”

  She furrowed her brow then laughed, a pretty, musical sound. “No, that’s not your problem. Let’s just hope all the bleeding roses aren’t traumatised by the propeller wind.” She lifted her eyes heavenwards. “I’m Beth, by the way. My sister Jane and I run Athlestone Park.”

  He looked up at the grand stone building. “It’s a beautiful house.”

  “Thank you.” She mirrored his gaze. “I think so. Then again, we’ve lived here all our lives so I suppose I could be biased.”

  “You grew up here?”

  “Mmm, it’s been in our family for generations.”

  “How long have you been renting it out as a venue?”

  Her expressions shifted, small lines denoting stress forming around her eyes. “About six years.”

  “Six years?” He studied the woman more carefully. She looked to be in her early twenties. “You must have still been at school.”

  She winced. “Our mother passed away unexpectedly. She left the place to us and with it came a huge inheritance tax. The income from weddings helps.”

  “Ah.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know why I’m giving you my life story. Did you need something? From the house?”

  “I’m going to do some work in my room,” he explained.

  “Parties aren’t my scene either,” she said with a wrinkle of her nose. “Give me a good book and a long country walk any day.”

  She lifted a hand in farewell, the harried look returning as she turned, steaming off towards, he presumed, the East fi
eld.

  He didn’t give her another moment’s thought. His entire mind was caught up in the pleasures awaiting him, when Bronte arrived…

  10

  “I HAD AN INTERESTING chat with your ex earlier.”

  Bronte pushed up onto her elbow, the sheet draping lower over her breasts. Luca reached for it, pulling it the rest of the way, his eyes tracing the outline before returning to her eyes.

  “What about?”

  “Oh, just him trying to assert himself, I guess.” He reached out and tucked a thick piece of hair behind Bronte’s ear.

  “In what way?”

  “You know, usual male pissing contest stuff. Trying to make me feel as though he’ll always have your undying love.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “Yes,” he agreed. “I disabused him of that quite easily.”

  Her lips lifted into a small smile. “I’ll bet you did. I almost wish I’d been there to see it.”

  “It was enjoyable.”

  She looked towards the window, her brows knitting closer together. “We’re going to have to get back to it all, soon.”

  “Yes, soon,” he agreed, moving his hand to her arm and running it over her flesh lightly, until he reached her fingers.

  “He said something I found interesting.”

  “Ashton?”

  Another gruff noise of agreement.

  “What?”

  “He insinuated that we were sleeping together to give you a professional advantage.” He said it with a sneer, showing the idea was beneath his dignity to even consider.

  “That sounds like Ashton. Heaven forbid a man could find me attractive for myself.”

  “Or that your career could progress without having sex with your boss.”

  “Right?” She agreed with a terse shake of her head. “He’s such an arrogant shit.”

  Luca lifted a brow.

  “He suggested you have aspirations beyond the administrative work you presently do.”

  Bronte chewed on her lip. “If you think my job is purely administrative then you have no idea what I do.”

  His lips twisted at her sharp response. “It was an interesting thing to say. Is he right?”

  Bronte pushed up onto her elbow, resting her face against her palm. “He was just trying to get a rise out of you.”

  “But why?”

  “Well, I can’t discuss it now, obviously, or you’ll think I’m using your desire for me to get what I want.” It was a joke, but his expression didn’t change.

  “Go on.”

  Bronte felt a flutter of nerves. She released his hand so she could lift the sheet, pulling it up to cover her breasts. For the moment, Luca was Luca Montebello, one of the directors of the company she worked for, and she wasn’t prepared to have a conversation about her job while she was naked in bed with him.

  “When I first joined your company it was in the corporate internship programme.”

  He didn’t react, but she could see the shift in his eyes – assessing, probing, calculating. “I worked for six months under a guy called Calvin Martinovic.”

  “Cal, yes,” he said. “He’s a commercial finance executive?”

  She nodded.

  “So what happened?”

  She made a clicking noise with her tongue. “The internship ended. I guess I didn’t ‘wow’ him or whatever.”

  Luca still didn’t respond, except for his eyes, which Bronte was becoming adept at decoding.

  “About two weeks after I left, someone from HR contacted me. There was a senior level assistant vacancy coming up. Calvin had put my name forward as a candidate. When I spoke to him about it he said it would be an interim thing, until he could make space in his team.”

  “I see.”

  “Anyway, that never eventuated, but it didn’t matter. The job is challenging and I love it. No two days are the same. It’s not what I thought I’d be doing when I graduated from my degree but I’m not looking to move away from the role I’m in.”

  He was silent.

  “Ashton’s wrong.”

  Nothing.

  She fought an urge to fill the silence, waiting instead for him to say something.

  “You studied business and corporate finance.”

  That wasn’t what she’d expected. “Yes.” Her response was halting, from surprise.

  “And you graduated with first class honours.”

  Her cheeks grew pink. “Yes.”

  “So what the hell are you doing working as my assistant?”

  “I’m a team assistant,” she bristled. “And I just told you – I love what I do.”

  “So Ashton was completely wrong, then, about you desiring to progress into a job more like what you trained for?”

  “I think you’re seriously underestimating the work I do,” she muttered. “I get to read reports that are way above anything I’d be doing if I was working my way up the ladder.”

  “Like the Watney Group appraisal.”

  “Right!” She nodded quickly. “That’s highly confidential. Only a handful of people have had their eyes on that and I’m one of them.”

  “And you realised straight away that the textile group was – how did you put it?”

  “Dodgy,” she mumbled.

  “Right,” he clicked his fingers. “How?”

  “I just – could see that their supply chains don’t stack up. They’re over burdened with debt in the current retail climate, and I couldn’t find any evidence that they’re working towards greener production or fairer wage commitments. That seems like a time bomb, to me.”

  He stared at her and now she could clearly understand his mood. Frustration.

  “Can we not talk about this?”

  Again, he was silent.

  “Look, it’s sweet that you’re taking an interest in my career suddenly, but that’s definitely not what this weekend is about. I like my job. I love it. And if I didn’t, I would have been applying for other positions within the company way before this. I’m not – I haven’t. You can verify that with HR. I’m happy where I am, so you can ignore what Ashton said, and whatever this face,” she drew an imaginary circle around his head, “is telling me. Just… leave it.”

  “You wanted to work in corporate finance.”

  “I do work in corporate finance.”

  “You’re an executive assistant.”

  “You’re really starting to piss me off.”

  “I appreciate that your job is one of the most difficult in the company. I am not disrespecting the work you do nor the role in general, only it’s not what you came to us for. It’s not what you went to uni for.”

  “What can I say? Sometimes life takes you on a road you weren’t expecting.”

  He considered that as he watched her dancing in a circle of friends – men, women, all laughing, drinking champagne, having a ball. The formalities of the reception were concluded. And all he could do was brood.

  Bronte was as smart as a whip and a damned hard worker. How could she possibly have been passed over for a position after her internship? Had she made some enormous mistake? Even then, the internship programme was about teaching, and evaluating potential. Mistakes were a necessary evil, but didn’t exclude the likelihood of raw potential. He suspected Bronte had that in spades.

  Sometimes life takes you on a road you weren’t expecting.

  Wasn’t that the truth?

  The last few years of his life had been an education in that – from his relationship with Katie to Gianfelice’s death, Yaya’s stroke and Raf’s accident. There was no way to predict what was around the corner.

  “You’re looking very sombre, darling.”

  He lifted his brows, as Clara Hill took the empty seat beside him, a glass of wine in hand and a contented glow in her cheeks.

  “I was lost in thought.”

  “I could see that.” Clara followed his gaze to where Bronte was whispering something in Alice’s ear. A second later, both girls laughed, heads thrown back in a
gesture that rung with sibling sameness.

  “She’s been through the ringer, you know.”

  His only response was to tighten his grip on the scotch glass.

  Clara sighed heavily. “Bronte’s always had a far bigger heart than the world knew what to do with. As a child we had to forbid her from bringing stray pets home because she’d take pity on any animal she saw in the street. One time she brought home a bird that had been run over by a truck, it had tyre tracks right across its tiny little back, but she wrapped it up in her school jumper anyway and carried it home, tears on her face, insisting she could make it better.”

  He turned to face Clara, something he didn’t particularly like shifting in his gut. “Did she?”

  “No. There was no hope. But that’s Bronte. She loves with all of herself.” Another heavy sigh. “It was the same with Ashton. Any of us could see they weren’t a good match. Oh,” she waved her hand through the air impatiently. “There were a ‘good’ match, in that they made a thousand kinds of sense, but that sort of dull sense isn’t what a relationship is really about, is it?”

  He flicked his lips in what he hoped would pass as agreement. He wasn’t sure he could admit to Bronte’s mum that when it came to love and relationships, he didn’t intend to gain any more experience than the limited amount he currently had.

  “I don’t think I saw them argue once, the whole time they were together.”

  He took a drink of his scotch, his eyes moving back to Bronte. “Isn’t that a positive?”

  “God, no. Doesn’t that sound – dull?”

  He didn’t feel qualified to answer. He’d never argued with Katie. Then again, he hadn’t loved her either. Their relationship wouldn’t have existed had it not been for her pregnancy.

  “Arguing with someone is how you know you love them. You care enough to want – with all your heart – to bring them around to your opinion. You care enough to tell them they’re wrong.” She laughed softly. “But it’s also because you love them enough –and feel loved enough – to know your relationship is a safe space. You can express you opinion and know the other person won’t judge you for it. Yes, Luca, I think arguing is very important.”