by Lynne Graham
She would not think of being Luca Ferrantelli’s bride.
She. Would. Not.
‘Are you seriously telling me I should accept his crazy proposal? Are you out of your mind?’ Artie narrowed her gaze and added, ‘Wait—do you know something about this? Did Papa talk to you about his scheme to marry me off to a stranger to settle his debts?’
Rosa picked up the coffee tray and held it in front of her body, her expression set in her customary pragmatic lines. ‘Your father was worried about you in the weeks before he died—about what would happen to you once he was gone. You gave up your life for him these last few years. He shouldn’t have asked it of you and nor should he have run the estate the way he did, but he was never the same after the accident. But you have a chance now to turn things around. To reclaim your life and your inheritance. And Luca Ferrantelli can’t be much of a stranger to your father, otherwise he wouldn’t have gone to him for help. Why would he have asked Luca if he didn’t trust him to do the right thing by you? Six months isn’t long. And as long as everything is legally sound, you’ve got nothing to lose and everything to gain.’
Artie tossed the ring box on the sofa. ‘I can’t believe you think I should marry that odious man.’
‘You can’t stay locked away here for ever, Artie. It’s not healthy. Your father desperately wanted you to move on with your—’
Artie blew out a breath of exasperation. ‘I can’t leave. I thought you of all people understood. You’ve seen me at my worst. I feel paralysed with anxiety as soon as I get to the front gates. It’s not as if I want to be like this. I can’t help it.’
Nothing had helped. Medication. Home visits by a psychologist. Meditation and mindfulness. Nothing had freed her from the curse of her phobia. She had resigned herself to a lifetime of living in isolation.
What else could she do but accept her lot in life?
Rosa shifted her lips from side to side, her dark brown eyes serious. ‘You’ll have no choice but to leave if the castello is sold out from under you.’
The thought of leaving her home, having it taken it away from her by force, made her skin pepper with goosebumps and her heart pound with dread. She had tried so many times to imagine a life outside of Castello Mireille. But it was like a pipedream that never could be realised. It was completely and utterly out of her reach.
Artie glanced at the ring box on the sofa, her heart giving a funny little hopscotch. ‘Luca Ferrantelli is an international playboy. He changes lovers every week. What sort of husband is he going to be?’
‘You’ll never know if you don’t marry him, sì?’ Rosa said. ‘Convince him to marry you here at the castello—you won’t have to leave at all. It’s a marriage in name only so there won’t be a honeymoon. In six months, you’ll have full ownership again. Plus, a gorgeous ring to keep. Problem solved.’
Eek! She hadn’t even thought about a honeymoon. Luca wanted a bride but not that sort of bride…or did he? Her lower body tingled at the thought of his hands touching her. His mouth pressing against hers. His body doing things to hers she had only fantasised about and never experienced.
Artie pressed her fingers against her temples once Rosa had left the room. What crazy parallel universe had she stumbled into that even the housekeeper thought she should marry Luca Ferrantelli? She let out a ragged breath and looked around the salon. The black velvet ring box on the white sofa seemed to signify the either/or choice she had to make. The sofa cushions still contained the impression of Luca’s tall athletic body. The air still smelt faintly of his citrus and spice aftershave. Her heartrate was still not quite back to normal.
Would it ever be again?
Meeting Luca Ferrantelli had jolted her into an intense awareness of her femininity. Her body felt alive—tinglingly alive in a way it never had before. Her mind might have decided Luca was the most obnoxious man she’d ever met but her body hadn’t got the memo. It was operating off script, responding to him in ways she had never thought possible. Every appraising look he cast her way, every smouldering twinkle in his hazel eyes, every lazy smile, had heated her blood and upped her pulse and fried her brain until even she was thinking about accepting his proposal.
Artie walked back to the sofa and picked up the ring box. She curled her fingers around it, telling herself she would put it in the safe until Luca came back tomorrow. But suddenly her fingers were prising open the lid. The ring glinted at her as if to say, Put me on.
It was the most beautiful ring she had ever seen. She might not be able to window shop like other people but she did plenty of shopping and browsing online. She ran her fingertip over the top of the arabesque setting, stunned by the ring’s exquisite design and breathtaking quality. Money was no object to filthy rich men like Luca Ferrantelli. He thought he could dangle a ridiculously expensive diamond in front of her nose and she would accept his stupid proposal without question.
She stared at the ring some more, turning the box this way so she could see how the diamonds picked up the light coming in from the windows. It was probably too big for her anyway. Artie pulled her lower lip inside her mouth. What would it hurt to try it on just the once? No one had to know. She hadn’t been in a bricks-and-mortar jewellery shop since she was a teenager, when her mother bought her a pair of earrings. This was her chance to do what others took for granted.
She took the ring out of the box and set the box down on the table again. She slipped the ring on her left ring finger, pushing it past her second knuckle. It was kind of weird that it was a perfect fit. She couldn’t stop staring at it. The sheer brilliance of the diamonds and the deep blue of the sapphire stole her breath clean away.
‘Don’t get too comfortable there,’ Artie addressed the ring. ‘I’m not keeping you.’
The ring glinted back at her as if to say, Are you sure about that?
Artie took off the ring, placed it back in its velvet box and closed the lid with a definitive snap. She held the box in the middle of her palm, glaring at it like it contained a lethal insect. ‘I’m not looking at you again, do you hear me?’ She left the box on the coffee table and went to where Rosa was working in the kitchen.
Rosa looked up from where she was preparing vegetables for soup. ‘Did the ring fit?’
Artie pursed her lips. ‘What makes you think I tried it on?’
Rosa gave a knowing smile. ‘It’s not every day a girl gets to try on a ring as stunning as that.’
Artie frowned. ‘I thought you’d be on my side. Aren’t you the least bit concerned about my situation?’
‘I’m deeply concerned you’re going to lose everything if you don’t do what Luca Ferrantelli says,’ Rosa said. ‘You could do a lot worse than him for a husband. He’s handsome and rich and will no doubt spoil you, if that ring is any indication.’
‘What if I don’t want to be spoilt?’
Rosa picked up an onion and held it in her palm. ‘See this? Men like Luca Ferrantelli are like this onion. You’re only looking at the surface of him—the façade he shows the world. Peel back the layers and you’ll see the man behind the mask. You never know—you might be pleasantly surprised at what you find.’
‘And how will I know if peeling back his layers reduces me to tears like that onion will?’
‘That’s a risk we all take when we get close to someone.’ Rosa sliced into the onion with a knife. ‘And God knows, you’re never going to get close to anyone living on your own here. This is a lifeline and you’d be a fool not to take it.’
Maybe Rosa was right, because, if Artie didn’t marry Luca Ferrantelli she would have to leave the castello. Permanently.
She couldn’t allow that to happen.
No matter what.
But how could she work this to her advantage? What could Luca do for her in return? Apart from buying her a stunningly beautiful engagement ring that just begged to come out of that box and sit proudly on
her finger. Artie went back to the salon and picked up the velvet box. She told herself she was going to put it in the safe until Luca returned the following day. But before she could stop herself, she opened the box and took the ring out and placed it back on her finger. She promised herself she would only wear it for a couple of hours, just for the heck of it. Then, once she got tired of it, she would put it back in the box and hand it back to Luca tomorrow with a firm, Thanks, but no, thanks.
She couldn’t possibly marry him…could she?
Later that evening, Artie was doing her embroidery when she suddenly realised the ring wasn’t on her finger. She jumped off the sofa and searched around the scatter cushions, her heart racing. Where was it? Had it fallen off somewhere? Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God. The ring was worth a fortune. Luca would be furious if she lost his blasted ring. He had no right to buy her such an expensive ring. Her stomach pitched. Would he want her to replace it? Yes, he would.
Rosa came in at that point. ‘Look, I know things are bad financially but surely you don’t have to search the back of the sofa for loose change?’
Artie swung around to face her, eyes wide in panic. ‘I can’t find Luca’s wretched engagement ring!’
Rosa frowned. ‘Didn’t you put it in the safe?’
‘No, I stupidly put it on for a couple of hours.’ Artie tossed all the scatter cushions on the floor and began lifting off the sofa cushions to no avail. ‘What am I going to do?’
Rosa joined in the search. ‘You’ll have to retrace your steps. Where have you been in the last few hours? Did you go outside to the garden?’
‘No, I’ve only been indoors.’
Artie emptied her embroidery basket onto the floor—thimbles, reels of thread, needles going everywhere. The disorder on the floor in front of her was the same as inside her mind. Chaos. Tangled thoughts. Prickling conscience.
‘It must be here somewhere. Oh, God, how could I lose it?’
She stuffed the embroidery items haphazardly back in the basket, pricking her finger with one of her needles.
‘Ouch.’ She stuck her finger in her mouth and sucked up the droplets of blood. She removed her finger from her mouth and gave Rosa a baleful look. ‘He had no right to give me such an expensive ring. I’ll have to marry him now.’
But deep down you want to, don’t you? Marriage to Luca Ferrantelli just might give you some control over your life. The control you’ve been seeking for a long time. Money. Freedom. Not to mention a wickedly handsome ‘paper’ husband…
Rosa bent down and carefully sorted through Artie’s basket for a moment. ‘Ah, here it is.’ She handed Artie the engagement ring. ‘You’d better put it back on and leave it on until you give it back to Signor Ferrantelli.’
Give it back?
Lose her one chance of taking back control of her life?
Lose her home?
Artie slipped the ring back on her finger, her thoughts finally untangling. ‘I’m not giving it back. Maybe you’re right. This is my chance—maybe my only chance—to take control of my life. I’m going to make this work for me. On my terms. It’s only for six months—what have I got to lose?’
Rosa raised one brow. ‘Your heart?’
Artie set her mouth in a determined line. ‘Not going to happen. This is a business deal. If Luca Ferrantelli can keep his emotions out of this, then so can I.’
* * *
Luca could not remember looking forward to a meeting more than returning to the Castello Mireille the following day to see Artemisia Bellante. Something about her intrigued him in a way few people did. He’d expected her to be biddable and submissive and instead found her spirited defiance a refreshing change from all the sycophants who surrounded him, pandering to his every whim. He’d found it so hard to take his eyes off her—slim, but with generous curves in all the right places, flashing brown eyes, wild, curly dark brown hair and a ski-slope nose, a stubborn chin and a cherry-red mouth—he’d almost offered her a real marriage. Only joking. No real marriages for him. Ever. He neither wanted nor needed love from a partner. Love was a reckless emotion that had the potential to cause immeasurable harm. He’d had a ringside seat to see just how much harm.
But a six-month hands-off arrangement to give his grandfather the motivation to get chemo was definitely doable. He hadn’t been able to save his father or brother but he could save his grandfather. And marrying Artemisia Bellante was the way to do it. The only way.
In all their phone and email conversations, Franco Bellante had told him Artemisia was shy around men. Luca hadn’t seen too much shyness. He’d seen sass and spirit and a damped down sensuality that was irresistibly attractive. He’d seen her surreptitious glances at his mouth and felt the supercharged energy in the air when their gazes collided. Did that mean she would be interested in tweaking the terms of their paper marriage?
Don’t even think about it.
Luca knew how to control his impulses. He had learned the hard way not to rush into things without careful consideration first. Artemisia Bellante might be the most alluring young woman he’d met in a long time but a deal was a deal and his word was his word. Their paper marriage would last six months and no longer. Nonno’s doctors had given him no more than a year to live if he didn’t start treatment soon. The clock was ticking on the old man’s life and Luca was determined to present him with the perfect choice of bride.
The housekeeper led him to the same salon as yesterday, where Artemisia was waiting for him standing by the windows. Her hands were clasped behind her back, her posture guarded. She looked regal and elegant even though she was wearing casual clothes—blue jeans and a white shirt with a patterned scarf draped artfully around her neck. The jeans highlighted the shapely curves of her hips and the white shirt brought out the creamy tone of her skin. Her chin was at a proud height, her deep brown eyes shining with unmistakable dislike.
Hot and heavy desire tingled in his groin. Her dislike of him was a bigger turn-on than he’d expected. Dating had become a little too easy for him lately—a little too boring and predictable. But nothing about Artemisia Bellante was boring or predictable.
Rein it in, buddy. You’re not going there, remember?
Luca gave a sweeping bow. ‘Buongiorno, Artemisia. Have you made your decision?’
Her indrawn breath was like the hiss of a cornered cat. ‘I have.’
‘And?’ Luca was only conscious of holding his breath when his lungs began to tighten. He wanted her as his bride. No one else was going to do. He had to have her. He couldn’t explain his intractable stance other than that something about her ticked all the boxes.
She held his gaze with her icy one, her jaw set, her colour high. ‘I will marry you.’
The relief that swept through him momentarily caught him off guard. It wasn’t that he’d expected her to say no but somehow he hadn’t realised until now how much he’d wanted her to say yes. ‘Good. I’m glad you see the sense in doing so.’
Her eyebrows rose ever so slightly above her glittering eyes. ‘However, I have some conditions on my acceptance of your offer.’
Luca was not one to allow people to push him around but something about her expression made him make an exception. She stirred him in a way he had never been stirred before. His blood heated with a backbeat of desire, his nostrils flaring to take in the flowery scent of her perfume. ‘Go on.’
She unfolded her arms and smoothed her hands down the front of her thighs. He ran his gaze down the slim length of her legs and her neat calves. She was wearing light brown suede ankle boots that gave her an inch or two more height. But even with the benefit of heels, she still wouldn’t make it to the top of his shoulder. But that wasn’t the only thing she was wearing—his grandmother’s engagement ring winked proudly, almost defiantly, on her left hand. The arabesque design chosen so lovingly by his nonno to give to the love of his life—Luca’s grandmother—suite
d Artemisia’s hand as if designed especially for her. A faint alarm bell sounded at the back of his mind. He would have to be extra careful to keep his emotions out of this arrangement. Their relationship was a business deal and nothing more. There was no point feeling a little sentimental about seeing his grandmother’s ring on Artie’s hand. There was nothing sentimental about his choice of engagement ring. Sure, he could have bought any other ring but he had deliberately used his nonna’s ring knowing it would add authenticity to his committed relationship status in the eyes of his grandfather.
It was his grandfather who was sentimental.
Not him.
‘Won’t you sit down?’ Artie’s tone was all cool politeness but her eyes were hard with bitterness.
Luca gestured to the sofa nearest her. ‘Ladies first.’
Artie drew in another sharp breath and sat on the sofa, her hands clasped around her crossed knee, her plump mouth tightly set. ‘So, I’ve decided to accept your offer on the proviso we’re married here at the castello. A quiet wedding, minimal guests.’
It intrigued him why she wanted a low-key wedding. Didn’t most young women want to be a princess for the day? He could think of at least half a dozen of his ex-lovers who had dropped enormous hints about their dream wedding. It had killed his interest in them stone-dead. ‘Is there any particular reason why you want to be married here and not at one of the local churches?’
Her gaze didn’t quite meet his but aimed for the top of his left shoulder. ‘My father’s funeral was held here, so too was my mother’s. It’s where many of my ancestors are buried.’
‘Sì, but a funeral is a little different from a wedding, is it not?’
Her clear brown gaze collided with his. ‘Not from my perspective. This isn’t a real marriage. I would be uncomfortable desecrating a church by saying vows neither of us intends to keep. It would be disrespectful. Nor do I want a big, flashy wedding with people I don’t know and have nothing in common with attending. It would be a waste of money and effort.’