Demanding His Hidden Heir (Mills & Boon Modern) (Secret Heirs of Billionaires, Book 26)

by Jackie Ashenden

  They were in the exclusive bridal salon that Enzo had chosen to provide a wedding gown, and he was there because he’d insisted. He wanted to look at the gowns beforehand, and he’d already refused three for various different reasons. He didn’t like this one any better.

  ‘What’s wrong with it?’ Matilda asked mildly, touching her hand delicately to the sleek white silk she wore.

  Enzo pushed himself up from the sofa and came over to her, frowning as he examined it. ‘It’s too simple.’ He stalked around her, taking it in from every angle. ‘It’s fine for an ordinary wedding, but not for ours.’

  It was plain white silk with no adornments at all and it would not do. Certainly not for the kind of wedding he’d been planning.

  He’d spent the past couple of weeks since their engagement party knee-deep in wedding organisation, a difficult task at such short notice, considering he wanted a big ceremony as suited the occasion.

  They were to be married on his island, on the terrace, with as many important guests and attendant media as he could get his hands on.

  It was, after all, a royal wedding.

  And she needed a royal gown.

  Matilda’s lashes swept down, veiling her gaze. ‘Well, if you don’t like it, then of course I’ll change it.’

  He came to a stop and stared at her in the mirror, something in her voice catching him. She was smoothing her hands down her sides and looking at the white carpet of the salon. Her mouth had gone tight.

  ‘Do you like it?’ he asked, suddenly tense for reasons he couldn’t explain. ‘Because, if you do, tell me.’

  ‘If it’s not right, it’s not right,’ she said expressionlessly. ‘I can try on another.’

  Her capitulation should have eased him, but it didn’t. If anything, the tension inside him wound tighter. He didn’t like that note in her voice. It sounded...passive.

  Remind you of anyone?

  The tension pulled tight as a bowstring.

  Of course it did. She sounded like his mother trying to placate his father.

  A kernel of ice sat in his gut.

  He glanced down at the designer kneeling at Matilda’s feet. ‘I need a couple of minutes alone with my fiancée, please.’

  The woman nodded and rose to her feet. ‘Certainly, Mr Cardinali.’

  There was a small silence after she’d gone, heavy in the carpeted luxury of the salon.

  ‘If you don’t like it, you don’t have to wear it,’ he said, curling his hands into fists and shoving them into his pockets. ‘Choose another.’

  ‘You said it was ordinary. And I know you don’t want ordinary.’ Her lashes rose, her grey eyes full of an understanding he didn’t want to see. ‘This is important to you, Enzo. I know that.’

  Soothing him, that was what she was doing. Giving into him, the way his mother had always done with his father. As if what she wanted hadn’t been important. But then, for his father it hadn’t been.

  He’d always been much too interested in the power he’d once had and then the power he’d lost.

  Selfish. Just like you.

  The ice in his gut spread outward.

  Yes, his mother had always been right about that. He was his father’s son. He was selfish and single-minded, and why not?

  He’d never got what he needed from his father, because his father had never been interested in giving it to him. And his mother, well, she’d been honest at least. She’d told him up front that she didn’t want anything from him, and then had made it plain that he wasn’t going to get anything from her simply by removing herself from his life.

  If there was one lesson he’d learned it was that he had to go out and get what he wanted himself. So he had. He’d built his company on the back of that selfishness, built his own kingdom.

  And now he was building his own family.

  At Matilda’s expense.

  His breath caught as he remembered her in the library the night of their engagement party a week earlier. Of the way she’d cupped his face in her hands, her gaze fierce on his as she’d told him she wanted him exactly the way he was. And he’d felt his chest go tight at the look in her eyes.

  She’d meant every word she said.

  No one had ever said that to him before. No one had simply looked at him the way she had and accepted him for who and what he was, not given all his flaws—and he had so many of those.

  And she hadn’t demanded anything in return. Hadn’t wanted him to give her anything at all. There had been no selfishness in her.

  So he’d taken her hard up against those bookcases, the simple gift of her acceptance opening up something inside him he hadn’t been able to leash. He’d thought it was only about giving her pleasure in return, but it hadn’t been. There had been a hunger inside him, a demand. A need.

  He didn’t know what it was he wanted from her but, in that moment, even physical pleasure hadn’t seemed enough, though he’d made her promise that it would be.

  Now she was standing there in the gown that he knew she liked and she was so achingly beautiful.

  The gown was high-necked, demure almost, but the ivory silk made her skin glow and when she had her hair loose, like now, the red curls burned like fire against the pale fabric. The back of the dress wasn’t quite so demure, however, plunging down almost to the swell of her delicious bottom, showing off her elegant spine.

  She didn’t need any further adornments.

  She was breath-taking all on her own.

  So why do you insist on turning her into your trophy?

  ‘You’re stunning,’ he said hoarsely. ‘The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.’

  Her lashes fluttered, as if he’d taken her by surprise, and she turned around, her gaze meeting his. There was colour in her cheeks, a pretty pink, and it made her eyes glow. ‘But, Enzo, I thought you—’

  ‘Wear the dress.’

  A crease appeared between her brows. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you like it. Because you’re beautiful in it. And because I don’t need grand.’

  You just need her.

  His chest felt tight, aching, and the kernel of ice in his gut had put out roots, sending freezing tendrils through his body, wrapping around his heart.

  He didn’t want to need her. He didn’t want to feel anything for her. But he did. He cared about her. He cared because he knew he would crush that generous, warm spirit of hers. Because he knew himself. His mother was right—he was too like his father. He was nothing but selfish, caring only about what he wanted.

  After all, he’d ended up driving his mother away because he’d wanted to prove to her that she didn’t need alcohol to be happy. Or a throne. Or even a country. That they were together as a family and that that was all that had mattered.

  But his mother had seen the real truth under all that justification.

  He’d been ripped away from everything he’d ever known and he’d been desperate for reassurance, a pathetic black hole of need for attention.

  He hadn’t cared about her unhappiness. All that had mattered to him was his own pain, so he’d acted without even a single thought about how it would hurt her.

  And it had broken his family apart.

  Yes, he knew himself. He would do the same with Matilda and Simon too.

  The crease between Matilda’s brows deepened and she picked up her silken skirts in one hand, moving over to him. ‘What’s wrong?’ The concern in her eyes cut him to the bone. ‘If it’s the dress, I can easily change it.’ She was very close, her sweet scent all around him, the ivory silk of the gown accentuating her curves and making her skin look smooth and touchable.

  ‘Don’t,’ he said roughly. ‘Don’t contort yourself into doing what I want just to placate me.’

  She blinked. ‘I’m not placating you.’

  ‘You are. You liked that dress
, and yet as soon I said I wanted something else you were okay with that.’

  She lifted one shoulder, her mouth softening. ‘It’s just a dress, Enzo.’

  ‘Dio,’ he said, suddenly harsh. ‘This isn’t about the damn dress.’

  ‘Then what is it about?’

  She was so calm, her steady gaze unflinching. She’d been like that the night in the library, taking his ridiculous, inarticulate fury at himself and simply accepting it. And somehow turning it into white-hot passion.

  He didn’t know how she did that. He didn’t know why seeing her in this gown made his heart ache with a pain that reached right down inside him, wrapped around him and wouldn’t let go.

  ‘I don’t want you to deny yourself simply because it’s not what I want,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘I want you to be happy.’

  Something flickered across her face, too fast for him to see what it was. ‘I am happy.’

  Enzo moved, pulling his hands from his pockets and putting them on her hips, tugging her towards him. ‘Are you?’ he demanded, because suddenly this was important. No, it was vital. ‘Are you happy, cara?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, her hands coming to rest over his. ‘Of course I’m happy.’

  But he’d seen the flicker behind that level gaze of hers. It had quickly been masked yet he’d seen it nonetheless.

  His hands tightened on her hips as he searched her lovely face. ‘Why are you lying to me, Matilda?’

  ‘I’m not lying.’ This time there was no flicker in her eyes and, when she lifted her hands to his chest, there was only heat there. ‘Believe me.’

  She rose up on tiptoes and brushed her mouth over his, and still he couldn’t shake the sense that somehow she was only telling him what he wanted to hear.

  Those tendrils of ice wound through his heart, slowly freezing him where he stood, and even the heat of her mouth wasn’t enough to melt them.

  Because he knew she couldn’t be happy if she was forever bending herself to do what he wanted, the way his mother had with his father. And she would bend herself and not think twice about it simply because she was a loving, generous woman. Her aunt and uncle knew that, and Enzo suspected that St George had known it too; that was why he’d taken advantage of her the way he had.

  The way Enzo himself had.

  Yes, she’d bend. Until one day she wouldn’t be able to bend any further and then she’d break. And he would be the one who’d broken her. He would destroy her, as he’d destroyed his own family.

  You can’t do it. You can’t marry her.

  The truth of it sank down inside him like a stone.

  He wanted her to be happy because she mattered to him. But she could never be happy with him. In the end she’d contort so much she might as well have stayed in the box her aunt and uncle had made for her.

  He could never do that to her. She was too important.

  Clearly sensing his lack of response, Matilda slowly drew back. ‘Enzo?’

  There was only concern in her misty grey eyes. For him.

  You don’t deserve it. You don’t deserve her.

  No, he knew that. Perhaps he’d always known it.

  ‘I need to get back to the office,’ he said, knowing he sounded cold, yet not able to mask it. ‘Get the dress.’

  Then he turned around and walked out of the salon, leaving her standing there in the gown she was never going to wear.

  Because he wasn’t going to marry her after all.

  * * *

  Matilda couldn’t settle the whole day after she’d got back from the bridal salon. Enzo’s strange behaviour had disturbed her. The way he’d gone from being his usual dictatorial self to suddenly being concerned about whether she liked the dress or not, and then telling her that he didn’t want her denying herself in order to make him happy, was worrying.

  He’d never bothered to ask about her happiness before and what had prompted it, she didn’t know. But it was the way he’d walked out, an almost blank expression on his face, that had bothered her the most.

  She couldn’t get it out of her head.

  She spent the rest of the day with Simon, putting him to bed later that evening, before going to the library and settling herself on the couch with a book, waiting until Enzo got home.

  She was tired, and he must have been very, very late, because the next thing she knew she opened her eyes to find him standing next to the couch in the process of pulling one of the soft, red cashmere throws over her.

  Matilda blinked. ‘Sorry,’ she said thickly, pushing herself up. ‘I must have fallen asleep.’

  Enzo said nothing, merely turning away and moving back over to the fireplace, coming to a stop with his back to her.

  There was something tense in his posture that made the unease she’d been feeling all day deepen even further.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked, clutching at the throw. ‘I didn’t get the dress in the end. I thought you might—’

  ‘I can’t marry you, Matilda.’

  She stared at his still figure, cold shock washing through her. ‘What?’

  ‘I can’t marry you,’ he repeated, his voice heavy with finality. ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t.’

  Something cold slid between her ribs like a cold, wickedly sharp blade. ‘I...don’t understand.’

  Enzo slowly turned to look at her, the expression on his face icy and hard, the flame extinguished completely in his golden eyes. ‘You need more than I can give you, cara. You need someone who will make you truly happy. And I am not that man.’

  ‘No,’ she said blankly, refusing to take it in. ‘No, I told you that I was happy. I mean, I am happy—’

  ‘Matilda.’ His voice cut through hers like a knife. ‘You lied. I could see it in your eyes.’

  Her throat closed as a gulf opened up inside her. ‘You promised,’ she said thickly, pushing herself up off the couch, her hands shaking. ‘You promised you wouldn’t let me go. You promised me, Enzo.’

  Pain flickered through his golden eyes, the ice melting a little. ‘I know I did. But I can’t keep that promise any more. I have to let you and Simon go.’

  She was moving towards him, crossing the distance and standing right in front of him. ‘Why?’ she demanded, a sudden, hot anger burning through her. ‘Why? Because you can’t make me happy? That’s the only reason? I told you that what you could give me was enough, Enzo, and I meant it.’

  ‘It’s not enough.’ Something sparked in his eyes, a ghost of his usual ferocity. ‘What I can give you is not enough. Sex and money are not enough! You need more than that, Matilda. Dio, you deserve more.’

  ‘That’s not all you’re giving me.’ She took another step closer, looking up at him into his beautiful eyes. ‘You’re giving me a family. A place to belong. I’m yours because I want to be. I don’t want anything else.’

  Enzo reached out all of a sudden, his fingers curling around her upper arms, his palms scorching her through the cotton of her T-shirt, his face a blaze of intensity. ‘You don’t understand, cara. If I keep you, I will crush you. You’ll end up contorting yourself, bending yourself like you did in the bridal salon today. Trying to make yourself into what I want.’

  ‘I won’t.’

  ‘You will. That’s all you’ve been doing your whole life.’

  She trembled, a shudder of realisation going through her. Because, yes, that was exactly what she’d been doing. With her aunt and uncle. With Henry.

  And you’ll do it with him too. And not because you have to but because you love him.

  She tried to swallow, but her throat felt too thick. ‘I don’t mind,’ she forced out. ‘I don’t mind doing that for you.’

  His gaze was steady, fierce now. ‘But I do. I won’t have you turning into my mother. I won’t bend you so much that you break. I already broke the family I had and I won’t break
another. Because eventually I will, cara. I will.’

  She blinked. ‘What do you mean, you “broke” your family?’

  ‘After we were exiled, I was desperately unhappy. I felt isolated. My father was always out visiting supporters and my mother was so deep in her own misery she had nothing to give me.’ A muscle flicked in his jaw. ‘I told you that I poured out all the alcohol in our cupboards because I was trying to help her. But...that’s not why I did it. The truth is that I did it because I wanted her to look at me, to pay attention to me. I didn’t care about her or her unhappiness. Only my unhappiness mattered; only what I wanted was important. And so she left, Matilda. She left because of me, because of my selfishness. And it broke our family apart. It destroyed it.’

  ‘You can’t possibly take the blame for that. You were only young. And if she was drinking—’

  ‘I’ve made my decision,’ he interrupted. ‘And it is final.’

  Her eyes stung, full of tears. ‘But... I love you, Enzo.’

  Something like anguish crossed his face, bright and fleeting. Then he opened his hands and released her. ‘And that is why I have to let you go.’

  * * *

  Enzo felt as if someone had put a hand around his heart and was squeezing tight. He could barely get a breath.

  She loved him. Dio, why did that feel like the worst betrayal of all?

  She was standing there in front of him, wearing jeans and a T-shirt—nothing special, yet she somehow blazed like the sun. Her hair was piled in a loose bun on her head, flaming and beautiful, her skin was like fresh cream and he wanted to pull her to him, crush her mouth under his.

  But her eyes had gone as dark as rainclouds and there was pain in them. ‘Why?’ Her voice had gone husky. ‘Why does love make any difference?’

  ‘Because it does.’ He curled his hands into fists at his sides. ‘Because love means you want more from me and I can’t give it to you.’ His chest heaved as he tried to draw in a breath. ‘I will never be able to give it to you.’

  She slowly shook her head, silver glinting in her lovely eyes. ‘I didn’t ask you for more. I told you I wanted you as you are. And I do. I love you as you are.’