His Merciless Marriage Bargain

by Jane Porter

“I’m sorry your sister is dead, but my brother is gone, too.” His voice was deep and granite hard, and yet his accent softened the words, taking the truth and pain in them and searing them into her heart. “They’re both gone,” he added, “but they’re not lost to us. They’ve left us their love child.”

  “Stop. You don’t love, and you don’t believe in love.”

  “That’s not true. I love you—”

  “Now you say it? Now, when it’s all over? When it’s too late? My goodness, you’re desperate—”

  He moved while she was speaking, reaching for her, bringing her hard against him. He cupped her face and kissed her, a kiss that was unlike any of the kisses before. This one wasn’t hard and fierce, nor was it scalding, blistering with bone-melting desire. This kiss was dark and intense, layered with emotion and raw, undeniable need. He didn’t just want her lips and touch. She felt as if he wanted to reach into her and steal her very heart.

  “You can’t have me,” she whispered against his mouth, as tears stung her eyes and filled the back of her throat. “You Marcellos have taken enough.” She wrenched away and nearly tripped over her full lace skirt in her need for distance. “It’s over, Gio. We’re through—”

  “Not by half,” he ground out. “We have a family.”

  “You’re not part of it anymore.”

  “It doesn’t work that way. You can’t cut me out. Your sister didn’t leave a will. She didn’t indicate that she wanted you to be Michael’s guardian. You have no more legal right to him than I do.”

  “But I want him more.”

  “That’s not true. I want him very much. He’s all I have left of my brother, which makes him infinitely dear. Unlike you and Juliet, I didn’t have a complicated relationship with Antonio. There was no guilt or anger, no envy or resentment. From the time he was born, he was my brother and best friend. I sat with him as he died, and it killed me watching him suffer and fade. His death wasn’t quick, either. It took him weeks to go, and even as great as his suffering was, I grieved terribly when he was gone. I still miss him profoundly.”

  His words came at her, one after the other, and it was overwhelming his passion and love—love he’d never shown her. She shouldn’t be jealous, but she was. Rachel had wanted Gio to love her that much, but he never did.

  “No, I didn’t rush to Seattle with open arms when I learned of Michael,” Gio added. “But I had to be cautious about this claim that he had a son there. A dozen different women claimed they’d had his son or daughter. A dozen different claims to process. A dozen different women who wanted a piece of Antonio’s wealth. It was bad enough to lose my brother, but then to deal with all of this desperation and greed?”

  Rachel flinched, aware of how desperate she’d been when she’d arrived in Venice on Gio’s doorstep. “Desperation doesn’t make a person bad!”

  “No, but it does make one suspect.”

  “You should have told me this right away. You should have sat me down on that first day in your mother’s favorite salon and laid out the facts—”

  “Buon Dio, Rachel! You had called the paparazzi. You invited the media to my doorstep. How was I to trust you?”

  She shook her head, thoughts muddled, hating that he could tangle her up, make her question everything all over again.

  Gio closed the distance, hands settling on her shoulder, his skin so warm through the thin lace of her gown. “We have both made our share of mistakes, but we won’t make another one today. We will marry, and we will be a family for Michael. You may feel hurt, and you might be angry with me, but you can’t allow your anger to hurt Michael. Our baby.”

  Our baby. The words rippled through her, and she exhaled at the truth in the words. Gio somehow always cut straight to the heart. Maybe it was his engineering mind, or maybe it was his way of problem solving, but it felt as if he’d taken a lance to her, cutting away the garbage and nonsense and revealing what was essential and true.

  Michael was theirs. He wasn’t Juliet’s any longer, nor was he Antonio’s.

  They were both gone. They would never return.

  “We will love him and protect him,” Gio said, one hand slipping up over her neck, his fingers spreading across her jawbone, cradling her face as if a jewel or flower. Every place he touched tingled, her skin flushed and sensitive. “We will not be destructive or selfish. We will put aside our differences and do right by our son.”

  She stared up into Gio’s brilliant blue eyes, seeing him, all of him, not just his dark good looks, but his heart. His fierce, hard heart. He was brutal and relentless and he’d smashed her hopes and dreams. “I loved you,” she said numbly. “And I gave you my heart, but I’ve taken it back. It’s not yours. It will never be yours again.”

  His thumb stroked her cheek as it met the edge of her mouth. “We can work through this. And we will, after the wedding.”

  Her lips quivered at the caress. He stroked down again, lingering at the curve of her mouth. She didn’t know where to look. She certainly couldn’t look into his eyes, not anymore, and so she stared at his mouth and chin, her chest filled with rage and pain. Why had she ever come to Italy? Why had she thought that Giovanni would be the help she needed? She closed her eyes to keep tears from forming. “I won’t forgive you.”

  “It’s not as bad as that, il mio amore.”

  “It is as bad as that,” she corrected, trying to pull away.

  He didn’t let her. He held her, and then he pressed a kiss to her forehead, the kiss careful, gentle, far too kind. “Our guests are waiting. I will help you put your veil back on, and then let’s go finish what we have begun.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  SHE FELT WOODEN during the twenty-minute ceremony, and then dead during the reception.

  It was all a blur. The meal. The toasts. The music. The cake.

  She didn’t even remember stepping on to the ballroom floor for their dance. She couldn’t feel her legs. Couldn’t feel anything but Gio’s hand on her side, his hand on her back, his hand on her arm as he steered her here and there, from one place to another, keeping her moving, keeping up appearances, keeping it together.

  And then finally, finally it was over and she was in her room, but it wasn’t her room anymore. During the reception someone had emptied the wardrobe in the blue guest room and taken everything out, taking all of her things out, putting them elsewhere.

  Rachel sank onto her bed, the bed that was no longer her bed, her white full skirts pillowing up, and then fluttering down.

  She didn’t have anything anymore. She wasn’t even herself anymore.

  The door opened and closed. She knew without looking that it was Gio. She could feel his energy and intensity from across the room.

  “This isn’t your room anymore,” he said quietly.

  Hot tears filled her eyes. “You’ve taken everything from me.”

  “But I’ve also given everything to you. My home, my name, my heart—”

  “You don’t have a heart.”

  He didn’t answer, not right away. He walked around the perimeter of the room, studying the blue silk wall covering and the enormous gold framed mirror and then the blue painted dresser with the pair of blue vases.

  “If that was true, then I wouldn’t feel anything right now,” he said, lifting one of the blue vases and turning it in his hands. “I wouldn’t care so very much that I’ve hurt you. And I wouldn’t mind that you’re in here, alone, feeling betrayed and deceived.” He set the vase back down and faced her. “But I do mind very much. It wounds me that I’ve hurt you and ruined your wedding day—”

  “Please stop. You’re just making it worse. I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want to see you. I just want to go home, to Seattle.”

  “But this is your home now.”

  “No.”

  “Yes. And we are a family now.”

  “Never!”

  “And my wife, whom I love.”

  She covered her ears and squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to lis
ten, unable to endure any more. He’d won. Couldn’t he see that he’d won? Did he have to break her completely? “Then prove it,” she cried, jumping up. “Prove you love me. Do what’s best for me. Let me go.”

  He stood before her, expression shuttered. “Giving up on you, giving up on us, doesn’t prove love. It shows defeat.”

  “I’m not a challenge. I’m not a business deal.”

  “I know. You’re my wife.”

  “But I don’t want to be your wife, not like this, and for me, this...” She gestured to the room, the house, the city beyond the windows, “This will never be okay.”

  She had to go. She had to get out of here. She’d leave everything behind. She didn’t need her clothes, or her suitcase. She just needed her passport. “I’m leaving,” she said hoarsely. “Tonight. I don’t want anything from you. I don’t want money. I just want my passport so I can go.”

  “What about Michael’s?”

  “I’m not taking him with me. He will stay here with you for now, but I’m hiring an attorney. I’m going to sue for custody—”

  “It could take years, and I’m not sure you’d win.”

  “What else am I to do? Stay here and pretend that you didn’t lie to me and manipulate me?”

  “I’m asking you to forgive me. I’m asking you to understand that I was in a difficult position, too.”

  “I was not a gold digger!” She threw the words at him, eyes brilliant with unshed tears. “I never wanted your money. I wanted you.”

  “Good. Because I want you. Not just want you. I need you.” He hesitated. “I need you with me.”

  “You don’t mean it. You can’t even say the words without flinching.”

  “It’s true. I don’t speak of love easily, and until tonight, I have never told any woman I loved her. Just as you refused to make love until you had found the right one, I have held out, too. There are only a few people in my life that I can say I truly love. My mother. My brother. Michael. And you.” He approached her. “Yes, you. I love you, Rachel.”

  “You’re only saying that because you’re desperate.”

  “You’re absolutely right. I am desperate. I’m desperate for you to stay. I’m desperate to salvage what’s left of our wedding day. Today was horrendous, but we still have the night—”

  “No.”

  “Yes. We have the night, and we have every night from now on. I’m not going to let you go. This is your home now. You belong here, with me.” He moved toward her, a slow walk to match his measured words. “Rachel, I didn’t have to marry.”

  “But you did. The media...the company going public...you couldn’t have the scandal.”

  “Money is money. I have plenty of it, but money doesn’t buy happiness and I would never, ever marry just to protect my financial interests or investments.”

  “But you said—”

  “It was a tactic.” He shrugged, unrepentant. “I wanted you here. I wanted you with me. And yes, I want Michael, but I want you every bit as much. From the moment you appeared on my doorstep, you’ve been mine. I waited thirty-eight years to find someone like you. You can’t think I’m just going to give you up?”

  Her head spun. He was saying the right words, all the things she’d wanted him to say, but why did he wait so long? Why hadn’t he shared all of this before? “You just don’t want me to go.”

  “You’re right. I didn’t marry you in an extravagant, romantic wedding to lose my bride before the honeymoon.”

  She drew a quick, sharp breath. “There will be no honeymoon.”

  “Of course there will, but there won’t be if you leave.”

  He was trying a new tactic, she thought, and she didn’t want to be intrigued but she couldn’t help showing a little interest. “Why haven’t you mentioned it before?” she asked suspiciously.

  “Because it was supposed to be a surprise.”

  She wished she wasn’t curious. She wished she didn’t care. But she did care, not about the trip, but about what he might have planned for her. For them. “Where were we going to go?”

  “Ravello, on the Amalfi Coast.”

  Rachel drew a quick, shallow breath, feeling far too many emotions, not the least being regret. “Were we going to take Michael?”

  “No. Not on our honeymoon. I wanted time alone with you, my bride, my wife, my heart.” He reached for her and drew her toward him, little by little, step by step, ignoring her resistance.

  Or maybe it was because she didn’t resist very much.

  Rachel was exhausted. It had been a roller coaster of a day, up and down, and down and down, and even though she didn’t want to care for him, she did. Her love wasn’t a flimsy thing, but strong and deep and true.

  “You have hurt me so much today,” she whispered as he pulled her against him. She rested her cheek on his chest, his arm tight around her.

  “I am sorry. I didn’t want to bring those letters to you before the wedding, but how could I share them with you after?” He stroked her hair, and then down her back. “That would have been even worse. And so even though the timing was awful, I did what I thought was right. Shared with you everything I knew.”

  “Even though it meant ruining our day.”

  “I’d rather we ruin a day than start our marriage with a lie.”

  Rachel closed her eyes and breathed him in, needing his arms right now, and his warmth. She needed him and loved him, for better or worse. “And what would you do with me on our honeymoon?”

  “I would make love to you three or four times a day. I would love you until you felt secure and understood that you’re the only woman I have ever wanted to marry. I did not marry you out of obligation or to satisfy the international stock market.”

  She tipped her head back to look up at him. His bright blue eyes glinted with tenderness and humor.

  “It’s true,” he added, his expression changing, the laughter giving way to a focused intensity. “I married you, bella, because I love you. And just in case you need to hear it again, Rachel, bella, ti amo. I love you. I love you. Do you understand?”

  Her heart was beating a mile a minute. “I think so.”

  “You’re not convinced?”

  “Not entirely. Not yet.”

  “What else can I do?”

  She touched her tongue to her upper lip, dampening it. “Take me on that honeymoon?”

  He grinned, and then his grin faded and he kissed her, a long, searing, bone-melting kiss. “We leave tomorrow,” he said. “And we’d better sort out our birth control, or you’ll be pregnant before you know it.”

  EPILOGUE

  One year later

  IT WAS LATE March and their first anniversary was just a week away. They were scheduled to leave for Ravello in two days to celebrate their first anniversary in style and enjoy a second honeymoon, something both Rachel and Gio were very much looking forward to.

  But nothing was going to plan.

  Again.

  Instead of packing for their seaside villa in Ravello and anticipating their luxurious getaway in the glorious Italian sun, they were zipping along in the Marcello speedboat, heading to the hospital with Rachel tightly, frantically gripping Gio’s hand.

  She hurt. And she was scared. “He’s coming too early,” she gasped, as another swift, hard contraction hit.

  Gio just held her hand until the contraction subsided. “We’re almost to the hospital,” he said quietly, leaning over to kiss her. “It won’t be long now.”

  “But what is his hurry?” she cried, looking up into Gio’s blue eyes. “He had another month to just hang out and relax. That was all he had to do, too.”

  Gio’s lips quirked, and yet his touch was gentle and calming as he stroked her hair back from her damp brow. “I think he’s eager to meet everybody and begin playing with his big brother.”

  “Well, he should have consulted me about his plans, because I’m not ready.” Rachel gulped in another breath of air. “But just like a Marcello, he does what he wants an
d expects everyone to adjust and accommodate his whims.”

  Gio laughed softly. “Thank goodness you understand your Marcellos.”

  “You’re all a lot of work!”

  “And now you’ll have one more.”

  Her tense expression eased, her lips curving. “Thank goodness I love little boys.” She looked up into her husband’s eyes. “I just want him healthy. I’m scared that he’s coming too soon.”

  “Not all babies go full-term. I was early. He’ll be perfect. I promise.”

  “He doesn’t have to be perfect. I will love him however he is.”

  “I know you will. You are the best mother, the best wife.” Gio kissed her again. “Bella Rachel, ti amo.”

  She blinked back tears. “I love you, too.” She gripped his hand tighter. “I think the next contraction is starting. They’re coming faster and closer.” She blinked and exhaled, trying to remember her breathing, trying not to panic. “Oh, I just want to get there. I really don’t want to give birth in a motorboat.”

  He leaned over, kissed her forehead. “We’re almost there.”

  She clenched his hand hard as the contraction made everything tighten. “Oh—oh, Gio. This is serious.”

  The boat was slowing, the lights of the mainland ahead of them. “I see the ambulance,” he said. “We’re here. You’re going to be fine.”

  “I don’t know if fine is the word,” she panted, “but as long as I’m not delivering in a speedboat, I won’t complain. You know I love Venice, but this is a bit much.”

  He smiled at her, but didn’t answer, too intent on helping her breathe through the pain. “I love you,” he whispered as the contraction eased. “And I’m so proud of you. Together we have created the most extraordinary life.”

  Gio repeated the very same words less than an hour later as he held his newborn son, a boy they’d already decided to name Antonio after Gio’s beloved brother.

  Rachel blinked back tears as she watched Giovanni walk around her hospital room, cradling their son, murmuring to their newborn in Italian.

  She still wasn’t fluent in Italian but she understood what he was saying to baby Antonio.