Marrying His Runaway Heiress

by Therese Beharrie

  ‘Your mother?’

  ‘John Diamond Company is a client of hers.’ He was continuing before she had time to process that. ‘Partnering with your father has little to do with my business, and everything to do with her. We... We don’t have a relationship. I was hoping to change that.’ The pause before he went on this time was longer. ‘But if she thinks I orchestrated this, the chances of that happening...’ He shook his head. ‘She wouldn’t appreciate being manipulated.’

  ‘I can understand that,’ Elena said bluntly.

  He nodded. ‘That’s fair. But... This is how I do business. I make plans. I follow them. I don’t think about the people involved.’

  ‘That sounds callous.’

  His jaw jutted out. ‘It is.’ He paused. ‘I thought about you.’

  She wanted to believe him, but... ‘Did that change how you treated me?’

  ‘It made things more complicated.’ He sighed. Continued speaking as if releasing the breath had also expelled his resistance. ‘I struggled with it. That’s what happened yesterday. Among other things.’ His fingers curled into a fist. ‘It’s easier to pretend not to know how my plans affect other people. For many reasons. Most of all because being callous makes me—’

  ‘Like my father,’ she cut in.

  ‘I was going to say like my mother.’ He heaved out another sigh. ‘I don’t entirely know how I feel about that. I’m working through some things.’

  ‘Clearly.’

  The side of his mouth lifted. ‘You seem to be, too, with your father.’ He paused. ‘He really expects you to marry this guy? Say no.’

  ‘Easier said than done.’

  ‘Isn’t there someone who can intervene?’ he asked. ‘Your mother?’

  ‘I haven’t spoken to my mother since my parents divorced when I was sixteen.’

  Surprised fluttered over his face. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be. We didn’t have much of a relationship before. I wasn’t losing out.’

  ‘But...she’s your mother.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean much if she doesn’t want to be my mother.’

  ‘But—’

  She interrupted him before he could ask more intrusive questions.

  ‘If you’d just told me you wanted to meet my father, things would have been a lot easier. Instead, you were manipulative. And now I’m wondering things like if I’m good enough at my job to be here.’ Or if anything that happened between us was real. ‘I don’t even know if I should trust anything you say. Are you telling me about your mother because you want me to understand your motivations? Or are you doing it for some calculating reason I’ll only discover once I trust you again? I won’t do that to myself.’

  She stood. ‘Send me your opinions on the article if you want. Otherwise, I’ll see you on the flight home.’ She didn’t look back when she left.

  * * *

  It took him the rest of the day to clear his schedule. Micah did it without hesitation. There was a high likelihood the executive committee of his company would have something to say about that, but he could afford to ignore them this time. He’d brought in several high-profile clients over the last year. And if he got John Diamond Company—

  He stopped. It was exactly that kind of thinking that got him into trouble. Admittedly, it was hard to shut down. He was used to methodical thinking. He’d been practising it for over a decade. Probably before that if he was truly examining things.

  His mother was an excellent businessperson. Sharp, motivated, strategic. He witnessed these characteristics before he could describe what they were, especially when she used them on him. There weren’t many traditionally maternal things about his mother. She spoke to him as if speaking to an employee. If the employee was an intern. Or someone she didn’t want to deal with but had to.

  The easiest way of processing it was if he responded in the way she treated him. She’d appreciated that, in that she hadn’t looked too annoyed at him. In fact, the more he became like her, the less annoyed she was at him. But she also appreciated creativity, a fact he’d come to know after he’d written an essay at school about what he wanted to be when he grew up. He’d got an A for the essay, had shown it to her proudly. After one look, she’d said, ‘Micah, you don’t have the skills to become a lawyer.’ He’d never learnt what skills she thought that was. ‘Show a little creativity.’

  And so his trajectory had changed. When he was old enough to figure out where it was headed to, he did research. On the kinds of clients his mother represented, on the kind of business she appreciated. It led him to the affluent market, and soon he’d seen a path to getting what he wanted. He happened to be damn good at it, too.

  He was less good at relationships. Turned out the characteristics his mother had inadvertently taught him—the ones that made him so successful—didn’t work as well in his personal life. He should have known. His mother hadn’t been there for him at all. Nor for his father, which was part of why things hadn’t worked out between them. That was based on his father’s point of view, which he’d been privy to before his father had married and started a family with someone else.

  The one significant thing about his father’s marriage was that it showed Micah there was hope relationships could work. He’d never cared about that before. He struggled with the fact that he cared about it now. But he did. He cared that he’d hurt Elena. That she thought he was like her father, who wanted to use her as though she weren’t a person. That he was like the man who would accept her as his wife, but thought of her in the same way.

  He didn’t understand relationships, but he knew he wanted more for Elena. He wanted more with Elena. She was the first person in his life to make him feel...things. He would accept being her friend if that was the only relationship they could have. But he needed to prove that she could trust him first.

  Which was why he was now walking the narrow paths of Venice to his hotel. Elena had told Serena where she would be staying and had given her all the relevant contact details. It had taken some convincing—unsurprisingly, Elena had inspired loyalty in the woman that had worked for him his entire career—but his assistant had got him a booking at the same hotel. He had no idea if Elena was out exploring, or if she was dining at the hotel’s restaurant, or if she was simply sleeping. But he had to take a chance, and hope he hadn’t crossed a line by coming to see her.

  After he booked in, he called her cell. She didn’t answer. He rolled his eyes. His annoyance was both because she hadn’t answered and because he’d expected her not to. He sent her a message.

  I need a moment of your time, please.

  He got a reply within seconds.

  You had a moment of my time this morning.

  He could picture her saying it, her lips pressed against one another, her eyes daring him to contradict her. For some inexplicable reason, it made him smile.

  We both know this morning didn’t go well.

  Whose fault is that?

  His smile widened. He probably looked like a fool, standing in the foyer, staring at his phone and smiling. He didn’t care.

  Mine. That’s why I’d like to apologise.

  I don’t want apologies.

  You deserve them.

  There was some time before the next message came.

  I’m not answering your calls.

  You don’t have to. Just tell me your room number and we can talk in person.

  What?

  No.

  You’re not here?

  Those three messages came in quick succession.

  Give me your room number and check for yourself.

  His bottom lip curled beneath the top row of his teeth as he waited for her to reply. He knew it was impossible, but he wondered if she knew how hard his heart was beating and was punishing him. But that didn’t seem like Elena’s style. She seemed more like the physical t
orture kind, not the psychological one.

  As if confirming it, her message came.

  Room 542

  He almost ran to the elevator before he realised he’d refused the porter so he could contact Elena. In hindsight, he should have only contacted her after he was settled. But Elena was angry at him, and it felt as if a sword were waiting above his head. It made no sense. It didn’t have to. He would explain himself to Elena soon and that feeling would go away.

  Ten minutes later, he’d thrown his bags into his room and was knocking on the door of room 542. An elderly lady answered.

  ‘Well,’ she said, after scanning him up and down. ‘I didn’t expect this as room service, but I can hardly complain.’

  ‘Oh.’ It took him a beat to realise Elena had duped him. ‘No, ma’am, I’m sorry. This isn’t—’

  ‘Did you just call me ma’am?’ Her accent became more pronounced.

  ‘Yes. I’m sorry. It’s something we use out of respect for—’ He cut himself off. They didn’t need to go into detail about what older women were called in South Africa. ‘I’m not from here. Customs aren’t the same. Please accept my apology.’

  ‘You do like to apologise, don’t you?’ came a drawl from opposite them.

  He glanced back to see Elena leaning against a doorframe with folded arms. Her hair was piled at the top of her head, her skim gleaming with what he assumed was sunblock, though it was evening and he was probably wrong. His brain quickly noted the other things about her—she wore a sun dress, lilac and simple, and nothing on her feet—before he shifted.

  ‘There you are, darling.’ He kept his tone even. ‘I forgot my key card and went to the wrong room.’

  ‘It must be because of all the alcohol you drank at the parade,’ she said easily.

  ‘Getting locked out of my room quickly sobered me up,’ he replied dryly, then turned his attention to the older woman. ‘I’m sorry for disturbing you, ma’am.’

  She didn’t reply, only shut the door in his face. What would it have been like if he’d gone into her room for what she’d wanted? He shuddered.

  ‘If you’re cold, you should probably go inside.’

  He turned. Noted her expression. ‘You mean of my own room.’

  ‘I do.’ She smiled at him. It wasn’t friendly. ‘I have to admit when I didn’t see you through the peephole after five minutes I thought you were lying.’

  ‘That’s why you told me the wrong room number?’

  ‘No. I told you the wrong room number because I thought it would be funny.’

  ‘Hilarious.’

  Her smile was full of amusement now. ‘Oh, I know.’ There was a short silence after she sobered. ‘What are you doing here, Micah?’

  ‘I prefer not talking about this in the passage. Where I’m sure we have some eyes. And ears,’ he added, easily picturing the woman who’d slammed the door on him eavesdropping.

  ‘I prefer not talking about this at all, yet here we are.’

  She wasn’t going to make this easy, then. Okay. He expected as much.

  ‘Can I come in? Please? Please,’ he said again, for good measure.

  She gave him a wary look, but stepped back to let him in.

  CHAPTER NINE

  SHE WAS EITHER the biggest fool in the world, or a sucker for a man who was prepared to grovel. Perhaps both. Probably both, she thought, as she stepped aside for Micah. Both, she confirmed when he walked past her and politely waited for her to close the door before he did anything else.

  Both for him, a voice whispered in her head.

  She shouldn’t have answered his messages, or told him where to find her, or let him into her room. He put her in danger. He was danger.

  ‘Your room is nice.’

  ‘It’s generic and dark, but clean and comfortable. I don’t know if that qualifies as nice.’ She sat on the bed. ‘You didn’t come here to compliment my room though.’

  ‘No.’

  He shifted, revealing his nerves. She shouldn’t have used the opportunity to check him out. He wore jeans despite the heat, though he was dressed the most casually she’d ever seen; he’d replaced his usual shirt with a T-shirt. It was tight over a body that looked muscular, but had the softness of someone who had been buff once, but didn’t get to the gym as much any more. She had no idea whether that was true, or whether Micah’s body simply looked like that.

  What she did know was that she wanted to run her hands over his broad shoulders, down the firm rounding of his torso, back up. She wanted to kiss the crook of his neck and make her way down to the firmness of his bicep. She wanted to—

  She closed her eyes. She didn’t need this attraction. It only reminded her that she couldn’t afford to share it with Micah. She didn’t trust him. But it also forced her to think about the decision she had to make. How could she marry Jameson when she felt this way about another man? Would she indulge in an extramarital relationship as he no doubt would? The very thought of it made her uncomfortable. And she doubted Micah would want a relationship with a married woman anyway.

  She shook her head. She shouldn’t be thinking about this.

  ‘Sit down, Micah,’ she said softly. ‘You’re making me nervous.’

  ‘At least we’ll be on equal ground, then,’ he muttered, but sat. ‘So... I’m...er... I’m sorry.’ It was so sincere she didn’t even feel tempted to interrupt the apology. ‘For everything, but mostly because I made you feel used. That...sickens me.’

  She looked at him for a long time. Saw that he was telling the truth. It shifted something in her brain. In her heart. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

  Her acceptance drew a frown, but he nodded. Then blew out a breath. ‘I’d like to tell you why I did all this. Please.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘I’ve just...never spoken to anyone about it before.’

  She resisted taking his hand. Resisted comforting him. It took more strength than she would have liked. ‘When you’re ready.’

  After another nod and a breath, he began.

  ‘My parents never married. They were dating while at university, found out they were having me, had me. They were about to graduate and they weren’t meant to be serious. My mom already had a law firm she was going to do her articles at, and when they wanted to drop her because of her pregnancy, she threatened to sue them. They played nice, and she worked her butt off while my dad looked after me.’

  He stood.

  ‘They weren’t happy together, but the arrangement worked for them, especially since my dad wasn’t working and my mom was. But my mom was never home, and my dad realised he wanted more from life. When I was seven, they broke up for real. It was fine for my mom because she had a good job by then and she could send me to a school. My dad got a job of his own, and every semblance of family I had ended.’ He walked to her fridge, took a bottle of water out. After he downed it, he said, ‘I’ll pay for it.’

  She didn’t care about that. She did care about the sad look in his eyes. It wasn’t obvious. There was a resignation as he told the story, as if he were recounting something he’d told a million times before. Now she knew why he was so tight-lipped about his family. She also knew him telling her this was...significant.

  ‘My point is,’ he said suddenly, speaking fast, ‘I don’t know how to treat people.’

  ‘You not having a family means you don’t know how to treat people?’

  ‘No.’ He exhaled irritably. She preferred it to the sadness. ‘It means I don’t know... It means,’ he said more deliberately, ‘people are hard for me. Relationships are hard for me.’

  ‘Who said anything about a relationship?’

  ‘I didn’t mean a relationship.’

  ‘That’s wh—’

  ‘I know that’s what I said,’ he interrupted curtly. Exhaled. ‘My mother raised me. But what she did wasn’t rea
lly raising. I had food on the table, shelter, but I didn’t have anything else. So, I followed my mother’s example. I... I shut down the emotions. I was efficient and had single-minded focus.’

  ‘That’s why you’re so successful,’ she murmured.

  ‘Yes.’ He didn’t blink an eye. ‘But apparently, those characteristics don’t do well when you’re trying to befriend someone.’

  Her lips curved. ‘You’re trying to befriend me?’

  He heaved out a sigh and sat down next to her. ‘Do you think I came here simply to torture myself?’

  She thought for a moment. ‘Thank you for coming here. For being honest.’

  ‘I’m trying.’

  ‘So I see.’ Emotion swelled in her chest. She cleared her throat. ‘I don’t like being used.’

  ‘I understand why.’ He gave her another one of his intense looks. ‘Does your father really expect you to marry for his business?’

  She stood and walked to the window. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Will you?’

  She didn’t answer him for a long time. ‘I don’t know.’

  * * *

  Her considering marriage at her father’s behest still sounded like a fantasy. It didn’t belong in the real world. It didn’t belong in her world. She was determined, independent, strong. Why would someone like that put themselves in that position?

  ‘Why?’ he asked eventually. He needed to know.

  ‘It’s a difficult decision.’

  ‘You know that’s not what I meant.’

  She sighed, but didn’t answer him. He stood and joined her at the window. It was night, and all they could see were shadows below them. Occasionally, the light from someone’s cell phone would come along and given them glimpses of outlines of faces and walls and cobbled stones. But Micah wasn’t paying attention to that. He was looking at Elena.