Marrying His Runaway Heiress

by Therese Beharrie

  ‘I had a solid three hours, yeah.’

  ‘Three hours?’ She lifted her brows. ‘Did you have something to think about?’

  He smiled. It was teasing and a little sly, and it made her stomach jump. Or was that her hunger? In the whirlwind of the night before, she hadn’t eaten. She’d drunk numerous cups of tea as she’d sat up and thought Micah’s proposal through. She’d exhausted herself, but she thought she had an answer. That smile was making her doubt it though. Could she be his wife if his smile made her—?

  Hungry, she interrupted her thoughts. She was hungry.

  I bet.

  It was as if her thoughts were punishing her for interrupting them.

  No, she told them firmly. Stop misbehaving.

  ‘Yes, I did, which you know.’ He eyed her. ‘How much sleep did you get?’

  She pretended to count. ‘Oh, about three hours, too. They weren’t solid though.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  She waved away the apology. ‘You weren’t in bed keeping me awake. Oh, you ordered me coffee?’ she exclaimed when the waiter put a cup down in front of her. ‘You’re a lifesaver.’

  He didn’t reply, but his eyes had gone intense again. Not that it said much; that was his normal state. Although he had seemed lighter recently. Lighter compared to who he usually was, which was saying something, what with the proposal.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked when she’d taken a drink of her coffee and he was still staring at her.

  ‘Nothing. You said... Never mind.’ He picked up his menu. ‘I’m thinking full breakfast this morning. It’s going to be a long day.’

  ‘Hold on. I’m still...’

  She trailed off, replaying her words. When they caught up with her, she nearly dropped the cup she was bringing to her lips again. Not at what she’d said—that was perfectly harmless if Micah didn’t have such a dirty mind—but at his reaction. It told her they needed to talk about that thing she’d thought about at several points of the night.

  ‘Why...er...why is today going to be a long day?’ she said, drinking her coffee as she intended to. It had nothing to do with the much needed caffeine and everything to do with hiding her blush. It also distracted her from having to talk about sex with her future husband and she was looking forward to that.

  Not looking forward to that. Not.

  In response to that correction, her mind offered her the memory of Micah pinning her to the wall. Heat flooded her body and, instinctively, she pressed her legs together. Then she cursed both her body and her mind for betraying her, and tried not to think about how sensitive every part of her body had suddenly become.

  She took another gulp of coffee.

  ‘I...er... I thought we could go to Tuscany.’ Micah took a sip from his coffee, too. Were his motives the same as hers? ‘There’s a small town there that would be perfect for today.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t want you to go out of your way to show me Italy. Venice is plenty.’

  ‘But we’ve done Venice,’ he said with a small smile. ‘You’ve seen most of it. Of course, we can spend more time finding the jewels of the city. But wouldn’t you rather go to the countryside? Sip wine in the vineyards? Eat home-made pasta?’

  She stared at him for a long time. ‘You’re a hell of a businessperson. I’m pretty stubborn, but I swear you can talk me into almost anything.’

  ‘Almost anything?’ he enquired gently.

  She opened her mouth to tell him what she’d decided, but the words wouldn’t come out. She frowned. Was she being cautious? Or did she feel hesitant?

  ‘It’s okay, Elena.’ His eyes were softer than usual. ‘We don’t have to talk about it now.’

  ‘But we have to talk about it,’ she insisted.

  ‘We will. After the wine and pasta.’ He smiled.

  ‘You already know me so well,’ she teased, though a part of her meant it. ‘But yes, wine and pasta it is.’

  That was how Elena found herself in the beautiful town of San Gimignano later that morning. It took them some time to get there by train, but the journey was beautiful. Green stretched out through the windows for kilometres as Micah told her about San Gimignano as if he were a tour guide. That was how she knew that the town was in the heart of Italy’s wine country, and that it had narrow streets and old architecture much like Italy’s cities.

  But his descriptions couldn’t prepare her for the feeling she got once they were there. It felt like history and peace, an uncommon combination, yet somehow it captured the atmosphere perfectly. The buildings were tall and old, as promised, but they felt rich with culture and were beautiful. They stretched up like stone trees to the sky, with ivy creeping up them as if wanting to see the sky, too.

  They stopped at a rustic restaurant Micah had been to before, and were guided to a terrace that overlooked the vineyards. The terrace itself was beautiful. Flowers were planted in a large square in the middle of the space, and terracotta pots with flowers stood on the boundaries of it.

  They were seated at the edge of the terrace and had the best view. Then the wine and the pasta came, and Elena thought it was the best day.

  ‘Are you trying to persuade me to marry you, Micah?’ she teased when their meal was done. She wouldn’t have done it, but it was her third glass of the delicious wine, and she was in a teasing mood.

  ‘You’ll have to tell me if it’s working before I admit that,’ he said with a small smile. He was as tipsy as her, unless he could hold his wine better than she could. She doubted that.

  ‘It might be.’ She sighed contently. ‘I’ve been more relaxed yesterday and today than I’ve ever been in my life.’ She thought about it. ‘In fact, this entire trip has done a world of good for my mental health. Despite those unexpectedly tense moments between us.’

  ‘Tense moments?’

  ‘Oops. Probably shouldn’t have said that. But don’t pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about.’ She wagged a finger at him, then used the hand to count down the tense incidents. ‘In the plane, when you looked at me in my unicorn shirt. At the banquet when you pinned me against the wall. After the banquet when we fought about—’ she waved her hand ‘—something. Our conversation in my hotel room. The proposal.’ She waved her hand at him. ‘We need to stop it now or I’ll run out of fingers to count on.’

  ‘You have another hand.’

  ‘Good point. Though that’s not my point, so maybe it isn’t.’

  ‘Are you drunk, Elena?’ he asked, this time with his annoyingly sexy smile on display.

  ‘Of course I’m not drunk.’ She said it a tad loud. She knew that because the people at the table next to her looked over in amusement. ‘Hmm. Maybe I should switch to water.’

  She studied her wine glass, drank the last drop then filled it with water and downed that.

  ‘At least it has the same taste as the wine.’

  ‘You’re cute when you’re drunk.’

  She snorted. ‘Please. We both know I’m cute when I’m sober, too.’

  His smile went from his lips to his eyes. Somehow. He wasn’t smiling at her, but she could tell he was still amused, and it had something to do with his eyes. Hmm. He could definitely hold his wine better than she could. She would have to remember that for their marriage.

  Their marriage. She was marrying him. And she hadn’t told him yet. She should probably tell him.

  ‘We need to talk about sex,’ she said instead.

  And the shock of it sobered her right up.

  * * *

  ‘Do you want some dessert?’ the server asked, oblivious to the tension between him and Elena.

  ‘No,’ he said quickly.

  ‘But coffee, please,’ Elena added.

  ‘And for you, sir?’

  ‘No. Yes. Yes,’ he repeated. He could do with some coffee if they were going to be hav
ing this conversation.

  The server disappeared, but Elena didn’t say anything. She poured herself another glass of water and drank it, though slower than she had before. He suspected it was to delay the conversation, but he would wait as long as he had to. It was a skill he’d mastered in business negotiations, waiting. There was no way he would speak before she did. Let alone on this topic.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, clearing her throat. ‘I shouldn’t have been so blunt about it.’

  Micah drank from his water glass, too. He didn’t want her to think he was panicked at her bringing this up. In fact, he was elated. It meant they were on the same page in terms of what they were trying to prepare for with their marriage. It meant she was probably thinking about saying yes to him. It meant he wouldn’t have to bring it up.

  ‘It’s fine. You want to talk about it, we can talk about it.’

  ‘Are we calling it “it” like we’re two teenagers?’ she asked lightly. ‘“Are we going to do ‘it’, Micah?”’ She was shaking her head before she even finished. ‘I am so sorry I did that. The fact that it went through my filter tells me I should have stopped after that second glass.’

  ‘Elena, it’s okay. You’re just nervous.’ He couldn’t help his chuckle though.

  She gave him an unimpressed look. ‘If I was—and I’m not saying I am—the only thing I’d want from you is your laughter. So, thank you.’

  He lifted up his hands, and shut his mouth. But she was so adorable. Her cheeks were red from the wine or the sun, he didn’t know. Both, he decided. Her hair was an intricate web of curls at the top of her head, slightly off balance because of the hat she’d replaced the flower crown with. She’d brightened as soon as she’d put it on, and walked around with it all day until now, despite the bulk it created on her head.

  She was wearing another charming summer dress, white and red this time, and had paired it with her signature red lipstick. It was faded from the food she’d eaten and wine she’d drunk, but he could still see. He wanted to kiss her lips.

  ‘Okay, before I get there, I need to say that I’m... I’m going to say yes to marrying you.’

  Her words didn’t have the lyrical cadence they’d had earlier, and he thought the water was working fast. Then he realised she’d told him what he wanted and he wasn’t processing it. The server arrived before he could and, after he thanked the man, Elena began to speak again.

  ‘I need to talk to you about two things first though. One is sex, but we’ll get to that. Not to the sex. To the topic.’ She frowned and stared at the black coffee. ‘I should have ordered an espresso.’

  He didn’t speak, half amused, half entranced by her words. By everything about her.

  ‘Look, you’ve never had a personal...friendship, or whatever, like this before. I don’t mean physically—’ she blushed, but pressed on ‘—but emotionally. You’ve never had someone who wants to spend time with you. Not the business you, or millionaire you or whatever you, but you. I...um...care about you, and I guess you sense that, and I just wanted you to know that you don’t have to marry me because I’m the first person to do that.’

  She bit her lip at the end of it, as if keeping herself from adding to what she said. What more could she add? He almost asked her, but now he was thinking about whether she was right. Was he offering to marry her because he felt obligated to? Was this a response to someone who cared about him?

  He had no means of comparison, so he struggled to answer that question. He didn’t know what a personal friendship—or whatever, he thought wryly—was like. His relationship with his parents was non-existent, so he wasn’t sure how he responded to love. Which sounded dramatic since he knew his parents loved him. In their way. So if he was responding to love, it was to his brand of love. The fact that someone loved him in a way that he could actually feel.

  Wait—not love, care. Elena cared about him. He was responding to how she cared about him.

  ‘How would I know if I’m doing that?’

  Elena tilted her head. ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘How do you know you’re not accepting me because you don’t know what any of that looks like either?’

  Her lips parted, then formed an oh. She gave a little laugh. ‘I guess I don’t know that either.’

  He brought his coffee to his lips. ‘It’s not exactly something I hoped you and I would have in common.’

  ‘We have plenty of other things in common,’ she said with a shake of her head. She continued, but he made a mental note to ask about those things later. ‘And I came up with an answer. Kind of.’ The knit in her brow deepened. ‘We know how we felt when our parents treated us the way they did.’ She paused. ‘The not great stuff, and the way it made us feel. I don’t feel that way now, with you.’ She swallowed. ‘But there was one time my father...almost acted proud of me.’ She looked down, as if she were ashamed. He barely stopped himself from reaching out to her. ‘And it made me feel...warm. Valued.’ Now she met his eyes. ‘Kind of how you make me feel.’

  He had no idea what to do with the feelings that admission awoke in him. It felt as if a volcano had burst. He tried to focus on something else; anything other than the hot lava of emotion spreading inside him. Logic chose her relationship with her father. What she told him helped him understand why she was so eager to please the man. She wanted to feel warm and valued again. He couldn’t blame her for that. Especially not when he wanted to feel that way just once with his parents.

  Especially not when she made him feel that way, too.

  Something skittish skipped through his chest.

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make things so sombre.’

  ‘You didn’t.’

  Her eyes softened. ‘I appreciate that lie.’

  ‘Elena,’ he said slowly, trying to get his thoughts in order. ‘There are many reasons I asked you to marry me. Many logical reasons that have nothing to do with the fact that you...care about me.’

  ‘Oh. Yes, of course.’ She gave a quick shake of her head. ‘I didn’t mean to imply—’

  ‘But,’ he interrupted, ‘the fact that you’re concerned I might be doing this for less straightforward reasons, if you will, is also a part of why I asked. You’re a rare breed of person,’ he continued carefully. ‘I would be honoured to be your husband.’

  Their eyes met, held, and he was reminded of the lava again.

  Which he promptly fell into when she said, ‘Even at the cost of what you want to achieve with your mother?’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ‘WHAT DO YOU MEAN?’ Micah asked once he resurfaced.

  ‘What if my father chooses to punish me for going against his wishes by refusing to partner with you?’ Her voice was low. ‘You said that plan had something to do with your mother, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ he murmured, realising he hadn’t told her the details of it. ‘She cares about her career more than anything else. I thought she would care about mine, too, if I partnered with your father. He’s her biggest client.’

  ‘And if she cared about your career, she might start to care more about you, too.’

  He gave a curt nod. She studied him for a while.

  ‘Is it worth it, Micah? Am I...? Is this worth the risk?’

  It was a damn good question. And the fact that she was asking it meant more to him than he could comprehend. It told him it was worth the risk. Despite her deliberate rephrasing, he thought she was worth the risk. His gut agreed. It also told him she would care about him even if he didn’t do anything to make her care about him.

  She wasn’t like his mother.

  It was a confusing realisation in the context of everything that was happening. His mother was the reason he and Elena were even having this conversation. His desire to get her attention had put him on this path. Now he was considering throwing that away? Why? Because someone was offering him a rel
ationship he didn’t have to work so damn hard for?

  Yes.

  The lack of turmoil he felt at that was refreshing.

  ‘I don’t know what it means that I’m saying this.’ He spoke slowly, in case something changed. It didn’t. ‘But I’d still like to marry you.’

  ‘Micah,’ Elena breathed. She reached out and covered his hand with hers. ‘Are you sure?’

  He turned his hand over and threaded his fingers through hers. ‘Yes.’

  Elena studied him. Seconds later, she shifted to the seat beside him, then grabbed his hand again.

  ‘There’s no shame in wanting a relationship with your mother. Even at the cost of this.’

  ‘I know.’ Because he couldn’t resist it, he cupped her face. ‘But I think my life will be fuller with you in it. My life will just be...different, with my mother in it.’

  Emotion flooded her eyes. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, clasping her hands around the wrist of the hand that held her face.

  He could tell she meant it. She wasn’t controlling her facial expressions. She was showing him her heart and, in it, he could see her sincerity. And more. So much more. More than he’d ever thought he could hope for when anyone looked at him.

  ‘You don’t have to be sorry for something outside your control,’ he said.

  ‘Not marrying you is inside my control.’

  ‘It wouldn’t make a difference to my relationship with my mother.’ Somehow he knew that with certainty. ‘I have no guarantee working with your father would either. I do know that marrying you would make a difference to my life.’

  She bit her lip, her eyes not leaving his. ‘Are you sure?’

  He nodded. ‘If you are.’

  She nodded, too. ‘I am.’

  ‘Then let’s get married.’

  ‘We need to talk about something else first.’

  He dropped his hand and groaned. ‘I think we’ve talked enough.’