Well, she knew what this would be about. It was James’s response to Nicolo telling him he would not be purchasing the bank.
I am equally delighted by your reminder of my commitment to sell you Stafford-Coleridge-Black.
The pencil dropped to the desk from Aimee’s suddenly nerveless fingers.
I also wish to assure you that I am moving forward with the paperwork necessary to proceed with the sale. It will take a few weeks but I assure you, Principe, everything will go forward as promised.
Aimee’s heart gave a wild lurch.
Nicolo had never told her grandfather he would not buy SCB? No. It had to be a mistake….
It wasn’t.
The proof was just under the fax, contained in a legal document pages and pages long.
The last page was the one that mattered. It stated that Barbieri International was now the owner of Stafford-Coleridge-Black.
Aimee’s hand flew to her mouth.
God. Oh dear God! Her husband had lied to her. Lied, even as he’d held her in his arms and vowed there would never be any lies between them.
The bank was his. That was why he’d married her after all. For the bank. And telling her about it was to be her special birthday present.
He couldn’t keep it a secret forever. Mention of the sale was bound to turn up in magazines and newspapers. Nicolo had to break the news to her before that happened.
That was the reason he was taking her away.
Her husband would spend the weekend making love to her. And when she was completely dazzled by all the hours in his arms, he’d tell her what he’d done. That he’d bought the bank. He’d make it sound as if he’d just done it, and that he’d done it solely to reconcile her with her grandfather.
He’d say that he’d done it for her. And that would be the biggest lie of all.
Everything, everything he’d done, was for himself. It had all been in preparation for this moment. His supposed concern for her. His affection for her. His love for her and, all right, he’d never used the word but she’d begun believing that he loved her, that he wanted her for herself, not for the bank….
“Cara?”
The bank. The horrible bank. The bank that had always been more important than she was, first to James, now to Nicolo—
“Cara? Are you there?”
Aimee’s throat was tight. Not with sorrow. With anger. With rage. Bone-deep, hot-blooded rage.
“I’m here, Prince Barbieri,” she said in a low voice. “But not for long.”
“What? Aimee? Aimee—”
She dropped the phone. Ran up the stairs to the bedroom. To her husband’s bedroom, a room she’d willingly shared because she’d believed in him, in the life she’d thought they were building together.
Her suitcase was on the bed.
She upended it, threw open her dressing room doors, yanked clothes from their hangers, clothes she’d brought with her from New York; tossed them into the suitcase and, damn it, she was blinking back tears. Tears, and for what? She was angry, not hurting.
Oh God, not hurting!
A sob broke from her throat. Quickly she forced the suitcase shut, grabbed it and ran from the room.
She was halfway down the stairs when Anna looked up and saw her.
“Principessa!” Anna’s voice was filled with horror. “Principessa. What are you doing? You cannot carry that by yourself.”
“I am carrying it,” Aimee said. “Just watch me.”
“But Principessa… Giorgio? Giorgio, venuto qui! Quickly, Giorgio!”
Giorgio, looking bewildered, hurried toward Anna from the kitchen wing.
“Giorgio.” Aimee took a breath. “Good. I wish to go to the airport.”
The man stared at her.
“The airport, Giorgio. I want you to take me there.”
He looked at her blankly.
“L’aeroporto, capite? Damn it, I know you understand!”
“Principessa.” Anna was wringing her hands in distress. “Per favore, I cannot let you do this. The principe—”
“To hell with the principe! Tell Giorgio to take me to the airport or I’ll go out the door and start walking.”
Anna swallowed audibly. So did Giorgio. Aimee ran down the rest of the stairs and brushed past them.
“Attesta!” Giorgio shouted. “I will do it.”
A moment later, they were speeding out the gates in the big Mercedes, the palazzo a blur on the horizon.
Aimee chose an airline at random.
Giorgio wanted to park the Mercedes so he could carry her suitcase inside but she told him to pull to the curb. Once he did, she got out of the car and ran into the terminal.
Soon, she knew, she’d be out of time.
Nicolo would come after her. It would put a dent in his pride if he let her run away.
Fate was cooperating. There was no one in line at the ticket counter. Yes, there was a flight to New York this morning. Yes, there was an available seat.
Thank goodness, Aimee still had her old credit card…But she didn’t have her passport.
“I am sorry, Ms. Black,” the clerk said politely, “but I cannot issue a ticket if you have no passport.”
“I have one,” Aimee said desperately, “but I can’t get at it. My husband—”
The clerk’s polite mask gave way to a look of empathy.
“I understand, but there’s nothing I can do. Are you American? Perhaps if you go to your embassy—”
“They won’t help me. My husband is—my husband is—”
“I am her husband,” an imperious voice growled.
Aimee spun around. Nicolo stood just behind her, his eyes black with tightly controlled anger.
“I am Principe Nicolo Antonius Barbieri,” he said. “And my wife is correct. Her embassy cannot help her.” His hand closed, hard, on Aimee’s elbow. “No one can help her,” he said coldly, “because she belongs to me.”
“Let go,” Aimee panted. “Let go, Nicolo, or—”
“Or what?” His lips drew back from his teeth. “Do you think making a scene will help you? I promise, it will not. Do you remember how Giorgio clicks his heels and salutes me?” His mouth twisted. “The police will do the same. This is my country, and I am a prince.”
Aimee stared at the cold, arrogant stranger who was her husband.
“I hate you,” she said in a low voice. “I despise you, Nicolo! Do you know that?”
He grabbed her suitcase, tightened his hold on her elbow and started walking. She had no choice but to follow.
He led her out of the terminal. His Ferrari was at the curb, the big Mercedes just ahead of it.
Giorgio sprang from the car, opened the rear door, took one look at his employer’s face and scrambled into his seat behind the wheel.
“Get in.”
“I will not get in! I’m leaving. There’s nothing you can do to stop—”
Nicolo snarled a word, picked her up and put her in the car. Then he climbed in beside her and banged a fist on the closed privacy partition. The Mercedes leaped away and merged into the traffic exiting the airport.
“Now,” he said, turning his hot, furious gaze on Aimee, “tell me what you think you are doing.”
“Tell Giorgio to turn this car around.” Aimee shot to the edge of her seat and pounded on the partition. “Giorgio? Take me back to the airport.”
There was no response. The car kept moving forward.
“I’m leaving you, Nicolo,” Aimee said. “Do you hear me? I am leaving you, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”
“I won’t have to do a thing.” Nicolo folded his arms. “Customs will do it for me. You have no passport.”
“I’ll get one. I’ll phone the American Embassy. They won’t give a damn that you call yourself a prince, especially when I tell them that you’re really an arrogant, deceitful, lying—”
“Be careful, cara. It is not wise to add fuel to a fire that is already burning.”
It was hard, bein
g so close to him. Looking into the eyes she’d foolishly let herself believe shone with love for her.
His eyes were cold now. Cold and flat and empty.
Suddenly Aimee felt almost unbearably weary. He was right. He was a prince. A macho male. He held all the cards; she held none. He’d lied to her. Hurt her in the worst possible way but he’d shown her kindness, too.
There had to be a shred of kindness left for her in his heart.
Aimee sank back against the seat.
“Don’t do this,” she whispered. “Please, Nicolo. Just let me go.”
“There was a time you called me Nico.”
She looked at him. His voice was low; the anger in his eyes had been replaced by bewilderment…But he was a good actor. She knew that better than anyone.
“A mistake,” she said. “Everything was a mistake.”
“Cara. I do not understand. I left, you were happy. The next thing I know—”
“The next thing you know,” she said, trying to sound cold, trying not to give way to tears, “the next thing you know, the game’s up.”
“What game? What are you talking about?”
“Your game. This game. You and me.” She took a deep breath. “It’s over. I don’t want you anymore.”
“Why do you not want me? What happened?”
“I came to my senses, is what happened.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, I realized what a—a joke this has been. You. Me. This farce of a marriage.”
“Is that what our marriage is to you? A joke?”
Another change of tone. There was warning in it now but Aimee was beyond heeding that warning.
“You know it is.”
She cried out as he pulled her to him. His lips crushed hers; his kiss was savage and deep but it didn’t touch her heart.
He had lost his power to seduce her.
He would never have that power again…except, except, God, she was going to cry.
Going to?
She was crying already, tears burning her eyes as she fought against them and she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing her weep because—because there was nothing to weep about. She didn’t love him, she’d never loved him—
“I don’t love you,” she gasped, tearing her mouth from his.
The words came out before she could stop them. Nicolo raised his eyebrows.
“Strange. How could you not love me when you never claimed to love me?”
“I meant—I meant I didn’t love you, even when I thought I did.”
“Yet you never said those words to me.”
“I said, I thought I loved you. But I didn’t. It was all sex. You knew that. You used it against me.”
“I see. I used sex to make you fall in love with me.”
“Yes. No. I didn’t fall in love with you. Damn it, you’re twisting everything, the way you always do.”
“What have I twisted in the past?”
“You know damned well what you twisted. And I’m not going to do this! I’m not going to give you the chance to try to convince me not to leave you because I’ve made up my mind. I am leaving you—and you won’t lose a thing, because the bank is already in your pocket!”
Nicolo cocked his head. “Really? The bank is in my pocket?”
Aimee slammed her fist against his chest. “Don’t,” she cried. “Don’t make fun of me. Don’t lie! Don’t, don’t, don’t…”
Tears began streaming down her face.
You could only pretend to hate the man who owned your heart for just so long and then the enormity of losing him, of having been a pawn that meant nothing to him, became too painful to bear.
She sagged against his hands.
“Please,” she said brokenly, “please, Nicolo, if you have any feeling at all for me, let me go.”
“Cara.” His arms went around her; he gathered her close despite her struggles and drew her into his lap. “Tell me what happened. What hurt you. Tell me, so I can make it go away.”
“What happened,” she said as a shudder racked her body, “is that I discovered the truth.”
“No,” he said gently, “I don’t think that’s possible because if you knew the truth, if I had told it to you a long time ago, you would not be weeping in my arms.”
“I’m not weeping,” Aimee said, her body shaking with her sobs.
“Of course not. You’re too strong to cry. Isn’t that right, cara?” His smile tilted as he took a white linen square from his pocket and handed it to her. “I told you I’d work up to a handkerchief someday.”
Aimee wiped her eyes, blew her nose, then balled the hankie in her fist. “Now. What is this truth that has made you want to leave me?”
She lifted her head and met his eyes. “I found the fax.”
“What fax?”
“The one from my grandfather, assuring you he’d sell the bank to you.”
His face fell. “Ah.”
“Yes. Ah, indeed. I found everything. That fax—and the papers that showed the sale had gone through.”
“What else did you find?”
His tone was neutral. At least he wasn’t going to try to deny the truth.
“Isn’t that enough?” Her voice broke. “I’d married you. I’d agreed to live with you, to be your wife. Why did you have to lie? Why did you tell me you weren’t going to buy the bank? Why did you make me fall—make me fall—”
“What, cara?” Tenderly he brushed her honeyed curls back from her cheeks. “What did I make you do?”
Why hide it now? Her pride lay in tatters; by the end of this, she would have none left to lose. Then she would leave him. She couldn’t live this way, loving him and knowing he had never loved her.
And yes, she loved him. Despite everything, she loved him. She would always love him.
“Cara,” Nicolo said softly, “are you telling me that you love me?”
She didn’t answer.
And, for the first time in his life, Nicolo found himself terrified of what a woman’s answer might be because if his wife didn’t say that she loved him—
If she didn’t, he would be lost.
Lost, because he loved her with all his heart. He would always love her. The vows they had taken said it would be until death, but that was wrong.
He would love her until then, and beyond.
Months ago, a woman had run into him on the street and she’d left him in a rage he hadn’t been able to understand.
When he saw her again, in a club that same night, his rage had changed to desire so savage it had baffled him.
And, through the twists and turns of destiny, he had married her.
He’d told himself he’d done it for the child they’d created but even then, deep inside, he’d known that he’d done it for a simpler reason.
He loved her.
And that love had grown until it was the most important thing in his life. But he was too much an idiot—all right, too much a coward to admit it.
After all, he had never loved anyone before.
No. That wasn’t true. He’d loved his parents, but they had not loved him. He’d loved his gran-nonna, but she had died. He’d even loved a couple of his governesses, but they’d disappeared like puffs of smoke.
He would not, could not make himself that vulnerable again.
Instead he’d come up with ways to show what he felt for his wife. The engagement ring. The wedding bands. Dio, he had never thought he’d want to wear a ring. Wasn’t a ring a more civilized version of shackles?
It turned out it was not. A ring was a way of telling the world he adored his wife.
His problem then had been telling the same thing to his wife. Words had terrified him. Suppose she hadn’t felt the same? So he’d come up with what had seemed a clever plan.
He’d tell her grandfather he didn’t want to buy the bank.
Good, as far as it went. His Aimee’s smile, when he told her what he’d done, had filled him with happiness….
&n
bsp; Then, a little while later, he’d thought of something even better. He’d buy the bank, then give it to his wife as a gift.
So clever. So brilliant…
So stupid.
His plan had backfired. And now, his wife wanted to leave him.
No, he thought fiercely, no….
“Aimee.” Nicolo took a deep breath. “I asked you a question, cara. I asked if you love me.”
“Nicolo—”
“But that was wrong. I should have spoken first. I should have said—I should have told you that I adore you, bellissima mia. That I cannot imagine living without you.” She shook her head, turned it away and he cupped her chin, gently but firmly forced her to look at him. “You are my heart, Aimee. You are my life.”
“Nicolo. I saw the papers. I saw—”
The Mercedes had stopped a long time ago. Nicolo looked out, saw the broad steps that led into the palazzo. Giorgio, clever man, was nowhere in sight but the front door of the palazzo stood open.
Nicolo carried his wife from the car, up the steps and into the house. She told him to put her down but he kissed her to silence, carried her into his study and gently set her on her feet, though he wasn’t taking any chances.
He kept his arm around her while he rifled through the papers on his desk, found the one he wanted and held it out to her.
“What is that?”
“It is the gift I intended to give you this weekend, the gift I hoped would take the place of the words I was too much a coward to say, that I love you, I need you, that I cannot live without you.”
Aimee looked up at him, her eyes still awash in tears.
“Read it,” he said gently. “Per favore, sweetheart, I beg you. Read it.”
Slowly Aimee took the document from him and began to read. Halfway through, she blinked. Looked up and shook her head.
“Nicolo. I don’t understand. This says—”
“It says that the damnable bank is yours, amante.”
“But it can’t be. My grandfather—”
“Sold it to me. And as soon as it was mine, I told my attorneys to change the name of the owner from Barbieri International to Aimee Black Barbieri.” His voice softened. “It should always have been yours, cara. And now, it is.”
“You mean, you bought it just so you—”
“Si. It is my gift to you, a gift I give you with all the love in my heart, now and forever. You must believe me. I love you, love you, love you—”
The Billionaires' Brides Bundle Page 15