by Penny Jordan
‘You see, you’re right Antonia. Children do deserve two parents, and I figured with you damaging my reputation, coupled with the hours I put in at the office—well, it might go against me if I were in sole charge. But given I’ve got a loving wife at home—a loving, educated wife, I hasten to add, with not a single skeleton in the cupboard—well, I’m sure the courts will understand that I need to provide for my family. I’m sure the courts will have no hesitation in giving Catherine and I full custody.’
The room was icy cold. Antonia was opening and closing her mouth like a goldfish as Rico’s hand snaked around Catherine’s face and he planted a kiss on her cheek in a curiously triumphant gesture before addressing his family. ‘Antonia, Father—’ Rico smiled in turn at them both. ‘Allow me to introduce my wife.’
‘Your wife?’ The incredulity in Antonia’s voice wasn’t born of affection; Catherine could almost taste her disgust as it permeated the room. ‘When did this happen?’
‘This morning.’ Rico’s voice was insolent. ‘You’ll understand there wasn’t exactly time to send out invitations, and naturally we don’t expect a present, but surely congratulations should be in order?’
‘Never!’
Antonia was shuddering with an unleashed fury which Rico clearly wasn’t going to hang around to witness. As he stalked out of the room, Catherine knew her supposed place was by his side, but her legs were leaden as she turned to go. She was truly torn by what she had witnessed.
‘He’s using you.’ Antonia almost ran to catch up with her. Pulling at Catherine’s suit, she turned her around, and Catherine waited—waited for confrontation, for accusations of what she didn’t know. But more bewildering was a look from Antonia that bordered on sympathetic, a touch that was almost maternal as she squeezed Catherine’s arm. ‘Maybe you think you’re using him as well, Catherine. Perhaps you’ve agreed to use each other. But I’m telling you: you won’t come out of this unscathed.’
‘Please, Antonia,’ Catherine warned her, ‘don’t threaten me.’
‘I’m not threatening you, my dear.’ Antonia shook her head. ‘It’s not me that you have to fear; I only want what’s best for Lily.’
‘So do I.’ Catherine’s throat was dry, her mouth like sandpaper, and she could see Rico out of the corner of her eye, waiting impatiently for her to join him. But still she held her ground. ‘And I truly believe that this is the best way.’
‘Can I at least see her?’ Tears were filling Antonia’s eyes now, and Catherine was appalled at what she had been reduced to. She had read about grandparents being kept from their grandchildren, had moaned with her colleagues about children being used as a weapon in bitter custody battles, and to think she was capable of it truly appalled her. ‘Please don’t keep us away from her while the court case goes on. Whatever happens between the families, surely we should still be able to see her.’
‘Of—of course,’ Catherine stammered. ‘Lily needs people who love her.’
‘And I do love her.’ Antonia gulped. ‘Whatever Rico says about me, I do love her. All I’m asking is that you remember that.’
Oh, she didn’t want to remember that—didn’t want the rules to suddenly change. It had all been so much easier when Antonia was the enemy—a cold, heartless woman who would stop at nothing—but suddenly she didn’t look so cold. Right now she looked like a grandmother having her heart stamped on.
‘I have to go,’ Catherine said. ‘Rico is waiting…’
‘It’s Rico you need to watch out for,’ Antonia warned, her eyes boring into her, almost mesmerising in their clarity. ‘He’s using you, and when he’s finished with you he’ll toss you aside, the same as he did with his father, the same as he did with his brother. You’ll be left with nothing.’
‘I’m Lily’s aunty,’ Catherine said, with a conviction that wavered as Antonia shook her head slowly.
‘You’re a pawn, darling. A pawn in one of Rico’s games.’
CHAPTER SIX
‘I KNOW it all seems a bit strange, but you’ll soon get used to it.’
Catherine didn’t even deign to give a response as she clipped along the marble entrance hall in her high heels, her dark suit matching her sombre mood. Antonia’s words were still ringing in her ears as she tried to fathom the new world she now inhabited.
And he watched.
Watched from a distance as she explored her new surroundings, quietly proud of her detached dignity as she adjusted to yet another new page in the book of her life, again faced the challenges the world seemed only too willing to provide this resilient woman.
You have to let her come to you.
How many times over the last days had he heard that?
Every time Lily had arched her back, sobbed in protest as he held out his arms to her, the social worker had repeated those words. ‘She’s confused, scared—it’s all too much for her to take in. If you can just be there for her, and try not to expect too much, then in time she’ll come to you.’
But it wasn’t Lily worrying him now; tonight his concern was purely for Catherine.
How he longed to go over to his new bride, to shower that pale, strained face with kisses, to make things better with just a smile. But this wasn’t a baby to be won over with a smile; this was a woman…
In every sense of the word, Rico thought, then attempted a retraction, mentally slamming closed a window that simply couldn’t be opened tonight.
He wanted to tell her—tell her what was in his heart—but surely now wasn’t the time. Catherine had enough to deal with, without clouding the issue with his pointless declarations.
A loveless marriage.
That was what they had agreed and that was how it must be. For now at least.
Yet no matter how he fought it, no matter how he tried to feign aloofness, still he found himself admiring those legs that seemed to go on for ever, silhouetted by her sheer stockings as she walked the length of the house. He took in the soft curve of her stomach, so much more appealing than the flat, concave gamines he usually dated.
But though he adored her with his eyes, they narrowed in concern as she made her way back to the entrance hall. She faced him head-on for the first time that day, and he couldn’t help but notice the dark smudges under eyes that had lost all their sparkle, the luscious hair tied back in a severe knot. Only her lips added a splash of colour, but even they seemed to have paled, and he ached, physically ached to take her into his arms and kiss away all the hurt, to somehow let her know that he understood the hell of today—the funeral, the awful confrontation with his family. But something in her stance told him he was neither wanted nor needed.
‘I’d better check on Lily.’ Even her voice seemed to have lost its fire. ‘Listless’ was the word that sprang to mind. Her eyes didn’t even flick to his as she headed for the stairs.
‘Jessica said she was sleeping,’ Rico pointed out. ‘Maybe it’s best not to disturb her.’
‘Jessica’s the nanny.’ Catherine shrugged. ‘I thought nighttime kisses and fairy stories were my department.’
‘Catherine.’ He came up behind her, taking the stairs two at a time till he stood beside her, one hand reaching for her shoulder. But he saw her stiffen before he even made contact and pulled it away. ‘You’ve just lost your sister, moved out of your home—’
‘And just got married!’ Her eyes glinted dangerously at him. ‘You failed to mention the fact we got married this morning, Rico. But then why would you? It was hardly the ceremony of the century.’
‘Which was what you wanted,’ Rico pointed out. ‘What you insisted upon.’
And it had been, Catherine conceded. But only to herself. She’d never been one of those women who’d dreamed since childhood about her wedding day, but a draughty, bland register office in the middle of the city, a ceremony snatched between meetings with lawyers and funeral preparations, certainly hadn’t been envisaged either.
‘I just didn’t expect it to be so—’
‘Look,’ Rico
quickly interrupted, ‘I know it wasn’t much of a wedding—I know that it was all a bit rushed. If you want, we can do it again—do it properly. When things have settled down we can have the wedding you want, the wedding you deserve. I’ll get my secretary to find you the best wedding planners; they can put you on to designers, anything you want…’
He was trying to help, Catherine told herself. Rico Mancini was used to waving a chequebook to fix things, used to plastering over cracks. But her pain ran too deep.
He simply didn’t get it.
He’d probably never get it.
The bland surroundings, the lack of grandeur, her crumpled clothes, the impassive celebrant—they didn’t matter a jot.
Had Rico only loved her, had his eyes adored her as he’d taken her as his wife, had his hand only reached for hers as they’d signed the register, the wedding would have been all she’d ever hoped for.
Her wedding would have been magical.
‘I’m going to check on Lily.’
‘Leave Lily for now.’ Rico was insistent. ‘Jessica seems very responsible and her room is just next door to Lily’s. Why don’t you come and have a drink?’
‘I don’t want a drink.’
‘Well, a bath, then.’
She gave a low laugh. ‘I would, except I don’t even know where the bathroom is.’
‘Catherine, please.’ She could hear an impatient note to his voice and gave a wry shake of her head—her allotted two minutes of understanding were clearly up.
‘What’s wrong, Rico?’ Accusing eyes turned to his, for even though she was as much a participant as Rico, a willing partner in the sham they had engineered, somehow she couldn’t help but blame him.
Blame him for not loving her back.
‘Aren’t I playing the part of new bride to your satisfaction? Are you disappointed I didn’t want to be carried over the threshold to satisfy the photographers? Were you hoping I might have a nice bath and then slip into something more comfortable?’
‘Of course not—’ Rico started, but Catherine hadn’t finished.
‘You’ve got what you wanted, Rico. I’ve kept up my end of the deal. But don’t for one second expect me to be happy about it.’
Even as she spoke Catherine regretted her harsh words. She didn’t want to be like this, didn’t want to be mooching around like a surly teenager, making this uncomfortable situation worse for both of them. But it was as if she couldn’t help herself.
Antonia’s dreadful accusations were still buzzing in her ears. How she longed to escape for a few days, to check out of the world and digest all that had happened, assimilate it into some sort of order—something she could deal with. But at her own bidding she was a mother now. And not one part of her life was familiar. Her possessions had been cleared from her flat in a single day, compassionate leave arranged from work with one phone call—even her name was different: Catherine Mancini.
Catherine Mancini, who lived in a huge, imposing house, with servants and nannies. Catherine Mancini, who had a baby to care for. Catherine Mancini, wife to a husband who under any other circumstances wouldn’t have deigned to marry her.
‘Leave Lily,’ he said again, and the tone of his voice told Catherine he wasn’t about to be argued with. ‘If you wake her now it will take ages to settle her, and we’re both exhausted.’
‘Fine.’ Her mouth barely moved. ‘Maybe I will have a bath after all, and then I think I’ll go to bed. Could you show me where I’ll be sleeping?’
‘Of course.’ He led her up the stairs, his hand resting gently on tense shoulders that stiffened even more as he pushed open the large mahogany door. He registered her sharp intake of breath as she eyed the vast bed, the massive floor-to-ceiling windows that took in the shimmering Melbourne skyline. ‘I will even run a bath for you.’
Run a bath. He made it sound such a supreme effort, and for Rico it probably was, Catherine mused as he walked across the room. No doubt this was a first. She watched as he stood for a moment by the vast sunken spa, eyeing the bottles of oil, then flicking a switch. She stood, seemingly transfixed by the swirling bubbles but struggling against a surge of panic, wishing more than Catherine had ever wished in her life that she could do it. Could slip off her clothes with the confidence his numerous other lovers had undoubtedly had, smile up at him through her eyelashes and suggest he join her. But she felt as if her feet had been nailed to the floor, a shadow of what Rico undoubtedly expected his wife to be—a mere solution to a problem, a wife of convenience in every sense.
‘There must be another room.’ She ran a tongue over her dry lips, watched his eyes narrow, the muscles on his face quilting as he turned to face her. ‘I mean, it might make things easier for both of us…’
‘Easier?’ His voice was menacingly quiet and she had to strain to catch it over the noise of the running water. ‘You think my wife sleeping down the hallway will make things easier? Tell me how so, Catherine?’
‘I think it would be easier if we had a bit of space. We both know this isn’t a true marriage; we both know we don’t…’ She swallowed nervously. Lies were hard work, even at this dangerous stage.
‘Don’t love each other?’ Rico finished the sentence for her, the words snapping out through his taut lips, and the air crackled with tension as Catherine gave a nervous nod, consoling herself that it was a lie by omission only.
To love each other took commitment from both sides, a commitment Rico had vowed he would never give. But though she loved him she hated him too—hated his presumption, his arrogance, the way he walked over people he should care about.
The questions that had saturated her mind since the wake could be voiced now; answers were needed before she could even contemplate continuing this charade. Forcing herself to take a calming breath, finally she spoke. ‘Is it true what Antonia said? Did you know that the business was going to take off when you bought out your brother and father?’
He didn’t answer for a moment, and when he did despite his blithe response Catherine knew she’d hit a nerve. ‘I knew it was a possibility.’
‘But Antonia said—’
‘Forget Antonia.’ His voice was like the crack of a whip, his nonchalance disappearing as Catherine pressed on. ‘She is poison—evil. I told you not to listen to a word she says.’
‘And that’s supposed to be enough for me?’ Catherine flared. ‘You tell me not to listen and I’m supposed to comply? Am I not allowed to form my own opinions, Rico? Are you going to remind me again of the good old days, when wives took their husbands’ opinions as gospel? The good old days when wives meekly complied with the master’s orders?’
‘You are twisting my words; I am telling you that woman is no good,’ Rico growled, grabbing her wrist and pulling her towards him to force her to listen. But Catherine pulled her hand away, standing tall and proud, looking him square in the eyes.
‘I heard you the first time, Rico.’ Catherine was shouting now. ‘And you can scream it from the rafters, swear it to be true, but so far all I see is a grandmother with her back to the wall—a grandmother fighting to raise her orphaned grandchild.’
‘Step-grandchild,’ Rico corrected, but Catherine refused to buy it.
‘Now who’s twisting words, Rico? We’ll never be Lily’s biological parents, yet that doesn’t mean we won’t love her as if we were! And you still haven’t answered my question. Did you pay off your brother and father knowing that the business was about to explode into an empire?’
‘It was years ago.’ Rico’s hands were working furiously now, tossing in the air with exasperated gestures, and again he reminded her of a lion—but trapped now, pacing the cage restlessly, his simmering anger ready to explode. ‘Why the hell do we have to drag it up? Why go into things that don’t have any bearing on the here and now? They didn’t have to sell.’
‘The same way I didn’t have to marry you?’ She gave a low, mirthless laugh. ‘I bet you ensured that they had no choice but to sell—the same way you gave me no
choice. And despite what you say it does have a bearing on us. How you treated your family in the past is a pretty good indicator of how you’re going to treat me in the future, Rico. There’s a lot of unfinished business there. A lot of pain—’
‘Oh, there’s pain,’ Rico said darkly, his eyes narrowing as he looked at her. ‘But go on, Catherine. Finish what you were saying.’
She swallowed hard. Something in his voice merited deeper exploration, but she had to see this through, could not be dragged from the path again by Rico’s clever bidding. ‘I’m not sure I want to be married to a man who could cheat his own family.’
A compressed hiss escaped his lips. So savage was the fury in his eyes that Catherine braced herself for impact, for that incurable Latin temperament to bubble over into a blind torrent of rage.
All of that she could have dealt with.
Could have fought his fire with her own.
Only it never came. For an age he didn’t answer, just calmly walked over and flicked off the taps she had forgotten were even running, and when he straightened up, when he turned to address her, his voice was incredibly even, his icy demeanor more chilling than any heated confrontation.
‘You make it sound as if you still have a choice, Catherine. You make it sound as if you are still considering the proposal I made back at the hotel.’ He held up his left hand, the heavy gold band she had placed there catching the light as he crossed the room towards her. ‘Might I remind you that we have a legally binding commitment to each other? The register you signed wasn’t a birthday card, or a casual letter you can rip up and forget about.’ His face was so close she could feel every word he uttered skim along her cheek, feel the tension in every muscle as he stood before her, body taut, eyes blazing. ‘You are my wife now, Catherine, with all that that entails.’
‘Surely you can’t expect us to share a bed? Surely after all that’s gone on you don’t expect us to sleep together?’