by Anthology
“Christ.” Adrenaline rockets through me and, suddenly breathing hard, I sink down to the floor, right where I’ve been standing. I feel sick.
He has no idea why I’m at such odds over his proposal, if you can even call it that. I really do need the money, and as he ever so eloquently pointed out, there’s a definite attraction between us anyway.
There really isn’t a choice. I’ve always sworn that I would never make the choices that my mother did. But now, penniless and desperate, I have a bit more understanding for what might have been going through her head.
I might have to follow in her footsteps, just for a month… because that amount of money will ensure that I’ll never have to again. I’ll be able to shake that shadow that has haunted me my whole life—the one that took the shape of the various men travelling to and from my mother’s bed. I mean, who am I kidding? I’ll do it. I might even… like it, if I can forget that I’m being paid for sex.
Because a man like Matteo Benenati… if anyone can make my first time amazing, I’d bet money I don’t have on it being him.
MATTEO
After a half bottle of scotch and the resultant restless night, I sit on the massive balcony just off of my bedroom, my sunglasses not doing quite enough to protect my hung-over eyes from the hideously bright glare.
My father would have told me that real men don’t get hangovers. This morning I have to not-so-respectfully tell his ghost to fuck off.
Even after downing three aspirin and two glasses of water, even after sipping at the rich caffè e latte and sweet rolls that one of the maids brought me a few minutes ago, I feel like absolute shit… and only part of it is the physical.
Miss Riley Tremaine set me back on my heels last night, and while I can’t say that I much care for it, I know that I deserved it. Emilia’s ridiculous proposition had upset me more than I’d wanted to admit, and I’d taken it out on Riley.
And the impertinent chit had the nerve to call me on it. Even as my own words echo in my ears, I wonder at that.
I’ve rarely been told no in my lifetime, and then only by my father. Certainly never by a woman. And I know, somehow I just know, that this particular woman is going to be trouble.
If I was thinking only with the brain in my head, I would just find another woman, one who understands the score. One who won’t blink when the month is over, and who will be happy enough to warm my bed in the meantime.
“Fuck.” Wincing as a particularly bright shaft of sunlight sneaks in the sides of my sunglasses, I settle back in my lounger and try to ignore the incessant throbbing in my head, the throbbing which is only intensified by the way my thoughts keep running in circles.
I saw Riley Tremaine for the first time yesterday morning, and yet she and her big eyes have managed to work their way under my skin. What kind of a woman chases after a knife wielding drug addict, just to help someone else?
What kind of a woman has to think about whether or not to accept half a million dollars when she doesn’t have a penny of her own ?
“The kind of woman you should leave the hell, alone, Matteo, that’s who.” I glower down into my cup before shoving it away.
I already know that I won’t. There’s a darkness inside of me, forged by my father’s hand, and it’s drawn to the sweetness and light that this strange woman represents.
Since I set eyes on her in those ridiculous athletic pants that American women insist on wearing, I’ve wanted to possess her, and some primitive part of me loves the idea of marking her with a ring, of making her mine.
And though I know that Emilia is right, that Riley isn’t for me, I know that I’m not a good enough man to send her away. I’m used to having what I want, and her reluctance has been like a red flag in front of a bull.
Even knowing all of this, I cannot change it. Or maybe I just don’t want to. Either way, my conclusion is the same.
I will do whatever it takes to get Riley to agree to my proposal.
Standing, I pull my cell from my pocket, dial Rossi the lawyer. The older man answers on the fourth ring and doesn’t sound fully awake—it is just barely dawn, after all. But after the scene at the office yesterday, I find a strange glee in irritating the man who thinks he knows what’s best for me.
“I need you to get Mama’s ring out of the vault today.” Saying the words gives me a little jolt… even knowing that the marriage is temporary, it’s still… marriage. Something I’ve always intended to avoid, thanks to the example my own parents set for me.
Thanks to Carmine, I have no choice, and for the millionth time in my life, I curse him. Why had he done this? My best guess was just to continue being the miserable bastard he’d always been… to show me that even death can’t stop his control over me.
To tease me with the freedom I’d never hand, only to cruelly snatch it away. Certainly, I could refuse my father’s terms, and forfeit the company.
But my mother silently suffered years of abuse, keeping up appearances and eventually dying in that same silence, just to make sure that that company would still be there for me, as my legacy.
To honor my mother’s sacrifice, I would do a lot. And though I chafed at being ordered, at having my choices taken away…
Would it really be so terrible to spend a month with a woman that I find fascinating? Though I am irritated when I think of the way she put me in my place last night, I am also… intrigued.
And aroused, truth be told. The life that I have—there is little that surprises me anymore, and that includes sex. I’ve had women who promised to be a seductress, and then didn’t participate in the act at all. I’ve had women who were too aggressive even for my liking, and everything in between.
Riley Tremaine? I have no idea what it will be like to lie with her… to lie with her as my wife. And that excites me like nothing has in years.
Belatedly I realize that Rossi is still droning on in my ear. “I really don’t advise using an heirloom like your mother’s ring for an occasion like this…”
He continues, and, unable to control myself, I slam my fist into the wall. “Shut up. Just shut the fuck up.”
I hiss as the pain radiates outward from where my closed hand impacted the cold plaster.
“I beg your pardon?” Rossi sounds as stuffy as I know he is. I want to give him some respect, for dealing with Carmine and the business for so many years, but the fact is, he doesn’t have any respect for me in return.
That has to change.
“Did you or did you not, just yesterday, inform me that I need to take a wife?” I can hear the ice in my voice, and I do nothing to hide it. This man may have known me since I was a child, but the fact remains that he is now in my employ. And the bastard knows, he knows exactly what I had to put up with at Carmine’s hands to get to this point.
Rossi sputters through the line. “You know I did. It’s the term of your father’s will, one that I advised him against—”
“Then please enlighten me as to why you feel I shouldn’t use my mother’s ring to give to my future bride.” I smile as I would if the lawyer was here, a smile that I really don’t mean.
Rossi sighs, and I can feel my temper rise.
“Matteo. You know that this marriage… it won’t last past the month.” The lawyer’s voice is full of condescension, and I cannot believe that he has the gall to say this to me—me, the one who pays his retainer. “And you may well want to give that ring away to someone you truly care about someday. Or perhaps Emilia—”
“Emilia is not to touch my mother’s ring. Ever.” Even if she hadn’t pulled last night’s stunt… that ring is mine. Mine to give to whom I choose. “And thank you ever so much for your thoughts on the matter, but let me make myself clear. I need the fucking ring, and I need it now. Figure it out.”
“Matteo.”
I know I’m not imagining it, the way Rossi is talking to me like a petulant child. And I realize that that’s exactly what I’m acting like. But I can’t seem to stop—it’s a kneejerk rea
ction. I have so much to prove, and Carmine had ensured that I’ll never be able to do so.
I’m not going to correct him for using my first name over a private phone call. But I’m also not leaving this phone conversation without making something clear.
“Rossi. Until the company passes to either Emilia or myself next month, you are under my employ, yes?” This isn’t a question—it’s a fact. “I have asked you to do a simple task. Are you refusing?”
“What? I—no.”
I can tell that he has picked up on the steel that I have infused my voice with.
“Good. There’s no need to come in when you get here; just leave it with Massimo.” Massimo is the massive thug who works at the front gate; he’ll ensure it gets delivered to the house unharmed.
I almost hang up, but Rossi stops me with words that I don’t expect.
“Matteo. You don’t have to do this.” His words pull my world out from under me.
Rossi, of all people, knows exactly what my parents’ marriage was like—know exactly what my mother and I endured.
Knows how I must feel to be controlled like this from beyond the grave.
“Are you saying you have a loophole in Carmine’s will?” My spirits rise, then unexpectedly crash.
Without this will, I would have no further need to keep Riley Tremaine around. And that…
I don’t like it.
And so I’m only partially disappointed when Rossi replies in the negative, and as I hang up, the realization stuns me.
I have never wanted to marry. Have actively avoided it. Where are my mushy feelings coming from… the disappointment, the primal desire to see that ring on the girl’s finger?
For, despite my anger with Rossi, he is completely right. I will marry Riley—that I will be able to convince her, I have no doubt. I will enjoy her for the month.
And then I will let her go.
There is no other choice, not for a man like me.
Chapter Seven
RILEY
I can’t do it.
I just can’t do it.
This morning after I woke up, I stood by the huge glass window in my room for the longest time, looking out over the city of Palermo.
I don’t want to leave. I learned so much in my year here, and I fell in love with the city in the process. Everything about this place—the language, the buildings, the people… it nurtures that artistic spark inside of me like Colorado never did.
But responsible people don’t just pack up and move to Italy on a whim, not permanently. It had been hard enough to convince myself that a year abroad to study art of all things was okay.
Impulsive decisions—those were my mother’s forte, right up there with spending money that doesn’t exist.
I will never be like my mother. And that’s why, no matter how tempting it is, I can’t accept Matteo’s offer.
As I pull on the yoga pants and shirt that I was wearing at the airport, now newly laundered by some mysterious staff member that I never saw, I wonder why this decision makes me so sad. It seems that fate has decided I’ll be in Palermo for a while longer, after all, since I can’t afford a plane ticket home. And that should make me happy, right?
But I’m not. Instead, I feel dread over knowing exactly how little money is in my bank account. And I also feel strangely letdown, that this little adventure with Matteo Benenati is coming to such a meek ending.
For one brief moment, as I push through the heavy doorway that takes me out of the bedroom and into a hallway I don’t remember, being unconscious when I was brought here and all, I consider doing the impossible. Consider throwing caution to the wind and accepting Matteo’s wild offer.
I knew plenty of girls at school who would do it in a heartbeat, if not for the money and the lure of being with someone I am coming to understand is a very powerful man, then for the sheer thrill of it. What a wild story they’d have to tell someday—that time a billionaire paid them to be his bride.
But I just can’t. It’s not entirely because of my mama, or because I think it’s wrong, or even because Matteo will expect things that I’ve never done in exchange for money that he can quite clearly afford to blow on something like this.
It just doesn’t feel like the right decision for me. I can’t have sex with a man who doesn’t want me… me, Riley Tremaine, with all of my nuances and quirks. And I’m okay with that.
Which is why I can’t understand why I feel so strange, so disappointed, as I make my way down the massive, ornately decorated hallway in search of the front door.
After two wrongs turns I at last find the stairs, which thankfully lead right into the front entryway.
As my feet descend the last step, I pause, sucking in a big mouthful of air. This is it, then. I’m leaving this opportunity behind. Leaving five hundred thousand dollars and a fling with an Italian stallion for a night in a hostel and, please God, a job of some sort. Surely I can scrounge up a job as a waitress. Or hell, even Italy has McDonald’s.
And I can always set up on a street corner and try to sell one of the many paintings that I’ve done this year, though it hurts my heart a bit to lose a piece of my year of freedom. But I know that that’s my best shot at quick cash.
“Shit.” That’s when I realize that the last I saw of my luggage was on a conveyor belt at the airport. Matteo strikes me as the kind who would know that and would order someone to retrieve it, but still, I can’t leave until I have my suitcase and my portfolio in hand. Which means that I can’t sneak out like I’d planned. Damn it.
“Going somewhere?” The voice is smooth and dark, one that I think might be seared into my brain for all time. Still, I jump—he’s standing in an open archway that leads to what looks like a sitting room, looking dark and dangerous and altogether delicious.
I wonder how long he’s been standing there, watching me. Hopefully not for long, because then he’ll know how easily I could be persuaded… I’ve always been atrocious at keeping my thoughts from playing across my face like a movie.
Just seeing him sets my pulse fluttering, and I wonder briefly if I’ve made the wrong choice. As he has so succinctly pointed out, there are thousands of women who would kill to be in my shoes right now.
He knows it. I know it.
And yet…
“I’m leaving.” I blurt this out like a seventh grader at her first school dance. But then, I’ve never claimed to be smooth… I haven’t had enough experience with the opposite sex to have perfected my flirtations.
I looked down at my feet as I spoke, nervous about upsetting him, the man who has shown me unnecessary kindness, even if he is a jackass. Now I look up, force myself to look right into his eyes. Something dark passes through them, something that I can’t put a label on. And then it’s gone, and his eyes are narrowed with contemplation.
“I see.” He nods thoughtfully, pushing off from where he is leaning against the wall. The movement makes the muscles of his arms, visible beneath the short sleeves of his black T-shirt, ripple in a way that ahs saliva pooling in my mouth.
Slowly he stalks toward me, and find my mouth drying up with both nerves and excitement. What is it about him? He’s a jerk. He’s not sorry for it, either.
But there’s that hint of something more... that part of him that was revealed when he took care of me after the incident at the airport.
He didn’t have to. He could have just left me there. But he didn’t, and that’s what has led me to believe that there’s more to Matteo Benenati than meets the eyes… more, even, than I think he himself knows.
He moves until he’s just inside my personal space, just like he did last night. I’m sure that it’s intentional—I somehow don’t think that there’s much in his life that isn’t meticulously planned. Except, of course, for this demand that he marry.
This softens my heart. It’s an incredibly difficult situation for me… for it’s even harder for him. I can walk away…. He can’t.
He stands there, just looking at me, tha
t half smirk that is already so familiar playing over the corners of his lips. He hasn’t asked me why, but I find myself blurting the words out regardless.
“I’m so sorry. I know you need a wife to secure your company. But there are so many women who would say yes. I’m sure there are. Better choices than me. I just… I just can’t.”
He leans toward me, just a breath, and as the masculine scent of his soap, his skin, and what is surely some very expensive cologne hits my senses, I start to think that I absolutely can.
“I see.” He’s close enough to kiss me—it’s an assault on all of my senses. But he does nothing of the sort, instead regarding me with that mildly curious expression on his face. “Is it the money? Is it not enough?”
“What?” I blurt, horrified. Does he think I’m some kind of gold digging whore? “Of course not. That’s an insane amount of money! I just… I can’t.”
I won’t. I won’t be like my mother.
Though if my mother felt even half of these emotions toward any of her johns, I might be able to forgive her, at least some.
“All right, then.” Matteo stands straight, putting an extra sliver of space in between us. I sigh with relief as he gives me room to breathe.
It’s a fake out. The second the tension in my muscles eases, he slides one hand into the long tangle of my hair, the other around my waist, and pulls my body flush against his. I gasp as that big hand pulls my hair, just a bit, just enough to get my attention, seconds before his lips come crashing down on my own.
While his kiss the night before had been a taunt, this one is a possession. He’s marking me when his lips slide over my own, when his tongue teases over the line that divides my lips. When he sinks his teeth into my lower lip.
Against my better judgment, I moan and melt against him. He’s long and hard, radiating heat. I can feel his arousal, pressing against the softness of my belly.
Teasing me. Making me wants things that I’ve only dreamt about to this point.
I gasp when he abruptly pulls away. My lips feel swollen, and I know that I must look a little wild as I stare, not entirely sure of anything but the fact that I want more.