Tossing his phone on the desk, Santo paced to the window, watching as the sun climbed high into the sky. He would smooth things out with Gervasio. This was business, after all, and if the Spaniard was anything, he was a shrewd businessman. But the longer he stood there, the more he saw the potential for disaster.
He needed to retrieve this and fast. Strike before the damage became too catastrophic.
CHAPTER TEN
GIA WOKE BY herself in the big, four-poster bed, light pouring through the skylight and spilling onto the silk-covered sheets. The warm glow of another spectacular New York summer day evaporated almost immediately as the aftermath of the night before swept over her like a dark, ominous cloud. Her father walking into the restaurant and destroying everything in his wake. Him declaring her dead to him. Santo holding her until she’d cried herself to sleep.
Her father would cut her off completely. Which would mean he would forbid her mother to see her. A deep ache unfurled inside of her, one that had been a constant companion over the past two years. But it wasn’t a prospect she had the capacity to even consider at the moment alongside her more imminent fear that her father might have done irreparable damage to the business relationship between her husband and Gervasio Delgado.
A sense of dread snaking through her, she threw on a T-shirt and shorts and went downstairs to the smell of freshly brewed coffee. Leo, who’d taken to getting up with his father on the weekends, was reenacting a supahero battle in the living room, while Santo paced the terrace, talking on his cell phone. He looked, she noticed from his rumpled appearance, as if he’d hardly slept.
She gave her son a big hug, then poured herself a cup of coffee and went in search of the morning papers. They were strewn across Santo’s desk. The curl of dread inside her intensified as she flicked through them, scanning the headlines. Castiglione to Testify... But Will He Tell All? said one. Crime Boss Turns Himself in Amid Much Fanfare, said another. And from the most respected Washington daily: Castiglione to Take on the Capital in the Best Show in Town.
Oh, my god. Almost all of them included a photo of her father and his mistress, Julianne Montagne, leaving Charles in a hail of flashbulbs. Gia’s stomach bottomed out at the glossy pictures. It would kill her mother.
She picked up the Washington paper. Scanned the story. Her father had indeed returned to the country to testify, confirmed his lawyers. But he had not given any indication as to whether he would comply with the attorney general’s “witch hunt,” or whether he would invoke his right to protect himself against self-incrimination, which she felt sure he would do.
Clearly, the attorney general had anticipated the same. According to the article, the brash new figure at the helm of the American justice system was considering prosecuting anyone who failed to participate in a “full and open manner.” Which, the journalist opined, was undoubtedly directed toward Stefano Castiglione, the biggest and brightest star on his agenda. Which put her father in an impossible position. Betray his underworld contacts or risk being thrown in jail.
“You’re up.” Santo strode toward her, phone in hand, all loose, long-limbed elegance in jeans, a T-shirt and bare feet. Hair ruffled, dark eyes piercing, he looked so gorgeous, so warm, so solid, she wanted to throw herself in his arms and have him make it all better. But the distracted look on his face kept her where she was, the kiss he brushed across the top of her head disappointingly brief. “Don’t read that,” he murmured. “It is nothing but speculation.”
She rested back against his desk. “He will have a target on his back.”
“Which he is well aware of,” Santo said evenly. “None of this is yours to take on, Gia. You are a Di Fiore now. You are no longer a Castiglione. Let your father fight his own battles.”
“I’m not worried about him,” she said quietly. “I am worried about my mother.”
“She is surrounded by family. She’ll be fine.”
She knew that was true, but she wanted to see it for herself.
He read the thoughts running through her head. “You aren’t going anywhere near Las Vegas, Gia. We agreed on this. Your mother decided it was for the best. It is far too politically explosive.”
Because of the Lombardis. She wrapped her arms around herself, knowing he was right. Hating how helpless she felt. “Did you get a hold of Gervasio?”
“No.” A grim, one-word answer. “He’s on a flight back to Madrid. I’ll try him later.”
She nodded. If she’d had any hopes she’d overblown the damage her father had done to Santo, they vaporized now with the look on his face. He was in problem-solving mode. He needed to fix this. And given the brewing media storm, it was only going to get worse.
“I’m sorry.” She didn’t know what else to say, except say it again.
“It’s not your fault.” He dismissed it with a wave of his hand. “Go take Leo for a walk. Get it out of your head. Concentrate on the life you have now. The family you have around you. All of the opportunities in front of you, rather than the circus show your father is putting on. That part of your life is over.”
She inclined her head. Looked for some sign of softening in him, some tiny piece of the reassurance she craved, but he looked utterly preoccupied.
If the wounded, ragged edges inside of her found this cooler, more distant version of him disconcerting after how tenderly he’d held her the night before, she pushed it aside. All she could hope was that Gervasio signed that deal.
* * *
She did her best to do exactly what Santo had said and put that piece of her life behind her over the next couple of weeks, rather than focus on the sensational media coverage of her father’s pending testimony in Washington. Taking the job with Nina, putting her world firmly beneath her feet, was exactly how to do it.
If she thought Nina might back out of their agreement once the worst of the scandal hit, the worldly, hard-edged real estate tycoon surprised her, and merely lifted an eyebrow when Gia brought up the topic at lunch.
“Darling, if you’ve seen as many political storms as I have, you’ll know this, too, shall pass,” the woman insisted. “Put your head down and get the job done. And hold it high when you walk out of this room. If everyone in this city were defined by their pasts, we’d all be dead on arrival. It’s what you do with it that counts.”
Buoyed by Nina’s firm backing and her sage advice, so like Delilah’s, Gia buried herself in her work, excitement sizzling in her veins at the return of her creative outlet. Which was a welcome distraction, given how absent her husband had been in the lead-up to the Elevate launch.
He came home in time for dinner per the routine they’d established, but as soon as it ended, he went off to his office to work until the early hours, after which he came to bed and didn’t wake her. She told herself he was swamped, buried under a mountain of work, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. That he had withdrawn since that dinner with Gervasio. That it had torn something between them, that fragile bond they had been building. The situation wasn’t helped by the complete lack of physical intimacy between them—the one part of their relationship that had always given her confidence in them.
It threw her. Unnerved her. Hurt her. Unearthed all her vulnerable points. Because this was exactly how it had started with Franco. He had wanted her, desired her in the beginning, but when it had become clear that she was less than the asset he’d signed on for, he’d grown cold.
Maybe, she acknowledged as she walked home from the hotel on another gorgeous, sunny day, she was overreacting. Maybe, she determined, pushing all of the negative thoughts out of her head, all they needed was a chance to reconnect. A nice dinner tonight before he left for Munich. Something to reassure herself that everything was fine.
An action plan in place, she picked up the groceries to make Santo’s favorite dish, as well as an excellent bottle of wine to go with it, then went home to relieve Leo
’s new nanny for the day. Tia was Dutch, in her midtwenties and completely adorable. She reminded Gia of Desaray, with her energetic, enthusiastic manner, and Leo loved her. Which had been a huge relief, because Santo liked her, too.
She checked in with her husband, who said he’d be home a bit later tonight, after eight, he thought. Which fit perfectly with her plan. She’d put Leo to bed and have dinner waiting for him when he came home. They would have a romantic night together and she could put all these crazy doubts to rest.
She prepared the intricate beef dish she was making, put it all together and left it in the fridge before she went for a swim with Leo. They played together in the hot afternoon sun, enjoying the perfect weather, before she bathed him, fed him and put him to bed.
Dinner in the oven, she showered and put on the dress she knew Santo liked the best. The one he couldn’t resist. A body-skimming, knee-length, wrap design in a sky-blue, it made the most of her curves.
She set a candlelit table on the terrace and turned on some music, a sexy, Spanish guitar CD that fit her mood. Then she curled up in a chair in the living room with a glass of the wine and waited for Santo, her heart thudding with anticipation.
Eight o’clock came and went. Eight thirty. Nine. He finally walked in the door at nine fifteen, as night fell over the city. Dropping his briefcase on the floor of the marble entryway, he walked into the living room and threw his jacket over the back of a chair.
His gaze flicked to the candlelit table on the terrace. To the open bottle of wine. A frown knit his eyebrows together. “Mi dispiace. I didn’t know you were cooking a special meal.”
“It was a surprise.” She uncurled her legs from beneath her and stood up. “I thought we could spend some time together before you left.”
An apologetic look slid across his face. “I have a report I need to review for a meeting tomorrow and a contract to get back to my lawyer tonight.”
Her heart slid to the floor. And so, he couldn’t spend even half an hour with her? A man who ran a multibillion-dollar company, as he was so quick to point out to her? A man who likely had his whole legal team on a 24/7 retainer?
A slow burn lit her cheeks. “That’s fine,” she murmured. “It’s probably burned anyway. It’s been in there since eight.”
He flicked a glance at his watch. “I could probably spare a few minutes.”
“Don’t bother,” she said curtly. “Get your work done.”
“Gia—”
She shook his arm off and stalked into the kitchen, where she dumped the entire contents of the casserole dish into the garbage with no appetite to eat it herself.
Upstairs, she stripped off the beautiful blue dress and tossed it on a chair, her skin stinging. She hadn’t been imagining the distance he’d put between them—it was a very real thing she’d been willfully avoiding.
A buzzing sound filled her ears. Spread through her body, sensitizing her skin until it hurt to touch. It was happening all over again. What always happened when she allowed herself to believe a relationship could work. That who she was wouldn’t eventually destroy it. She always proved herself wrong.
She went through her bedtime routine in robotic fashion, consumed by her thoughts. She’d built up this hope inside of her that she and Santo could someday have what they’d once had. Something even more powerful and stronger with who they’d become. That someday, it might even grow into love. But he was never going to let himself feel the way about her that he once had. That he was always going to hold a part of himself back. Offer her the slim pickings of the emotional connection he’d put on the table. That he’d now, apparently, decided to rescind.
She curled up in bed, miserable and numb. She’d done exactly what Santo had asked of her. Put herself out there. Met him halfway. Sought that intimacy between them he’d demanded. And look where it had gotten her.
* * *
She woke for work after a terrible sleep, dark circles ringing her eyes. Santo had left in the early hours. He’d propped a handwritten note by the coffee machine that she was to take Deacon, his personal bodyguard, to work with her while he was in Germany and leave Benecio with Leo and Tia.
Nothing more. No added message.
Her stomach curled into another knot in a sea of them. She didn’t think it was necessary, but she kept her mouth shut and took the big hulk of a man to work with her to keep her husband happy.
It was an exciting, busy day. But the more it stretched on, the more the confrontation played on her mind. Ate away at her insides. It made her feel even more lost in the storm than she already was. Her life had been blown wide open, and now the one person she had thought she could depend on wasn’t there for her. The one person she needed desperately.
Her husband called only once, a short, stilted conversation when he’d been on the way out to a dinner. It made the apprehension inside her grow into a disconcerting force, because he couldn’t have sounded more distant, more wrapped up in his busy trip.
By the time the week ended, she was exhausted. She put Leo to bed, poured herself a glass of wine and walked out onto the terrace as a resplendent pink sunset lit Manhattan in a golden glow. She could have accepted Chiara’s offer to drop by with a bottle of wine, but she hadn’t been able to face it. To try and pretend to the vibrant, happy, madly-in-love Chiara that everything was okay when nothing was. When Santo hadn’t touched her in weeks. When she was in love with her husband and she was afraid he was never going to let himself love her back. When it felt as if her marriage was slipping away from her and there was nothing she could do about it.
She stood there for a long time, until finally, she picked up her cell phone and called her husband in Munich. It rang a dozen times before he picked it up. He was laughing, a husky sound of amusement in his voice, as he clipped out his customary greeting. “Di Fiore here.”
Gia stilled, caught completely off guard by the sexy laughter in his voice. By the sound of loud music pulsing in the background. He was at a party, she realized. Relaxed. Nothing like the version of him she’d encountered over the past couple of weeks.
She swallowed past the tightly constricted muscles of her throat. “It’s Gia.”
“Gia?” he answered, a frown in his voice. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes... I—” Her voice trailed off. What exactly was it that she’d wanted to say? She didn’t even know.
“Gia.” The frown in his voice deepened. “What’s up? Why are you calling?”
Because she’d wanted to hear his voice. And wasn’t that silly?
“Santo,” a musical female voice sang out, close enough to the phone that she was undoubtedly hanging off his arm in that ritualistic exhibition she’d seen so many times. “I have someone you need to meet. We’re opening a bottle of champagne at the bar.”
Gia’s stomach plunged. She knew that voice. That sultry, lazy drawl could only belong to one woman. She’d spent enough time that night at the Met gala obsessing over it. The fact that Santo was with Abigail Wright at an after-hours party that could hardly be all business caused her chest to tighten. The fact that she was introducing him to someone as if it was her rightful place to be at his side drove a stake right through her heart.
His inability to remain faithful to a woman has been well documented. Her father’s cutting appraisal of her husband flashed through her head. The dozens upon dozens of women he had gone through in the past few years. Franco’s extracurricular affairs that had cut a swath of humiliation through her.
“Gia?” Santo’s voice deepened as he seemed to move farther away from the music. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” A bolt of fury moved through her. Here she’d been putting herself through the ringer over him. Agonizing over that confrontation they’d had. Desperate to right this thing between them before it capsized completely. But her husband clearly didn’t feel the same. He was out partyi
ng with his friends. Cozying up with the woman who should have been his wife.
“I’m fine,” she said evenly. “Leo wanted me to send you a kiss. There. Now it’s done. You can go.”
“Gia—”
She hung up the phone. Tossed it on the table. Stood looking out at the skyline, arms hugged around herself as her mobile vibrated with three more calls, then fell silent.
Let him stew. Let him feel one-tenth of what she was feeling. Her chest felt too sore to breathe. Too hurt to function. She braced her palms on the railing and drew in a deep breath. When had she started to believe this marriage was real? That it could work? That she could ever, even remotely be what Santo wanted or needed? When had she become that much of a fool?
A wet heat stormed the back of her eyes. She blinked it back, furious at herself. She’d thought she could do this. That she could live in another convenient marriage for Leo’s sake. But she knew now that she couldn’t. That it would break her heart to know that Santo had only married her for Leo. That she would always be his default choice.
That he would make it work, even as he resented her more every day for it. Because she knew he would. She’d been through this. Except this time, it would be worse, because she loved Santo. She always had.
She finally stumbled to bed in the early hours. Rose the next morning to Leo’s cheerful explosion of limbs in the big four-poster bed.
“Mamma,” he cried, pressing a slobbery kiss to her cheek. It unraveled the tidal wave of emotion that had been inside of her all week, until the tears were a storm sliding down her cheeks.
Leo hugged her, bemused. “Mamma okay?”
She nodded. Pressed a kiss to the top of his head through the blinding tears. She cuddled him close until they finally slowed. She was about to get out of bed and get breakfast when her cell phone buzzed on the bedside table. She picked it up and stared at it through bleary eyes, wondering if it would be her husband. She was ridiculously disappointed when it was not. It was a Las Vegas number instead.
Married for His One-Night Heir Page 15