She didn’t see Franco as being that kind of threat.
Didn’t your mother’s diary and your father’s actions teach you anything? Rich men can’t be trusted.
But she’d seen no sign of Franco being power-crazed or bending the laws to suit his needs. Other than buying her, that is. But as he’d pointed out, mistresses were not unusual here, and he’d shown her nothing but respect. He’d made sure that each sexual encounter left her satisfied when he didn’t have to. He’d watched over the bridal party for Vincent, and he took the time to play with a fatherless boy—almost every weekend, according to Monsieur Constantine.
From everything she’d seen, Franco was a good man, and she suspected he’d be a good father.
Oh my God. Are you falling for him?
The leaden feeling in the pit of her stomach said yes.
Her steps slowed and her internal warning sirens screamed.
Had she learned enough about her own strength and resilience over the past decade to lower her walls and let a man in? Maybe. The training she’d had before and since she’d begun volunteering with the teens had taught her what constituted a healthy relationship. Surely she could practice what she preached?
A child’s laughter startled her. Stacy looked around, stunned at where her subconscious had led her. The Saint Martin Garden was one of several playgrounds Monaco had set aside for children. She’d walked past it the day she’d toured the Prince’s Palace. Sinking down on a bench in the shade, she studied the happy faces of the mothers and children.
Monaco would be a wonderful place to raise a family. According to her stack of guide books, the schools were good and the police force was second to none. Education and safety had been her guideposts in recent years.
Whether or not today’s encounter resulted in a baby, would Franco want more than the agreed-upon month? Would he be interested in her staying in Monaco to see if their relationship had a future after the other bridesmaids flew home? She and he were both wounded souls who feared trusting and being hurt. Could she heal him and in the process learn to trust again?
Could he be happy with her? She couldn’t compete with the elegant women at the ball, but the remarkable chemistry between them had to account for something, didn’t it?
Confidence swelled within her. She could do this. She would face her fears and ask him to give their relationship a try.
Her cell phone rang. Stacy checked the number on the caller ID. Franco’s. Her heart raced and her palms dampened. She couldn’t talk to him right now. Her decision was too new, too raw, so she silenced her phone.
Tomorrow she’d be ready to take that colossal leap.
A baby.
The idea didn’t repulse Franco as much as it should have. In fact, having a child with Stacy could solve many problems. If he provided an heir, his father would not feel the need to impregnate the tramp plotting to empty the Constantine coffers. And Stacy wanted financial security. They could each benefit from continuing their relationship.
He tried Stacy’s cellular number again and once more received her voice mail. He disconnected rather than leave a third message. Why had she left without saying goodbye? And why would she not return his calls?
By the time he had finished working out his tension by swimming laps, she’d been in the lower-level shower. He could have joined her, but he had needed a few moments alone to consider the ramifications of their situation. In all his thirty-eight years he had never had a condom break. He had retreated to his bathroom, and when he had exited his shower Stacy had been gone.
Had Candace phoned? Had Stacy’s wedding duties once more taken precedence over her agreement with him? Was she having a relaxed dinner with her suitemates at this very moment while he paced his living room?
He looked forward to his evenings with Stacy more than he should, and he would not mind spending more time with her. She was attractive, intelligent and an extraordinary lover. She did not cling or make demands on his time that he was not willing to offer.
She is getting too close. And if you do not quit focusing on her absence you will be no better than your besotted friend.
He turned on the TV, but not even a baseball game tied in the bottom of the ninth inning with bases loaded could hold his attention. His thoughts kept straying to Stacy, her belly growing round with his child. But he could not afford to be deluded by a woman’s false promises again.
What if Stacy were pregnant? Would she, like Lisette, choose to abort his child? Could he stop her?
He wiped a hand over his face. No. He would not engage in a legal battle to force a woman to carry a child she did not want. His only options lay in convincing her she wished to continue the pregnancy and in coming to an agreement satisfactory to them both regarding the child.
Stacy could not possibly be as pure-hearted as she pretended. He would prove it. And once he did then perhaps she would quit monopolizing his thoughts.
“I want you to have my baby,” Franco said Wednesday night.
Stacy’s heart and lungs stalled at the bald statement. She stared into his somber eyes across the secluded table in Le Grill, the ritzy rooftop restaurant at the Hôtel de Paris.
Her heart lurched back into motion and she dragged oxygen into her deprived lungs. Warmth and cautious optimism trickled through her.
Franco must have spent the forty-eight hours since the broken-condom incident thinking about a future together—as she had. She’d barely been able to concentrate on her bridesmaid’s duties. She’d lost track of the number of rehearsal-dinner place cards she’d messed up yesterday and how many times the seamstress had asked her to stand still during her final dress fitting today.
“Your baby?” The words filled her with a tingly sensation. He offered her more than she’d ever dared hope for. Financial security. A home. The possibility of a family. A man who would treat her like a princess the way her mother had promised.
“Oui.”
“I might not be pregnant.”
“A circumstance we can easily rectify.”
Was this a proposal? It had to be. Why else would he bring her to this romantic restaurant where the roof retracted to allow the patrons to dine beneath a blanket of stars? But Franco didn’t pull out a ring or get down on bended knee. Maybe the French didn’t follow that custom? “I’ve, um…been thinking about that too.”
“You would have to leave your job—a job you claim to love.”
She clenched her napkin in her hand, looked away from his intense gaze and confessed, “No, I won’t. I was laid off the week before we left for Monaco. I didn’t tell Candace because I didn’t want her worrying about me when she had a wedding to plan.”
Franco’s jaw hardened. “You are unemployed? You said you would go back to work when you returned to the States.”
“I plan to search for a job, but there are a lot of companies downsizing right now. Not knowing how long it would take for me to find another position is another reason I accepted your offer. But now I don’t have to worry about that. I wouldn’t mind working here until the baby comes. Afterward—”
“I will pay the expenses on your apartment in Charlotte until you return. And of course, you will be compensated.”
Confused, she blinked and frowned. “What?”
“I will give you another million euros upon the birth, and I will cover all the medical expenses you and the baby incur.”
Dizziness threatened to topple her. She grasped the edge of the table and studied his face, but she didn’t see any trace of emotion or romance. In fact, he looked as if he were closing a business deal. “A-are you asking me to marry you, Franco?”
He reared back in his chair. “Non. I need an heir. You want financial security. I am offering a solution to fill both our needs. A second million will give you the life of leisure you claim the first would not.”
The delicious shrimp appetizer she’d consumed turned to molten lead in her stomach. Her chest felt so tight she could barely breathe. “You want me to h
ave a baby…and hand it over to you? Gr-grant you sole custody?”
“Oui. As you have seen, I can provide many advantages for a child.”
The horror of his words chilled her to the bone and pain speared through her like shards of glass. Oh my God. She’d fallen in love with the arrogant bastard.
Impossible. She hadn’t known him long enough to fall in love with him. But merely liking him and being disappointed in him wouldn’t hurt this much.
“You don’t want me? You only want to buy my baby?” For clarity’s sake she rephrased her questions. The words burned her throat. She had to be wrong. He couldn’t be asking that.
“Tu es très sexy, Stacy. I will enjoy sharing your bed for however long it takes to produce a child. But I have no desire for a wife.”
He had clearly stated that he would never marry again on their ride to Avignon. Why hadn’t she listened? Franco was alone by choice. He would never allow a woman to get close to him. And he would never change. She might be willing to lower her walls and risk her heart, but he wasn’t.
How could she be so stupid? She’d been falling in love with him and he’d been setting her up. She shoved back her chair and stumbled to her feet. “No.”
Franco rose. “I will give you twenty-four hours to reconsider.”
Déjà vu. “Don’t hold your breath. This time I won’t change my mind. You can take your two million euros and shove them up your fine French a—”
“Y a t’il un problème, mademoiselle?” an anxious waiter asked.
“Yes, there’s a problem. I feel ill. I’m leaving.” She turned back to Franco. “I don’t ever want to see you again.”
“Stacy, if you end this now you will forfeit the money.”
And she’d be right back where she started. Nearly broke and out of a job. Too bad. There were some things money couldn’t buy.
“Your price is too high. I could never have a child and let it go.” A chill swept over her when she realized what she’d said and that she meant it to the bottom of her soul. There was more of her father in her than she’d ever realized. She gulped down a wave of nausea. “And I could never respect a man who would ask me to do so.”
She gathered her wrap and her purse and raced for the exit before her tears could escape.
“You were right about Angeline.”
His father’s voice drew Franco from his contemplation of the Fontvieille harbor far below his thirtieth-floor office window. He swiveled his chair to face the door and the desk and the profit and loss statement he had been neglecting. “What happened to her?”
“I told her I was considering transferring ownership of the Constantine holdings to you and she left.” Pain, disappointment and resignation deepened the lines on his father’s face.
“I am sorry.” But good riddance.
Armand sank down into the leather visitor chair. “She reminded me of your mother. They all do. Young. Vibrant. Beautiful.”
“My mother was unfaithful. Why would you want another woman like her?”
“Francesca was always faithful to herself. I made the mistake of believing my love would transform a party girl who needed to be the center of attention into a loving wife and mother. But true love does not require change. And giving her free rein in hopes that she would be happy and always come home to me was not fair to you. I should have put a stop to the drugs the moment I found out about her habit, but I was afraid doing so would drive her away.”
Franco digested the surprising insight into his parents’ relationship.
“You were right about Stacy,” he admitted reluctantly.
He had waited eight days for her to call and tell him she’d changed her mind. Eight days of being unable to concentrate or sleep well. But the only communication he had received from her was a box delivered via courier containing the gifts he had given her—except for the watch band. She had kept the gift he could buy with pocket change.
Where was the greed, the sense of entitlement that his other lovers had had?
His bed was empty. And there was a barrenness to his days and nights that had not been there before. Even Vincent’s bachelor party last night had not lightened his mood.
“Stacy refused the money?”
“She walked away from our agreement when I offered her another million to have my baby.”
“I assume that was a proposal.”
“Non.”
“You asked her to bear a child and then relinquish it to you?”
“Oui.”
His father shook his head sadly. “For someone who is worried about our liquid assets you are throwing around a lot of money.”
An accurate charge. “It was a test.”
“To see if she was…what did you say? Ah yes, a duplicitous and mercenary creature who would sell you anything you wanted to buy?”
Franco nodded.
“And she refused.”
“She said my price was too high.”
“That would explain why our employees have been ducking for cover for the past week.” Franco arched an eyebrow and his father shrugged. “I may have retired, but I have my sources.”
Armand tapped the file against the sharp crease of his trousers. “So you have finally found a woman you cannot buy. What are you going to do about it?”
Franco fiddled with his pen and remained silent. He did not have an answer. He’d had confirmation this morning from a physician that Stacy was not pregnant. The news did not bring him any relief from the edginess riding his back.
“Our agreement was that you choose a woman you would be willing to marry if she could not be bought. I will not hold you to that because a marriage should never be based on anything but love.” His father stood and tossed the file folder onto the desk in front of Franco. “The documents are signed. You do not have to marry to gain control of the Constantine holdings. It is yours. But perhaps you wish to marry to regain your heart.”
Taken aback, Franco stared at his father. “I do not wish to marry again.”
Armand planted his fists on Franco’s desk and leaned forward. “She is not like Lisette, Franco. This girl cares nothing for your net worth.”
No. Stacy was nothing like his selfish ex-wife. But opening himself up for another evisceration held little appeal. “I know, but the risks—”
“Bah. When did you become a coward? Love is a gamble, but when it is true the rewards far outweigh the costs. Being alone and right is a poor substitute for being happy and in love—even if that love is imperfect.” He straightened. “What will it cost you to let Stacy get away? Can you live with always wondering who is putting the smile on her face? Who is warming her bed? Think about that, hmm?”
His father turned for the door without waiting for an answer, but paused on the threshold. “I will see you at Vincent’s rehearsal-dinner party this evening. Perhaps by then you will have your answers.”
After his father left, Franco opened the document folder. The signature on the bottom line made Franco the sole owner of the Constantine holdings, including the chateau and Midas Chocolates. He had more to lose now than ever before.
In two days Stacy would return to the States. A wise man would let her go. Only a besotted fool would beg her forgiveness and ask her to stay.
“He’s here,” Madeline whispered.
Stacy’s stomach clenched into a tight knot, but she kept her back to the entrance of the private dining room in the upscale Italian restaurant hosting the rehearsal dinner.
She’d known Franco would be here tonight, but that didn’t mean she was ready to face him. Only Madeline knew the full truth of Stacy’s situation, and that was because she’d caught Stacy in a weak moment, dragged her for another late-night meeting in the bar and pried the sordid story out of her. Stacy didn’t want to dampen Candace’s happiness so she’d sworn Madeline to secrecy.
“Want me to keep him away from you?”
A smile tugged Stacy’s lips at the mother-hen tone of her suitemate’s voice. “I don’t think tha
t will be necessary. But thanks.”
If Franco had missed her or discovered any feelings for her at all, he would have called. But Stacy hadn’t heard from him since she’d left him in the restaurant last week. She swallowed to ease the tightening of her throat.
She, on the other hand, kept second-guessing her decision. She loved him more than she’d ever thought she could love anyone, but he obviously expected every woman to leave him as his mother, his father’s exes and Lisette had done. If Stacy stayed with him but delayed getting pregnant, could she convince him in time that she wasn’t like the other women in his life?
Her gaze shifted to Candace and Vincent’s love-struck faces. Franco had never looked at her that way—with his heart and his soul in his eyes. She yearned for him to.
Technically, the bride and groom had been married earlier this evening in a private civil ceremony the way French and Monegasque law required, but they were waiting until after the church service tomorrow morning to actually begin their lives as husband and wife.
“What’s he doing here? He’s not on the guest list,” Madeline said in a panicked whisper.
“Who?” Stacy turned toward the door. Her gaze landed on Franco in a dark, custom-fitted suit and her heart ached. She quickly looked away before meeting his gaze and spotted the man who’d posed as Madeline’s tour guide—a man who’d turned out to be anything but the humble tour guide he’d led Madeline to believe he was.
The color completely drained from Madeline’s face. She squeezed Stacy’s hand. “Stacy, I don’t want to abandon you, but I cannot face him right now. Go with me to the ladies’ room?”
Stacy squared her shoulders. She would not run. Her running days were over. “No. Go ahead. I’m okay. Franco is seated at the opposite end of the table from me. I can avoid him until after dinner. Longer, if I’m lucky.”
If not, she’d survived her mother’s murder and her father’s betrayal. Facing Franco couldn’t be worse than that. Or could it? She felt as if her heart were being ripped out all over again.
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