by Maya Blake
‘You win all the points for flattery,’ Maisie replied, surreptitiously rubbing her palms together to keep them from getting any more damp.
Bronagh smiled and handed over the bouquet. ‘You can award me the points later. Your men are getting impatient, and from the way the older one is pacing, I wouldn’t be surprised if he storms in here and claims you.’
The butterflies’ wings flapped harder. Maisie swallowed down her absurd nervousness and any lingering sadness that indicated she wished this were real, that she were marrying a man she’d taken the time to meet, fall in love and ultimately join her life with.
That was a pipe dream she’d long ago abandoned, even before she’d been faced with an unplanned pregnancy and the sheer dedication she’d needed to take care of her child. She’d been exposed too many times to the ruthless indifference inherent in loveless relationships to believe that she would be the exception to the rule. The love she’d felt for Lucca the moment he was born had been a miraculous gift she intended to guard with everything she held dear. So she’d driven her energy into providing a home for her child, despite her parents’ icy disapproval.
Maisie reminded herself that this situation wasn’t in her control, that even in this she was putting Lucca’s needs first.
Her needs didn’t matter.
That particular thought took a steep dive when she emerged from the changing room and was confronted with Romeo Brunetti in a three-piece suit. Immaculate, imposingly masculine and utterly breathtaking, he was impossible to ignore. From the top of his neatly combed, wavy black hair, to the polished toes of his handmade shoes, he reeked irrefutable power and enough sexual magnetism to make kings quake and women swoon in his presence. And that look in his eyes...that brooding, almost formidable intensity that had made her tingle from head to toe the first time she’d seen him...
Yes. Maisie was reminded then how very needful she could be. And how some needs were impossible to suppress even with an iron will. She stared. Tried to pull her gaze away. Failed. And stared some more. At the back of her mind, a tiny voice said it was okay to stare because he was doing the same to her.
The look in his eyes was riveting, as if he were seeing her for the first time. A part of her thrilled at that look, the way it made her feel sexy and desirable...until she reminded herself that nothing would come of it. Nothing could.
Her attention was mercifully pulled away when Lucca rushed towards her. ‘You look beautiful, Mummy!’
Her smile wobbled when she saw his own attire—a miniature one of his father’s, right down to the buttoned-up waistcoat. ‘So do you, my precious.’
Romeo seemed to unfreeze then from his stance. ‘Come, the car’s waiting.’
Everyone snapped to attention. Two guards appeared at the shop door and nodded. They exited and slid into the back of the limo and were driving the short distance to the register office at Marylebone when he reached into his jacket, pulled out a long, velvet box and handed it to her.
‘What’s this?’ she blurted.
One corner of his mouth lifted. ‘I thought your absence of jewellery should be addressed.’
Her hand went to her bare throat. ‘I...I didn’t think it was necessary.’ Which, in hindsight, sounded a little foolish. She was marrying one of the world’s richest men. Whether the marriage was real or not, she was about to be thrust into the limelight the proportions of which she was too afraid to imagine. The women Romeo had dated before were all raving beauties compared to her.
A flush rose in her face when his eyebrow quirked. ‘You may not, but we don’t wish to attract unnecessary gossip,’ he murmured, his voice deep but low enough to keep Bronagh and Lucca, who sat on the far side of the limo, from overhearing. ‘Open it.’
Fingers shaking, she prised the box open and gasped. The three-layered collar necklace contained over two dozen diamonds in different cuts and sizes, the largest, teardrop gem placed in the middle. The stunning jewels, along with a pair of equally breathtaking earrings, sparkled in her trembling hand. Maisie realised her mouth was still open when Romeo plucked the necklace off its velvet bed and held it out.
‘Turn around.’
Still stunned, she complied and suppressed a tremble when his warm fingers brushed her nape. She turned towards him to thank him and froze when he leaned forward to adjust the necklace so the large stone was resting just above her cleavage. The touch of those fingers...there...sent her blood pounding through her veins. She looked up and met dark hazel eyes. The knowing and hungry look reflecting back at her stopped whatever breath she’d been about to take. They stared at each other, that intense connection that seemed to fuse them together whenever they were close sizzling between them.
‘Wow, that’s stunning.’
Maisie jerked guiltily at Bronagh’s awed compliment. Another blush crept into her face when she realised she’d momentarily forgotten that her friend and son were in the car. To cover up her embarrassment, she hastily reached for the earrings and clipped them on. Then exhaled in a rush when Romeo produced another ominous-sized box.
‘Romeo...’
His eyes flashed a warning and she swallowed her objection. This time he opened it. The large diamond-and-ruby engagement ring defied description. And probably defied any attempt to place a value on it. Silently, Maisie held out her left hand, absurdly bemused to take in the fact that between one heartbeat and the next she’d been draped in jewels that cost more than she would earn in a lifetime.
She smiled through further gasps from Bronagh and just willed herself to breathe. She might not have fully absorbed what she was letting herself in for publicly by agreeing to marry Romeo Brunetti the billionaire, instead of Romeo Brunetti, father of her child, but she’d faced tougher challenges and triumphed. She could do this.
* * *
The marriage ceremony itself was shockingly brief.
Whatever strings Romeo had pulled to secure a special licence had pressed home his importance. They were ushered into an oak-panelled room that reeked history and brevity. The registrar read out their commitments in a deep but hushed voice and announced that they were man and wife within twenty minutes of their arrival.
Romeo’s kiss on her lips was swift and chaste, his hands dropping from her shoulders almost immediately. She told herself the wrench in her stomach was nerves as she followed him to the desk where their signatures formalised their union.
As she signed her name, Maisie reaffirmed that she was taking the necessary steps to keep her son safe. It was what kept her going through the lavish Mayfair meal with Bronagh, after which Bronagh was driven to the airport to catch a flight back to Dublin, and they were driven straight to a private airport south of London.
Unable to stand the thick silence in the car now that Lucca had fallen asleep, she cleared her throat.
‘I didn’t know Italians could marry in London without jumping through bureaucratic hoops.’
Romeo switched from looking out of the window. The brooding glance he sent her made her wish for a moment she’d let the silence continue. ‘I’ve lived in London for over ten years. Other than two days ago, the last time I was in Italy was when you and I met.’
Surprise lifted her brows. ‘I thought you were a resident. You seemed to know your way about where...where you were staying.’
His mouth twisted. ‘I was, once upon a time. But in a much more inhospitable part.’
‘Inhospitable?’ she echoed.
That brooding gaze intensified. ‘I wasn’t always affluent, gattina. I can probably go as far as to say I’m the definition of nouveau riche. I know the streets where we met well because I used to walk there at night in the hope that I would find leftover food in bins or a tourist who was willing to part with a few euros for a quick shoe shine. Barring that, I would find an alleyway to sleep in for a night, but only for a night because inevitably I w
ould be sent packing by the polizia and threatened with jail should I return.’
Maisie wasn’t sure which was more unnerving—the harrowing account of his childhood or the cold, unfeeling way in which he recounted it. Either way, the stone-cold horror that had wedged in her stomach grew, until she was sure her insides were frozen with pain at imagining what he’d been through.
‘You said you only met your father twice,’ she murmured, unable to erase the bleak picture he drew in her mind, ‘but what about your mother?’
Lucca stirred in his sleep, and Romeo’s eyes shifted to his son before returning to hers. ‘My mother is a subject I don’t wish to discuss, especially on my wedding day.’ His smile mocked the significance of the day.
But Maisie couldn’t dismiss the subject as easily. ‘And child services? Surely there was some support you could’ve sought?’
He blinked, his nostrils flaring slightly before he shrugged. ‘The support is the same in Italy as it is in England. Some fall through the cracks. And if one tried hard enough to evade the clutches of a system that was inherently flawed, one could succeed.’
Despite catching his meaning, Maisie couldn’t fathom why he would choose to live on the streets. ‘How long did you sleep rough for?’ she asked, her heart bleeding at the thought.
His mouth compressed in a cruel line. ‘Two years until the authorities got fed up with hauling me away every other night. A do-gooder policewoman thought I would be better off in the foster system.’ He gave a harsh, self-deprecating laugh. ‘Unfortunately, she couldn’t have been more wrong. Because then it was really driven home that my kind wouldn’t be welcome in a normal, well-adjusted home.’
‘Your kind?’
‘The bastard children of violent criminals.’
Her hand flew to her mouth. ‘Oh, God!’
Romeo’s eyes once again flicked to his sleeping son and he shook his head. ‘Don’t worry, gattina. I got out the second I could. Now look at me.’ He spread his hands in mock preen. And although his voice was even, Maisie saw the shadows of dark memory that blanketed his eyes and hardened his mouth. ‘According to the media, I’m every woman’s dream and every parent’s ideal suitor for their wholesome daughter. Consider yourself lucky for bagging me.’ His teeth barred in a mirthless smile.
‘Romeo—’
He lunged close so quickly, filled every inch of her vision so spectacularly, her breath snagged in her chest. His fingers pressed against her mouth, forcibly rejecting any words she’d been about to utter. ‘No, gattina. Save your warm-hearted sympathy and soft words for our son,’ he rasped jaggedly. ‘You be there for him when he scrapes his knee and when the goblins frighten him at night. I require no sympathy. I learnt to do without it long before I could walk.’
He sat back and for a full minute remained frozen. Then his chest rose and fell in a single deep exhalation before he pressed a button next to his armrest. A laptop slid from a side compartment and flickered on. Strong fingers tapped the keys, flicking through pages of data with calm efficiency.
As if he hadn’t just torn open his chest and shown her the raw wounds scarring his heart.
* * *
Romeo tapped another random key, stared unseeing at the stream of words and numbers filling the screen.
What in the name of heaven had he been thinking?
Had he not sworn only last night to keep his past locked in the vault where it belonged? Through all the voracious media attention that had exploded in his life once his first resort had achieved platinum-star status, he’d kept his past safely under wraps. Besides Zaccheo Giordano, the only man he considered a friend, and his wife, Eva, no one else knew about the desperately traumatising childhood he’d suffered. Many had tried to dig, only to accept the illusion that his secret past made him alluringly mysterious, and left it at that. Romeo had been more than glad to leave things at that.
So why had he just spilled his guts to Maisie O’Connell? And not only spilled his guts, but ripped off the emotion-free bandage he’d bound his memories with in the process?
He tried to think through it rationally; to decipher just what it was about this woman who let all the volatile, raw emotions overrun him.
Their meeting hadn’t been accompanied by thunder and lightning. There’d been nothing remotely spectacular about it. To the contrary, he’d walked past her that night at the waterfront café in Palermo with every intention of continuing his solitary walk.
Lost in thoughts of bewildering grief and hoping the night air would clear his head, he’d walked for miles from the cemetery where Ariana Brunetti had found her last resting place. He’d barely taken in where he was headed, the need to put distance between the mother whose only interest had been for herself and how much she could get for selling her body, a visceral need.
When he’d finally reached the stone wall overlooking the water, he’d stood lost and seriously contemplated scaling the wall and swimming away from the city that bore only harrowing memories. The sound of tourists drinking away the night had finally impinged, and he’d had the brilliant idea of drowning his sorrows with whisky.
He’d walked past her, barely noticing her.
It was only as he’d ordered his third whisky that he’d caught her staring. Even then, he’d dismissed her. He was used to women staring at him. Women coming onto him since he’d been old enough to shave.
But he’d caught her furtive glances, those bright blue eyes darting his way when she thought he wasn’t looking. Romeo wasn’t sure why he’d talked to her that night. Perhaps it’d been that lost look she’d been trying so hard to disguise. Or the fact that a group of male tourists had noticed her and were placing bets on who would buy her the next drink. Or the fact that his mother’s last words to him had left him raw, feeling as if his very skin had been peeled off.
You’re just like him...just like him...
In the hours and days that had followed, he’d been able to stop those words ringing in his head.
Having that drink in that café had been a last, desperate attempt to drown out the words.
He’d raised his glass to her in a silent toast. She’d smiled shyly and asked what he was toasting. He’d made some smart remark or other he couldn’t recall. He’d kicked out the seat opposite in brusque invitation and she’d joined him.
Midnight had arrived and they’d walked to his hotel, both of them very much aware of what would happen next.
He’d walked away the next day, even more exposed than he’d ever been in his life.
But he’d pulled himself together, refusing to be the needy shadow of a man who’d yearned for a kind word from the mother who’d rejected him all his life. And he’d succeeded.
Nothing should’ve prompted this puzzling and clever way Maisie had managed to slip under his guard not once, but twice. It was a weakness he couldn’t, wouldn’t abide.
He stole a glance from the corner of his eye and saw that she was gazing at the passing scenery, her fingers toying with her new rings.
He breathed a little easier, confident that moment of madness was behind him. That she was taking his advice and letting the temporary aberration pass.
‘I’m sorry I dredged up bad memories for you,’ she said suddenly.
Romeo shut the laptop with studied care, resisting the urge to rip the gadget out of its housing and throw it out of the window.
‘Maisie—’ he growled warningly.
‘I know you don’t want to talk about it now and I respect that. But I just wanted you to know, should you ever feel the need to talk, I’m here.’
For one shocking, ground-shaking moment, his black soul lifted at those words. He allowed himself to glimpse a day when he would unburden himself and feel whole, clean. The picture was so laughable, he shook his head in wonder at his own gall.
He was the son of a whore a
nd a vicious thug. He’d contemplated hurting another human being just so he could join a gang...to gain respect through violence. Walking away, sick to his stomach, hadn’t absolved him of the three days he’d worn the probation leathers and trawled the dark streets of Palermo, looking for a victim. He would never be clean, never be washed free of that stain. He hadn’t bothered to try up until now. He never would.
‘Grazie, but I can assure you that day will never come.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE BRUNETTI INTERNATIONAL RESORT MAUI was a tropical oasis that had been created with heaven itself in mind. Or at least that was what the brochure stated.
Maisie had silently rolled her eyes when she read the claim.
Looking around her as they alighted from the seaplane, she accepted the statement hadn’t been an exaggeration. A long, sugar-sanded beach stretched for a half mile before it curved around an outcrop of rock that looked perfect for diving.
From the beach, the land rose gently, swaying palm trees blending with the increasingly denser vegetation Maisie had spotted from the plane before they’d landed.
She knew the resort housed six koa-wood-and-stone mansions, each large and luxurious enough to cater to the most demanding guest, with the largest, a twelve-bedroom sprawling architect’s dream, sitting on top of a hill in the centre of the island.
From the brochure she’d read she also knew that the mansion had been booked for the next three years and that guests paid a king’s ransom for the privilege.