Bound by the Billionaire's Vows

by Clare Connelly

‘Don’t look at me like you’re actually sorry this is happening. Like you didn’t expect it.’ She tilted her chin. ‘Like this has anything to do with you and me.’

  ‘It is our marriage we’re discussing ending.’

  ‘Marriage!’ She spat the word and his gut rolled. It was as though a blade had been plunged through him. Her anger and disbelief filled the room. ‘This was never a marriage! It was a damned trick. A machination. Nothing more. You win, okay? You win! Take the hotel! I don’t want it. I don’t want anything that will ever remind me of you!’ Her voice was loud. He’d put bets on his receptionist Anastasia having heard every word but he didn’t care.

  Skye’s pain was palpable and he longed to kiss her to wipe it away. It was the only way he could think of to remove the ache from her eyes; the tears that glistened on her lashes were tiny, moist recriminations that landed squarely in his chest.

  ‘How you must have loved the knowledge that you had such a sweet revenge over my father! How you’d done something he would have hated, something I would never have agreed to if I’d known about your feud. How you must have been laughing at me! Every night when you came home you found me so happy to see you, and all the while you were lining up the pieces, getting ready to finally swoop.’

  A muscle jerked on the hard ridge of his jaw. ‘Yes, Skye. I’m only human. Do you want me to lie to you now? To tell you that our marriage had nothing to do with the fact your father was the biggest bastard on earth? That the fact I hated him with every fibre of my being didn’t have anything to do with why I married you?’

  She held a hand up. Her fingers were shaking and her face was so pale that, momentarily, he felt a clutch of anxiety for her. She looked terrible; ill. Matteo was torn between anger at the situation and a strange concern for his wife.

  Tears spilled out of her eyes now, rolling down her cheeks. She was so weary. All the planning and coping had taken its toll, and she was utterly exhausted. It showed in the tremble of her voice and the grey of her cheeks. ‘No. There’s nothing you can say that I want to hear. In fact, I can’t bear to be in the same room as you for a moment longer. Just sign the divorce papers. Please. Take the hotel and leave me alone.’ She bit down on her lip as she tried to keep her sobbing at bay.

  It was everything he’d wanted. He’d come to accept that he would never get the hotel back—not once Skye had learned the truth. And here she was, offering it to him on a silver platter just to be rid of him.

  Was that it? Was his pride wounded by her desperation to be free of their marriage? Was that why he wanted to rail against her insistence? To remind her of what they’d shared—physically—one last time?

  His eyes dropped to the divorce papers and then lifted with a heavy grimness towards her face. ‘Fine. If that’s what you want.’

  ‘I never want to see you again.’

  * * *

  The heat of Venice slapped her in the face as soon as she stepped out of his office. It was early afternoon and the city was packed. Workers were jostling along the street, tourists were busy taking photographs and Skye was in the midst of them, surprise at what she’d just accomplished moving through her.

  She took a step towards the crowds, her mind numb. What now?

  Her breath was shallow.

  Shock, she supposed, reaching for a pillar to support her. Stars flew in her eyes and heat spread through her body followed by weakness and an odd, soul-deep exhaustion.

  It was over.

  She was free.

  Her hand pressed to her stomach and another wave of tiredness hit her. She didn’t want anything to do with Matteo, but she was going to raise their baby. Could she do it and never think of him?

  She’d have to. Matteo was in her past and this baby was her future.

  The baby was all that mattered.

  She sucked in a breath, but it didn’t seem to reach her lungs.

  ‘Eh, you okay, miss?’

  A kindly gondola operator lifted his brows, waiting for an answer, so she nodded, even though she wasn’t sure she was. ‘Just hot,’ she said, fanning her face.

  But the simple, tiny exertion of moving her hand up and down was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Darkness enveloped her.

  CHAPTER TWO

  MATTEO WASN’T LOOKING out of the window in the hope of seeing her. He’d simply been standing and staring in that direction ever since she’d left. Really, he was barely aware of the flow of traffic in and out along the busy tourist strip.

  He saw Skye.

  The anguish on her features.

  The pain of her heart that she wore so visibly.

  He’d used her, and that hadn’t bothered him. Causing pain to her had been something he’d been more than willing to gamble. It was her own father’s fault—if Skye was hurt, it was because of Carey Johnson’s intractable bull-headedness.

  But he hadn’t banked on witnessing her pain. He hadn’t enjoyed that. He was a driven businessman, not an out-and-out bastard. Witnessing the tears gliding down her soft, pale cheeks, the accusation in her eyes...he hadn’t been prepared for how that would gut him. How it would make him feel unpleasantly remorseful, even when he knew he would make all the same decisions over again, given the chance.

  He lifted his fingers to his chin, rubbing the stubble there, before a commotion dragged his attention down to ground level.

  It was the pastel yellow of her dress that caught his eye first. The way it seemed to crumple as she fell, her body, slender and unmistakable, toppling backwards. She fell as she did everything—with grace.

  It was the work of a moment. Skye was collapsing, then she was dropping over the edge of the railing into the murky, germ-infested waters of Venice. Had he stayed still a little longer, he would have seen the moment her head cracked against the side of a gondola.

  But he didn’t.

  Adrenalin galvanised him.

  Matteo ran from his office faster than he’d known was possible, tearing through the foyer and bursting onto the footpath just as a gondola operator in his distinctive black-and-white-striped shirt dived into the water. The dress made her easy to spot. Though Matteo could see the boatswain had wrapped an arm around her waist, he couldn’t stand idly by. Instincts alone drove his actions. A gentle ribbon of blood swirled through the water; he dove through it.

  ‘Is she breathing?’ Matteo pulled Skye to him, holding her as he swam to the edge of the canal. A crowd had formed and someone held their hands down, urging Matteo to lift her out. He passed her body up, then climbed out himself.

  She was so peaceful. As though she were asleep.

  More blood.

  It seeped onto the pavement beneath her head and he gently fingered her scalp, a grim line on his mouth. ‘Call a water ambulance,’ he demanded, used to being obeyed and not doubting for one second that someone would do as he’d commanded.

  ‘One is on its way,’ someone replied.

  Thank God. He crouched down beside her, running a hand over her face. ‘You’re okay, cara. You’re going to be fine.’

  He had the vague impression of the gondola operator being helped out of the water, but his entire focus was on Skye. He spoke to her softly in his own language, urging her to wake up, not to worry, to trust him, knowing that if she’d been awake she’d have thrown that invitation back in his face.

  It was only minutes before the scream of a water ambulance heralded its arrival, but it felt like a lot longer as Matteo stared down at her ashen face and wondered just what the hell had happened to make her fall into the filthy waters of Venice. The water ambulance pulled to a hasty stop beside them and two men began to call orders to the crowd. They climbed up nearby steps and ran to Skye, lifting her onto a flimsy backboard.

  ‘You’re with her?’ one of them asked Matteo.

  He nodded. ‘I’m her...husband.’

  ‘You can come, then.’

  He could have laughed at the medic’s apparent belief that he had any say in Matteo Vin Santo’s actions. Matteo paused f
or the briefest moment, just long enough to toss a thick pile of soggy bank notes at the gondola operator with a quick word of thanks, and then he followed behind.

  The speedboat, bright yellow and sleek, accommodated Skye on a bed, and he watched her as the boat made its way speedily through Venice.

  Only twice during the trip did her eyes open, and both times she looked at him with a mixture of confusion and non-comprehension.

  The boat pulled up at the ospedale dock and there was a medical team waiting.

  It all happened so quickly. She was admitted after a cursory examination, and there was enough concern on the nurse’s face to make Matteo wonder if she was gravely ill.

  ‘What’s going on?’ he asked, once she was ensconced in her own room.

  No one answered. They were all busy working, checking her vital signs, rolling her onto her side and inspecting her head, checking for the damage that was causing the bleeding. A nurse drew several vials of blood and raced them from the room.

  And then he was waiting, standing beside her bed, wondering what had happened, wondering if she’d be okay.

  After an interminable time, a woman in a white coat entered the room and moved towards Matteo, her smile reassuring. ‘She is your wife?’

  He nodded. ‘Yes.’ The word was hardened by years of being in command. Of calling the shots and asking the questions. ‘How is she?’

  ‘She’s had a bump to the head, but it doesn’t look too serious. Unfortunately, the tests we’d usually run to be sure are obviously impossible at the moment. She may be a little groggy when she wakes, possibly for a day or so. I don’t anticipate any other complications, though.’

  None of her words eased Matteo’s concern. ‘What happened to her?’

  ‘My guess would be that she passed out. It’s not unusual, in her condition. The heat of the day wouldn’t have helped—’

  ‘Wait a moment,’ he said, lifting a hand to stop her. ‘What condition?’

  The doctor pulled a face. ‘You don’t know?’

  ‘Know what, dottore?’

  ‘About the baby?’

  The world stopped spinning. No. It lurched catastrophically off its axis, sucking Matteo with it. He was in freefall as the doctor’s words filtered through his mind. ‘What baby?’ he asked, the question gravelled.

  ‘Your wife is pregnant. It’s very early stages—it’s quite by accident that the nurse even tested for it. Does she know?’

  Hell.

  Matteo’s eyes were dragged to Skye, still so peaceful-looking. Despite the fact her dark hair was matted around her, her eyes were shut and she looked serene. Had she known?

  I never want to see you, ever again.

  A muscle clenched in his jaw. Had she really been planning to divorce him and keep their child from him?

  An ache spread through him, an ache of misery and disbelief. Of anger and rage. Skye wasn’t capable of that deception, surely?

  She couldn’t have known.

  ‘She hadn’t mentioned it,’ he said with a hint of the ruthless determination that had seen him rebuild a once-great empire from its ashes and ruins. But his mind was reeling. Shock was seeping through him.

  Skye was pregnant? And she’d come to him, seeking a divorce? A divorce he’d agreed to because he’d known he owed her that much; because he’d wanted her to be happy. And he’d thought he was done making stupid, emotion-driven decisions!

  Would Skye have insisted on a divorce if she’d known about the baby? He couldn’t believe it of his wife. And yet, she was the daughter of that bastard Johnson. Did he really have any idea what she was capable of?

  His brow was fevered as he replayed every detail of their meeting, looking for signs that she knew her condition. Had she touched her stomach at all? What else would a pregnant woman do? He had no clue.

  Hell.

  The idea of a baby had never even really occurred to him; foolish, given how often they’d come together.

  ‘Perhaps she has not been symptomatic.’ The doctor shrugged, as though it didn’t matter. As though it weren’t the most important news Matteo had received in his life. As though Skye’s knowledge or lack thereof wouldn’t change everything.

  How could he forgive her if she’d planned to keep it from him?

  His nod was distracted. ‘Is the baby okay?’

  ‘So far as I can tell.’ The doctor smiled reassuringly.

  They’d only ever talked about children briefly. Skye was too young to have been thinking of having babies and Matteo hadn’t entered into the marriage with procreation on his mind. But still! She must have known how much this child would mean to him.

  And she’d been intending to take the Vin Santo heir away from him. To raise his child as a Johnson!

  Fury whipped at the soles of his feet, spurring him forward. ‘Did my wife’s handbag...?’

  ‘Yes, I believe it was dropped off separately.’ The doctor nodded curtly. ‘Someone found it on the pavement.’

  His expression was grim.

  ‘I’ll have it brought in.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  He waited impatiently, staring at Skye, trying to make sense of this, trying to hold his temper together. But, the more time that passed, the more he came to suspect the worst.

  She’d been so adamant about the divorce—that it had to be right now. She had no time to wait.

  And she’d held out the perfect carrot to get him to fit in with her plans! The hotel! The damned hotel. He would have done anything to get it back, even marrying her. And, yes, even divorcing her.

  He’d wanted the matter of their marriage and the hotel resolved and she’d given him that on a platter. What a fool he was! He’d almost let go of the most valuable thing in his life.

  His child.

  How could he have been so stupid? Hadn’t he learned his lesson with the whole Maria debacle? He’d just been a boy then. A young, foolish boy. He’d fallen for her lies hook, line and sinker. He’d fallen in love with her too. And learned how stupid a notion love was. He’d sworn he’d never trust a woman again, and here he’d been about to take Skye’s request at face value. Damn it! She was a Johnson, first and foremost. When had he forgotten that?

  A hospital staffer arrived minutes later, handing the handbag to him in a large plastic bag.

  He took it without speaking, reaching for her bag and ripping it open. There were the damned divorce documents, alongside his purchase contract on the hotel. He removed both angrily and stuffed them in the still-damp pocket of his suit.

  He was about to drop the bag to the floor when something else caught his eye.

  Curiously, he reached for it, and his anger only darkened when he saw that the object was her passport with a ticket folded neatly inside. A quick inspection showed that it was to take her to Sydney, Australia, later that night.

  The evidence was truly damning. All doubt evaporated and left inside him a seed of anger so powerful that it ripped his soul in half.

  She had been going to take this child from him. His flesh and blood.

  Nausea rolled through him, rising in his chest. He gripped his hands together, his eyes resting on his wife’s face—so beautiful, even like this.

  Had she truly wanted to raise a child away from him? Without him ever even knowing?

  The pain at the very idea was sharp.

  ‘Signor Vin Santo? We have spare clothes if you would like to get changed.’ A nurse was smiling at him kindly.

  He didn’t return it. He couldn’t. ‘I’ll stay with my wife, thank you.’ The words rang with derision, yet the nurse didn’t seem to detect the undercurrent of Matteo’s tension.

  Fury was at war with disbelief.

  A machine was rolled through the door, its wheels making a soft squeaking noise as it was brought to rest beside Skye. The doctor he’d been speaking to earlier bustled in and sent him a look of reassurance.

  ‘Try not to be so worried,’ she said, pushing Skye’s dress up and arranging the blankets around her
hips, exposing only her stomach. It was so flat. Was it possible that the doctor had got it wrong? How could a baby be developing inside her tiny frame?

  His eyes devoured her body once more, purposefully looking for changes now. Her neat breasts were still small and round, just enough to fill his palms. But perhaps there was a new roundness to them he hadn’t appreciated before...

  He swallowed past the bitterness. He would process her betrayal later. Once he knew his baby was okay.

  The doctor lifted a part of the machine and pressed it to Skye’s belly, and Skye made a soft moaning noise.

  ‘Is it painful?’ Matteo asked instinctively.

  ‘No, not at all.’ The doctor spun the cart around so that Matteo could see the screen. He lifted his eyes to it and frowned.

  ‘What am I looking at?’

  ‘It’s too early to see anything clearly. I would say she is perhaps six weeks.’ The doctor smiled at him kindly. ‘Your baby is around the size of a lentil.’

  ‘A lentil?’

  ‘A legume,’ she clarified. ‘But I can see good blood-flow generally. There’s nothing here that worries me.’ She went to lift the wand but Matteo spoke, arresting her movement.

  ‘What is that?’ He pointed to a line at the bottom of the screen.

  ‘Ah. That is the heartbeat.’

  ‘The heartbeat?’ He closed his eyes as the reality began to thunder through him.

  Emotions gripped him, so strong, so raw, and suddenly he wasn’t capable of speech. He stepped away from the bed, from his wife, from the doctor, and sucked in a deep breath of air.

  ‘Why don’t you get changed, Signor Vin Santo? You’ll be no help to her if you’ve come down with a flu.’

  He didn’t answer. He was busy analysing the situation, trying to make sense of it.

  Skye was pregnant with his child. With the Vin Santo heir. And she’d wanted to keep the information from him.

  Unless... He turned slowly, his eyes locked to the doctor’s. Hope briefly flared in his chest. ‘You asked if she knew. Is there any way she wouldn’t have known?’

  The doctor’s empathy was palpable. ‘Of course. It is still very early. If she hasn’t mentioned it to you, I think it is highly likely that she didn’t yet realise. It really depends on whether she had any other symptoms, and if she had a reason to do a pregnancy test. Were you trying to conceive?’