by Kate Hewitt
Because this wasn’t who she was. Who she wanted to be. And the fact that she’d actually given herself to this man, and it had meant something to her, made her want to curl up in a ball and cry.
‘Chin up,’ Cristiano said, touching her chin with his finger. ‘And smile.’
Laurel couldn’t summon a smile. She turned away from him, conscious of the whispers, the murmurs, the looks. Was she imagining the derision? The contempt? A woman’s lip curled and Laurel blinked back tears. She hated this.
‘Drink,’ Cristiano ordered, and handed her a flute of fizzing champagne. Laurel took a long swallow, needing the alcohol to dull her senses, which were heightened to a painful point.
‘Easy,’ he said, and her fingers tightened around the stem of the glass.
‘Stop ordering me around,’ she hissed. ‘I’m an adult—not a puppet, not a doll, despite what you and everyone here believes.’
And, because she desperately needed some space, she stalked away from him, her dress swishing around her ankles, her head held high as she met no one’s gaze.
She couldn’t do this. She certainly couldn’t do this for two whole weeks. Laurel took another sip of champagne and willed herself to get a grip. Two weeks and she could have her life, or at least most of her life, back...as long as she wasn’t pregnant. And she couldn’t be pregnant. She just couldn’t be.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw a flash of red and her whole body stiffened. It was her mother, Elizabeth, standing alone in the corner of the casino. Laurel walked towards her, a mix of despair and relief churning inside her.
‘Elizabeth.’ Her mother had never wanted her to call her Mom, or Mother, not even when Laurel had been small, although occasionally the endearment slipped out. It didn’t now.
‘Laurel.’ Elizabeth’s gaze was as conflicted as Laurel’s, a mix of guilt and relief. ‘I’m glad to see you safe.’ Her mother’s gaze raked her up and down. ‘And it seems you landed on your feet.’
For a moment Laurel couldn’t speak. Her chest burned with indignation and hurt and she simply stared, battling emotions too intense to verbalise. ‘You call this on my feet?’ she finally squeezed out. ‘Did you...did you know Rico Bavasso was going to attack me?’
‘Of course I didn’t.’ Guilt flashed across her mother’s face again. ‘Do you think I’d have let you upstairs if I’d known what he planned? I was expecting him to propose!’
For a second Laurel almost wanted to laugh. Her mother sounded outraged...on her own behalf.
‘You must have suspected something,’ she insisted in a low voice. ‘The way he was acting on the casino floor...’
‘What old man doesn’t like to flirt with a beautiful young woman? Do you think I liked it? That I welcomed such an occurrence? He was mine.’
‘He’s not now?’
‘I haven’t seen him since. He wants nothing to do with me.’ Elizabeth sounded more resigned than bitter. ‘It was a bad idea, bringing you along. It just showed me up.’
‘That’s your takeaway from all of this?’ Laurel let out a hollow laugh. Her mother had always been foremost concerned with herself. The only saving grace was that she was up front and unapologetic about it. I spent the first twenty-four years of my life living for other people, wearing myself out. It’s time I started thinking about myself. And it seemed she’d never stopped.
Laurel shook her head, weary now. ‘I never should have come here.’
‘Who are you with now?’ Elizabeth asked, ever pragmatic. ‘Someone worth it, I hope?’
Laurel closed her eyes briefly. ‘I’m with Cristiano.’
‘Cristiano?’ Elizabeth boggled at that bit of news. ‘I thought he’d never have anything to do with either of us ever again.’
‘And with good reason.’
‘You know I never would have left Lorenzo.’ Elizabeth’s voice was tight. ‘That money wasn’t...’
‘I know,’ Laurel said tiredly, because she’d heard this all before. ‘But it was still stealing.’
‘We were married.’ Elizabeth struggled to contain her bitterness, even after all these years. ‘Can you blame me for wanting a nest egg?’
The trouble was, Laurel couldn’t. Not exactly. But she couldn’t justify it, either. So she said nothing, and Elizabeth’s scarlet mouth twisted bitterly. ‘Watch your back, that’s all I have to say. Cristiano sold me down the river and he’ll have no compunction doing the same to you.’
‘Wait—what?’ Laurel stared at her mother in surprised confusion. ‘What do you mean, he sold you down the river?’
Elizabeth shrugged. ‘He told Lorenzo about the bank account, fired him up and made it all seem far worse than it was.’ She took a sip of her drink, a shadow of sorrow passing over her features. ‘I did love him, you know—Lorenzo. No matter what his son or anyone else thought.’
‘I know you did.’ She’d doubted many things about her mother but not that. But Laurel hadn’t realised it was Cristiano who had blown the whistle on her. Did it make a difference?
‘Be careful,’ Elizabeth said in a low voice. ‘About Cristiano and about Rico. This isn’t your world, Laurel. You’re far too naïve for it. I shouldn’t have dragged you into this, but I was desperate. I wanted to please Rico. I should have realised he’d prefer you.’
‘I’m going to leave this world as soon as I can,’ Laurel promised. ‘All I want is to go home.’
‘It won’t be home for much longer, I’m afraid,’ Elizabeth stated bluntly. ‘I’ll need my half.’
Cold crept into Laurel’s bones, even though she’d been expecting this. Of course she had. ‘But you said—’
‘Laurel, I only agreed to give you my half of the house because I thought Rico was going to propose! I’m sorry, but I need the money.’
Laurel swallowed tightly. ‘Please, Mom,’ she whispered, using the endearment her mother never liked. Sometimes it slipped out, because she’d always wanted a mother. A proper mother, who cuddled, kissed and cared. ‘Please. That house is the only thing...’
Elizabeth’s expression turned sly. ‘Maybe you can get something out of Cristiano. If you can, then we’ll talk.’
Something out of Cristiano? He might have bought her these clothes but he wouldn’t give her a penny. And she wouldn’t ask for one. Laurel swallowed. ‘You know that’s impossible.’
‘Then the house will have to be sold. Your grandfather left me half that house in his will. It’s my inheritance as much as yours.’
‘I know it is, but...’
A hand closed around Laurel’s arm like a steel band, making her nearly drop her drink. ‘As much as I hate to interrupt this little chat, we have places to be and people to see.’ Cristiano inclined his head towards Elizabeth, his gaze glittering, before he steered Laurel away.
‘You didn’t have to—’ she began, only to be cut off by his clipped voice.
‘Bavasso is here.’
‘Is he? Where?’
Cristiano nodded towards the baccarat table and Laurel’s blood felt as if it had frozen in her veins as she caught sight of the man who had assaulted her last night: neatly dressed, the silver thatch of hair, the glinting eyes. A handsome older man, charming when he wanted to be, yet he made her skin crawl and her stomach heave.
The reaction was visceral, instinctive; she couldn’t have controlled it if she’d tried. ‘I think,’ she whispered, ‘I’m going to faint.’
Cristiano’s arm came around her waist as Laurel sagged against him. ‘Not yet, bella,’ he murmured and then, as Bavasso turned to watch, he kissed her in front of everyone, his mouth moving over hers with possessive thoroughness, causing desire to flow through her, a molten river of want. Another moment and she’d be reduced to a puddle on the floor.
‘Please,’ Laurel whispered when he finally broke the kiss. ‘I can’t... I can’t handle any more of this. Please get me out of here.’
Cristiano glanced at Bavasso and then, seemingly satisfied, he started walking towards the lifts. ‘Ver
y well. I think we’ve made our point.’
Laurel managed to keep herself upright as she walked past the staring crowds and saw Bavasso’s tight expression, the bodyguards on either side of him. The lifts. All she needed to do was get through those gleaming black doors.
They opened and Laurel practically hurled herself inside. When they’d closed again she let out a sound that was halfway to a moan and crumpled against the wall, her knees buckling beneath her. It was the second time in the space of twenty-four hours that she’d fled to a lift. Her dress pooled around her as she slowly slid to a seated position, resting her head on her arms.
‘Was it really so terrible?’ Cristiano asked dryly. ‘Being seen on my arm?’
‘Everything about it was terrible.’ Laurel drew a ragged breath, willing herself not to cry. She didn’t think Cristiano would be impressed by her tears. ‘I felt cheaper than I ever have in my life right then.’
‘Cheaper than last night?’ Cristiano demanded in disbelief, sounding annoyed. Laurel looked up, conscious of the tears pooling in her eyes and starting to streak down her cheeks. It seemed she was going to cry after all.
‘Yes, Cristiano, cheaper. Because, although you’d never believe it, I wasn’t trying to impress Bavasso. He wasn’t my mark.’ Her voice hitched and she forced herself to continue. ‘I was there to meet my mother’s boyfriend, possibly fiancé, and when he started treating me... Well, you know how he treated me. I didn’t know what to do. How to respond. And so I froze and I let it happen, and it made me feel awful, but this...’ She swiped at her cheeks. ‘I gave myself to you last night. I know it didn’t mean anything to you, of course I do, but it meant something to me. Maybe it shouldn’t have, but it did. And to be treated like your mistress, your possession, your plaything... I hated it. I hated every minute of it.’
She’d said way too much. Far more than she’d ever intended to reveal. Anything she said could and would be used against her, no doubt. She’d just given him ammunition, but she felt too weary and heartsick to care.
The doors opened and Laurel started to scramble to her feet, hampered by the long, narrow skirt of her gown. Cristiano reached a hand down to help her but Laurel jerked away.
‘I don’t need your help—’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ he snapped, and helped her up. ‘I don’t think Bavasso will bother you, at any rate. If it’s any consolation, I think he received the message we wanted him to.’
‘It isn’t,’ Laurel tossed over her shoulder, and stalked into the penthouse.
* * *
Cristiano watched as Laurel kicked off her heels, her whole body trembling, and then started yanking the pins from her hair. It was what he’d wanted to do earlier, to dismantle the elaborate costume she was wearing, but now that she was the one doing it he felt annoyed somehow. There was no pleasing him when it came to this contrary woman, it seemed. And there was no pleasing her.
‘I don’t really understand what you’re so upset about,’ he said levelly as Laurel shook out her hair. She grabbed a tissue from the box and wiped at her lipstick, tears now drying on her face, leaving raccoon-like circles under her eyes.
‘Of course you don’t.’
‘This is what we agreed on. The most expedient way to get you out of the mess you got yourself into. I’m helping you, Laurel.’ And he wouldn’t think about what she’d said about Bavasso flirting with her, how she’d frozen. It made sense, yet Cristiano resisted trusting Laurel, even that far. Trusting anyone.
‘I know, I know.’ She scrubbed at her lips until they were raw looking. ‘You’re a prince.’
He couldn’t miss the sarcasm. As for the other things she’d said in the lift—about what they’d done last night meaning something to her—well, she’d been a virgin. Of course she was going to dress up what had been nothing more than a very pleasurable physical act. He’d been expecting it, but it didn’t make it any easier to deal with.
Sighing, Cristiano reached for his phone. ‘Why don’t you change, since you apparently find that haute couture gown so abhorrent? And shower, if you like. I’ll order us some food.’
She stared at him, a storm of emotion in her eyes, and then without a word she turned on her heel and stalked into the bedroom, slamming the door behind her.
Women. Muttering a curse, Cristiano dialled for room service.
Twenty minutes later the food had arrived and Laurel emerged from her bedroom dressed in a pair of loose linen pants and a silky T-shirt, her damp hair curling in ringlets about her face and shoulders. Cristiano liked her better this way, not that he would say it out loud. The last thing he wanted to do was give Laurel any hope for what could be between them.
Laurel’s face was composed, nothing showing in her eyes. The emotional, distraught woman from before was replaced with someone who thankfully was calm and hopefully going to be sensible.
‘What would you like to eat?’
‘Anything is fine.’ Laurel sank onto the sofa, curling her bare feet under her as she gazed out at the night sky. Her expression was pensive, and she didn’t even look at Cristiano as he handed her a plate of food.
‘Thank you,’ she murmured.
‘You’re welcome.’ Cristiano sat opposite her. ‘What did your mother say to you down there, anyway?’
She turned to glance at him. Still nothing in her eyes, in her face. ‘She wanted to know what had happened to me.’
‘And what did you tell her?’
‘Not much.’ She leaned her head back against the sofa, looking so weary Cristiano had the impulse to comfort her. To reassure her—yet about what? ‘Your kiss told her all she needed to know.’ She spoke lifelessly, without any interest or spark.
‘And last night with Bavasso?’ He took a careful, even breath. ‘Was it really...was it how you said?’
Laurel shrugged. ‘Believe what you like.’
‘Last night you said it wasn’t what it looked like. Is that why?’ Her gaze slid away from his and Cristiano felt in his gut that there was more she wasn’t saying. Laurel wasn’t quite as innocent as she wanted him to think. ‘Tell me the truth, Laurel.’
She sighed and picked at her food, her hair falling forward to hide her face. ‘About a week ago my mother came to me and asked me for...for a favour, I suppose. We hadn’t seen much of each other in recent years, or really at all. She’d been dating Rico Bavasso and she said he wanted to meet me.’
‘What I saw last night was hardly your mother introducing you as her daughter to her boyfriend.’ Cristiano couldn’t keep the scepticism from his voice. He didn’t even want to.
‘I know. She said he was feeling his age and it would do him good to flirt with a younger woman. It sounded innocent, but maybe it was just me being naïve.’ Laurel gulped. ‘I can’t believe my mother would...’
‘Set you up?’
‘She wanted him for herself.’ Laurel shook her head. ‘When I talked to her tonight, she was annoyed that Bavasso had been interested in me at all.’
‘Charming.’
Laurel sighed. ‘That’s just how she is. I’ve accepted it.’ She glanced up at him, something in her expression hardening. ‘You don’t know anything about my mother or me, for that matter. So please don’t judge.’
‘It’s hard not to judge from what I saw and continue to see,’ Cristiano returned coolly. ‘What I don’t understand is why you agreed to come at all, if there has been no love lost between the two of you.’
‘Because I suppose I’m always hoping it will be better between us this time.’ Laurel hesitated, and Cristiano waited for the other shoe to drop, because surely it would? ‘And,’ Laurel admitted quietly, ‘Because she offered me something I wanted very much.’
There it was, just as Cristiano had known. His instincts hadn’t been wrong. ‘And what did you want so much?’ he asked.
‘A house. My house.’ Cristiano stared at her, nonplussed, and Laurel continued, ‘I spent a lot of my childhood at my grandfather’s house in Canton Heights. It
’s a small farmhouse, nothing special, but I love it. It’s the only place besides... Well, the only place I think of as home.’
‘Besides?’ Cristiano honed on that revealing word. ‘Besides what?’
Laurel shrugged, her gaze sliding away. ‘Besides the villa in Milan when we lived with your father. That felt like home, for a little while.’
Three years. He stared at her, trying to gauge what she was feeling. How much she was feeling. ‘And so this house...’ he said after a pause. ‘Your mother agreed to...what? Give it to you?’
‘Her half. My grandfather died three months ago and he left the house, the only thing he had, to both of us equally. I think he was hoping she’d come back, settle down.’ She let out a humourless laugh. ‘She’d never do that. My mother hates the place. But she agreed to sign over her half to me if I...met Bavasso and was nice to him. So I agreed, because the only thing I’ve ever wanted in life is my own house. My own home.’ Her voice wobbled and she looked away.
‘Why didn’t you just offer to buy her out?’
Laurel let out a shaky huff of laughter. ‘Because I don’t have a hundred grand just sitting around,’ she returned. ‘Even farmhouses in rural Illinois cost money, you know. Money I don’t have.’
Cristiano remained nonplussed. ‘Still, you were agreeing to a rather large unknown just for a house.’
Laurel sucked in a breath, swinging around to stare at him, her face pale, her eyes narrowed. ‘Says someone who has no idea what it’s like not to have one.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Oh, come on, Cristiano. You’re rich. You’ve always been rich. You have absolutely no idea what it’s like not to be. To be poor.’
He opened his mouth to make some suitably stinging reply and then closed it. She was right. He didn’t know. He never had. ‘That’s true,’ he said evenly. ‘I don’t.’
Laurel let out a tired laugh. ‘But it doesn’t excuse making reprehensible or at least stupid decisions. I know.’