The Temporary Mrs. Marchetti (Mills & Boon Modern)

by MELANIE MILBURNE

  ‘Careful, Alice,’ he said. ‘We’re in public. It’s time to behave yourself.’

  Her eyes went to needle-thin slits, her body visibly quaking with fury. ‘Just you wait until I get you alone.’

  He smiled and gave a mock shiver of delight. ‘I can hardly wait.’

  * * *

  Alice was so angry she could barely read the menu. A red mist was before her eyes at the way he had turned things around so deftly. So he did want to marry her. But why? What did he hope to achieve? A bunch of stupid old shares he probably didn’t need? She didn’t buy that for a second. He wanted to marry her to punish her. To humiliate her.

  But the more she thought about the long-term benefits for the short-term pain, she realised she really didn’t have a choice. If she wanted to reach the pinnacle of success she had always dreamed of then this was the way to do it, and far quicker than she could ever have imagined.

  She remembered his grandmother’s villa. That lakeside villa was not some modest little run-down holiday shack. That villa was a luxury resort complete with lush gardens and trickling fountains and marble statues and a swimming pool big enough to set an Olympic record. If she walked away from a gift like that she would be certifiable.

  Besides, the old lady had liked her and Alice had liked her. A lot. She didn’t want any paranormal consequences if she didn’t accept the bequest with good grace. It was the sensible, respectful thing to do.

  The only trouble was Cristiano was part of the deal.

  The man who could make her come on the spot by looking at her with those sinfully sexy eyes.

  Alice shifted in her seat, painfully aware of the swollen excitement of her body. For a moment there she’d thought he was going to kiss her. His body had been so close to hers she’d felt his warmth, smelt his lemon and lime and hint of leather scent that wreaked such havoc on her senses. She had seen the way his eyes had dipped to her mouth, lingering there as if recalling the way her lips had responded to his in the past. The even more shocking thing was she’d wanted him to. So much her whole body had ached to feel that firm mouth come crashing down on hers. To take the choice away from her.

  What was wrong with her?

  But wasn’t that what he wanted? To show how weak she was when it came to him? He knew her as a maestro knew a difficult instrument. He knew what chords to strike, what strings to pluck, what melodies to play.

  Alice was annoyed for thinking she could outsmart him. When had calling his bluff ever worked? He wasn’t the type of man to be manipulated. He enjoyed power too much to allow anyone else to control him.

  The truth was she had been a little shocked when he’d let her go seven years ago. Shocked and hurt. She’d thought he’d wanted her too much to let her go without a fight. She’d thought he desired her so much he would have moved heaven and earth and planets and whole galaxies to get her back. She’d thought he would contact her within a day or two when he calmed down and apologise for pressuring her with that public proposal.

  But he hadn’t contacted her.

  Not a single word. No phone call. No text or voicemail message. No flowers. No cards. Days, a week, two weeks went past and still she heard nothing from him. But then she saw a press photo of him in a nightclub in Milan with a bevy of beautiful women draped all over him. And a day later another photo with just the one woman—his new mistress. A gorgeous international model. It had driven a stake through her chest to see him getting on with his life as if she had never been the ‘only woman in the world’ for him. What nonsense. He hadn’t loved her at all. He had wanted to own her. To control her.

  As if that was ever going to happen.

  He might be able to stir her hormones into a fizzing frenzy, but no way was Alice going to let him take over her life. She would marry him to get what she wanted.

  You want him.

  It was an inconvenient truth but she would deal with it. She had willpower, didn’t she? A month-long engagement was the first hurdle. It wasn’t a long period of time. Anyway, she would be at work most of the time. September was still a busy time. And he had his little thing on the side. Grrr. Alice wasn’t going to show she was jealous about his nubile little Natalia. If he wanted to play around then why should she care? If she was going to be Cristiano’s fiancée and then wife, then she would be the worst fiancée and wife in the world.

  Alice smiled a you-ain’t-seen-nothing-yet smile and picked up her wine glass and drained it in a couple of noisy swallows. She put it down on the starched white tablecloth with a distinctive thud. ‘Nice drop. So, when do I get a big rock on my finger? Or have you got your old one stashed away in your pocket?’

  His dark eyes pulsed like the shimmer off a heatwave. ‘I do, actually.’ He reached inside his jacket and took out the ring he’d bought her seven years ago.

  Alice took it from the centre of his outstretched palm and slipped it on. ‘Slipped’ being the operative word. It was loose and the heavy diamond slipped around her finger so it was facing downwards. Those few pounds she’d carried at twenty-one had thankfully been whittled off with diet and exercise. The ring hadn’t suited her hand back then and it didn’t now. Which was perfectly fine because she didn’t want it to suit. It wasn’t going to be there long enough for her to worry about it being clumsily big.

  ‘Lovely. I’ll be the envy of all my friends.’ She looked up to see a furrowed frown between his eyes and gave him a guileless blink. ‘Is something wrong?’

  His frown relaxed but his mouth lost none of its tightness. ‘There are some domestic things to discuss. Like where we’ll live for the next four weeks before the wedding.’

  Alice straightened her posture. ‘I’m not living with you. I have my own house and—’

  ‘It will seem odd for us not to cohabit. You can move in with me at my hotel or I can move in with you. Your choice.’

  Her choice? What a joke. Alice raised her chin to a combative height. ‘What if I say no?’

  His unwavering gaze made something in her belly turn over. ‘How about a compromise? A few nights at your place, a few nights at mine.’

  Alice snorted. ‘Compromise? You mean you actually know what that word means?’

  He ignored her taunt. ‘After we’re married we’ll have to live under the one roof, and since my base is in—’

  ‘I’m not moving to Italy so you can squash that thought right now. I have work commitments. I’m solidly booked till Christmas.’ Not solidly, but heavily. Not that she was going to tell him that. Why should she give up her career when he wasn’t giving up his?

  A muscle moved in his jaw. In. Out. In. Out. ‘I want you with me. Six months, that’s all the will requires. I won’t accept any other arrangement.’

  Alice gave a mock pout and leaned forward as if she were talking to a spoilt child. ‘Oh, poor baby, did you want to have it all your own way?’ She sat back with a resounding thump and folded her arms. ‘Sorry. No can do.’

  Cristiano’s eyes hardened. ‘Must you always be so damn obstinate?’

  ‘Me, obstinate?’ Alice laughed. ‘You win the prize for that. A mule has nothing on you. Your heels are dug so deep in the ground you could drill for oil.’

  He gave her a droll look. ‘I’ve booked a flight to Italy this Friday. We’ll stay the weekend in Stresa so you can get acquainted with your new property. Think of it as a trial honeymoon.’

  Honeymoon?

  Alice’s stomach dropped like an anchor. ‘I presume you mean for the sake of appearances?’

  A ghost of a smile flirted with the edges of his mouth. ‘That depends.’

  She disguised a lumpy swallow. ‘On what?’

  ‘On whether you have the self-discipline to say no to me.’

  Alice gave him a look that would have withered poison ivy. ‘Not going to happen, Italian boy. You’re getting your needs met elsewhere, remember?’

  ‘Natalia is my personal assistant.’

  Alice arched her brow. ‘And what, pray tell, does she personally assis
t you with? Your sex life?’

  A smile cocked one side of his mouth, making his eyes crinkle attractively at the corners. Too attractively. So attractively she was having trouble keeping her eyes off it and remembering how sexy it had once felt against her own. ‘You’re jealous.’

  Alice gave a honk of a laugh. ‘Yes, of course I am. I’m just so in love with you I can barely stand it. I’ve been waiting all these years for you to show up and take me back to chain me barefoot to the kitchen sink and make me pregnant.’

  His smile disappeared to be replaced by a thin line of white. ‘I would’ve given you a good life, Alice. Better than the one you’ve got now.’

  Alice helped herself to more wine, not caring it was going to her head. ‘I love my life. I have my own business. I have my own house. Money. Friends.’

  ‘But you’re not happy.’

  She stabbed a finger in his direction. ‘You know what that is you’re doing right there? It’s projection. What you’re really saying is you’re not happy.’

  ‘I will be happy when this six months is over,’ he said, through tight lips. ‘My grandmother had no right to meddle in my affairs.’

  Alice toyed with her glass, wondering why his grandmother had taken it upon herself to orchestrate things the way she had. Hadn’t Volante Marchetti realised how pointless it would be locking her and Cristiano together? They hated each other. They fought like cage fighters. What good would it serve? They would only end up worse enemies than before.

  She realised then, she hadn’t yet expressed her condolences for his loss. She knew how much he adored his grandmother. It was another thing she had liked about him—how much he respected the elderly and saw them as gatekeepers of wisdom. ‘You must miss her terribly.’

  He released a long sigh that sounded rough around the edges. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Was she ill for long or was it a sudden—?’

  ‘Pancreatic cancer,’ he said. ‘Four months from diagnosis to death.’

  ‘It must have been an awful shock.’

  ‘It was, but less so than my parents’ and brother’s death. She was eighty-five and frail. She was ready to go.’

  Alice wondered if he was close to his extended family. He hadn’t spoken much about his family back in the day. She knew there were an uncle and an aunt and a few cousins scattered about. But having lost every member of his immediate family must surely be extremely painful, even now. She wasn’t that close to her mother, and, while she had some contact with her father since they reconnected a couple of years ago, her extended family were not the sort of people she associated with. But even so, Alice couldn’t imagine being all alone in the world.

  The waiter came to take their order, and once he left, Cristiano switched the subject as if he didn’t want to linger on the subject of his grandmother’s passing. ‘There are some legal things to see to. I presume you won’t object to a prenuptial agreement?’

  ‘No, why should I?’ Alice shot him a don’t-call-me-a-gold-digger glare. ‘I want to protect my own assets.’

  ‘Fine. I’ll have the papers drawn up and make an appointment for tomorrow.’

  He was moving things along so quickly Alice wondered if he was worried she would back out at the last minute and was taking measures so she couldn’t. ‘How are you going to handle the press on this?’ she asked. ‘I mean, who is going to buy this is a genuine love match?’

  His expression gave nothing away. ‘We have a history which makes the lie all the more believable. Everyone loves a love-wins-out-in-the-end story.’

  ‘Well, don’t expect me to get all gussied up for the wedding,’ Alice said. ‘Me in one of those big meringue dresses? Not my thing at all.’

  There was a moment or two of silence.

  The air seemed to ring with her words as if testing their veracity. Just as well Cristiano didn’t know about the stash of bridal magazines she had at home. Dozens of them. It was a silly little pastime but she rationalised it by insisting it helped her follow make-up trends for her clients. And it was a tax deduction.

  ‘You might never get married again,’ he said. ‘Why not go to town on this one chance to be a princess for the day?’

  ‘You’re darn right I’m not getting married again,’ Alice said. ‘I’m going to be drinking champagne by the bucket once our marriage is over.’

  Once our marriage is over.

  It was strange to say those words when most people entered marriage thinking it was going to be for ever. Weddings had never been Alice’s fantasy. She hadn’t dressed up as a bride as a child or pored over bridal magazines as a teenager. She’d always seen marriage as a trap to keep women enslaved to the patriarchy. A tool to maintain male privilege in society. Women lost financial traction once they married and had kids and few ever truly regained it. She had seen her mother lose self-esteem and money with every failed relationship. Alice had lived in near poverty too often as a child to ever think of getting married herself.

  But lately, Alice had dealt with a lot of brides. Happy brides. Brides who were madly in love with their men and their men with them. The excitement of building a future with a man who loved you and wanted to spend his life with you had rubbed off on her even though she’d thought it never would. Every time she prepared a bride’s make-up for her big day she wondered what it would be like to be a bride herself. To dress in a beautiful gown and have her hair and make-up done. To walk into a flower-filled church and say the vows that couples for centuries had been saying to each other.

  A lot of the brides she had done still came into the salon as regular clients. It might be an isolated statistic, but so far not one of them had separated or divorced. On the contrary, they seemed happier and even more radiant. Several of them had babies and young children now.

  It made Alice wonder if her bias was a little unjustified.

  ‘What will you do with your share of the villa once we get an annulment?’ he asked.

  An annulment? Wait, he was actually serious about not sleeping with her? But why the hell not? Alice knew she wasn’t going to be asked to strut down a catwalk any time soon but she hadn’t had any mirrors explode when she’d walked past, either. ‘Of course I’ll sell my share. It’s the money I want, not the property. I wouldn’t be able to maintain a property that size—even a half share in it—not while working and living in London. Old places like that cost a fortune in upkeep.’

  Cristiano gave a single nod as if that made perfect sense. But Alice couldn’t help feeling he was disappointed in her answer. What did the villa mean to him? Would he want to buy her share back once their marriage came to an end? Her conscience began to prickle her. Why should he be made to pay for something that should rightfully be his?

  ‘Were you expecting your grandmother to leave her villa entirely to you?’ Alice asked after a moment.

  ‘Yes and no.’ His expression was masked. ‘I have enough property of my own without hankering after that old place. But that doesn’t mean I want to see it sold to strangers.’

  ‘It must hold a lot of memories for you.’

  ‘It does. Both good and bad.’ He reached for his water glass but he didn’t drink from it. Instead, his index finger scrawled a swirly clockwise pattern on the condensation on the side of the glass. ‘It was a happy place before it became a sad place. Over time it became happy again, mostly due to my grandparents’ commitment to making my childhood and adolescence as normal as they could under the circumstances.’

  Alice chewed at her lip. When had she ever talked to him like this? Really talked? She had tried asking him about his childhood seven years ago but he had always brushed the topic aside. Told her he didn’t like talking about it. She had respected that and left well alone. But now she wondered if that had been a mistake. ‘It must have been devastating to lose your family like that...’

  ‘And then some.’ He let out a small breath and began drawing on his glass in an anti-clockwise fashion this time. ‘I still remember the day my parents and brother were kill
ed... I was staying overnight with my grandparents as I’d caught a stomach bug and couldn’t go to the party they were attending.’ His mouth came up on one side in a rueful slant and his finger left the glass. ‘Lucky me. Saved by a rotavirus.’

  Alice swallowed against a knot of emotion for the little boy he had been. How lonely and desperate he must have felt to have his family wiped out like that. Never to see them again. Never to have the opportunity to say the words he’d wanted to say. All the questions kids ask their parents about themselves—the funny anecdotes of infancy and childhood that only a parent can relay.

  Why hadn’t she asked more about how he’d felt when they’d dated? Why had she let him fob her off? Had he been riddled with survivor guilt? Wondering why he had been spared and not his brother? How could it not have an effect on him even now? He had grown up without the most important people by his side. Yes, his grandparents were marvellous substitutes, but they could only ever be his grandparents. He carried the wound of loss in every fibre of his being.

  ‘I wish I’d asked you more about your childhood in the past... You always seemed so...so reluctant to talk about it and I didn’t want to pry.’

  ‘I hardly ever talked about it, even to my grandparents.’ He continued to stare at his glass, his brow creased in a slight frown. ‘I thought it was my family coming back when I heard the car. But it was a police vehicle. My grandfather broke the news to me...’

  The trench of his frown deepened.

  ‘It’s weird, but I never really thought about that until a few years ago. How it would have been for him to hear his only son and daughter-in-law and eldest grandson had died and then have to break that news to me in a calm and controlled and caring manner. He was so...so unbelievably strong. For me. For Nonna. I never saw him cry but I sometimes heard him. Late at night, in his study, long after Nonna and I and the staff had gone to bed. It was a terrible sound.’

  Alice reached across the table and placed her hand over his large warm tanned one where it was resting on the snowy-white tablecloth. He looked up when she touched him, his gaze shadowed by memories. By sadness. Bone-deep sadness. ‘I’m so sorry...’ she said.