by Caro LaFever
Everyone laughed.
Rage trembled down her arm and right into her hand. She’d love to take up this silver knife lying by the side of her plate and cut his throat. An appropriate ending for a pirate. But ladies didn’t kill or maim, especially during their perfect wedding.
A wedding he’d known every detail about.
She glanced across the table at her two best friends. Suz lifted her champagne glass in a silent toast. Tracy winked. Both of them were clearly delighted.
Delighted. That she was married to this man.
The realization clicked. The memory rushed in. Tracy and Suz grinning at something he’d said at one of the many dinner parties she’d been forced to attend with him during the last month. Grinning and then nodding and then giving her a sly look from across the room. Her two friends had known about her dreams for her wedding. They’d known about her silly habit of saving photos and pictures. They’d known where she hid her wedding box.
Lise glared at them, all of a sudden knowing exactly who she could blame for this monstrous highjacking of her lovely plans and dreams.
Both of them suddenly found their attention drawn away by other guests.
“It would be best, Princesse,” her new husband took a sip of wine before continuing, “if you did not appear as if you are contemplating murder at your own wedding.”
“Best for whom?” She continued to glare at her so-called friends. “And don’t call me that nickname.”
“Why, best for you.” Answering her questions and ignoring her demand, his tone stayed relaxed, as if he had not a care in the world. “Do you want to explain to one and all why the bride is not glowing with happiness? Do you want to open that particular Pandora’s box?”
Yes. Yes, she really did. She would love to jump on her chair and yell out her situation to everyone. The action would be gloriously freeing and satisfying.
Her fingers tightened into white fists.
“I see you are contemplating it.”
Finally, she looked him straight in the face. Not since the moment after their kiss at the altar had she dared. But now she did. “Yes.”
“I would advise against it.” His smile mocked, his gaze glittering with challenge. “For your mother’s sake.”
Hate streamed in her veins at the implied threat. The threat he dangled in front of her every time she tried to defy him. The hate for him swept away the anger at her two friends. They didn’t know the true extent of his nature because she hadn’t told them. How could she blame them for buying into the fairy tale when she hadn’t been able to share with them the reality of her nightmare?
“Here we are,” he said nonchalantly as if her hate-filled stare was a mere speck of sand in his existence. “The next course.”
The soup dish swished under her nose to land on the table in front of her. The smell of oysters and garlic drifted up, slipping into her nostrils and mouth and down her throat to touch off the ever-present nausea.
She slid back in her chair, gritted her teeth in a smile at the table’s beaming guests, and attempted to hold her breath.
“Allow me,” he rumbled at her side. The soup, and the smell, disappeared.
“Thank you,” she managed to say through the sickness.
Thank you for ruining my life.
“Vico.” One of his brothers eyed him over a glass of wine. “Why are you stealing your bride’s food?”
“I’m preparing for tonight.” He grinned.
His brother gave him a wide grin back.
“You have been preparing for years.” His uncle roared with laughter.
The men of his family who encircled their table, and even the tables nearest them, joined in the laughter while their wives tutted and hid their grins.
What were they laughing about?
“Maybe so,” her husband chuckled beside her. “But as you know, I like to take every advantage that comes my way. You can never be too sure…”
With a flourish, he loudly sipped the soup before him. First from his bowl, then hers.
His family laughed and hooted around them.
What was the joke? She was missing something. She tried not to care, although, she couldn’t stop arching her brows at her friends across the table. They both grinned at her, apparently in on the joke.
“What’s so funny?” The question came out before she could bite it off.
His grin grew wider as he flicked a wicked glance at her. “Oysters are aphrodisiacs. Weren’t you aware?”
“I’m sure your bride will be well satisfied, Vico.” His uncle winked. “After all, you’ve had some practice, haven’t you?”
The crowd surrounding them chuckled again.
A rush of heat swept across her skin. How coarse. How crude. How could his family laugh in the face of this man’s sordid reputation with women?
Her husband clearly saw nothing wrong with the jest. He had no shame for his past actions and he wouldn’t have any shame about his future activities, would he? Once she’d made clear there was no charming approach in the world that would seduce her, he’d move on with alacrity. This would suit her fine.
Would his family accept this as well? Was this the norm in his family?
She fought the blush, yet she wasn’t successful. Everyone laughed merrily. The stupid man laughed with them. At her.
Did he have the gall to expect—?
She met his gaze. Tawny gold sparkled with glee. With expectation? Lise pulled her pride around her, stiffened her spine, lifted her head at a proud angle.
“Obviously, I’m aware. How could I forget?” she said for their audience. She gave him a withering stare as she whispered to only him. “Your family is as vulgar as you are.”
“I will remind you again tonight.” He played to the crowd with a grin, still his eyes went dark, the green turning jade with hostility.
Staring back at him and his hate, she managed an icy glare of her own. She might have lost the other battles between them during this last month, hell ever since the first time she’d met him. But this was a battle she was going to win if it was the last thing she did. There was no way he’d find her in his bed. Ever.
The want curled inside her, laughing at her threat.
Nevertheless, she would win. She would win against him and against herself.
This win was the only thing she had left to salvage her pride.
The waiters poured more wine. The talk around the table encircled her in a joyful buzz. Her new husband chuckled at another joke, then leaned over to answer an acerbic question from her mother.
Her mother.
Who sat in the sea of happiness looking like the end of the world had arrived. She was the one person in this room who quite likely was as upset as Lise was. She’d been stupid when she’d confessed the true nature of the relationship between her new fiancé and herself to her mother in a fit of fury.
The trick he’d played to get her into bed.
The baby he’d planted in her belly.
The marriage he’d demanded.
Her mother had despised Vico Mattare for taking the company from her dear husband’s partners even before Lise’s confession. After the confession, spite had turned to a raw rage, which threatened at any moment to overflow into a torrid tirade. She had lost count of the migraines she’d suffered after spending hour after hour listening to her mother rant. Only the threat looming over her precious home had kept her mother from unleashing the torrent of hate onto her daughter’s filthy, thieving new fiancé.
Her mother had been adamant about one item dealing with Vico Mattare, however.
She nagged and complained and nudged until finally Lise had done what she wanted—asked for a prenuptial agreement. When she thought about it, it had surprised her, astonished her that he hadn’t asked for one first. After all, his pot of money must be as big as the Mediterranean Sea. But he hadn’t. Day after day. And her mother’s ferocious demands had become overwhelming.
The stock! she’d moaned. He wants the la
st of the stock.
So Lise had asked. Figured it would be an easy enough request and he would see the wisdom of it.
“I want nothing from you,” she’d said, trying to hold onto her patience in the face of his instant dismissal of the idea.
His arms folded in front of him, accenting the bulge of his biceps. The light coming from his office windows highlighted the stern thrust of his jaw, the vivid blackness of his hair.
“And you don’t need my stock,” she’d kept going, “to run this company the way you want.”
His face grew grim.
“When we divorce—”
The slash of his arm cut her off. “There will be no divorce.”
“What?” The echo of the shock she’d felt still reverberated inside. Never had she thought this marriage would be anything but a short-term fix until the baby had arrived. “Of course there will. After the baby is born.”
“Is that what you’ve been deciding in that scheming mind of yours?” His chuckle came like the snarl of a dark angel. “You can dismiss those thoughts.”
She’d resigned herself to the fact that Vico Mattare might occasionally swoop in to see his child after the divorce. Yet she hadn’t imagined it would be often and hadn’t imagined he’d object to how she wanted to raise her baby. This, though, this was a monstrosity she’d never conceived of in her darkest nightmares. “I’m not going to be married to you for the rest of my life.”
“Si, actually you will.” His eyes blazed with complete commitment to his statement. “My family doesn’t believe in divorce. And neither do I.”
“I don’t care what your family traditions are,” she said. “They aren’t mine.”
“They are now.” His gaze went languid as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Still, the tight knot in his jaw told a different story. “You will officially be a part of the Mattare family and thus, our traditions will be yours.”
Shooting him a glare, she’d paced to the window and stared out at the London skyline. The sight of the glass and steel structures surrounding them reminded her she wasn’t living in some seventeenth century Italian villa with some seventeenth century male dictator. “Wake up, Mattare,” she snapped over her shoulder. “This is the twenty-first century. I don’t have to slavishly follow your commands. I can get a divorce anytime I want.”
“No, you can’t.” He strode to his desk and lifted a file up. “I have that mortgage on your mother’s home, remember?”
“My mother will not live forever.” Swiveling to face him, she scowled. “I won’t be tied to you for the rest of my life. I won’t.”
“Maybe your sweet momma will not bless us with her presence eternally, siano rese grazie a Dio.” He leaned negligently on the edge of his desk. “But I would assume our child will live longer than we will.”
Folding her arms because she suddenly found herself trembling, she managed to keep her poise in front of his latent threat. “What do you mean by that?”
“Come, come.” He gave her a tiger smile. A smile that promised he could easily tear her limb from limb. “You are nothing if not intelligent. Use that brain and figure it out for yourself.”
“I want you to say it.”
“All right.” His smile held. “If you make a move to divorce me, I will use all my money and power to claim our child as mine. You will lose custody.”
The thought of not having her baby to hold and to love… “You are the worst human being I have—”
“And I will be your husband.” The smile finally fell off his face to be replaced by dogged determination. “Forever.”
She’d looked at him and realized this was another war lost.
No divorce. Ever.
No escape. Ever.
Nausea had inevitably followed and she’d slinked away, her pride cut into ribbons. Losing again and again had never, ever been a part of her existence. Quite the opposite. She’d won her parents’ grudging approval to go to university at sixteen. She’d won various awards for scholarship. She’d won a job at HSF Financial over her father’s objections. She’d won many battles to keep the firm afloat.
Only with this man did she continue to lose. Only with Vico Mattare.
The waiters looped through the tables with another course. A china bowl overflowing with cream covered fettuccini was placed before her. The rich smell of the food wafted upward with inevitable results.
Her new husband sighed once more. Swiped her plate once more.
She refused to thank him again. Refused to give any indication that his attentiveness and care was making a dent in her hate. Because it wasn’t.
“My lovely new daughter-in-law.” A firm pat on her shoulder made her turn around. His sprite of a mother beamed at her, dark-brown eyes sparkling. “We are all so happy.”
But I’m not and it’s my fairy-tale wedding.
Lise felt his gaze on her. Intense. Watchful. Predatory.
She must pretend.
“I’m glad you’re happy,” she offered begrudgingly. It was hard not to like his mother. She was a perfectly wonderful woman. In fact, his entire family appeared to be friendly and warm and caring. They might be a bit raucous. Still, they’d been egged on by him a few minutes ago.
How he could have possibly landed in this delightful family was beyond her.
“He’s been unsettled for so long,” his mother commented.
Unsettled? Was this the euphemism his relatives used to describe his need to bed every female on the planet?
Out of the corner of Lise’s eye, she watched his hand tighten on his thigh.
“Really?” She arched her brows in saccharine surprise. “I would never have guessed.”
She felt his glare. Felt the heat of it.
She must go along.
“Si,” his mother continued, oblivious to the fiery undercurrent. “He’s flitted from female to female—”
“Momma.”
“But now.” His mother gave her son a fond smile as she patted his shoulder. “He’s landed. For good.”
Turning, Lise looked at him. Smiled sweetly. Let the pause draw out as long as she could.
His gaze gleamed with a dire threat.
She must play the game.
His big body tensed for her blow. How she wanted to deliver that blow.
However, she couldn’t. Not because of his threats, but because she couldn’t bring herself to spoil this woman’s happiness. Even if her spawn was the son of Satan. Eventually, this nice woman would be disappointed. Eventually, her son would show his true colors. It wouldn’t be Lise who disillusioned her, though.
“I’m so glad he chose me.” She smiled another of her sweet smiles right into his widened eyes.
He’d thought she’d do it. He’d thought she would destroy his mother’s fantasy.
He hadn’t a clue what kind of woman she was.
Why did that hurt?
His mother burbled on, extolling his virtues exactly like she did every time she was in the vicinity of her new daughter-in-law. Lise listened politely, nodded graciously and wished she could say, I don’t care. I don’t care about his wealth. I don’t care about his two university degrees. I don’t care about his success.
I don’t care.
His mother bubbled.
She gritted her teeth and held onto the smile.
No. I certainly don’t care that he loves children. Adores his one thousand nieces and nephews. Supports a whole charity for teenagers in trouble.
His mother was angling for grandchildren. His children.
He hadn’t told his family about the pregnancy, which amazed her. She’d figured he’d wave his paternal pride in front of their eyes as soon as they got off the plane. Yet he hadn’t said a word. Apparently, he was completely intent on proving this a love match instead of allowing anyone to think it was a marriage of convenience.
For once, she hadn’t disagreed. She had no wish to parade her stupidity around. If her bump was a bit bigger it would have never worked. But her
bump was still a bump, not a bulge. Thus, the farce continued.
His mother finally bustled away to her chair leaving behind her a hushed silence cocooning them together. Keeping the noise of the party apart from what lay between them. Separated them.
Lise stared down at the silverware. Trying to ignore the sexual pull, trying to ignore the praise of his mother, trying to ignore the yearning inside wishing she was really a part of this large, happy family.
She’d always wanted to be a part of a large, happy family.
He suddenly leaned in, his mouth close to her ear. A quiver of electricity went down her spine as his words whispered on her skin. “Thank you, Lise.”
Why were there sudden tears pushing behind her eyes? Why did his deep, soft voice curl around her heart and wrench her emotions? Before she could think it through, wonder at what was inside her, another of the endless courses plopped in front of her. Chicken with some kind of sauce.
Would this day never end?
After day comes night, her mind whispered.
A night she’d consciously pushed aside, not wanting to think about it. There were too many other confrontations and conflicts and commitments for her to deal with, she’d told herself during this past month. She’d think about that later.
“You have to eat something.” His tone switched back to its usual tough dictation. “This chicken will stay down.”
Would it? She didn’t think so. Not with the sudden looming realization of what was ahead of her. Tonight. No longer something in the future to worry about later.
A long finger slipped along her jaw and lifted her chin, turning it to meet his gaze. “Eat.”
A deep, dark heat spiraled inside her. Her physical reaction to his touch blossomed in her like a velvet flower budding with need. Scaring her deeply.
After day comes night.
With him.
She wasn’t going to be allowed to return to her Mayfair house and hibernate. He’d made it clear. No, they were off to Paris. He had a flat there, he’d told her. Right on the Seine. Right in the heart of the city she’d always dreamed of as her honeymoon destination.
The man she hated was making all her dreams come true in the middle of a nightmare.
“Bacio! Bacio!” His younger brother gave Vico a wide grin and jumped out of his chair with his champagne glass in hand.