by Tara Pammi
He had an example from his father’s life. He knew that like everything else he’d inherited from him, he could carry a speck of that madness—that devious, manipulative, cruel streak, too.
Control was everything to him.
Stepping out of the shower, Luca walked to the mirror and rubbed it to clear the steam. Hands on the marble sink, he stared at himself.
He looked past the compelling perfection of his features—a face he’d hated for so long—past the now bone-deep mask he showed the world. He had never lied to himself. Self-delusion would have been a welcome friend in all those miserable years.
He was doing this because of Sophia.
He was doing this because he wanted these three months with her.
He wanted to be near her, inside her. He wanted to unravel all the fiery passion she kept locked away.
He wanted to free her from the cage she put herself in; a cage, he was sure, he’d driven her into building.
But this time Sophia knew the score, knew what he was incapable of. She wasn’t an innocent who mistook attraction, pure lust for anything else. This was not a marriage like his parents’.
Sophia wasn’t some innocent, painfully naive young girl Antonio had handpicked like some sacrificial offering to his father’s madness, to further the Conti legacy like his mother had been.
Sophia would never let herself be intimidated or drowned in Luca’s personality.
The panic in him calming, Luca breathed out. Excitement filled his veins now.
For the first and only time in his life, the self-indulgent, profligate playboy he’d made himself to be was going to take what he truly wanted. And revel in it.
That he would set Sophia up for the rest of her life and do his part to protect Tina’s marriage, that was the bonus.
* * *
Meet me @ Palazzo Reale Monday 10AM.
Don’t wear black. J
The texts came on Saturday night at seven, a whole week after Luca had cornered Sophia at CLG offices. They also sent her soup down the wrong pipe at the dinner table.
Heart pounding, half choking, Sophia had escaped her family’s curiosity.
She’d spent the week on tenterhooks. Wondered if she’d imagined the whole episode, if she’d somehow deluded herself into believing that the Conti Devil had proposed marriage.
When she saw Antonio come up toward Rossi’s offices, she’d mumbled something to her team and skipped out like a thief.
Her reply—Why?—had gone unanswered. Which meant she’d spent half the night pacing her bedroom, and the rest of it thrashing in her bed.
Monday morning she stood on the steps of the centuries-old building, trying to ignore the curious looks from people coming and going.
She ran a nervous hand over her dress, her only nonblack slightly dressy dress. It was a sort of muddy light brown made of the softest linen. Over it, she wore a cream cashmere cardigan to ward off the slightly chilly November air.
With cap sleeves, the dress had been an impulse purchase months ago. It boasted a false buttoned-up short bodice, then flared out into a wide skirt from high above her waist.
The saleswoman had assured Sophia it made her look tall and graceful.
A quick glance in her mirror this morning told Sophia she looked neither tall nor graceful. Nothing could create the illusion when she was two inches over five.
But the thing that had made her groan was that the dress, which had fitted neatly, now sort of hung on her. Like a tent. She’d slipped her feet into five-inch purple leather Conti pumps, throwing caution to the wind.
So what if she felt like her legs would fall off later?
Whipping her unruly hair into a French plait and adding a dab of peach lip gloss, she’d been ready. Her gut twisted into a thousand knots, she had guzzled down two cups of coffee and munched her protein bar on the way over.
Minutes ticked by. Quarter past ten flew by. A couple of old men walked past her, up the steps, and she had a suspicion they were friends of Salvatore’s.
Before they could catch her eye, she turned away and checked her phone. She walked up and down the steps, went back into the hall, got a bottle of water then walked back out. And all the while she waited, a sense of déjà vu came upon her.
She’d been waiting, just like this, ten years ago, too. In his bedroom, in his bed. In her underwear, albeit the sheet pulled up to her chin.
Waited for Luca, to tell him that she was in love with him.
He hadn’t shown up. Marco Sorcelini had, instead, with a lascivious smirk on his face and his cell phone in hand. Before Sophia could make sense of what was happening, he’d clicked a picture of her. Told her to put her clothes on and go home...
Because Luca Conti had won the bet.
He had seduced Sophia the Shrew, made her fall in love with him and walked away. Why else would any man touch a woman like Sophia, Marco had added, who was neither beautiful nor docile and far too smart for her own good?
She’d thrown the sheet away, launched at Marco and punched his nose. She’d lived for months in terror that that photo of her would be plastered all over everyone’s cell phone. That her humiliation wouldn’t be limited to Luca and his cronies.
It hadn’t.
The most nightmarish day of her life and it was on repeat again. This time it was her entire family’s future that she had trusted him with.
Forty minutes past ten. Frustration and fury scraped Sophia’s nerves. Stupid, so stupid, to trust his word. To believe that he’d really want to help her. When everything she’d ever known of him said Luca didn’t give a damn about anyone.
Just as she walked down the steps, a great beast of a bike came to a shuddering stop, right in front of her.
Black leather jacket, wraparound shades and a killer, megawatt smile that was like a shot of adrenaline straight to her heart. A small crowd of onlookers whispered behind her.
With sleek grace, Luca pulled his tall form off the bike and handed it off to a valet. Dark shadows, even worse than usual, bracketed his eyes. He looked gaunt, the curve of his mouth almost obscenely lush against the sharp angles of his face.
His jet-black hair gleamed with wetness. He looked like hell and yet, utterly, breath-stealingly gorgeous. The world wasn’t a fair place.
He covered the few steps between them, looked her up and down, leisurely, thoroughly. Took the fabric of her glove between his fingers, frowned and then sighed. A twinkle shone in his eyes as it moved over her hair and her face. “That dress is not only ghastly but loose. And that color is not an improvement on black.
“You have to do better in this department if we want the world to believe we’re utterly in love. I do not need extra incentive to tear your clothes off you.”
Her fingers clenched tight on her phone, Sophia counted to ten. He wasn’t going to reduce her to a screaming shrew in front of the whole city. “You’re late. By fifty-five minutes. I...” She gritted her jaw so tight, she was going to need dental surgery. “And you look like hell. I texted you and called you, like fifteen million times. You don’t reply—”
“I overslept.”
“You overslept?”
“I didn’t get to bed until the early morning. And I didn’t want to show up here for you all dirty and unshaved.”
“You couldn’t lay off partying for one night?”
“This whole thing made me nervous.”
Her tirade halted on Sophia’s lips. Of course he was nervous. Getting married was probably akin to being tortured for him. “Why didn’t you just reply?”
“I left my phone somewhere.” His long fingers were shackles on her arms. “You’re shaking.” He scowled. Used to that lazy, amused glance, it made him look dangerous, ferocious. “You thought I wasn’t coming.”
She braced herself against the concern in his tone. “I was expecting a media crew or at least those society pages social media punks to capture me standing there. Another joke. Only this time, on a much grander scale.Conti Devil Jilts Sop
hia the Stupid Idiot... Again!”
Eyes closed, he pinched the bridge of his nose. A shadow of strain gave his usually laughing features a haunting look. “That is harsh. I never—”
“You’ve got to be kidding me. Was there a bet about who could seduce me ten years ago?”
“Si.”
“Did you take part in it?”
“Si.”
“Did you mean to disappear to Paris with your—” no, she wouldn’t call some faceless, innocent girl vindictive names “—new lover knowing that I was—” a shudder went through her and she hated how all her strength disappeared when it came to that moment “—in your bed, naked and waiting?” Fresh out of virginity and hopelessly in love...she’d been a besotted idiot.
“Si.”
“As long as we’re clear, then,” she added casually, when she felt like glass with tiny cracks inching around however much she put plasters over it. Somehow, she needed to channel this bitterness, this humiliation, when she was melting for one of his smiles. Because she did.
She melted. She thawed. She burned when it came to this man. She always would, apparently.
A hundred shadows drifted in his usually empty gaze. A vein beat in his temple. He opened his mouth then closed it. Wounded hesitation suited him to perfection like everything else.
Even now, she realized with a sinking awareness of her own foolishness, she waited. As if there could be some other fantastic explanation for the cruel trick he’d played on her.
She sighed and held up her phone. “A text would have sufficed to say you’d changed your mind.”
He pulled her wrist up and looked at the dial of her watch. “We’re marrying in fifteen minutes.”
“What?” Astonishment made her voice screechy. “I...you never told me we were marrying today. This morning.”
“Why do you think I asked you to come?”
“To submit our documents. I brought my papers.”
“All taken care of by a friend.”
“The mayor’s sister, I assume?”
His gaze flared and she looked away. Damn it, if she didn’t keep her pride in this thing between them, she’d have nothing left. Betraying that she knew of each and every woman he’d dated over the last decade definitely didn’t leave her much.
She turned around and looked at the building with new eyes. “Do you have any contracts for me to sign?”
“Like what?”
“Like a prenuptial, Luca.” When she’d have turned, he stalled her with his hands on her shoulders. She heard him take a deep breath behind her. His exhale coated her neck. His body didn’t touch her but lured her with unspoken promises.
Now his nose rubbed from her temple to her hair, his fingers leaving scorching trails wherever they touched. “What scent is that? It haunts me sometimes.”
“Honeysuckle,” she whispered hoarsely, even as she warned herself this was his default. Flirting and seducing was in Luca’s genes. “A small American company makes it and I buy it online.” She was babbling, the only way to keep her sanity.
“It blends perfectly with your skin.” His breath whispered over her cheek. “I can’t wait to discover if you smell like that all over.”
Liquid heat claimed Sophia, the very fabric of her dress scraping everywhere it touched. She took deep breaths, trying to not sink into his hard body.
He smelled of leather and musk, of quintessential male. Pleasure and pain, all tangled up in her head. Freedom and captivity, one inseparable from the other. He made her so aware of things she’d forced herself to ignore. Of the thump of her heart, the thrum of her skin, the sudden heaviness in her breasts, the slow, pulling pulse in her sex. Of being a woman who denied herself so many things in the name of being strong. If she’d had a boyfriend, if she’d satisfied her body’s demands, maybe she wouldn’t have been this vulnerable to him.
Sophia Conti, expert in self-delusion. “A pity you won’t,” she offered finally, a pathetic sop to a protest. She cleared her throat, as if she could chase away the desperate need. “Please tell me you talked to your lawyer.”
“Non.”
“Christ, you can’t approach this like you do everything else. You should make me sign a contract that what is yours will stay yours.”
“I thought you thought me worthless.”
“I’m sure just your stock in CLG is worth a lot.”
Faint tension emanated from him, his roving hands clenched tight on her shoulders. “I don’t care about that stock. Or the company or the legacy.”
Something in his tone, a vein of disgust, alerted Sophia. It sounded so discordant, so jarring, for she’d never heard him speak in that tone before. This didn’t sound like not caring. It was active loathing that hinted at a depth of feeling she didn’t think him capable of.
“It’s a legacy, Luca. It roots you to this place. How can you...hate it?”
She felt his shrug rather than saw it. “Is that why you want to head Rossi’s? Don’t let the idea of belonging become more important than everything else.”
Faint alarm tripped along Sophia’s nerves. Was that her real intention beneath wanting to save her family? Was it an utterly selfish desire to belong?
“Keep your hands to yourself. You’re distracting me,” she burst out.
The man’s hands were forever roaming and roving over her. Even when she was bristling with anger. He touched as if it was as natural as breathing. Sometimes, it was affectionate, sometimes, it was provoking. But always, as if he needed the physical connection.
It was one of the things she’d loved then—being touched by him.
He laughed and continued touching her.
“This is serious, Luca. When we...separate, I don’t want any accusations.”
“Do you intend to take me to the cleaners, Sophia?”
“It would serve you right if I did.”
“There’s nothing you could do that would make me end this in a bad way, cara mia. Except if you fell in love with me and made a nuisance of yourself.”
She laughed. A brittle, fake sound. “That is an impossibility right there.”
“Then we’re good, si? I’m aware that you’re placing a huge amount of trust in me. I’m doing the same.”
She had no reply to that. In her wildest nightmares, she wouldn’t have imagined Luca Conti of all men coming to her rescue.
One hand landed on her shoulder. A finger stroked her nape, between her knot and the edge of her cardigan. Back and forth, up and down, until all of her being focused on that spot. “This is romantic, si? Us eloping like this.”
She snorted. “No one who knows me would believe I’d elope.”
Now the finger moved, snuck under the seam of her dress and traced her shoulder blades. “Si, but then I corrupted you with my kisses and my infinite charm and my dazzling good looks. I stole away every bit of your famed common sense, enthralled you. Sounds perfect when you think about it.”
She flushed and looked down at herself, at the horrible dress. Would she have dressed differently if she had known? Not that she had anything in her closet that was remotely better or dressy enough for a bride.
No, this was right. Their wedding wasn’t a romantic affair. It wasn’t even one of those advantageous society arrangements that seemed to abound around her. It had a shelf life of three months, if that.
Her spine rigid from holding herself so tight, she blew a breath. Turned around. “Let’s get married.”
He smiled then, and the golden sunlight illuminated that gorgeous face. Her breath caught. He hooked his arm through hers and walked up the steps. When she wobbled, one corded arm came around her waist. She felt him look down and followed it.
When he met her gaze, there was such genuine laughter etched in his face that she smiled back. “What?”
“I’m going to take a pair of scissors and rip up all those black trousers you usually wear. You’re not hiding those legs again. Not if I have anything to say about it.”
* * *
/> They were married fifteen minutes later, in a huge cathedral-like room. Sunlight gleamed through high, soaring windows, dusting everything with a golden glow. Every time she moved, the princess-cut diamond, set in platinum, caught the rays piercing it over and over.
That he’d remembered the rings—for him and her—still shocked her.
Even the impersonal civil ceremony with no personal vows couldn’t seem to dim the momentousness of the occasion.
Sophia couldn’t meet Luca’s eyes throughout the ceremony. Or anyone else’s. Didn’t want to see a mockingly wicked smile as if this was just another of his antics, another joke, just another day.
Much as she tried to not attach significance to the day, she’d forever remember it. At least, as her only wedding day.
So the images she had of that half hour were of ancient but stylish furniture, a seventeenth-century tapestry covering one huge wall, luxurious chandeliers, brocade-covered chairs and golden-framed mirrors reflecting back Luca and her every which way she looked—she short and dowdy in her ugly dress, which she promised herself she was going to burn the moment it came off her, and Luca, looking gorgeous and a little roguish in a white shirt and black jeans that gave the best view of his tight butt.
It was a place steeped in history and for someone who’d never been able to afford sentimentality, the hall impressed Sophia. Three months later, or a year later, or even a decade later, this hall would be here, a building that had stood witness to their strange wedding.
Her wedding...to the one man she shouldn’t even come near.
The clerk asked for fifteen Euros for the banns license, which Luca didn’t have. “My wife is responsible for all matters financial,” the rogue added with a glint in his eyes.
The wedding felt both surreal and strangely kooky. As if they were co-conspirators in a reckless game. While the truth was that she was burning all her bridges by trusting Luca.
Her family was going to be excited for all the wrong reasons. Kairos was probably never going to talk to her ever again. Society was going to laugh at her. Even she didn’t believe that a man like Luca could fall in love with a woman like her. Why should they?