by Caro LaFever
“What else could you possibly want?”
“You. In my bed.” His mouth curled into a sneer. “You will come to my bed willingly.”
“You are dreaming.”
“You have once or twice entered my dreams.” His voice went as dry as the Sahara.
The thought of Dante actually dreaming of her made her eyes widen.
“You doubt me?” He tilted his head in a gesture of dismissal. “It is the truth. I have no problem admitting my lust for you.”
“I…I…”
“For some reason, you have labeled me as something other than a man.”
“You are a monster.”
His smile came, tight and feral. “A monster who wants you in his bed.”
She couldn’t summon a word. Frantic thoughts leapt into her brain and down her throat. He would know. He would find out her biggest secret. He would laugh. He would pity her.
“You will come willingly. That is my demand. You will give me children.”
A pain-filled blow right into the center of her being. This man, this man who’d destroyed her with his rejection, who’d denied her a happy ending, who’d lied and manipulated and forced her into this impossible situation—this man dared to push her dead dream in her face. “Even you, Dante, with all your power and wealth,” she choked out, “can’t command me to become pregnant.”
“You and I are both healthy. I expect it will be inevitable since I plan on keeping you busy in the bedroom for the foreseeable future.”
Immediate, spontaneous heat pumped into her stomach, and lower. Her reaction shocked her. How could she hate him with every fiber of her soul and yet, want him with every particle of her body? She felt as if she were flying apart: her brain mush, her body betraying, her soul dying.
Stop! Stop! You’ll confront these issues one at a time. First, save your family.
“Put everything in writing and I’ll sign it after you do.”
He stood away from the desk and stared at her. “This doesn’t have to be—”
“As you would say, Dante, just do it.” She was at the end of her rope and wanted him gone so she could recover some of her composure. She still had to confront her father and brother and, God help her, convince them she loved this brute. She no longer had any remaining energy for this man.
His black glare blazed again with his hate, an inferno of destruction. “All right. You’ll get exactly what you have asked for.”
He left. At last.
Lara slumped into a chair, her bones aching. What had she done? What had she committed herself to? She couldn’t possibly go through with it. This was a dream, a nightmare, and she would wake up. Soon. Right away.
No. No. Not a dream. A reality.
As she had done with Gerry, she would endure and somehow escape. But only after her family was safe. She would do what had to be done. Eventually, she would find a way out from Dante’s iron grip of control.
First though? First she would get her revenge.
* * *
One hour.
Lara stared into the full-length mirror. A gaggle of female Casartellis swirled around her, adjusting her veil, tugging on the wedding gown, talking and laughing and crying.
She and Dante Casartelli. Married.
One hour.
For a whole month, she’d been successful in hiding herself in a lovely floating cocoon of nothingness. The wonderful cocoon had allowed her to put on a show of shows. She deserved a Palme d’Or for this month’s performance. Only Dante was aware of the hostility vibrating from her every time he drew near. The rest of the family members had apparently bought the entire act, bought the absurd notion he and she were always meant to be.
Yet now, as she inspected herself, draped in cream lace and ivory silk, the cocoon ripped.
Only for a bit. For a moment.
Signora Casartelli and her daughters were splendid organizers. In no time at all, the church had been reserved, the flowers ordered, the caterers engaged. What bride would not be enchanted at the speed with which this had been put together?
One hour.
The sliver of panic flirting through her bloodstream needed to be squashed immediately. If she let it take command, she might do something obscene. Such as jumping onto the nearest piece of furniture and yelling Help! at the top of her lungs. Or she might grab her father’s prized antique sword on the way out to the limo and stab her beloved fiancé right in the middle of his rock-hard abdomen when she reached the altar. Or maybe she would resist making a scene or creating bloodshed and escape to a distant Pacific island, where she would spend the rest of her days weaving baskets and swimming in deep blue waters.
She thought about the sword.
The bloodshed option appealed to her more than the others.
One hour until her marriage.
Smiling at one of his sisters, she focused on pulling herself out of her building panic. She had to marry him. She had signed that bloody agreement he’d sent over the very next day after their confrontation and she was a woman of her word. Dante was already in the process of saving her brother’s neck. Andy was happy and relieved. As soon as the ceremony took place, her papa’s mortgage would be paid. With the conniving monster’s pledge, the bank had backed off. Her father was happy and relieved. The foundation for her school, and others to follow, was set up, ready to go. She should be happy and relieved quite a few children would be helped.
Honestly, she should feel grateful.
She couldn’t drum up even a drop of grateful.
Not one drop.
He could have helped without forcing her into this. If he’d been honorable. He was a close family friend. He could have pulled strings without demanding this farce of a union. It was a lot to ask; still, he could have helped in another way if he owned an ounce of integrity and character.
As the shock of the situation had worn off, though, she’d come to a clear realization.
Dante Casartelli had no real interest in her. In his typical cold-blooded way, he’d decided it was time to have children, glanced around, spotted her, and made his decision. When she hadn’t fallen at his feet in fits of ecstasy, he’d maneuvered circumstances until she fell in line. It didn’t matter to him what she thought or wanted. Like some ancient king of the past, he acted as if everything he surveyed was his.
He wanted, he took.
Simple. Brutal. Decisive.
She hated him, but she still had to marry the bastard.
In one hour.
This last month had been a long torture of spending day and night with him. Endless parties, endless family gatherings, endless fake smiles. Thank God she’d had the school opening to focus on and sometimes use as a convenient excuse to get away from him.
They hadn’t shared any kind of real conversation all month.
Nor had they spent a moment alone at any time.
Not once had he tried to kiss her.
She hadn’t detected a smidgen of any emotion from him in the slightest. No rage in his eyes. No anger in his voice. Certainly not love or desire or even liking. He’d retreated into the horrible, empty reserve she’d noticed the first night she’d seen him after twelve years.
Which was perfectly fine with her. The less contact she had with her chilly fiancé the better.
Except…except…tonight she would have to go to bed with him. Embarrassingly, that had been listed in the disgusting document. In dry legal terms, yet nevertheless, explicit.
Clause #3. Lara Derrick Casartelli will willingly engage in marital relations with her husband on a daily basis.
Daily basis? The man who barely talked to her wanted to have sex with her daily?
Every time she thought about that clause during the last month, she’d glance over at the cold man by her side, absolutely unable to imagine he’d want anything of the kind. Something far worse lingered on the edges of her thinking, however. Something she’d managed to ignore for a month. Because the reality of it was too awful to contemplate without her
running madly into the streets. And that wasn’t an option, was it?
So. She hadn’t thought about it. Until now.
Her hands shook as she smoothed down the silk of her dress.
Tonight, he would find out her secret.
He might laugh at her or be disgusted. Perhaps he’d even renege on the deal because she didn’t know what the hell to do in bed with a man.
No, wait. He couldn’t. He’d signed the bloody contract even before she had. If she let him do what he wanted to her body, then he was stuck. Stuck with her and her ineptitude. That should make her feel good, right? That would be part of her revenge.
Gulping in a deep breath, she tried to push every boomeranging thought from her head. Yet the emotions couldn’t be stopped. Embarrassment. Fear. The always present anger.
Nausea welled inside her stomach.
“I’m so happy for you and Dante.” Daniella moved to her side and smiled. “I feel like you’ve been my sister forever and now it will be official.”
“There is that.” She closed her eyes for a moment before pasting on smile.
“Uh, oh.” Her friend gave her a look. “Do I detect bridal nerves?”
More like a bridal panic attack. “No,” she succeeded in saying. “I’m fine.”
“Good.” Her friend patted her hand. “My brother would never let anything go wrong with his wedding. Even when there was trouble at Viola’s wedding, Dante took care of it.”
“Trouble at Viola’s?”
Dani waved her question away. “A minor argument at the service. My brother fixed it fast.”
“I’m sure.”
“And Mamma is at her best with weddings. She’s sure had enough experience lately.”
“She’s been magnificent.”
Dani grinned. “She is happy for Dante. She says you are the perfect girl for him.”
“Really?” Lara managed to swallow the nausea welling inside her throat. “I had no idea.”
“I think she’s right. He needs someone who’s strong and sure of herself. I hated some of his girlfriends.”
If only one of those girlfriends had snagged him long ago. “Mmm.”
“No, honestly.” Daniella shook her head. “They hung on his every word and did whatever he wanted. They were disgusting.”
“I would think a man would enjoy that.”
“Maybe. But not my brother.”
She managed to swallow her hoot of disbelief along with another bout of nausea.
“He respects you.” Her friend leaned closer, her eyes shining with sincere belief. “He has always had the good sense to know what’s right for him.”
“I can’t think of a thing to say.” Lara gave her an ironic look, all the time knowing this might be the very first thing she’d said during the entire month that was the God’s honest truth.
“You’ll see,” Dani said. “As soon as you both settle into the marriage, you’ll see Mamma is right. You are his perfect match.”
“Are you girls talking about me?” Dante’s mother bustled up, her black eyes sparkling and the feather in her hat bobbing. “Dani, go help Carlotta with the flowers. I want to talk to Lara.”
“Okay.” Obediently, her daughter gave a quick pat to Lara’s arm and bounded away.
“Lara.” Giana Casartelli clapped her hands together in pleasure. “You look beautiful.”
“You’re the one who chose the dress.”
“No, no, bambina.” The older woman touched the lace on her shoulder with tender care. “I meant the girl who’s wearing the dress. Since you were a child, I have noticed how loving and caring you are. It does my heart good to see my eldest son finally find happiness with such a lovely woman.”
“Is he happy?” Maybe she could get his mother’s attention. Maybe if this woman truly saw what was going on, she would stop this.
“Yes.” Signora Casartelli nodded. “I know my son is not demonstrative, but a mother can tell.”
Not demonstrative. Quite the understatement. “He is contained.”
Giana threw her a shrewd look. “True. He learned the hard way to control his emotions. He had to in order to ensure the family survived. Yet you must remember when he was younger. How charming he was.”
“I don’t remember that at all.”
“You were young. Nevertheless, he was an energetic child, full of life and fun.”
“I find that impossible to picture.”
“You must remember him as a teenager, bambina.” The woman winked. “I have a distinct memory of your large crush on my son.”
A flare of embarrassment rushed up her face. “Not really.”
The older woman chuckled. “What? Do you not remember following him wherever he went? You were only six, perhaps seven, when you started, but surely you have some memory of this.”
“I seem to have forgotten that entirely.”
“Does a girl ever actually forget her first crush?” Giana winked again. “Never mind. It’s turned out right in the end. I am hopeful this marriage will give him some of the joy and verve he lost with the death of my husband.”
The sudden pain on Giana’s face told the story—the loss was still keen even eleven years later. Lara placed her hand over the older woman’s. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here when that happened.”
“Si, you missed all of it. You were visiting your English relatives and then away at school, weren’t you?” The woman sighed. “That was not a pleasant time for anyone, especially for my oldest son.”
“I’m sure.” She continued to pat the plump hand in hers.
“Dante had to fight off quite a few vultures to keep the family company intact. Not many of them thought a young twenty-five-year-old would be able to handle the business.” The proud mother smiled. “But he more than handled it. He triumphed.”
“I’m sure I would have had no doubts,” she said, a dry note in her voice.
“You’re a good girl. You are loyal and honest. He needs that.” Turning, Giana became the proficient wedding organizer again. “Girls, girls. We must leave for the church now.”
Dresses rustled and the chatter rose to a crescendo as the Casartelli women gathered their purses, flowers, shoes. With loud kisses and teary eyes, one by one they left her alone in her bedroom.
Less than one hour.
“Muffin.” Her father’s voice echoed softly from the door. “Time to go to the church.”
Bittersweet tears clogged her throat at his use of her old childhood nickname. At the same time, her heart lurched into a furious clatter.
“You look lovely.” Hugo Derrick walked to her and put his hands on her shoulders. “Your mother would be so proud.”
His eyes brimmed with tears. Happy tears if she wasn’t mistaken.
I must do this. I must. My family is depending on me.
In less than one hour, she would be married again. To another man she despised.
Chapter 11
The organ was too loud.
His necktie was too tight.
This ceremony had to be stopped.
The music pounded into his brain. Thump, thump, thump. Idiot. Moron. Fool. For a man in command of every area of his life, this mess was an abomination. He’d let his temper push this catastrophe forward until…
Until here he was. Standing with his brother, Tomas, at the altar. Waiting for his lovely bride to appear.
“Idiota,” he muttered under his breath.
Tomas chuckled at his side. “I can’t believe it. My big brother is nervous.”
“Shut up.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the flash of his brother’s grin. “Come on, fratello. Let me have this one moment of fun watching you squirm.”
His conscience had not started rumbling until he walked into the church. It had stayed silent for weeks, smothered in layers of wrath and fury. Yet as soon as he’d strode into the sanctuary today it had roared. He had every expectation of God throwing a lightning bolt to strike him down for letting this farce continue.<
br />
He had to stop this marriage.
It was impossible to believe he had gotten himself into this predicament. He, Dante Casartelli. Renowned for his cool intellect under fire. Reputed to be the calmest investor in times of turbulent markets. He, the owner of a worldwide financial empire. The man who never got flustered by anything, according to his PA and staff. He. About to force a woman to marry him because he’d lost his temper.
He had to stop this.
There’d been the hope—or the fear—that Lara would talk to her father and find out the truth. Figure out he held no real power over her, that the rescue of her father and brother had nothing to do with the insane contract she’d made him draw up. However, the other shoe had not dropped. Day after day, he’d waited. Day after day, he’d hidden from his conscience. And day after day, the wedding approached.
“Is that sweat I see on the side of your face?”
He gritted his teeth and ignored Tomas. There were more important things to take care of than stopping his brother’s teasing. Such as stopping this ceremony with the minimum of fuss and embarrassment. He eyed the elderly priest standing a step above him. Would it be possible to pull the old man aside and tell him the marriage was off? Father Gibaldi had known him his entire life, had heard his confessions for years. Would he understand?
The priest beamed at him.
No, he would not. He would think Dante Casartelli had suddenly turned into a complete moron. Which he was.
“Don’t worry,” his brother rumbled beside him. “She might be a bit late, but I’m sure she’s on her way. She’ll show.”
He wished she wouldn’t show.
“Sciocco.” Oh, yes, he was an utter fool.
“Come on.” Tomas leaned in. “You can’t seriously be worried about her not showing.”
“That’s not the problem.”
“Everything else is running like clockwork, Big D. Mamma’s got everything in hand.”
Dante glanced at his mother in the first pew, her lace handkerchief held tightly in hand for the inevitable happy tears. Her smile was as full and bright as he’d ever seen it. His sisters lined the rest of the bench. All of them laughing, whispering, smiling at him. Their husbands sat behind them, attending to assorted nieces and nephews who were trying to sit politely, waiting for the promised cake and ice cream.