The Italian Billionaire’s Scandalous Marriage: An Italian Billionaire Romance (Italian Billionaire Christmas Brides Book 2)

by Mollie Mathews

  ‘Oh, Simon!’ it was a broken cry of reluctant acceptance. ‘What would I do without you?’

  His arms enclosed her gently against his heart. ‘You’ll never have to do without me, Lucrezia. Not as long as I live.’ He rubbed his cheek over her hair in soothing reassurance, but his eyes were on Alex, urgently questioning.

  She didn’t know how she knew what he was asking. But the answer slipped off her tongue without any deep consideration. ‘My father died last year. His heart gave out. It’s over—’

  Simon’s relief was tangible, yet there was an apology in his eyes for it. ‘There was no way to fix it, Alex,’ he said quietly. ‘He must have told you that. If there was, we wouldn’t have done it.’

  She didn’t tell Simon that she had never spoken to her father. She didn’t share with him that other than the painting he had left she knew nothing of his life. Instead she stared into his great sad eyes and knew beyond doubt that what he was telling her was the truth.

  Whatever had passed between the three of them had been a tragedy. Any injustice done had profited no one. Not in the way that mattered. Not even a mountain full of gold couldn’t compensate for this scale of human misery.

  But why did something still feel unresolved? Instinct cautioned her against voicing the questions which danced dangerously on the tip of her tongue—“What the hell happened and what did it have to do with my father?”

  ‘Ted became a highly regarded artist in his latter years,’ Vitali stated, injecting a note of matter-of-fact calmness into the over-fraught atmosphere, as though determined something positive should be salvaged from the torrid affair.

  ‘Some of his paintings are hanging in the Auckland Art Gallery,’ he continued. ‘Te Papa, New Zealand’s museum, also holds a significant collection. He signed them Jimmie Goldie. Perhaps Mother, you would like to go and see them—after-all, you were the one after all who encouraged his talent.’

  And Alex knew then why the painting had to come off the wall. If Lucrezia Deloitte had walked into the art gallery and seen her haunted face…Alex shuddered. Whatever had happened, it had traumatised her, and seeing the painting again would only bring painful memories back to life.

  ‘I’m glad he found another way to be successful.’ Simon said, and it was clear that another burden had lifted from his mind. ‘Did you hear that Lucrezia? It seems that Ted found his calling. He changed his name and changed his life.’

  Lucrezia buried her head against his shoulder, her weakening sobs all but drowned in Simon’s corduroy jacket. Simon eased her slightly away from him and cradled her cheek in his palms, gently nudging her to meet his eyes.

  ‘Ted’s life wasn’t ruined. And we’re not going to ruin Vitali's and Alexandra’s. We’re going to wish them every happiness a man and woman can possibly share. And tomorrow we will go and look at Ted’s paintings. I have a feeling that something within his art will heal the past. Seeing them will make you happy, won’t it?’

  The gentle consideration in Simon Deloitte’s speech shook Alex. It was almost the benevolent action of a parent talking to soothe a child’s worst fears. It vividly recalled to mind the lost quality that her father had painted into the portrait.

  ‘Yes,’ came Lucrezia’s husky reply. Her fragile shoulders lifted and fell as she gulped in a steadying breath. The look she gave her husband was scared and wounded and sweet all at once. It was like watching something beautiful almost break.

  Lucrezia turned around to face Alex and Vitali. ‘I’m sorry…’ Her lips trembled and she bit them, her eyes anxiously pleading forgiveness.

  Alex stepped forward and took her hands in her own, pressing them warmly. ‘It was the shock. You don’t have to apologise, Mrs Deloitte. Please…let’s all sit down...’ What they needed was levity. She shot a questioning look at Vitali. ‘I’m sure you have a bottle of champagne somewhere, don’t you, my love?’ She infused her voice with just the right amount of sweetness.

  Vitali gave her a rueful look. ‘Yes, of course, mia cara.’

  It was a stiff, awkward conversation to begin with, even with the champagne that she gestured to Vitali to keep plying. Simon did his best to ease the tension, asking Alex about her life in New York. Alex skilfully led the conversation back to her career as a travel agent and regaled them with stories of her independent adventures.

  ‘Don’t you think you’ll find Gold Ridge Station a bit sleepy? Will you be happy there?’ Simon suddenly asked.

  Alex was so used to acting as though she knew what was going on, with absolutely no comprehension of what she was really being asked, she said, ‘Home is where the heart is,’ she said, unable to resist a cliché and beaming a loving smile at Vitali for extra effect. ‘Of course I’ll be happy.’

  ‘I wasn’t happy,’ Lucrezia blurted, her voice tight with warning. ‘I detested every hour of it.’

  Vitali's hard, capable hands clenched.

  ‘My dear, some people suit one environment, others need something different to feel happy. Just like plants can’t all flourish in the same place. Your happy place is the city. Being alone makes you wilt.’

  She shook her head. ‘It wasn’t that. I never liked it. It’s men’s country. No place for a woman…’ her eyes seemed to lose their focus and her voice dropped to a whisper, ‘and unspeakable things happen.’ Distress gave her voice a deathly pallor.

  ‘That’s enough,’ Vitali declared decisively. ‘Alex is nothing like you.’ His serrated tone cut across the icy atmosphere.

  ‘Vitali!’ Simon warned.

  Vitali strode to the windows and glared across the city landscape. ‘It needs to be said,’ he grunted in a tone that was barely audible.

  Lucrezia’s black eyes focused on Alex almost feverishly. ‘Escape before it is too late.’

  ‘History will not repeat.’ Vitali growled, drawing to Alex’s side. He swung a protective arm possessively around her waist. A trill of happiness mixed with fear coursed through her veins. He was making it clear she was his to keep, but what was the truth everyone desperately to keep secret?

  ‘If you have any difficulty,’ Lucrezia pleaded, ‘Get away, run away…before—’

  ‘That’s enough.’ Simon interrupted. ‘I’m sorry Alex—the flight…the suddenness of the marriage…the unexpected—’ he said, turning to Alex, ‘My wife—what she’s saying…she’s not herself.’

  Simon squeezed Lucrezia’s hand firmly drawing her attention back to him. ‘None of us are who we were. The situation that created—’ he paused, biting down on his lip as though eating his words.

  ‘Gold Ridge Station is different now. It’s not like it was.’ He said to his wife, before turning to Alex. ‘You’ll find it has every modern comfort a girl could possibly need. And with Vitali's helicopter on hand you could hardly call it isolated…not really. Besides,’ he said, his voice softening, ‘Vitali can afford to look after your happiness.’

  After his mother’s strained little speech, Vitali seemed to withdraw into himself. Although he continued to contribute to the conversation, it was as if he had put part of his mind on automatic pilot. His more intense concentration was channeled onto something else. Alex sensed a growing tension in him that started to play havoc as the hour of their marriage approached.

  There was still time for him to change his mind about the wedding.

  Her ribs squeezed against her chest at the thought of being abandoned. Was he having second and third thoughts? But his mother’s fears seemed to have been allayed. The worst was over. Wasn’t it? Alex’s breathing raced ahead of her.

  What if he had decided he was paying too high a price for Lost Love?

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Alex heaved a shaky sigh of relief when six o’clock finally came and all the people with a part to play in their wedding were assembled. Vitali's solicitor arrived first, followed by the marriage celebrant and two executives in his firm who he had asked to be witnesses.

  The photographer, Cinnamon Browne, a woman who Alex guessed was in
her late 20’s, was the last to arrive, blaming traffic snarl-ups to a very disapproving Vitali. He made it quite clear to the young woman that if he was going to play in part in helping her fledging photography career then she too had to play her part.

  ‘Turning up late is unprofessional in anyone’s book,’ he growled at her, then his eyes crinkling as he gave her a playful wink, he offered her a glass of champagne as beveled flutes of champagne were handed around.

  And then precisely when Alex was beginning to think that she was safe, and that the marriage was definitely on, Vitali tucked her arm around his, holding it there with purposeful determination and announced to the group at large, ‘Scusarci, per favore. Please excuse us for a few minuti. Alexandra and I have a few matters of privacy to attend to.’

  He gave Alex no choice in the matter. He had her arm in a clamp-like grip, and, short of undoing the impression of loving harmony that had carried them this far, she had to pretend a delay was planned. If her heart could fly it would have leapt from her chest. She didn’t know how she would face everyone if he dumped her now.

  He steered her into a bedroom and closed the door behind them with an air of grim purpose. He released her arm, but he lifted her shoulders to ensure she was facing him as he said what he prepared to say.

  Tension held her body rigid. But her mind held her chaotic thoughts firmly at bay. She was determined not to let her fears be proved real. No matter what he said she was determined to keep fighting. She placed a trembling palm on her feathered abdomen and breathed deeply from her belly, desperately hoping the fight-flight response would not drive her into paralysis.

  She kept her eyes soft and calmly unwavering as Vitali frowned down at her, his green eyes sharply intent and probing.

  ‘Firstly, I want to thank you for the way you handled the situation with my mother and Simon. It was done with finesse and compassion. Whatever else you are, I have to commend you for that.’

  Alex remained mutely silent. Now was not the time to tell him that she was not the blackmail vixen he thought she was, that she would never hurt anyone—not deliberately. He would claim putting the painting in the exhibition dammed her on that score. There was only one reply to make if she was to persuade him to honor their agreement.

  ‘I have done everything we agreed,’ she reminded him flatly. ‘You asked me to take the painting out of the exhibition. You asked me to pretend I was madly in love with you,’ she said, hoping he wouldn’t detect the tremble in her tone.

  ‘I did that too. With finesse. Everything I have said and done this afternoon is consistent with the role you commanded I play. In this matter you are the director, and I—your award-winning actress. We need each other. So long as we are in the presence of your family I shall keep my word.’ Her lips curved in an ironic smile. ‘It’s a matter of trust.’

  His dark brows sliced into a deeper frown. Then with a sharp jerk of his head, he released her and turned away and strode across to the huge window that looked over the city. He stood there for several moments. His back was rigid as Carrera marble. Alex knew instinctively he was not admiring the view.

  ‘I’m letting you go.’ He said with terse finality. ‘Take my money and buy your freedom.’

  Alex held her breath willing the words to evaporate. This can’t be happening. If she said nothing, did nothing, perhaps he would recant.

  ‘For whatever reason…you did something that no other woman has been able to do. You made me respect you. For that reason, I no longer feel justified in continuing with what I intended. It would be too cruel and selfish.’

  It can’t be…it can’t be…happening to me. Defeat hammered through her heart while her mind sought frantically for an argument that might persuade him to reconsider.

  ‘Too cruel?’ She said leaping to her feet like a Phoenix rising from the ashes. ‘Too cruel you say, to continue with our alliance. Too cruel to continue the charade. Too cruel to welsh out on our agreement,’ she threw at him acidly, advancing toward him. ‘I know what’s really going on. You’re scared. Scared you might actually feel something for me. You’re a coward.’

  He swung around, his pupils hard as cannonballs. ‘I am no coward. On the contrary,’ he said his mouth a sardonic twist, his eyes agleam with self-mockery. ‘I am letting you off the hook, Miss Spencer. Can you see that? I thought you’d be pleased. Of course, I’ll recompense you for your trouble. I’ll write you an open cheque. Anything your independent heart desires. You are free to go.’

  ‘Forgive me if I am mistaken, but where I come from the definition of partnership entails mutual agreement. I don’t take kindly to being railroaded or whatever other euphemism you give to bullying,’ she challenged, her head held defiantly high as she stepped closer. ‘What if I don’t want to walk away? What will you do then, Mr Rossi?’ Alex stopped, barely a half-pace away from him, and remembering the way he manipulated her with his sexuality the previous night, she lifted her hand and lightly stroked her fingers down his taunt-bronzed cheek. The slight flinch of a muscle under her feathering touch sent a thrill of power through her veins.

  His jaw tightened. ‘I’ve just said that you can write your own cheque. I’ve been more than generous. What more do you want?’

  Alex smiled into his fierce green eyes, gripped by a heady recklessness that dictated this one last gambit.

  ‘I want you, Vitali,’ she said, softly. ‘All of you. I won’t take no for an answer. You can draw a prenup and ring-fence all your money, all the gold, all your jewels, all your empire—and my answer is still, I do.’

  His hand shot up and locked around her wrist, forcing her hand away. ‘You won’t win that way,’ his voice was hoarse.

  ‘Perhaps I’m not making myself clear,’ her lips quivered a little at the audacity of what she was doing. ‘I have nothing to lose,’ she said, stating the simple truth that she knew he would never believe. She narrowed the space between them, locking her eyes upon his with seductive intensity. Their faces were so close their lips almost touched.

  His Adams apple rose up and down the thick girth of his throat as he swallowed. ‘Alex,’ he gasped. ‘I’m warning you. Give up now. Take your profit and go.’

  His warm breath fanned her face.

  ‘No,’ her eyes coolly challenged him while her body blazed with desire.

  Kiss me, she willed him. Kiss me.

  She would not be the one to make the first move. She sensed his pride demanded it. Like a wild horse, he must be the one who chooses to be tamed—no matter how momentarily. Then, as though registering her consent he pulled her to him, her mouth almost level with his, his eyes ablaze.

  ‘You’ll never do to me what my mother did to your father.’ he bit out venomously. ‘I’ll never let a woman control my life. Beauty is nothing. A body is a body. I won’t ever fight for you. I will never die for you! And I won’t cosset you like a child either! You will only ever be a convenience to me. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said softly ‘I do.’ She saw him now. The boy he once was. The trauma of the past that had ravaged him, hardening him like the ranges he cleaved to. He’d built a fortress made of rock around his vulnerable heart, hardening himself to anything, and anyone who would make him feel again. It was becoming clearer all the time.

  He blamed it all on his mother’s fragile exotic beauty. Maybe his mother had traded on her looks and her child-like vulnerability. It was impossible for Alex to know—but she herself would never trade on such a superficiality. She had never needed a man to fight for her, or cosset her, or die for her.

  She simply needed Vitali to love her.

  Maybe it wouldn’t last long. Maybe their differences would be hopelessly irreconcilable and the marriage would prove to be a terrible mistake as her mother, and his, had warned. But until she knew for certain, nothing was going to stop her from having him.

  Except Vitali himself.

  ‘I’ll leave you if you wish, but I’ll take nothing—only Lost Love.’

  ‘Yo
u impossible woman!’ He said with an aggressive lift of his chin. And the glitter in his eyes was not wholly hostile. Alex fancied she saw a gleam of relish for the challenge she had thrown and taken up in return. Perhaps he felt he had met his match. She hoped that in her he saw a woman who would be his equal—mind, body and soul.

  ‘Let’s get on with it.’

  ‘On with it?’ she questioned, needing to hear those three important words.

  ‘We will get married.’ He added with a sharp edge of derision. Without another word or pause, he tucked his arm around hers again, marching straight out to the waiting marriage celebrant and commanded that the ceremony be performed without delay.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  ‘Will you, Alexandra Anne Spencer, take this man…?

  As Alex listened to the marriage celebrant’s words her nerves faltered. What kind of man was she taking as her husband? The reckless certainty that had carried her to this moment wavered. She looked up at her husband-to-be, a sharp question in her eyes.

  His response to her unguarded flash of vulnerability was an unmistakable gleam of cynical amusement. It served to put steel into Alex’s backbone. Her gaze snapped back to the celebrant and she stared at her with fixed resolve as she came to the end of his question.

  ‘I do!’ she said firmly enough to deny any doubts whatsoever.

  She had done it now, she thought wildly. For better or for worse she had gone through with it. And if she had a wolf by the tail, then heaven help her. But never would she show the slightest hint of weakness to Vitali Rossi again.

  ‘I do,’ Vitali said, unenthusiastically. He signed the marriage papers with total equanimity, exuding the air of a person resigned to making reparation for the mistakes others had made. Yet he carried himself with the air of someone who was determined he would not lose from this situation.