by Jennie Lucas
His words made a tremble go through her soul. How long had she dreamed of a man who would cherish and protect her, and give her the deepest longings of her heart?
He pressed his cheek, already growing rough since he’d shaved that morning, against her own.
“Next week,” he murmured against her skin, “we will be wed in the ancient chapel of my villa. Guests have been invited from all over the world. Your wedding planner will arrive on Tuesday from London. You will direct her in your wishes and spare no expense.” Pulling away, he smiled down at her. “That is my command.”
His command? Oh, how she longed to obey…
It’s a trick! she told herself desperately. More bribery. Maximo didn’t care about the longings of her heart. He only cared about seduction—and revenge.
Lifting her chin, she folded her arms.
“You say you want me to have everything. Gee, thanks. How about a grandfather? How about a father for my child?”
He stared down at her for a moment, then coolly sat back in his seat. “If you think Wentworth will ever give you or Chloe the care and respect you deserve, you’re dreaming, Lucia—”
“Call me Lucy!”
“Once he realizes that he’s lost his company’s bid for Ferrazzi SpA, and his secret payout from Giuseppe along with it, he’ll be more determined than ever to hold on to Violetta.” His intense gaze focused on her. “Unless he hears about your fortune. Then he’ll want you. Then he’ll pretend to love you again.”
She shook her head decisively. “I would never take him back in a million years.”
“I believe you. But I couldn’t be sure of that before,” he said quietly. “That’s why I had to marry you before he had the chance.”
For some reason, his simple words stabbed into her. Maximo had only married her for her trust fund, to make sure that no other man had it. Of course! she told herself angrily. How many times did he have to explain it to her?
So why did she keep imagining there was some other reason he’d married her? He claimed to be a coldhearted, unloving bastard, so why had he been so kind to her? Little things. The birthday party for her daughter. The shopping spree in Milan. The night he’d held her when she’d cried over her mother.
If Maximo had married her just to get revenge on her grandfather, why do all those things?
He’d warned her never to love him. So why was he making it nearly impossible not to? Just to get her into bed?
Maybe. So why did she see something beneath his eyes when he looked at her? As if she were more precious to him than gold. As if he’d searched for her his whole life…
“Wentworth will try to get you back,” he said. “When that doesn’t work, he’ll try to get custody of Chloe. Either way, he’ll try to get your fortune. He would step over you both to get his hands on your money.”
“Why are you so scornful?” she whispered, trying desperately to convince herself. “You’re using me for your own selfish reasons, just like he did.”
Maximo’s gaze became as sharp and icy as a blue glacier. “Do not compare us. I’ll never pretend to love you, Lucia. I’ll never lie to you. But I will always take care of you. You have the prenuptial agreement to prove it.”
“Yes. And that’s what I don’t understand!” She shook her head. “Why have you been so good to me? It’s almost enough to make me think…to make me believe…”
That you could love me. But the words were too ridiculous to say aloud. He turned away as his cell phone rang.
“Sì,” he responded tersely into the phone, then, “sì.” He snapped it closed as the limo stopped.
“Wentworth is in there now,” Maximo said, pointing at a luxury hotel. “Violetta came from New York just days ago, but they’re already quarreling. He’s been in the bar for the last hour, drinking as he waits for her to come downstairs.”
The hotel’s doorman opened the passenger door.
“Go,” Maximo said.
She looked back at him. “You’re not coming with me?”
He shook his head. “No,” he said. “First, I want you to see the kind of man he truly is. No good as a father. No good to anyone.”
“Alex will change his mind when he sees the picture of Chloe,” she repeated with more confidence than she felt. “He’ll realize he wants to be her father.”
He gave her a grim smile. “Try it. Without telling him of your fortune, ask him to be her father. See what happens. The bar is directly to the right off the lobby. Go.”
Clutching her handbag to her chest, Lucy stepped out of the limo. The doorman blocked the rain with an umbrella as he escorted her to the main door of the hotel.
Another fancy hotel, she thought dimly, that will change my life forever.
Once she was inside the lobby, she turned right and immediately saw him, the man she’d once loved, sitting behind the elegant greenery at the glossy wood bar. He was bouncing his leg nervously, scowling at the doorway.
Then Alex saw her. And the bounce of his leg abruptly stopped.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
LUCY!” The expressions crossing Alexander’s pale face in waves—recognition, shock, horror, anger—would have been comical, if Lucy had been in the mood to laugh. “What are you doing here?”
He looked her over in amazement, from her seven-hundred-dollar ankle boots to her black stockings and cobalt wool shift dress. Her hair was pulled back from her face, showing her chic gold hoops beneath loose dark tendrils that had escaped in the tumult of the helicopter ride. Wearing contacts, her eyes were rimmed with kohl and mascara and her lips were darkened with a classic, subdued shade of autumn wine.
Alex stared at her as if he could barely recognize her. Then his eyes narrowed.
“You should never have come here,” he said coldly.
“I had no choice.” She held her Ferrazzi satchel closer to her body so he wouldn’t see how her hand trembled. Inside the bag, she could see the legal documents that would terminate his parental rights. And next to that—the photo of Chloe that would finally make him realize that he loved his child. “I have something to show you—”
He stood up from his bar stool. “I don’t know how you managed to scrape together enough cash to get to Rome, but you’re leaving. Right now.”
So he knew how desperately poor she’d been, trying to raise their child. Part of her had hoped he had no idea. That would have made his crime a little less awful. But he’d known all along, and hadn’t lifted a finger.
He was really a selfish, shallow bastard…
But he’s Chloe’s only chance for a father, she told herself desperately. Any father is better than none.
Wasn’t it?
“Why do you want me to leave, Alex? Are you afraid your fiancée might find out about our baby?”
He grabbed her arm roughly. “For the last time, I’m not that kid’s father. Do you understand?”
It was now or never.
With a deep breath, Lucy reached for the photo. It showed Chloe sitting beneath the little tree Lucy had bought for half-price on Christmas Eve just over a week ago. She was holding up her hippo with one hand, a frosted cookie with the other and flashing a big, happy smile that showed nine pearly teeth. The picture showed Chloe’s character. Her joy.
“Look.” She shoved the picture into his hand.
“What the hell is this—” He started, then stopped.
Lucy held her breath. Her plan was working. Finally, after everything, Alex would realize what a precious gift Chloe was. He would look at her picture and decide to be a decent man—a decent father…
“Her name is Chloe,” Lucy blurted out. “She just had her first birthday. She’s the sweetest baby, Alex, so smart and loving and fun. But she needs a father. She needs you.”
Narrowing his eyes, he slowly looked up at her.
“Christ, what’s it going to take to get through to you? I don’t want her. And I don’t want you.”
Opening his hand, he let the photo drop. As if in slow motion, Luc
y watched her baby’s photo float through the air.
“Now get the hell out of here. I’m with someone new. You and your little brat are nothing to me—”
The picture landed on the floor. She saw her precious baby’s photo stepped on by a group of passing businessmen, then scattered beneath the point of a woman’s five-inch stiletto.
The woman wearing the stiletto spoke in an icy voice. “Alexander, who is this?”
Alex paled. “Violetta. My darling.”
She moved toward them on her viciously sharp heels, and Lucy leaped for her baby’s picture. Snatching it from the floor, she cradled it in her hands. Mud had been trodden across her daughter’s chubby, smiling face. An eye had been ground into oblivion by Violetta’s shoe.
“Answer my question, Alexander.” The fashion designer came closer, staring at Lucy with a sneer. Blond and tall, she looked rich, beautiful and miserable. “How do you know this person?”
“I don’t,” Alex stammered, running his hands nervously through his blond hair. “I just met her.”
“I can see how you pass your time when I cannot decide what to wear.”
“Honestly, she’s a stranger! Nothing to me! I just met her—” he turned to glare at Lucy “—and she was just leaving.”
Lucy looked at Alex’s handsome, slender face. And she finally understood how he’d been able to propose marriage and beg her to have his baby, then abandon them both. How he’d been able to love her and Chloe one day, then leave them the next.
He didn’t care about anyone but himself. He was selfish, lazy and a coward. He’d never understood the joy of real love—or the responsibility that came with it.
Lucy’s eyes narrowed.
You don’t deserve my baby.
“Yes, I’ll leave.” She reached back inside her handbag. “As soon as you sign this.”
He snatched the papers from her hands. He’d barely skimmed the document for five seconds before his face relaxed. He snapped his fingers at the bartender. “Get me a pen.”
The Roman bartender looked down his nose at him with a sigh. “Sì, signore.”
Alex quickly signed the paper, giving up his rights to Chloe—their beautiful, happy, loving baby—with an enthusiastic flourish. Lucy watched him, feeling sick.
Suddenly she felt a strong, supportive hand on the small of her back. She looked back with an intake of breath.
Maximo’s eyes smiled down at her. Giving her comfort. Giving her strength.
Not bothering to even look at her, Alex shoved the paper toward Lucy. “Thanks.”
“No, Wentworth,” Maximo said. “Thank you.”
Alex whirled around as Maximo leaned over the bar to speak to the bartender in Italian. With a glance at Alex, the man nodded and signed.
“D’Aquilla,” Alexander said, looking shaken. “What are you doing here?” He tried to smile. “Shouldn’t you be on your honeymoon? I heard you married some woman claiming to be the Ferrazzi heiress. Your first mistake, because I’m telling you, we won’t let it stand in court. You must be truly desperate if you think you can pull something like…”
His voice trailed off when he saw Maximo’s hand on Lucy’s back, saw the way she was instinctively leaning toward him for strength.
“What’s going on here?” he said faintly.
Maximo turned to him. Looking from one man to the other, Lucy wondered how she could ever have been attracted to Alex. He was blond, slender, washed-out—nothing but a selfish boy compared to Maximo. Her dark, fierce husband towered over him in every way possible.
“You’re right for once, Wentworth,” Maximo said. “I am on my honeymoon.”
He gave a weak laugh. “I don’t get the joke.”
“It’s no joke.” Maximo showed a glint of teeth. “You’ve lost. Ferrazzi is mine.”
“What are you talking about?” Violetta demanded. She turned to Alex. “You said there was no way we could lose. You said you had an inside man.”
“He did have an inside man, signora,” Maximo said. “Himself. As vice president of acquisitions, he made a deal with Giuseppe Ferrazzi to embezzle millions from your company. So I am sure he is very, very sorry to lose.”
She turned on him in fury, thundering, “Alexander!”
Alex ignored her, staring with shock between Lucy and Maximo. “She’s your—wife?” he gasped. “That can’t be. She’s no Ferrazzi!”
“The long-lost Lucia Ferrazzi.” Maximo’s smile widened into a hard grin. “So much for having her declared dead. Quite the trick of fate. You could have had her for the taking—and the enormous fortune that comes with her.”
Alex leaped to his feet with an impassioned gasp.
“Luce. This is all a mistake. I love you. You know I do. And our little baby. You wouldn’t take Callie from me—”
Callie?
Maximo had been right all along, down to the last detail. Lucy closed her eyes, feeling like she was going to faint. “Get me out of here,” she whispered.
Her husband held her close. For a moment, Lucy leaned against him, accepting his comfort, grateful beyond measure for his protection.
“What do you mean, you love her?” Violetta screeched at Alex. “You have a baby? You said you’d been celibate the year we were apart—you swore you loved only me!”
“Shut up!” Alex thundered. “I’m not talking to you!” He turned back to Lucy with pleading brown eyes. “Forgive me. Please, Luce. Take me back. I love you!”
“You’re a pathetic excuse for a father, Wentworth,” Maximo bit out. “A pathetic excuse for a man.” Taking the paper from the bartender, he tucked it beneath his coat. “Come, cara,” he said, looking down at her. “We have an appointment with the lawyers.”
“No!” Alex’s voice hit a higher, more furious pitch with every word. “No! Damn it—where’s that paper? Callie is my daughter—I deserve half—that document won’t hold up in court. It wasn’t witnessed!”
His voice ended in a gurgle as Violetta threw his drink into his face.
“Sì, it was.” Maximo gave a pleasant nod to the enraged fashion designer. “Signora, enjoy your evening.”
And gathering up Lucy, who was still numb with shock and grief, he led her away from Alex’s furious screams and out into the endless rain of the Eternal City.
Two hours later, as she left the judge’s office in Rome, the screams of Alex’s lawyers were still ringing in her ears. They’d been at first suspicious, then furious, to find their attempt to declare her dead a failure at the very moment they’d expected victory. Unable to buy her trust fund shares from Giuseppe Ferrazzi, they were forced to accept that Maximo now owned seventy percent of the company, making their own thirty percent a useless afterthought.
“It’s done, cara,” Maximo said as they went downstairs to the waiting limo. “We’ve won. Wentworth has lost his lover—and his job. Ferrazzi is mine.”
Yes, she thought numbly. They’d won. Her grandfather was dying alone in a dark, ruined villa. Her precious baby had just lost her only father. Some victory!
But Maximo didn’t seem to feel that way. The expression on his face was triumphant. His smile was glinty and cruel.
He was reveling in his revenge.
It made her suck in her breath. How could he be so good to her—and so vicious to a poor old man?
Who was Prince Maximo d’Aquilla? Did she really know him at all—any more than she’d truly known Connie Abbott, or Alex?
Nothing made sense anymore. Her body felt numb, and her mind still didn’t seem to be working properly. At the hotel bar, facing Alex, she’d clung to Maximo. For one moment, she’d felt like she could trust him, felt it down to her bones. She’d believed her husband was an oasis of honor and strength in the cold, selfish world.
But it had only been an illusion. Again.
She kept trying to see good in him—good that wasn’t there. She stumbled. What was wrong with her?
Catching her, Maximo took her by the elbow, escorting her into the wait
ing Rolls-Royce. “Are you all right, cara?”
She didn’t answer.
“Lucia?” Maximo said, sitting next to her in the back seat as the car sped away from the curb. “It is better that Wentworth no longer has a claim on your daughter. Surely you are glad to know the truth?”
“I don’t know anymore,” she muttered, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. She turned her head toward the windows, staring out at the rain.
“Once their DNA test is completed, they will have no choice but to accept your identity, and the Ferrazzi company will be ours.”
“You mean yours.”
“Sì.” His voice was matter-of-fact. “Is that why you are upset? You do not wish me to control it?”
“I wish you to forgive my grandfather,” she said, her voice breaking. “He’s my family.”
His jaw hardened. “Chloe is your only real family.”
“And she no longer has a father.”
“Better no father at all than a man like Wentworth.”
“But now…” She took a deep breath. “We’re both alone.”
“No.”
His blue eyes caught hers, wouldn’t let them go.
“You won’t be alone for long. You are a woman who was made for love. You should have a family, Lucia. A faithful, loving husband, a houseful of children. I want all those things for you.”
The images battered her like wind in a storm.
The happy home. The children. And a husband who adored her.
If Maximo could give her those things…
“Is that what you want?” she whispered.
“Sì, cara, it is.” He paused, and for one minute she could barely breathe. Then he continued, “I want those things for you. After we are divorced, I will introduce you to friends—good men, not fortune hunters—who desire a wife.”
“But not you.”
He looked at her. “Between us it is only business, cara. You know this. Business and pleasure. I am not a man to settle down. Love only complicates what should be simple. But not all men think so. I have a friend in Rio, a self-made billionaire who might—”