The Italian's Marriage Bargain. Carol Marinelli
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reputation if it will further his cause.’
‘Which is?’
The hands weren’t just tight around her wrists now, they were like two steel vices, and Felicity wriggled them free.
‘Matthew considers it his divine right to have a pretty blonde wife on his arm.’ She gave a wry smile. ‘And if that sounds conceited I make no apology.’
‘It is the truth,’ he said simply, his mind temporarily leaving the devastating news she had just imparted and focusing instead on the attractive woman in front of him. ‘You make it sound like a curse to be beautiful.’
‘I never said I was beautiful,’ Felicity corrected matter-of-factly. ‘But, yes, looking like a fragile teenager can have its disadvantages, both on the professional and private front.’ She stared at him boldly, her back rigid, her eyes defiant. ‘Would you take me seriously in the boardroom, Mr Santanno?’
Her question clearly confused him, but he answered her promptly. ‘I am not sexist. If your point was valid of course I would listen.’
He almost sounded as if he meant it, but Felicity tried and failed to bite back a scornful laugh.
‘You contradict yourself, Felice.’ Luca responded. ‘You demand to be taken seriously, despite your stunning looks, while on the other hand you are prepared to get engaged to a man who wants you only for a trophy. It doesn’t make sense.’
‘I thought I could do it.’ The scorn was gone from her voice. The directness of his observation was as loud as her own conscience. ‘I really thought I could treat this arrangement as a business deal.’
‘But in the end you couldn’t go through with it.’ It was a statement, not a question, but still she gave a tired nod.
‘I’m not a romantic, Luca. I don’t believe in the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. I don’t think there’s a soul mate out there, waiting in the wings for me. Marrying Matthew wasn’t saying goodbye to some long-held cherished dream; it was a means to an end, a solution to a problem.’
‘For someone so young you have a very jaded view of marriage.’ He shook his head in bemusement. ‘What if he had wanted children? What if he—?’
‘No!’ She shook her head vehemently. ‘I would never have given him a baby.’
‘How can you be sure?’ Luca demanded. ‘How do you know he wouldn’t have upped the stakes, demanded a child?’
‘He could have demanded it till he was blue in the face, but that is the one thing I wouldn’t have given him—whatever the cost to my father.’
‘At least you thought that much through.’ His eyes raked her face, searching for a clue in the chameleon pools of her eyes, for insight into this fickle personality.
‘That’s one thing that wasn’t open to negotiation.’ For an age her words hung in the air. Escaping his hungry eyes, she stared down, taking in the dark strong hands entwined around her slender wrists. She could almost hear the question in his unspoken words, the expectation in each rapid short breath as he waited for her to elaborate. ‘I could never have had his child.’ She turned to go, but still he held her.
‘Tell me just one thing?’ he asked, and as she reluctantly turned to face him he stared into those amber eyes, so wary and fierce. She reminded him of a stray kitten his mother had brought home, hissing and spitting, yet utterly adorable. ‘How did you get to be so bitter, Felice?’
For a second she wavered, his harsh judgement searing through her. She wanted to scream at his injustice, to tell him he was wrong, but what possible purpose would that serve?
It was better that he thought her a hard-nosed madam, better just to walk away now.
‘Years of practice. Now…’ she gave a very thin, very strained smile ‘…if you’ll let me have my wrist back, please, I’d like to have that shower.’
Oh, the bliss of the water as it slid over her body, washing away the caked on make up, the sticky lacquered hair. She allowed the tears she had held back so fiercely to slip unnoticed down her cheeks as she stood trembling under the jets, trying to fathom what she had done, the huge ramifications of the Pandora’s box she had opened.
Wrapping herself in a soft white robe, she dragged a comb through her damp blonde hair. She was almost listless now, the unleashed emotions leaving her curiously drained. Staring in the mirror, she gazed at her reflection. The clear amber eyes stared back, for once unsure. The usually stiff upper lip was trembling as she attempted a mental plan of attack, a resolution to her problems.
She had really thought she could do it.
Really thought she could push emotion aside, ignore the awful implications of an empty engagement, do whatever it might take to buy her father some peace. But in the end she had failed him.
She pushed aside the internal ream of excuses that sprang to mind as forcibly as she pushed open the bathroom door.
There was no excuse.
Luca Santanno was right; it all came down to one simple truth: in the end she simply couldn’t have gone through with it.
‘I’m sorry.’
His words made her start, the sight of him pacing as she walked unannounced out of the bathroom unexpected.
‘I am so very sorry for what has happened to you, to your family. I take full responsibility.’
He wasn’t looking at her; the pacing had stopped now and he stood like a thundercloud, dark and brooding by the window.
‘It’s not your fault.’ The admission surprised even Felicity. For a year now even the name Luca Santanno had caused her internal abhorrence, a fierce surge of hatred just on hearing it; yet now, standing before him, hearing his words, feeling his guilt, the tide suddenly turned and she knew her hatred had been misdirected.
‘But it is my fault.’ Dragging a deep breath in, he clenched his fists in a strange salute by his sides. ‘You were right. It is my name on the notepaper; I am the one who writes the cheques.’ His fists tightened more, if that were possible. ‘And it is my name this Matthew has sullied. If the coffee is too cold, if the beds are not turned back, the pool too cool, it is my responsibility. Sure, I cannot be everywhere; I have to trust my senior staff. But when one of them…’ He turned then, his eyes fixing on her; sincerity laced with anger, pride laced with shame ‘For him to have treated you like this—’ He thumped his chest, balled his fist against his heart. ‘He is gone.’ The clenched fist opened and he flicked the air dismissively. ‘Gone. Dismiss him from your mind.’
‘It’s not quite that easy. Even if he’s exaggerated, Matthew still has—’
‘He is gone,’ Luca said, with such precision, such a sense of finality Felicity almost believed him.
Almost.
Somewhere along the way she’d given up believing in people. Right here, right now, Luca was probably telling the truth, and Felicity didn’t question it, didn’t doubt that his apology was genuine, his outrage sincere, that he had every intention of following through. But in a few hours he would be back in Rome, back in his world, a world far removed from hers, and his intentions, however well meant at the time, would fade into insignificance.
She’d seen it all before—too many times.
Promises meant nothing.
‘He’s got a contract,’ Felicity pointed out, her tone businesslike, addressing Luca as she would a client. ‘There are unfair dismissal laws in place.’
‘Would they have protected your father?’ Luca responded quickly, quelling her argument with a stroke of his tongue. ‘These are just minor details. My legal staff will take care of them.’ He flicked his hand again. ‘I promise you this, Felice…you will never have to see him again, never have to worry about that man forcing himself upon