Marrying the Italian: The Marcolini Blackmail Marriage / The Valtieri Marriage Deal / The Italian Doctor's Bride. Caroline Anderson
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‘We have to sort this out, Claire. I know you think I have engineered this to my advantage, but we both have to be absolutely sure about where this ends up.’
Claire could already guess where it was going to end up. She was halfway there already: back in love with him, back in his arms, dreaming of a happy ever after when there were no guarantees she would ever have a nibble at the happiness cherry again. She could almost taste the hard pip of reality in her mouth. He didn’t love her. He had never loved her the way she longed to be loved—the way her mother had never been loved, even after three desperate tries to get it right. Was Claire facing the same agonising destiny? A life of frustrated hopes? Girlhood dreams turned to dust as thick as that lining the roads of the Outback where she had grown up?
The limousine purred to a halt outside a convention center, and within moments the press were there to capture the moment when Antonio Marcolini and his wife, newly reconciled, were to exit the vehicle.
Claire thought she had hidden her discomfiture well as she got out of the car with Antonio by her side, but somehow, in the blur of activity and the surging press of the crowd, she met his gaze for the briefest of moments and realised she had not fooled him—not even for a second.
He offered her his arm and she looped hers through it with a smile that tugged painfully at her face. ‘Do we have to do this?’ she whispered with a rueful grimace. ‘Everyone is looking at us.’
He picked up a tendril of her curly hair and secured it behind her ear. ‘We have to, cara,’ he said, meshing his gaze with hers. ‘We need to show ourselves in public as much as possible.’
Claire drew in a scratchy breath and, straightening her shoulders, walked stride by stride with him into the convention center. But for some reason she felt sure he hadn’t been referring to the glamorous evening ahead, but more about the night that was to follow…
The table they were led to was at the front of the ballroom, where the other guests were already seated. Each person stood and greeted Antonio formally, before turning to greet her with smiles of speculative interest.
Drinks were served as soon as they sat down, and Claire sipped unenthusiastically at a glass of white wine as convivial conversation was bandied back and forth around her. She smiled in all the right places, even said one or two things that contributed to the general atmosphere of friendliness, but still she felt out on a ledge. She didn’t belong here—not amongst his colleagues, not amongst his friends. She had never belonged, and somehow sitting here, with the lively chatter going on around her, it brought it home to her with brutal force. Even listening with one ear to one of the women at the table describing the latest antics of her toddler son felt like a knife going through Claire’s chest. Her mind filled with those awful moments after her baby had been delivered, the terrible silence, the hushed whispers, the agonised looks, the shocking realisation that all was not as it was supposed to be.
‘Claire?’
Claire suddenly realised Antonio was addressing her, his eyes dark as the suit he was wearing as they meshed with hers. ‘Would you like to dance?’
She sent the tip of her tongue out to sweep away yet another layer of lipgloss. ‘Dance?’
He smiled—Claire supposed for the benefit of those around them, watching on indulgently. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘You were very good at it, I seem to remember.’
Claire lowered her gaze to stare at the contents of her glass. ‘I haven’t danced for ages…’
‘It does not matter,’ he said, taking her by the hand and gently pulling her to her feet. ‘This number is a slow waltz. All you have to do is shuffle your feet in time with mine.’
She had a lot more to do than shuffling her feet, but after a while Claire relaxed into it, relishing the feel of Antonio’s arms around her as he led her in a dance that was a slow as it was sensual. Each step seemed to remind her of how well-matched their bodies were, the union of male and female, the naturalness of it, the ebb and flow of moving in time with each other as if they had been programmed to respond in such a way. His thigh pushed hers backwards, hers moved his forwards, and then they moved together in a twirl that sent the skirt of her long dress out in an arc of vivid pink.
‘See?’ Antonio said, smiling down at her as he led her into another smooth glide across the floor. ‘It is like riding a bike, si? You never forget the moves.’
Claire could feel her body responding to his closeness. His pelvis was hard against hers, with not even the space for a silk handkerchief to pass between their bodies. She felt the stirring of his body, the intimate surge of his male flesh that made her ache for his possession all over again. She tried to convince herself it was just a physical thing: he was a virile man, she was a young healthy woman, and the chemistry that had brought them together in the first place had been reawakened. Sex with an ex or an estranged partner was commonplace. The familiarity of the relationship and yet that intriguing element of forbidden fruit made resisting the urge to reconnect in the most elemental way possible sometimes unstoppable. She could feel that temptation now; it was like a pulse deep in her body, a rhythm of longing that would not go away no matter how much she tried to ignore it.
‘You are starting to tense up on me,’ Antonio said. He ran his hands down the length of her spine as the number came to an end, and an even slower, more poignant one took its place. ‘Relax, cara. there are people watching us.’
How could she possibly relax with his hands resting in the sensitive dip of her spine like that? Claire felt as if every nerve was set on super-vigilance, waiting for the stroke and glide of his next touch. Her belly quivered and her skin lifted in a fine layer of goosebumps as she met his dark, intense gaze.
‘I’m not used to such big crowds these days,’ she said. ‘I haven’t been out for ages. Compared to you, I live a very quiet life.’
He rested his chin on the top of her head as they moved in time with the music. ‘There is nothing wrong with living a quiet life,’ he said. ‘I sometimes wish mine was a little less fast paced.’
Claire breathed in the scent of him as they circled the floor again. It felt so right to be in his arms, as if she belonged there and nowhere else. The trouble was she wasn’t sure how long she was likely to be there. He seemed very intent on sorting out the train wreck of their previous relationship, but his motives for doing so were highly suspect.
It was so hard to tell what Antonio was thinking, let alone feeling. He had always been so good at keeping his cards close to his chest. She, on the other hand, wore her heart on her sleeve and had done so to her own detriment. She had made herself far too vulnerable to him from the outset, and now she felt as if she was doing it all again. He knew he had her in the palm of his hand. He knew she would not do anything that would jeopardise her brother’s well-being. That was his trump card, and she was too cowardly to call his bluff, even though she dearly wanted to.
But even without the threat of Isaac facing the authorities, Claire suspected she was in too deep now to extricate herself. She couldn’t quite get rid of the nagging fear she had got her wires twisted over his alleged affair with Daniela Garza. If so, she had ruined both of their lives by impulsively leaving him. The very thing she lectured her brother Isaac on time and time again was the very thing she most hated in herself: acting before thinking. How would she ever be able to forgive herself if she had got it wrong?
Antonio skilfully turned her out of the way of another couple on the dance floor, his arms protective around her. ‘You look pensive, cara,’ he said. ‘Is something troubling you?’
Claire worried her bottom lip with her teeth, finally releasing it to look up at him. ‘If you weren’t having an affair with Daniela, why didn’t you share the same bed as me after we lost the baby? You never came to me—not once.’
His expression tightened, as if pulled by invisible strings underneath his skin. ‘That was because I thought it better to leave you to rest for the first couple of days, without me taking calls from the hospital late at night and disturbing you. It was clear after a while that you did not want me to rejoin you. You seemed