.
Читать онлайн книгу.
herself from Ciro’s caustic cynicism and bad opinion of her. She needed to develop a hard shell around her heart. He mustn’t know how deeply he affected her or his revenge would be even more cruel.
She shrugged and affected a look of disdain. ‘Well, you couldn’t very well expect me to wear clothes two seasons out of date, could you?’
Ciro took in Lara’s expression. There she was. The Lara who had shown her true face in his hospital room two years ago. Making him the biggest fool on the planet. And yet it didn’t make him feel triumphant. Because there were those disconcerting moments when for a second she looked—
He shook his head. This was Lara Templeton. Spoilt and manipulative. Prepared to marry a man just because he was from the right side of society.
‘I’ve arranged for a stylist to come and take you shopping today. You’ll also be fitted for your wedding dress. I’ve pre-approved the design, so you don’t have a choice, Lara. I want to make sure you’re suitably attired for this wedding.’
Suddenly the disdain was gone. ‘What will people think of me? Marrying again so soon?’
‘They’ll think you’re a woman who has a strong sense of self-preservation. And they’ll think you’re a woman who knows she made a bad choice and is now rectifying the situation.’
‘They’ll think I’m nothing but a gold-digger.’
Ciro tensed. ‘You walked out on your injured fiancé to marry a man old enough to be your father within weeks of the day our own wedding was due to take place, so don’t try to pretend a sudden concern about what people think.’
Lara’s cheeks whitened dramatically, but Ciro put it down to anger at the fact that he could see right through her.
He hated it that he was so aware of her with every pulse of blood through his veins. He had no control over it. It hardened his body, made him a slave to his libido.
She wasn’t even trying to entice him. He wasn’t used to women not preening around him. Or he hadn’t been until he’d met Lara and she’d stunned him with her fresh-faced beauty.
She was fresh-faced this morning, with not a scrap of make-up, right down to the slightly puffy eyes. Something about that irritated him intensely. It was as if she was mocking him all over again. As if she knew that she didn’t even have to make an effort to have an effect on him.
He gestured towards her with a hand. ‘I don’t know what you’re angling for with this lack of effort in your personal appearance, Lara. But after you’ve met with the stylist, and once we are married, I’ll expect a more...polished result.’
Her eyes flashed bright blue at that. And then she lowered them in a parody of being demure. ‘Of course.’
That irritated him even more. It was as if there was some subtext going on that he wasn’t privy to.
He stood up. ‘I have back-to-back meetings all day at my head office. If you need anything, this is my private secretary’s number.’
He put a card down on the table in front of her. Lara picked it up. Was it his imagination or was there a slight tremor in her hand?
She still didn’t look at him as she said, ‘So not even your fiancée gets your personal number?’
He reached down and tipped up her face with a finger under her chin, ‘Oh, some people have my personal number, Lara. The people I trust most in the world. I have a business dinner this evening, so don’t wait up. The marriage will take place this Saturday, so you’ll be kept busy between now and then.’
This Saturday.
Lara jerked her chin away from Ciro’s finger. Even that small touch was lighting her insides on fire. Not to mention the nearness of the whipcord strength of his body, evident even though he was dressed in business attire of dark trousers and a white shirt. It was as if mere clothes couldn’t contain the man.
‘Worried I’ll abscond?’
Ciro stepped back and put out his arm. ‘You’re not a prisoner, Lara. You’re free to leave. But we both know that you won’t—especially when you see the very generous terms of the pre-nuptial contract. I know the real you now. You don’t need to pretend to be something else. This will be a very mutually beneficial arrangement.’
And she knew the real him. The man who wanted her only for her connections and her class. She was tempted to stand up and walk out with her head held high. Claim back her life. But she’d agreed to this because she knew what had been done to this man was her fault.
He might not have loved her, but he hadn’t deserved to be treated the way she had treated him, and he certainly hadn’t deserved to be kidnapped and almost killed. She had no choice but to stay. Not if she wanted to live the rest of her life with a clear conscience.
Ciro looked at his watch. ‘The stylist will be here at midday and some of my legal team will come before that with the pre-nuptial contract. An assistant will set you up with a mobile and laptop—whatever you need.’
Then he was gone, striding out of the room before she could say anything.
Lara looked at the delicious array of food on the table and her stomach churned. The coffee she’d drunk sat heavily in her stomach.
The housekeeper came back just as Lara was standing up and Lara touched her arm gently. The woman looked at her questioningly and Lara smiled and said grazie. The woman smiled widely and nodded, and Lara felt for a second as if she’d scored some kind of tiny victory.
Ciro might think the worst of her but she knew who she was. She just needed to remember that.
* * *
By the time Lara had walked from the car and up the steps to the porch of the cathedral on Saturday afternoon she was shaking. There were what looked like hundreds of people lining the steps, calling out her name, and the flashes of cameras.
The wedding dress that Ciro had picked out was stunning, but far more extravagant than Lara would have ever chosen for herself. Designed to get as much attention as possible with its long train and elaborate veil. Not unlike the dress she’d worn to marry Henry Winterborne.
Her mother’s dress had been simple and graceful. Whimsical and romantic. But then it had been a dress worn for love. Lara was almost glad it was gone now. Hopefully some other woman had married for love in it.
She was not unaware of the irony that for the second time in the space of a couple of weeks she was glad of a veil to hide behind.
The aisle looked about a hundred miles long from where she was standing. And she was going to walk down it alone. She wanted to turn and run. But instead she squared her shoulders, and as the wedding march began she started walking, spine straight, praying that no one would see her bouquet shaking.
The back of Ciro’s neck prickled. She was here.
He’d heard the cacophony of shouts outside just before a hush rippled through the church. He knew she would be walking down the aisle alone—she hadn’t requested any bridesmaids or attendants. She had no family. Something about that lonely image of her caught at his gut but he ignored it.
She was the type of woman who could bury one man one week and marry another a week later. She was not shy or vulnerable.
You offered her little alternative, pointed out the voice of his conscience.
Ciro ignored it. Lara might not like what people thought of her, but she’d soon forget it when she got used to the life of luxury Ciro could offer her.
He fought the desire to turn around, not liking the sense of déjà vu washing over him as he thought about how this day should have happened two years ago. And how it hadn’t.
In the lead-up to that wedding he’d been uncharacteristically nervous. And excited. Excited at the thought of unveiling his virginal bride. Of being