CHAPTER ONE

      Early June

      RAFFAELE CASELLA COULD hardly control his frustration. Even as he’d flown back from Sicily to London, he hadn’t been able to halt the flow of anger. The irritation. His father, alarmingly calm after his cancer diagnosis, had hammered home the stark reality of the situation the family was now in.

      The Casella name could end. And with it the possession of land and wealth which had been handed from one Casella generation to the next. With appalling timing, his twin brother, Enzo, had chosen that very day to admit his marriage to Emma was in jeopardy, after a fertility test had proved he was unable to father children—Casella heirs. His father had panicked, turning immediately to Rafe, putting the duty of providing the next generation squarely on his shoulders. Now he was the only one who could ensure the Casella land and wealth stayed exactly that.

      Rafe had fought to control his anger, his shock, throughout the discussion with his father and Enzo. Reminding himself the old man was ill, holding it all in, thinking instead of the father he’d spent his life trying to please, but failing at every turn. Enzo, the first-born twin, was the son who had always achieved that honour, even when he’d betrayed Rafe in the most heartless way, tearing apart a family already living under the cloud of tragedy.

      The Casella name would end if he, the second-born twin, the spare heir, didn’t marry and have children. The biggest crisis the Casella family had faced for three generations now loomed over them.

      Rafe was in the spotlight, its brightness harsh and unyielding. Inescapable. He was the only one who could save the Casella name, and with it the family fortune. Pressure bore down on him. His future was mapped out, demanding he take a route that involved a marriage he’d never intended to make. Children—or, more precisely, a son to continue the Casella name—something he’d never wanted.

      He had no choice. Either that or stand by and watch their cousin Serafina and her greedy husband, Giovanni Romano, take everything, ending the Casella dynasty.

      Rafe couldn’t allow that. Not when part of that dynasty was the one piece of land which meant more to him than anything else. His mother’s land. The place he and Enzo, along with childhood friend Franco, had once played happily. It was a place full of memories of his mother. Memories he’d treasured since her death when he and Enzo had been only teenagers. For those olive groves alone, Rafe would do anything. Even marry. Even become a father. It was far more than ensuring nobody else, other than a Casella, owned Pietra Bianca. For Rafe it was about keeping his mother’s memory alive.

      The thought of Giovanni at the ancient olive grove slammed into Rafe as he ordered a second whisky. A surge of anger raced through him, almost blocking out the subtle tones of the gentle piano music weaving through the bar of the exclusive London hotel.

      There was no way Giovanni Romano was having anything to do with Pietra Bianca.

      Rafe swigged the fiery liquid back and banged the empty glass down on the bar. During the last heated words he and his brother had shared, Enzo had made it clear that, despite everything that had gone on between them, he expected Rafe to step up. Expected him to save the Casella fortune. Proving his twin was as mercenary, as motivated by wealth, as their father.

      ‘Damn you, Father,’ Rafe muttered as he glared at the offensively empty glass. ‘And damn you, Enzo.’

      Rafe pushed his hands through his hair as he thought of Serafina and Giovanni claiming the Casella fortune. No. That could never happen. Irritation tipped over to anger and Rafe called over the bartender, watching him with narrowed eyes, his thoughts elsewhere, as another glass of whisky was poured.

      Picking up the glass, Rafe raised it to his reflection in the mirrors behind the bar. To his future. Marriage. Fatherhood. The things he’d never wanted, now his only option.

      Rafe looked down into the amber liquid in the crystal tumbler, still questioning the wisdom of marriage. The ice-cold shock which had hit him as his father had made his expectations clear was still frozen inside him, the whisky unable to thaw it.

      His father had always considered Enzo the true heir, expecting his first-born son to marry, produce the new generation and claim it all. Rafe was, as always, merely the back-up plan. An extra card in his hand.

      A card he was now forced to play after Enzo’s marriage was crashing on the rocks so spectacularly. Divorce seemed the only option. Poor Emma. Rafe tried to push the sympathy away. She might have been his first love, but she was now Enzo’s wife. Enzo and Emma’s betrayal had gone far deeper than just killing his love for her.

      Rafe swirled the whisky in the glass, brooding into it as if it held the answers to the nightmare he now lived. He had no wish for marriage. No need for emotional complications. How was he to find himself a wife? And one that would bring the kind of prestigious advantages to the marriage he required and the son the Casella family required? Did he really have such little choice that he had to accept a marriage deal arranged by his father?

      Anger chased the whisky through his body. Was he to parade himself like a stud horse? That stung his male pride as much as being the standby heir.

      ‘Champagne.’ The husky voice of the woman joining him at the bar caught his attention, dragging him from his despair, her accent intriguing him as she made her demand to the bartender. Despite the weight of his problems, he was captivated in a way he hadn’t been for a long time.

      Rafe studied her in the mirrors behind the bar and, despite the rows of optics, saw the woman was as attractive as her voice. There was an air of sophistication about her. She radiated confidence, drew him ever closer. Making him want more than a curious glance in the mirror. Making him want to get to know her. Effectively sealing his fate.

      Attraction surged through him and he reluctantly admitted he’d go as far as to say she was the sexiest woman he’d seen in a long time. She was tall and slender, wearing a tight-fitting pale gold silk blouse, sleeves folded up past her elbows and open low at the front. Her dark shoulder-length hair was pulled back away from her face, accentuating her vivid brown eyes, her brown eye make-up making them appear as black as coal. Her full lips were pressed together into a sulky but sexy pout.

      She was utterly gorgeous.

      Watching her shouldn’t have turned him on, but it did. A lick of hot lust, reminding him just how long it had been since he’d lost himself in the oblivion of a beautiful woman, fired through him. It would also be something he’d never be able to do again once he married. His marriage might not be for love, or any kind of sentiment, but his morals wouldn’t allow for such betrayal as infidelity.

      He knew how that felt. All too well.

      Rafe nodded to the bartender, who swiftly brought over two glasses and a bottle of champagne, placing them on the bar between him and the woman. With a quick glance at the label, Rafe satisfied himself his usual standards had been