Half an hour later, while I was immersed in work on my laptop—or at least trying to be—Daisy walked out of the bedroom, her hair damp from a shower, her expression composed and dignified, although I noted the wounded look in her eyes. Heaven spare me from a woman who wanted to save me.
‘Are you ready?’ I asked, keeping my voice brisk and businesslike. ‘We should leave shortly.’
‘Yes.’
She paused, looked as if she wanted to say something more, but I forestalled her by closing my laptop and rising. I was not interested in conversation—not any longer.
Although what I was interested in, I couldn’t even say. Everything felt disordered and far more complicated than I’d ever expected or intended it to be. Making this marriage real was not nearly as simple as I’d hoped. In the depths of last night, when I’d lain awake, my mind seething over the possibilities and complications, I’d considered forgetting the whole thing. Just walking away. It would be infinitely easier. And yet…
I had never been a quitter, and the fact remained that I still needed an heir. I still wanted a wife. But it would have to be on my terms. Always.
And, I decided grimly, I knew just how to make that happen.
CHAPTER TEN
‘TRÈS BELLE, MADAME, très belle!’
I smiled nervously at my unfamiliar reflection. For the last few days I’d been pampered, primped, and petted to within an inch of my life by a veritable army of stylists and beauticians. I didn’t look anything like myself, but I supposed, considering the gala tonight, that was a good thing.
Since waking from his nightmare a few days ago Matteo had been intentionally remote, keeping conversation to a polite, brusque minimum. Strangely, I found I didn’t mind. Once I would have let it hurt me. I would have assumed it meant he felt indifferent. But the experience of the last few days in his company had made me think, or at least hope, otherwise. It wasn’t indifference; it was fear. Fear of being vulnerable, of being real—the kind of real he didn’t want in our so-called ‘real’ marriage.
It had taken both careful thought and time for me to conclude that Matteo didn’t want compassion or understanding from me; they were anathema to him, and I almost understood that. Feeling vulnerable was hard enough—having someone know it and respond accordingly was even worse. So I didn’t. I played by his rules and I kept to the game, meeting his courtesy with a careful composure of my own, although sometimes it felt like no more than a mask.
Was it even working? Was I doing the right thing? Trying to slip under his defences, win his trust and, yes, even his heart without him realising? Or was I just continuing to be the naïve and deluded greenhorn I’d been all along? Hoping for something better when nothing good was coming my way?
I took a deep breath and met my reflection full-on. This was the course I’d chosen and I was set on it…at least for the next two weeks. After that, who could say? I didn’t want to think about what might or might not happen then.
A quick tapping sounded at the door. ‘Are you ready?’ Matteo called. ‘We need to leave for the gala in fifteen minutes.’
I glanced back at the team of stylists and make-up artists who had turned this ugly duckling into an uncertain swan. ‘Am I ready?’
‘Mais oui, ma cherié!’
I smiled, nervousness making my heart skitter like a marble in a pinball machine, and then, taking a deep breath, I reached for my bag and headed out to the sitting room of our enormous penthouse suite in the heart of Paris, where Matteo was waiting for me.
I’d barely seen him these last few days; he’d been working and I’d been a lump of clay being pounded into sophisticated shape. We’d spent the nights together, however. Despite his nightmare, Matteo continued to sleep by my side. But he never even tried to touch me. I told myself I didn’t mind, even as I ached.
Now I paused on the threshold of the room. His back was to me as he gazed out at Paris on a starry night, the Eiffel Tower a beacon of light in the distance.
‘Matteo…’ I said quietly.
Slowly he turned around. His pupils flared as he took me in from top to bottom—my hair in a loose chignon, with tendrils framing my face, my face expertly made up in a way the beautician had assured me was ‘natural’, my nails manicured and polished, my skin exfoliated and buffed and lotioned to a golden sheen. And, of course, the dress…
I’d tried on six dresses before Monique, my personal stylist, had insisted on this one—a shimmering column of topaz silk that flowed from one shoulder, nipped in at the waist, and then puddled in gold around my ankles.
Now I stood there, waiting for his verdict. ‘Do I pass muster?’ I asked as lightly as I could. I was terrified about what was ahead—hobnobbing with socialites and entrepreneurs, people who intimidated me without even trying.
‘Pass muster?’ Matteo came towards me, his hands outstretched to capture mine and draw me to him. ‘You look stunning, glykia mou. You will be the most beautiful woman in the room.’
I laughed shakily. ‘I think that might be spreading it a bit thick.’
‘Not at all.’
Smiling, he brushed a kiss across my lips that felt like a promise—of what, exactly, my stomach fizzed at considering. For the last few days Matteo had kept his distance, both physically and emotionally, but with my hands in his and the touch of his lips making my own tingle I was beginning to have hope that was changing. That he was. That we were.
‘Your outfit is perfect,’ Matteo said, ‘save for one thing.’
I looked down at my silk gown, eyebrows raised. ‘And what is that?’
‘This.’
From the pocket of his tuxedo he took a small black velvet box that made my heart judder.
‘Matteo…’
‘I should have given it to you before…at the beginning.’ He opened the box to reveal two rings—one was a diamond flanked by two sapphires, the other a simple platinum band. Engagement and wedding rings. ‘May I put them on you?’
Wordlessly, I nodded. It felt more sacred than the ceremony three years ago, having him slip on those rings. They were heavy on my hand, winking in the light.
‘They’re beautiful,’ I whispered.
‘And you’re beautiful. But you need something just a little bit more.’ With a smile, he took another black velvet box, this one long and slender, from his other pocket.
I let out an uncertain laugh. ‘How many jewels have you pocketed?’
‘Just this.’ He opened the box for my inspection, and I drew a sharp breath at the diamond-encrusted topaz pendant that nestled amidst the ivory silk.
‘It’s beautiful.’
‘Let me put it on you.’
I turned around for him to fasten the necklace. The stones were cool and heavy against my skin and his fingertips brushed the nape of my neck, each barely-there touch making me shiver.
Then, even more electrifying, I felt Matteo kiss the back of my neck, his warm lips lingering on my skin, his hands on my bare arms.
‘You are so lovely, glykia mou. I look forward to tonight.’
I didn’t think I was imagining the import in his words—something beyond mere innuendo. He wasn’t thinking of the party, and neither was I. After days of barely any physical contact, and a more worrying emotional remoteness, my heart and my body both craved this intimacy. I was ready.
Paris was strewn with stars as we took a limousine to the party that was being held in a private ballroom at the Louvre. The night wrapped like dark velvet around us. Nerves jumped and writhed in my stomach—not just for the party and the intimidation factor of mingling with well-heeled guests, but being on Matteo’s arm.
‘I’m so nervous,’ I admitted. ‘What if everyone thinks I’m a country bumpkin?’
‘They won’t—and even if they do I don’t give a toss about their opinion,’ Matteo replied. ‘They’re nothing but pretenders
and parasites. Bottom feeders.’
I drew back a little at his utterly dismissive tone. ‘But they’re the cream of society. And they’re who you’ve socialised with all the time.’
He shrugged. ‘Needs must.’
‘You don’t like any of them? Or respect them?’
I didn’t know whether to feel sorry for the faceless mass he’d just dismissed or for the man who was so clearly alone. Lonely. More and more I was realising that Matteo’s hard exterior hid a core of vulnerability, glimpses of which made me both ache and yearn—but I knew better than to show him that.
When Matteo saw my compassion, my care, he withdrew. Perhaps he wasn’t used to it; perhaps he simply hated being vulnerable. Perhaps, unlike me, he wasn’t longing for another person to connect with, to understand and, yes, to love.
But I was staking everything—my heart, my hope, my life—that he was. I just wasn’t going to let him know. Yet. When I would feel brave enough—when he might want me to—I wasn’t ready to consider. In the meantime I’d decided to gamble.
‘I think,’ Matteo told me curtly, ‘it is more a matter of them not liking me. But that is utterly beside the point because I am completely indifferent to them.’ He turned his head away to stare out of the window. ‘We’re almost there.’
I was determined to keep my emotional distance from Daisy, as I had been doing these last few days, and yet somehow she drew emotion from me, like siphoning off poison. Why had I spoken about the people at the party that way?
It was true enough: the women might want to warm my bed and the men might be awed by my wealth and power, but I was still the bastard child who hadn’t been good enough until my grandfather had had no recourse but to accept me. Everyone knew it, even if they knew better than to speak of it.
Still, I hadn’t meant to say as much to Daisy. I’d been so careful these last few days—keeping myself distant, trusting that the lack of physical contact would make her ache. It was certainly making me ache. I’d spent three sleepless nights staring gritty-eyed at the ceiling while Daisy lay curled up and sleeping just a scant few feet from me. Not reaching for her had taken all my self-control.
But tonight was going to be different. Tonight I was going to show Daisy to the world, stake my claim in public, and then stake it again in private. Tonight we would finally become man and wife, as we were always meant to be. And there was going to be nothing emotional about it.
The limo pulled up to the Louvre and a valet hurried to open the door, taking Daisy’s hand to help her out. There was a scattering of paparazzi, as there always was at events like these, and flashbulbs began to pop as I emerged from the limo and took her hand.
‘I wasn’t expecting cameras…’ Daisy murmured, her hand small and icy in mine.
‘For the gossip tabloids,’ I dismissed.
‘They’re all going to be wondering who I am…’
‘They’ll find out soon enough.’
‘Wait…what?’ She turned to me, her lovely eyes wide with surprise. ‘What do you mean? You’re not going to tell them…?’
‘Why not?’
‘Because this is a trial…’
She sounded uncertain, and I pounced on it.
‘What would you rather, Daisy? I introduce you as my wife, or my latest mistress?’
Her chin tilted up a notch. ‘I suppose there’s no other option?’
‘Of course not.’
‘And will you tell them how long we’ve been married? That I’ve been tucked away like a dirty secret for three years while you’ve worked your way through who knows how many women?’
There was no spite in her voice, only bleak honesty.
‘That is hardly how I would describe it, and in any case no one needs to know how long we’ve been married—just that we are.’
We were entering the museum, and she faltered at the archway. ‘I’m going to be torn to pieces,’ she whispered. ‘Everyone’s going to wonder what on earth you were thinking, marrying a nobody like me.’
‘I assure you, no one will think any such thing. I won’t let them.’ I spoke fiercely, more fiercely than I meant to, hating the thought of anyone looking down on her. ‘Besides, it isn’t true. You aren’t a nobody, Daisy Dias. You are a beautiful, poised, accomplished businesswoman in your own right, and I’m proud and honoured to have you on my arm, as my wife.’
Tears sparkled like tiny diamonds on her lashes as she looked at me in amazement. ‘Matteo…do you really mean that?’
With an uncomfortable jolt, I realised that I did. ‘Yes, I do.’
I felt as if I were making more of a proclamation than I’d intended, but I reminded myself that I hadn’t said anything about feelings. About caring.
‘Now, let’s get this party started,’ I said with a smile, and I took a starched handkerchief from my pocket to dab carefully at her eyes. She gave me a tremulous smile in response.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered, and I didn’t reply, because I’d surely said too much already.
It became apparent within just a few minutes of our arrival that Daisy had absolutely nothing to fear. She was luminous, and people were drawn to her inner beauty and natural warmth just as I was. Of course there were a few dagger-eyed darlings who unsheathed their claws, but Daisy simply ignored them.
I watched, with a glass of champagne raised to my lips, as she chatted to a billionaire’s wife about—of all things—quilting. Apparently the woman had a hobby… Daisy moved her arms in elegant arcs as she explained, I supposed, how one went about making a quilt, and the woman—who was wearing over a million euros’ worth of diamonds—listened in rapt attention. Who knew?
‘Hello, Matteo.’
I started at the feel of an arm that was winding through mine, and looked down at the pair of cat-green eyes narrowed up at me. ‘Hello, Veronique.’ Just about the last person I wished to see, but I supposed it was inevitable.
‘You haven’t rung.’ She pouted prettily—except it wasn’t.
‘Our liaison is over.’ I disentangled my arm and took a step away from her. ‘I thought I made that clear when we last saw each other.’
Only two weeks ago, but it felt like a lifetime. It was a lifetime.
‘Because of…that?’
She nodded towards Daisy and my fingers tightened around the stem of my glass.
‘That,’ I informed her coldly, ‘is my wife. And I’d thank you to speak of her with the highest respect.’
Veronique’s face twisted in angry, ugly shock. ‘You got married?’
‘So it would seem.’
‘In the last two weeks? I don’t believe you.’
‘Believe it.’ I was tight-lipped, staring into the distance, wanting her gone.
‘No, I don’t think so. The way she marched into that ballroom, looking furious… You’ve been married for a while, haven’t you? And now you’ve decided to trot her out like a show pony—heaven only knows why.’
I did not deign to reply, my jaw and fists both clenched.
Veronique let out a hard laugh. ‘Some marriage,’ she said, and walked off.
I cursed myself a thousand times for not handling that altercation better. I watched out of the corner of my eye as Veronique hurried towards a cluster of chatting women and whispered in one of their ears. The gossip was already spreading.
I joined Daisy, slipping an arm around her waist to anchor her to me in the coming storm. She shot me a startled, pleased look, before resuming her discussion of stitching, or sewing, or whatever it was she was going on about. My mind was elsewhere as I watched the storm brew, one whisper at a time.
Instinctively my arm tightened around Daisy’s waist and she glanced at me again, a wrinkle of worry marring her smooth forehead.
‘Matteo…?’
‘I’m just so fascinated by your knowledge,’ I said with a smile. I
glanced at her companion, my eyebrows raised. ‘Did you know my wife runs her own textile company?’
‘It’s not quite as grand as that…’ Daisy protested, and then they were off again, chatting away, while my stomach tightened with anxiety.
How would Daisy react to everyone knowing she’d been my secret? My tucked away and, as it turned out, not very convenient wife? Would it ruin all my plans?
‘I’m just going to nip to the ladies’,’ Daisy said, and I watched, dread seeping into my stomach like acid, as a woman broke away from a gossipy cluster and headed towards the powder room as well—no doubt to interrogate Daisy or perhaps just skewer her with a few stiletto-sharp innuendoes.
Heaven help us both.
She was gone for fifteen excruciating minutes while I considered my options. Deny how the information had been leaked out? No. I was no coward, and I instinctively abhorred the idea of lying to Daisy. Make light of it, because I didn’t care what any of these vapid, rabid social climbers thought? No, because I knew she would. Accept it and show the world that things were different now? Yes.
Even as part of me thrilled to the idea of making my marriage known in every aspect, another part quelled at the thought of people assuming we’d fallen in love with each other. Thinking I was weak…
Because it was weak to buy into that illusion. To be held hostage to your feelings. I knew that better than anyone, because I had once been such an unfortunate, misinformed prisoner.
Finally Daisy emerged from the ladies’ room. I could tell just by looking at her that she’d heard. Her face was too composed, a touch resigned. Still, it could have been worse.
I started towards her. ‘Daisy…’
‘The cat is out of the bag.’ Her smile was both wry and painful. ‘I heard the gossip in the ladies’. I think they wanted me to hear.’
‘Daisy, I’m sorry…’
‘What do you have to be sorry for, Matteo?’ Up went her chin in a stance I suspected Daisy had adopted for most of her life. ‘It’s the truth.’
The Sicilian's Surprise Love-Child / Claiming My Bride Of Convenience: The Sicilian's Surprise Love-Child / Claiming My Bride of Convenience (Mills & Boon Modern) Page 26
