This was exactly what I wanted. It had to be.
CHAPTER TWELVE
‘WELCOME TO ST CRISTIANO!’
I smiled as Matteo and I headed through the front archway of his newest luxury resort. A young woman, wearing the hotel staff uniform of white polo shirt and tan skirt, had stepped forward to hand me a bouquet of lilies and orchids in vivid pinks and purples.
‘Thank you, they’re beautiful,’ I said, giving her a warm smile.
She smiled back and I glanced at Matteo, who was looking around the hotel in narrow-eyed assessment. It had been five days since we’d been at the gala in Paris—since we’d made our marriage oh-so-real. And it had continued to be very much real as we’d toured Paris, had dinner in several Michelin-starred restaurants, met his business associates and spent more time than I ever had before in bed, learning and loving each other’s bodies. In addition, Matteo had showered me with more jewels and clothes than I knew what to do with.
I was overwhelmed by the elegance, indulgence, and the sheer decadent luxury of everything Matteo gave me so freely, seeming to take pleasure in my pleasure. He gave me everything—everything but himself. And I was trying to be happy with that. I was trying to let it be enough, for now, because I still had so much hope that things would change. The very fact that he was holding back meant there was something to hold back—a depth of emotion he wasn’t yet ready to reveal. And I could wait; it had only been a few weeks, after all.
‘This is amazing,’ I murmured as the staff led us through an enormous lobby filled with tropical flowers and tinkling fountains. Latticed shutters were thrown open to the hotel’s inner courtyard, with a set of five cascading pools.
‘It should be,’ Matteo returned. ‘It’s one of my most luxurious hotels. Everything must be top drawer.’
He snapped his fingers and a bellboy came hurrying over.
‘Sir?’
‘Please take our luggage to the Amaryllis Bungalow.’
‘Very good, sir.’
‘We’re not staying in the presidential suite this time?’ I teased.
Matteo smiled and shook his head. ‘Even better.’
We walked through the lobby and then outside, along a strip of soft, white sand beach, to a bungalow in its own verdant garden.
‘These are better than suites,’ Matteo announced as he ushered me into the bungalow’s sumptuous living area, its French windows open to the beach, the sea only a few metres away. ‘Complete privacy,’ he added as he pulled me towards him.
The luggage had already been delivered, and the bellboy had withdrawn with discreet haste. I tilted my head up for Matteo’s kiss, revelling in the way he made me feel. It was as if I came alive in his arms. I didn’t think I would ever grow tired of it.
‘Let me give you the full tour,’ Matteo murmured as he steered me towards the back of the bungalow. ‘Starting with the bedroom.’
Within minutes he’d stripped me of the cotton sundress I’d worn for travel, and shucked off his linen business suit in a few quick movements. Naked, we tangled on the sheets, the shooshing sound of the sea the perfect background symphony to our lovemaking.
And it was lovemaking—at least for me. I still believed Matteo felt something too—something more than he was willing to admit. That first night when he’d left our bed so quickly it had been hard not to feel scorned and wounded. But I hadn’t; I’d made myself accept his terms, because that was so clearly what they were.
This and no more.
But to that I added my own silent caveat—for now.
‘How about some fruit punch?’ Matteo asked lazily as he strolled from the bed towards the kitchen.
I watched him go, amazed at his self-confidence, his perfect physique, all lean, sinewy muscle, power and grace.
He returned with a platter of tropical fruit, a pitcher of punch and a couple of glasses.
‘You’re spoiling me,’ I said, which had been my refrain for the last few days.
‘I like spoiling you.’ Matteo poured us both drinks and handed me one. ‘And you deserve to be spoiled. You haven’t had enough spoiling in your life, as far as I’m concerned.’
I smiled and took a sip, nearly spluttering in surprise.
‘Rum,’ Matteo answered my silent question. ‘It packs quite a kick.’
I laughed and took another sip. ‘It certainly does.’
I wished we could spend the afternoon lazing in bed or by our private pool, but after a short while Matteo rose from the bed to dress, as I’d known he would.
‘Duty calls,’ he said with a grimace, and it heartened me that he would clearly rather stay with me than go to work.
That meant something, surely? Or was I being naïvely hopeful, even absurdly delusional, as I’d once been before? In unguarded moments, that was the fear that crept in and crouched in the corners of my heart. That Matteo wasn’t going to change. That he couldn’t.
‘Take advantage of everything,’ he said as he pulled on a freshly starched shirt. ‘The pool, the beach… Tomas is our personal butler. All you have to do is press the intercom in the living area and he’ll be here in a few minutes, if not sooner, to see to your every need.’
‘I thought that was your job,’ I dared to tease, and Matteo flashed a wicked smile.
‘Indeed,’ he said, dropping a lingering kiss on my lips. ‘But he’ll fetch your drinks.’ He reached for his tie. ‘We’ll dine in the hotel’s restaurant tonight, and the opening ball is tomorrow night—don’t forget.’
‘How could I?’ Even though I’d been to a handful of such events over the last few days, they still made me nervous. I still felt like a country bumpkin inside. But Matteo had assured me that was no bad thing.
‘People take to you,’ he’d said. ‘Your natural warmth, your down-to-earth personality…it’s refreshing, glykia mou. Don’t ever change.’
I reminded myself of that as I unpacked my clothes—far too many for only a weekend in the Caribbean, but Matteo was insistent that I should be completely kitted out. I had several evening gowns to choose from, both for this evening and tomorrow night, and with a smile I wondered which one I should surprise Matteo with tonight. Already my mind jumped ahead to the end of the evening, when he would peel it off me…
Banishing such thoughts for now, I checked in with Maria, to make sure Amanos Textiles was surviving without me, which it was, before heading to the pool to sunbathe and read the latest bestseller I’d picked up at the airport.
In the late afternoon, as the sun started to sink towards the aquamarine horizon, I decided to start getting ready for dinner.
The bungalow’s bathroom was almost as large as its bedroom, with a huge marble tub and a double glass-walled shower. As I stood beneath the spray I marvelled yet again at my luxurious surroundings, as well as at the fact that I was with Matteo at all—married to him. Never mind my middle-of-the-night doubts; this was happiness, and my heart was full of it.
I started to sing—something I hadn’t done in years, since Chris Dawson had told me the truth about my voice.
I’d always loved singing as a child; my grandmother had taught me hymns and folk songs, and I’d whiled away the many hours of scrubbing and cleaning with songs. I’d sung at church, as well, and had always been told my voice was lovely—a gift from God. Which was what had led to my disastrous attempt to make it as a singer in the big city.
Since Chris Dawson’s crushing set-down, I hadn’t sung at all, barely hummed under my breath. It was as if he’d killed something inside me. But today, when I was filled with joy, it came to life again.
‘Daisy!’
Matteo’s shocked voice had me whirling around in the shower and nearly slipping on the slick tiles.
‘I didn’t see you there.’ I turned off the shower and reached for a robe, embarrassed that he’d caught me belting out a hymn. ‘Sorry, I mu
st have sounded like a frog.’
‘Far from it.’
He was eyeing me oddly as I belted my robe and twisted a towel around my wet hair.
‘You have a beautiful singing voice, Daisy.’
‘Oh, please.’ I made a face. ‘Don’t worry, Matteo, I was disabused of that notion a long time ago—as I believe I told you. I’m not entertaining dreams of being a famous singer any more, trust me. You don’t have to humour me.’
He folded his arms. ‘I’m not humouring you. You have a beautiful voice. Husky and sensual.’
I blushed and then shook my head, still refusing to believe his flattery. ‘Really, you don’t…’
‘Daisy, when have I humoured anybody? I’m telling you the truth.’ He frowned, his forehead scoring briefly with worry lines. ‘Why don’t you believe me?’
I hesitated, unwilling to delve into my rather desperate and sordid past. ‘Someone told me the truth once,’ I finally said. ‘That’s all.’
‘And who was that?’
‘One of New York’s premier casting agents, so…’ I walked past him into the bedroom, pulling the towel from my hair. ‘I think he probably knows a bit more than you do about what a good voice sounds like.’
‘A casting agent?’ Matteo propped one shoulder against the door frame as he watched me riffle through my clothes. ‘How did you end up singing in front of him?’
I shrugged, my eyes on the hangers in front of me. ‘Lucky, I suppose.’ Or not.
‘Why, glykia mou, do I feel as if you’re not telling me something?’
In two swift strides Matteo had crossed the room to me, stilling my pointless riffling of the clothes I couldn’t think of wearing in this moment.
I glanced up at him warily. ‘Why do you care so much, Matteo? It’s old history.’
‘It concerns you, and therefore it concerns me.’
It was an admission that should have thrilled me, but I was too reluctant to share this humiliating piece of my history to savour it. ‘It’s not important.’
‘I think it is.’
‘I’m sure you have things you’d rather not share,’ I shot back, even though I suspected it was unwise. ‘Do we have to tell each other everything?’
Matteo glowered at me. ‘We are husband and wife, Daisy—’
‘This is still just a trial.’
As soon as I said the words I wished I hadn’t. Why on earth was I picking a fight? I didn’t want to remind Matteo of the stupid trial; I didn’t want to be angry with him or him with me. But neither did I want to tell him how naïve and stupid I was—how used.
Matteo’s brows snapped together and his eyes blazed. Too late. He was angry.
‘Is that how you still see it, Daisy?’ he asked, his voice a low growl. ‘Truly?’ He gestured to my middle. ‘Do you realise we might have already created a baby together? I did not use protection that first time. Have you thought of that?’
Yes, I had—although I’d been too shy and nervous to mention it to him. Part of me half hoped I was pregnant. I knew it was probably unlikely but, dreamy fool that I was, I insisted on painting rainbows in a stormy sky.
‘It has crossed my mind,’ I admitted.
Matteo shook his head. ‘Yet still you talk about a trial?’ he demanded.
‘I’m sorry,’ I whispered. ‘I didn’t mean it. But why can’t you just drop it, Matteo?’ To my mortification, tears came to my eyes. ‘It doesn’t matter any more.’
‘Clearly it still grieves you, and therefore it does matter.’ Gently he wiped a tear that had trickled onto my cheek. ‘Why can’t you tell me, Daisy?’
‘I…I don’t know. It’s embarrassing, I suppose, and it makes me feel about two feet tall.’
I sighed and pulled my robe more tightly around me as I succumbed to the inevitable. Embraced it. How could I expect Matteo to be more vulnerable, more open, if I wasn’t willing to be so myself?
‘I’ll tell you, Matteo, if you really want to know.’
The sight of Daisy’s tear-filled eyes, her slumped shoulders, filled me with something close to fury. Whatever memory she was holding close it was an incredibly painful one, and I hated that. I hated that far more than I should.
‘I do want to know,’ I said, taking her by the hand. ‘But, more than that, I want you to want to tell me.’
‘There’s nothing you can do about it—’
‘We shall see about that.’
Whoever had hurt my wife would pay. In some way, he’d pay.
‘Come and sit down,’ I urged, and with a surrendering sort of nod Daisy allowed me to lead her to one of the sofas in the living room. The sun was setting and the whole world was bathed in vivid orange and pink; the light gilded her with gold as she curled up in a corner of the sofa.
‘I don’t know where to begin,’ she said, with a shaky, uncertain laugh.
‘Begin at the beginning,’ I told her as I tucked a damp tendril of hair behind her ear, because I felt the need to reassure her with my touch. ‘Or wherever you feel you want to.’
‘The beginning, I suppose, is back in Briar Valley.’ She sighed and wrapped her arms around her knees. ‘I always loved singing as a child, and Briar Valley is such a small place… I suppose I must have some talent, right?’
I opened my mouth to insist she had a great deal of talent, but she forestalled me with a shake of her head.
‘Anyway, that’s not the point. The point is, after my grandmother died I was at a loose end, to put it mildly. There was no money, and I didn’t have many friends—most people my age had left Briar Valley long before I did. So I decided to hitch my wagon to the proverbial star and head to the city in search of fame and fortune.’
She had told me as much before, but there was a darker undercurrent to her words now.
‘You wouldn’t be the first person to do so, Daisy,’ I said in a low voice.
I imagined her alone in the city, trying to make her way, innocent and optimistic, and my hackles rose in defence. Who had snuffed out her dreams—perhaps even worse?
‘No, and I don’t suppose I’ll be the last. Anyway, I went to New York full of dreams and determination, and I believed that would be enough. Turns out you need talent too.’
‘You do have talent,’ I insisted.
Her voice in the shower had been amazing—husky and sensual and full of emotion. It angered me that she couldn’t see it, that someone had kept her from believing in herself.
‘Well, anyway…’ Daisy resumed with a sad attempt at a smile. ‘A casting agent saw me at an open audition and invited me for a private interview. I thought I was so lucky.’
Everything in me tensed as I sat up straight, staring at her fiercely. ‘What are you saying, Daisy?’
Her lips trembled and she looked away. ‘I’m sure you can guess.’
I could—and I very much didn’t want to. My fists clenched instinctively and my heart raced. ‘Did he…? Did he…?’
‘He didn’t get that far,’ she assured me shakily. ‘But far enough. Farther than I’d ever… I’d never even been kissed before that. And I wasn’t again after…until you.’
That kiss in the ballroom, when I’d been so ruthlessly trying to prove a point. Shame boiled through me; no wonder she had pushed me away.
‘So what happened?’ I asked in a low voice. ‘What…what did he do to you?’
‘As soon as I got into the room he…he made it clear.’ She shook her head, the memory clearly painful. ‘He said if I was nice to him he would be nice to me. Even then I wasn’t sure what he meant! I was so naïve.’
‘Innocent,’ I ground out. ‘You were innocent.’
‘When I looked clueless he made it abundantly clear. He grabbed me and wrestled me onto the sofa…’ She dabbed at her eyes. ‘Well, you can imagine the rest. I got away before he…before he took things too
far. But they went farther than I wanted.’ She let out a shuddering breath. ‘I was so stupid, Matteo. I told another waitress what had happened and she laughed at me, asked if I’d never heard of the casting couch. I really had no idea, but I should have—’
‘There’s no “should” in a situation like that, Daisy.’ I cut her off with swift finality. ‘The only “should” is that monster of a man should never have touched you.’
And when I found out who he was I’d make him regret it. Dearly.
‘Still…’ Daisy’s smile wobbled and then slid off her face. ‘I felt so guilty afterwards. I still do—which is part of why I didn’t want to tell you.’
‘Guilty?’ I was horrified, and I had to take her in my arms. She snuggled against me, her cheek pressed to my chest. ‘Why should you feel guilty?’
‘Because I should have known. Because I should have made it clear why I was there. Because there were a few seconds when I didn’t push him away. I was too shocked, I didn’t know what to do, but because of that he might have got the wrong idea—’
‘No. No, Daisy.’ Gently I stroked her hair. ‘This wasn’t your fault and you shouldn’t feel guilty—ever—about what happened. I know those are just words, and they can’t necessarily change the way you feel or think, but they’re true and necessary and I’ll keep saying them until you believe them.’
Daisy let out a shuddering breath. ‘Thank you, Matteo.’
As I sat and stroked her hair a realisation crept up on me—unfortunate, unwelcome and impossible to ignore. I wasn’t much better than the creep who’d thrown her onto the casting couch. I’d manipulated her through our physical relationship, at least at the start and maybe even after. I’d insisted she share my bed, even if I didn’t touch her while she was in it. Considering what Daisy had just told me, all those things that I had so easily justified to myself took on a sordid taint.
‘Daisy,’ I said in a low voice, ‘if anything I’ve ever done…if you’ve ever felt…’ I could barely say the words; they were bottled up in my throat.
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 28
