‘I had to see you.’
He frowned. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘That’s what I’m here to ask you.’ She marched into the room and turned and faced him. ‘Adam Brightman told me you’re leaving.’
He left the door open. She wouldn’t be staying long. She was only here to flay him alive. Might as well get it over with. He deserved it. He scraped a hand through his hair. ‘I think I’ve done enough damage around here without hanging around to witness the fallout.’
She stood looking at him with her shiny bright green eyes, which looked naked without her frames. She’d told him she hadn’t wanted to spoil her sister’s wedding photographs with wearing glasses even though she couldn’t see more than a metre in front of her without them and couldn’t tolerate contacts. It was yet another example of how she always put others before herself. ‘I know you didn’t leak the portrait to the press.’
Lucca’s frowned deepened. ‘You do?’
Her expression was so earnest, so young and fresh. So beautiful...so decent. ‘I know you, Lucca. You might like a laugh and mock anyone who takes life too seriously but you would never deliberately hurt someone you care about.’
‘You think I care about you?’ Somehow his mocking tone had lost its edge.
She kept looking at him in that honest direct way that made his chest feel warm, as if a single ray of sunshine had found its way to the cold hard marble of his heart. ‘You care more about me than you do your trust fund, otherwise you wouldn’t be leaving.’
He gave a careless shrug. ‘I don’t want my family’s money.’ He waited a beat and added, ‘I got an offer on your portrait. Three million pounds. Not bad for an amateur, huh?’
‘You won’t sell it. Anyway, you can’t. I still have it and I’m not giving it back.’
Lucca kept his expression masked. ‘Do you have any idea of who leaked it to the press?’
‘I don’t know...probably one of the housemaids. I usually keep it in my drawer but a couple of days ago I left it on the dressing table while I went with Madeleine to her dress fitting. All it would take is a quick photo with a smartphone and the rest is history.’
‘Is your sister mad?’
‘She was at first, but she’s forgotten all about it now the press are saying she’s the most beautiful bride since Princess Grace of Monaco.’ She gave him a self-effacing smile. ‘A tiny sketch of me in the bath, no matter how brilliantly painted it is, is never going to outshine her.’
‘I’m sorry.’ He scraped his hand through his hair again. ‘God, what a mess I make of things. I only have to look at someone and I hurt them.’
She came over to him and laid a gentle hand on his arm. ‘Lucca, please don’t leave until after the wedding. Stay the full time. Please?’
He removed her hand and put some distance between them, standing with his back to her as he looked at the view from the penthouse window. ‘It’s not about the money.’ He watched as the ferry he was booked to leave on motored its way across the ocean towards the Preitalle dock. ‘No amount of money is ever going to make up for growing up without a mother or for having a father who prefers the company of a bottle rather than his children.’
He turned and looked at her again. ‘Three and a half weeks ago all I could think about was how I was going to get my hands on that trust fund. But now...’ He swallowed as an unexpected lump came up in his throat. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt strangled by emotion. ‘Your trust...the way you came in here and told me you knew I hadn’t betrayed you meant far more to me than any amount of money.’
Her eyes began to shimmer. ‘Do you really mean that?’
He came to her and took both of her hands in his. How he loved the feel of her skin against his, the way her small hands fit so completely in his as if seeking his protection. ‘I’ve never met anyone who’s as beautiful on the inside as she is on the outside.’
Another self-deprecating smile twisted her mouth. ‘Flatterer.’
‘I’m serious, cara.’ He gave her hands a gentle squeeze. ‘You’re the most beautiful person I could ever wish to spend my life with.’
Her eyes rounded. Blinked. He even heard her gulp. ‘Did you say your...life?’
Lucca pulled her closer. ‘I’m asking you to marry me.’
Her mouth fell open. ‘How many vodka chasers have you had?’
He chuckled at her incredulous expression. ‘Am I so rubbish at this that you don’t believe me? I’m trying to tell you I love you.’
‘How can you possibly love me?’
‘How can I possibly not? I think I fell in love with you the first moment I met you.’ He cupped her face in his hands. ‘It’s taken me till now to realise it. You make me a better person. I feel like a better person when I’m with you. Marry me, tesore mio. Be my little princess for now and always.’
She threw her arms around his neck. ‘Oh, Lucca, I can’t believe this is happening. I love you so much. I’ve been distraught at the thought of you leaving but I didn’t want to be one of those awfully clinging women who won’t accept it when a fling is over.’
He looked down at her with a teasing smile. ‘Hey, what is this? Are you calling our relationship a fling?’
Her eyes started to moisten again. ‘Are we really engaged?’
‘Sure are.’
She stalwartly blinked back tears. ‘I’m not supposed to cry. It’ll ruin my make-up and make me look like a panda. Madeleine will be furious if I—’ She suddenly clapped her hands to her cheeks. ‘Oh, my God! I have to get back to the cathedral! I left Adam with the bouquets. The photographer will be having kittens, puppies and ducklings by now.’
Lucca grabbed her hand. ‘Come on. We’ll take my car. It’s waiting downstairs.’
A short while later Lottie burst out of the car, almost before they’d come to a halt. While she rushed inside, Lucca parked the car and, walking towards the church, pulled his phone from his pocket, dialling his brother’s number, hoping that this time the time zones and planets would align and Orsino would answer. He understood his brother’s need to get away by himself where no one could contact him but this special moment was something Lucca wanted to share with him before the rest of the world heard about it. ‘Listen, you’re probably halfway up a mountain, or rescuing puppies or something, but we need to talk. Gene and Giatrakos are playing games with us, but you probably already know that. I have some news. And no it’s not a joke. It’s the real deal. I wanted you to know first. Call me.’
* * *
Lottie floated down the aisle behind the bride and groom a short time later. Lucca and she had agreed on the race back to the church that they wouldn’t steal the limelight by announcing their engagement until the bride and groom had left the reception. The knowledge of his love for her filled her with such happiness she was sure she was going to burst.
He loved her! He loved her! He loved her!
Lottie wanted to skip and jump and do a happy dance instead of walking down the aisle with such sedate pageantry. Her hands shook with excitement, making the bouquet quiver so much some petals fell off. At this rate there would be nothing left but the florist’s wire by the time she got to the back of the church.
Yep. She was definitely going to burst. It would be hours before she could tell anyone. How would she stand it? She would have to tell someone. She would have to! Otherwise she would think she had dreamt it all.
Was Lucca finding it equally difficult? As she got a little closer she saw him standing at the back of the church, leaning against one of the pillars looking distinctly bored. He yawned widely and reached for his phone and started scrolling through his messages.
A worrying thought slipped under the guard of her newfound happiness. What if he’d been joking? What if this was all a set-up? Another one of his puerile little jokes? A game he was
playing?
Did he really love her?
Oh, God, what if he was only pretending so he could get his money?
What if in three days’ time he left the island without her?
But as she walked past, Lucca looked up from his phone and gave her a secret message with his glinting dark eyes that was as loud and clear as if he had bellowed it from the bell tower: I love you.
* * * * *
If you enjoyed this book, look out for the next installment of THE CHATSFIELD: SOCIALITE’S GAMBLE by Michelle Conder.
Coming next month.
Keep reading for an excerpt from RAVELLI’S DEFIANT BRIDE by Lynne Graham.
Step into the gilded world of The Chatsfields!
Where secrets and scandal lurks behind every door…
The Chatsfield—synonymous with style, spectacle…and scandal!
Collect all 8 titles in The Chatsfields series. Available in ebook format.
Sheikh’s Scandal by Lucy Monroe (May 2014)
Playboy’s Lesson by Melanie Milburne (June 2014)
Socialite’s Gamble by Michelle Conder (July 2014)
Billionaire’s Secret by Chantelle Shaw (August 2014)
Tycoon’s Temptation by Trish Morey (September 2014)
Rival’s Challenge by Abby Green (October 2014)
Rebel’s Bargain by Annie West (November 2014)
Heiress’s Defiance by Lynn Raye Harris (December 2014)
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Ten years ago one devastating night changed everything for Austin, Hunter and Alex. Now they must each play their part in the revenge against the one man who ruined it all.
Austin Treffen has the plan… Hunter has the money… Alex has the power!
Read each of their stories in the captivating Fifth Avenue trilogy,
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Avenge Me by Maisey Yates (June 2014)
Scandalize Me by Caitlin Crews (July 2014)
Expose Me by Kate Hewitt (August 2014)
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CHAPTER ONE
CRISTO RAVELLI SURVEYED the family lawyer in disbelief. ‘Is this an April fool joke falling out of season?’ he enquired with a frown.
Robert Ludlow, senior partner of Ludlow and Ludlow, did not react with amusement. Cristo, a leading investment banker specialising in venture capital, and richer than Croesus, was not a man to be teased. Indeed, if he had a sense of humour Robert had yet to see it. Cristo, unlike his late and most probably unlamented father, Gaetano Ravelli, took life very seriously.
‘I’m afraid it’s not a joke,’ Robert confirmed. ‘Your father had five children with a woman in Ireland—’
Cristo was stunned by the concept. ‘You mean, all those years he went on his fishing trips to his Irish estate—?’
‘I’m afraid so. I believe the eldest child is fifteen years old—’
‘Fifteen? But that means...’ Cristo compressed his wide sensual mouth, dark eyes flaring with anger, before he could make an indiscreet comment unsuited to the ears of anyone but his brothers. He wondered why he was even surprised by yet another revelation of his father’s notorious womanising. After all, throughout his irresponsible life Gaetano had left a trail of distraught and angry ex-wives and three legitimate sons in his wake, so why shouldn’t there have been a less regular relationship also embellished with children?
Cristo, of course, could not answer that question because he would never ever have risked having an illegitimate child and was shaken that his father could have done so five times over. Particularly when he had never bothered to take the slightest interest in the sons he already had. Cristo’s adult brothers, Nik and Zarif, would be equally astonished and appalled, but Cristo knew that the problem would fall heaviest on his own shoulders. Nik’s marriage breakdown had hit him hard and his own part in that debacle still gave Cristo sleepless nights. As for their youngest sibling, as the new ruler of a country in the Middle East Zarif scarcely deserved the huge public scandal that Gaetano’s immoral doings could unleash if the easily shocked media there got hold of the story.
‘Fifteen years old,’ Cristo mused, reflecting that Zarif’s mother had evidently been betrayed throughout her entire marriage to his father without even being aware of the fact. That was not a reality that Zarif would want put out on public parade. ‘I apologise for my reaction, Robert. This development comes as a considerable shock. The mother of the children—what do you know about her?’
Robert raised a greying brow. ‘I contacted Daniel Petrie, the land agent of the Irish estate, and made enquiries. He said that as far as the village is concerned the woman, Mary Brophy, has long been seen as something of a disgrace and an embarrassment,’ he framed almost apologetically.
‘But if she was the local whore she would’ve been right down Gaetano’s street,’ Cristo breathed before he could bite back that injudicious opinion, his lean, darkly handsome face grim, but it was no secret to Gaetano’s family that he had infinitely preferred bold and promiscuous women to clean-living ones. ‘What provision did my father make for this horde of children?’
‘That’s why I decided to finally bring this matter to your attention.’ Robert cleared his throat awkwardly. ‘As you will be aware, Gaetano made no mention of either the woman or the children in his will.’
‘Are you telling me that my father made no provision for these dependants?’ Cristo prompted incredulously. ‘He had five children with this...this woman over the course of many years and yet he settled no money on them?’
‘Not so much as a penny piece on any of them...ever,’ Robert confirmed uncomfortably. ‘I thought he might have made some private arrangement to take care of them but apparently not as I have received an enquiry concerning school fees from the woman. As you know, your father always thought in terms of the present, not the future, and I imagine he assumed that he would be alive well into his eighties.’
‘Instead of which he died at sixty-two years old, as foolish as ever, and tipped this mess into my lap,’ Cristo ground out, losing all patience the more he learned of the situation. ‘I’ll have to look into this matter personally. I don’t want the newspapers getting hold of the story—’
‘Naturally not,’ Robert agreed. ‘It’s a given that the media enjoy telling tales about men with multiple wives and mistresses.’
Well aware of that fact, Cristo clenched his even white teeth, dark eyes flaming pure gold with rage at the prospect. His father had been enough of an embarrassment while alive. He was infuriated by the idea that Gaetano might prove even more of an embarrassment after his death.
‘It will be my hope that the children can be put up for adoption and this whole distasteful business quietly buried,’ Cristo confided smooth as glass.
For some reason, he noted that Robert looked a little disconcerted by that idea and then the older man swiftly composed his face into blandness. ‘You think the mother will agree to that?’
‘If she’s the usual type of woman my father favoured, she’ll be glad to do as I ask for the right...compensation.’ Cri
sto selected the word with suggestive cool.
Robert understood his meaning and tried and failed to imagine a scenario in which for the right price a woman would be willing to surrender her children for adoption. He had no doubt that Cristo had cause to know exactly what he was talking about and he was suddenly grateful not to be living a life that had made him that cynical about human nature and greed. But then, having handled Gaetano’s financial dealings for years, he knew that Cristo came from a dysfunctional background and would be challenged to recognise the depth of love and loyalty that many adults cherished for their offspring.
Cristo, already stressed from his recent business trip to Switzerland, squared his broad shoulders and lifted his phone to tell his PA, Emily, to book him on a flight to Dublin. He would get this repugnant business sorted out straight away and then get straight back to work.
* * *
‘I hate them!’ Belle vented in a helpless outburst, her lovely face full of angry passion. ‘I hate every Ravelli alive!’
‘Then you would also have to hate your own brothers and sisters,’ her grandmother reminded her wryly. ‘And you know that’s not how you feel—’
With difficulty, Belle mastered her hot temper and studied her grandmother apologetically. Isa was a small supple woman with iron-grey hair and level green eyes the same shade as Belle’s. ‘That wretched lawyer hasn’t even replied to Mum’s letter about the school fees yet. I hate the whole lot of them for making us beg for what should be the children’s by right!’
‘It’s unpleasant,’ Isa Kelly conceded ruefully. ‘But what we have to remember is that the person responsible for this whole horrible situation is Gaetano Ravelli—’
‘I’m never going to forget that!’ her granddaughter swore vehemently, leaping upright in frustration to pace over to the window that overlooked the tiny back garden.
Playboy's Lesson Page 15
