“It is in Eric’s office.”
“Oh.”
Alex held his hands out for Sophie and she put hers in them.
“Can I come? Can I come?” John bounded behind them, and Ian followed him silently.
Alex shook his head. “Not this time, little one.”
“I’m not little,” he retorted fiercely, and Alex laughed.
“No, of course not. You’re growing inches by the day.” He shepherded Sophie into the study and closed the door on the two anxious little faces beyond.
“That was a tad cruel.”
“Was it?”
“You know it was.”
He grinned. “I am a selfish man. I wanted my wife to myself for this.”
“What is it?” Her blood had begun to pound in her veins, as it always did when Alex and she were alone together. She wondered, distractedly, if that would ever change. If one day, she might even begin to take his gloriousness for granted.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small jewellery box. She recognised it. “My ring?”
He shook his head. “Try again.”
Sophie took the box curiously and flipped the lid. Inside was the most perfect ring she’d ever seen. Dainty and elegant, a single circlet of yellow and white diamonds formed one band. It was sunny and it was pretty without being outrageously ostentatious.
“It suits you far better.”
She nodded, tears in her eyes. “I’ll say.” He slipped it onto her finger and admired the effect.
“I beg you, Sophie, to be my wife. For the rest of our lives. Please know that I love you and will do anything you ever ask of me. Except leave you,” he tacked on with a self-mocking smile. “Do not ask it of me, for I can’t do it.”
She laughed shakily. “Not much chance of that.” She stared at the ring, her smile beaming. “Oh, Alex. It’s so perfect. I truly love it.” Her enormous blue eyes lifted to his face. “But … what about my old ring? It’s too gorgeous not to wear.”
“Ah. I thought of that.” He reached onto Eric’s desk and lifted another velvet box. It was the same colour, but a slightly different size. Alex flipped the top and extended it to Sophie.
The solitaire was there, but it had been reset, and a chain attached, so that it formed a stunning pendant. “For special occasions,” he said thickly.
“Perfect,” she whispered once more.
“It is you who is perfect, Mrs Petrides. I just have to find a way to deserve you.”
“Well,” she pretended to consider that. “You do have a lifetime.”
“And I intend to enjoy it.”
He kissed her then with all the tenderness and love that he felt for her. Life was so much better than he’d ever hoped it could be, and it was all because he had this beautiful woman to share it with.
Epilogue
“I can’t eat another thing!” Sophie groaned, pushing aside the bowl of pudding.
“But you haven’t finished your third serve of pudding,” Helena remarked with mock surprise.
“Don’t laugh. I’m known for my ability to eat almost an entire one on my own. I live for pudding.”
“If you love it so much, why not make it all year ‘round, Soph?” Eric asked with a confused expression.
Sophie lifted her hands and clutched them to her chest in a gesture of mock pain. “You can’t be serious. There’s something very wrong with that idea. Pudding is wonderful, but it’s just for Christmas time.”
“And so you eat a whole year’s worth in one sitting, just to avoid being preposterous?” Helena chimed in, her smile natural and beautiful on her elegant face.
“Yep. That’s pretty much it.”
Alex appeared in the door frame, a strange look on his face. “Agape mou, your sister is on the phone.”
“She is? Which sister? Which phone?”
“Ava. In the kitchen.”
Sophie smiled apologetically at Helena and Eric and moved swiftly through the townhouse.
“Hey! Merry Christmas!” She called down the phone line, and then froze when silence greeted her.
“Ava? What is it? Is it Milly? Cristiano?” There was silence as Ava mentally tallied all of the information she had kept from her sisters. Not intentionally. But she’d been so wrapped up in her own mess of a life that she hadn’t known what to say. Only Olivia’s email had forced her to make contact.
“No, no. It’s Liv.”
“Liv?”
Sophie felt a prickle of tension in her spine. She eased herself down at the table and took a deep breath. “What about Liv?”
“Didn’t you see the email?”
“No. I haven’t checked my phone all day. I’m sorry. What is it? What did she say?” Relief was an overpowering emotion when she realised that at least Olivia was alive, to be sending emails.
“You and she are as bad as each other,” Ava grumbled angrily. “First you and Alessandro, and now Olivia.”
“What about Olivia?”
“She says she’s getting married to some guy. God, read the email.”
Sophie shook her head. “I don’t know how to while I’m talking to you. What did it say?”
Ava began to read, her voice shaking from shock. “I know I’ve been terrible with emails lately. I’m sorry, but when you read this, you’re going to understand. I’ve met someone. Someone special. Oh boy, I hope you’re both sitting down. Because I’ve just agreed to marry him. And that’s not even the shocking part… ”
Sophie dipped her head forward. “That’s all she said?”
“Yes.”
“But who? She never said anything? What? When? I just … I don’t understand.”
“No. That makes two of us.”
“Alex will be able to help.”
“He can try, but Olivia’s disappeared into thin air. The agency she worked for have no clue. Her home phone’s not ringing. Her mobile’s making a weird blee-blee-bloop noise whenever I call it.”
“No, she wouldn’t do that to us. She’ll be in touch. Soon, too. This is Liv! She’s the glue! Come on, Ava. She’ll be okay.”
“She’s too bloody trusting is what she is. Any guy with a smile and a nice car and she’s sold.”
“She’s not that bad.”
“Yes she is. I’m not saying it to be prickly, but because it’s the truth.”
Sophie pressed her lips together. “I’ll see what Alex can find out.”
“Keep me posted.”
“Sure.”
“Ava?”
“Yeah?”
“Did Milly get the presents I sent?”
There was silence for a slight moment too long. It struck Sophie as odd. But then again, Ava was in a strange mood. Her worry about Olivia was obvious.
“Yeah, she loved them. She’s resting now or I’d put her on to say thanks.”
“I’ll catch her tomorrow.”
“Sure.”
“Try not to worry, Aves. Liv’s got a good head on her shoulders. She’ll be okay.”
Ava disconnected the call without responding, and Sophie silently echoed her sister’s desperation. For while Olivia was sensible and intelligent, she was also wild and impetuous, and it was very, very possible that she’d bitten off far more than she could chew.
Only time, of course, would tell.
THE END
Seduced by the Italian Tycoon
Copyright
All the characters in this book are fictitious and have no existence outside the author’s imagination. They have no relation to anyone bearing the same name or names and are pure invention.
All rights reserved. The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reprinted by any means without permission of the Author.
The illustration on the cover of this book features model/s and bears no relation to the characters described within.
First published 2015
(c) Clare Connelly
Photo Credit: dollarphotoclub.com/Masson
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Prologue
The bill was bright red and rather imperious in nature. Worse, it was accusing. See! You thought you could do this, it screamed, alongside the overdue amount in the corner. You actually thought you’d be able to live in London, and raise a child, and make ends meet. But you were wrong. You failed.
Emily folded it over, then over again, and slipped it into the side of her handbag. Visions of the weekend in Brighton she’d been planning to surprise Andrew with for his eighth birthday evaporated. Their vapour fumes were added to the collection of ‘could have been’ memories that lived in a small, rarely dwelled-on corner of her brain.
The life she could have been living was not worth focussing on.
It served no purpose to indulge in melancholy.
She pressed her black shoes together, noticing the slight scuffing on the toe of one of her ballet slippers. She pulled a tissue from her bag, hastily moving her fingers past the folded up bill, and reached forward to wipe at the scuff.
Some of the other housekeepers allowed themselves to wear uniforms that weren’t ironed, or stockings with small holes (heaven forbid!) but not Emily. Her grandfather had been a man of his generation. Every Saturday morning, all the shoes in the house had been lined up for him to polish and shine. Her grandmother Milly had spent that same time ironing and starching clothes. Clean shoes, neat hair, short nails. The list of requirements had been drummed into Emily so many times they were now as much a part of her as her mane of auburn hair or the sprinkling of freckles that ran mischievously across her pale nose.
The scuff was stubborn. Emily frowned, wondering why she hadn’t noticed it when she’d been getting ready. That question brought her attention sharply back to the bill.
She’d been sliding her feet into the shoes when the mail had arrived with a thwomp through the slot in the door. A motley assortment of envelopes, the red had been visible through the window of this one. She’d been opening it as she’d put her shoes on, and all thoughts of scuffs or neatness had been swallowed by sheer panic.
She rubbed a little harder and finally erased the mark. At her moment of triumph, the bus hit a pothole and bumped with gusto, causing Emily to bang her head against the yellow handle of the seat in front of her. She winced and straightened.
“Y’all right, love?” The woman sitting beside enquired kindly.
Emily’s cheeks flushed pink. “Fine, thank you.”
She turned her attention to the scene outside her window. It was the second summer she’d spent in London. And though she hadn’t been there long, she considered herself expert enough with the British seasons to say that she loved summer the most. At five o’clock in winter, the streets would be dark and frigid. In summer, they were bursting with colour and warmth. A happy tribe of Londoners shifted down each side of the street, and on the corner, a big group spilled out of a pub. The after-work brigade, she thought with a small smile.
The corporate world.
Dressed in suits, and the kind of dresses that looked like they’d been purchased this season from Hobbs, they were shiny and smart; effortlessly elegant. Emily refused to feel wistful. Even before the accident, she’d never harboured any desire to join that world.
Evening shifts at the prestigious hotel were rare for Emily. She usually limited herself to the times Andrew would be at school. But his surprising talent with the guitar had seen him become adopted by the school band. Their annual camp this weekend provided the two siblings with an opportunity – Andrew, to spread his wings and enjoy the companionship of other musical souls. And for Emily, it was a chance to work. Solidly. Almost around the clock.
The twelve-hour stretch she had lined up didn’t depress her. Rather, it excited her. Particularly given the pressing financial situation she found herself in. There was no way she’d ask her grandparents for help again. Of course they’d do it without a second thought. They’d give her their last penny if she asked it of them. Heck, even if she didn’t. But Milly and Jacob had sacrificed enough in their lives.
No. Emily was on her own, and she would find a way to make it work.
The bus pulled to a stop just across from the hotel and Emily saw the huddle of paparazzi instantly. It wasn’t an unusual occurrence for The Hanover – one of London’s premiere hotels – to have a crush of photographers at its entrance. It was a top choice for visiting film stars, musicians, princes, sporting personalities, and any of these would make excellent fodder for newspaper stories. Still, the size of the group was unusual. It seemed to indicate a particularly special guest was inside.
She stepped off the bus with a small wave of thanks aimed at the driver, then ducked her head low. The paparazzi wouldn’t bother her. Emily, like all the other staff at The Hanover, would use the side entrance. She brushed past the back of the group, smiling to herself as she went. Who was she kidding? She could have walked straight in the front door, stark naked, and they wouldn’t have clicked their cameras for her.
Nobody ever noticed Emily Parker, and that suited her just fine.
Chapter 1
Though London was not, by a long stretch, his favourite place, Sabato had to concede that his view of it was exquisite. The evening breezed balmily across the ancient city, streaking the sky with apricot and peach hues. Oxford Street ran like a bus-speckled vein through the middle of his eye line. Thousands of commuters were making their way home. An aeroplane streaked overhead, leaving two grey plumes of cloud in its wake – a highway in the middle of the golden twilight.
Behind him, in the rooftop bar that was at the crown of his five star hotel, the party was in full swing. It had been for over an hour, and in that time, many of the guests had imbibed freely. The champagne was excellent, the canapés tiny yet delicious, and the refined strains of classical music filtered out to him.
As the host, he knew he should be making himself more visible, but he needed a moment. Parties such as this had always been a necessary evil. Initially, when he’d been building his company up from scratch, he’d needed to impress and dazzle. Making people trust him had required this sort of venture in those early days. He’d wanted their money – a lot of their money – and indulging them with the best food, wine and entertainment had helped him to achieve that.
He no longer needed anyone or anything.
The realisation brought a grim smile to his face. He was richer than Croesus, but what did that matter? He was richer than his father and, if he was honest with himself, that had been his only goal. His only marker for success. He’d achieved it years earlier, but by then, he’d been addicted to the power and success of… well, winning. Of calling the shots and having people jump up and down to accede to his wishes.
Yes, power was a seductive mistress.
He turned away from the view of London and pressed his frame against the balustrade, so that he could focus his attention inside. The party was a foaming tangle of elegant guests, loud and fevered, and it would continue to be so until well after midnight. A handful of the invitees he knew, others were important politicians or corporate types. Several were celebrities. The fluff that just loved going to well-catered parties and drinking their bodyweight in the world’s best champagne. There must have been some big hitters in attendance, going by the mob of photographers assembled downstairs.
His eyes landed on a particularly beautiful woman. Tall and blonde, barely dressed in a scrap of black fabric draped artfully across her chest and to just beneath her rear. Her heels were black leather, very high. He recognised her from somewhere. A movie perhaps, or a magazine cover. He allowed himself to study her in detail. Her skin was a honey caramel; a deep tan covered her all over. Her eyes were enormous a
nd so blue he presumed she was wearing contact lenses. Her hair was cropped short and fashionably around her stunning face.
A small flicker of interest sparked in his gut. He didn’t really have the time for a romantic liaison on this trip. He was in London to finalise the details of his newest acquisition – a string of rundown apartments in the docklands. He’d demolish them, and build a behemoth of steel and glass. A tribute to the area’s industrial past, with a lot of modern glamour for a discerning buyer.
While the negotiations were proving trickier than he’d anticipated, he wasn’t sure he could flatly rule out the possibility of a fling. Especially given the temptations on offer.
He was, after all, a perfectly red-blooded Italian.
He straightened his back and squared his shoulders.
Despite the fact it had been made for him, the suit he wore felt wrong. It felt constrictive and disingenuous.
He moved inside and was immediately greeted by a member of hotel staff. “Champagne, sir?”
He barely looked at the young man. “A Macallan.”
“A … I’m sorry sir, I don’t know if we …”
Sabato compressed his lips and flicked his dark eyes to the waiter. “It’s in my private selection.”
“Of course, sir.” His whole face glowed as red as a cherry under the Italian’s obvious impatience. “I’ll s-s-see to it.”
“Excellent.”
Sabato moved through the crowd, pausing as necessary to talk to those he recognised. The blonde was in his peripheral vision, but he wasn’t prepared to make a selection so early. The night was young, and there were many beautiful women in the room.
* * *
“But… I’m not a waitress,” Emily pointed out logically. She stared down at the roster as though a name was going to magically leap out at her. A solution to her manager and friend’s problem.
Ewan shook his head. “I know, Emme. I don’t need you to do much more than keep your eyes peeled. If someone has an empty glass, take it away. Ask if they want anything else; that kind of thing.”
Billionaire Brides: An Anthology Page 33
