Billionaire Brides: An Anthology

by Connelly, Clare

  “You know,” Emily murmured, eyeing off the enormous diamond ring between them. “For a man who seduced me within hours of meeting me, this was an incredibly formal conversation.”

  He shrugged nonchalantly. “I’m just lulling you into a false sense of security.” He lifted the ring from the box and slipped it on to her finger. “The first time I met you, I told you that I always got what I wanted. I am a determined man, and I have determined that we will marry.”

  She thought back to that first night, when he’d met her outside the service entry to his hotel. “And so we will,” she murmured, repeating his own words at that time with an enormous smile on his face.

  His relief was large enough to fill the apartment. His voice rang with triumph and he was already standing. “If it’s okay with you, Emily, I would like to make love to my fiancé now.”

  She nodded wordlessly, her heart soaring with love for the man she knew she would spend the rest of her life with.

  Epilogue

  “It’s cricket, not baseball,” Andrew laughed, running towards Sabato and improving his grip on the bat. A smile spread across Emily’s face as her husband caught her eye and winked.

  “And so I hit the ball like this?” He queried, doing an excellent imitation of striking a tennis ball.

  Andrew’s peels of laughter travelled to Emily, where she sat, heavily pregnant, beneath the shade of the enormous mulberry tree. The baby in her stomach kicked happily, and Emily ran a hand over her flesh, silently communicating with the little bundle of arms and legs.

  “Gee, Em, I reckon you’d have a better chance than Sab.”

  Emily pulled a face and shook her head. “Give me a month, Andy, and I’ll be hitting ‘em for six.”

  “She would you know,” Andrew boasted proudly. “Emme’s a great cricketer.”

  “I don’t doubt it.” Sabato’s eyes glowed as he looked at his wife. He suspected Emily could do anything she wanted in the world. “Now, are you going to serve the ball?”

  Andrew laughed riotously. “I’m gonna bowl it,” he grinned, walking back to his end of the pitch. This time, when he delivered a solid overhand ball, Sabato struck it properly. To his credit, he’d picked up the national game quickly. It was Andrew’s favourite sport, and so he’d taken great pains to become familiar with it.

  Yes, Sabato had worked hard to form a bond with her brother, but there was a natural affinity between the two of them. Even without Sabato’s efforts, they simply got along well.

  Something uncomfortable squeezed inside of Emily and she sat up a little straighter. Another twinge a moment later, and she knew, in the way that women just knew, that their family of three was about to get a new addition.

  “Er, boys,” she called, putting a hand in the air to catch Sabato’s attention. He spun, his smile broad on his face, his hair a little longer than when she’d first met him. The sun filtered behind him, casting a perfect light over them. His eyes widened as he saw the way she winced uncomfortably.

  “It is time?” He asked, jogging over to her.

  Andrew followed. “Time for what?” His hand reached out and gripped Emily’s. Even then, in the midst of discomfort, the simple gesture made her heart swell.

  “You’re about to become a big brother,” she grinned at him, putting her hands out. Sabato gripped them and pulled her to standing.

  “Andrew, go and get your backpack. Meet us at the car.”

  Andrew nodded, his earnest little face eager. He sprinted across the lawn to the elegant Georgian mansion. Emily’s breathing was coming in fits and spurts now.

  “I don’t know if it’s biologically reasonable that women should have to be the baby makers,” she stopped walking and gripped his arm, hard. She waited until the contraction passed and then began walking gingerly towards the Range Rover.

  Her opinion on the matter did not change. For several hours, all Emily could think was that life was severely off kilter to expect half of its population to undergo this kind of torture purely to ensure the survival of the species. The pain was intense, and Sabato’s worry was almost unbearable. Finally, though, a little swagger of arms and legs, and a crop of jet-black hair, was lifted onto Emily’s chest.

  “A boy,” she grinned, lifting her eyes to Sabato. “Another boy.”

  He stared down at their son, his whole body feeling warm and soft. “He’s perfect.”

  Tears sparkled in his eyes, as he leaned forward and pressed a kiss against his wife’s forehead.

  “Yes. He is.”

  Emily was reluctant to let him go, and even when the nurses encouraged her to put him in his crib, so that she could rest, she resisted. It was only when Sabato promised to hold their boy that she finally relinquished him.

  “You know,” Emily leaned back against the pillows, her face pale from exhaustion, her eyes drooping. “I’m very glad that six of my colleagues got gastro.”

  Sabato looked at his wife as though she’d gone a little mad. But Emily smiled. “That’s how I met you. Six sick staff members at your hotel, plus a desperate manager – and me.”

  “And me,” he smiled. “And for the rest of our lives, it will be you and me, my beautiful Emily.”

  She grinned, flicking her gaze to their bundled up baby. “And our boys.”

  He made a noise of pleased assent. “Yes. And all the happiness that you deserve, cara. Forever more.”

  THE END

  Just This One Summer

  The Montebellos Book Two

  All the characters in this book are fictitious and have no existence outside the author’s very-vivid, non-stop imagination. They have no relation to anyone bearing the same name or names and are pure invention (mwah-ha-ha).

  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 smokin’ hot model/s and, as gorgeous as they are, bears no relation to the characters described within.

  Any medical advice in this book, related by characters or otherwise, exists to further the story and is not necessarily based in fact. Medical advice quoted in this book should not be taken as anything other than narrative invention; please do not rely on romance novel characters to inform your medical decisions! If pregnant, seek professional, qualified advice.

  First published 2019

  (c) Clare Connelly

  Cover Credit: adobestock/theartofphoto & rudi197

  http://www.clareconnelly.com

  Follow Clare Connelly on facebook for all the latest.

  Join Clare’s Newsletter to stay up to date on all the latest CC news. www.clareconnelly.com

  Content Warning

  JUST THIS ONE SUMMER explores the fallout from domestic violence and some readers may find this triggering.

  First and foremost this is a romance novel, filled with happy, passionate, beautiful escapism and the promise of how much can go right if you let yourself hope.

  Prologue

  Six months ago, London

  SHE DIDN’T PACK MUCH. One bag, just enough to throw over the shoulder and carry with ease. Enough to keep her going until she found her feet. Enough to help her get away – and to get away quickly. Madeleine left without looking back, because looking back hurt too much.

  If she looked back far enough, she’d see Michael as he’d been when they first met. Charming, handsome, kind, everything she’d ever thought she wanted.

  But new memories had overwritten those quickly enough. The smell of alcohol on his breath. The way his voice went quiet and soft when he was angry; somehow, that was so much more frightening than when he yelled. The certainty his temper was always worse when he’d bet big and lost bigger. And finally, the feeling of his hand around her throat, the way breath had burned in her lungs, the way her eyes had ached, darkness encroaching until she’d remembered she had legs and had lifted one, kneeing him in the groin. It hadn’t been hard but it had been enough.

&nbs
p; She’d never fought back before. Then again, he’d never made it so imperative that she did.

  Looking over her shoulder was an impulse. She did it now, twisting her head so her blonde ponytail flicked in the breeze, making sure no one she knew witnessed her step onto the bus. Her heart was slamming against her ribs, her breathing rushed. As the bus whistled out of Putney, it occurred to Madeleine that she had no idea where she was going.

  She knew though that she would no longer be Madeleine Gray. She’d be Maddie. Someone different to this. Someone stronger. Someone who’d never be fooled again. Someone who was independent. Solitary. Safe.

  She watched from the window as the bus rounded the corner. Shops she knew so well – the Tesco express, the bank, the post office, a Wagamamas, all so familiar to her, but all relegated to the back of her mind, to the past.

  Another bus and an overground and she’d arrived at Heathrow, and by then, Maddie had a plan.

  It didn’t come to her perfectly formed, but when she closed her eyes and imagined peace and tranquillity, she saw a place with a musical name, a place she’d found herself wondering about for no reason in particular, a place she was eager now to go to. It didn’t make sense, it was as though her soul was being called on in some way, and for lack of other ideas, she was content to listen.

  Ondechiara.

  Even the name was somehow magical. She’d read it on the bottom of the picture enough times to know it by heart. “What does it mean?” She’d asked Michael, on one of the first occasions she’d gone to his flat and seen the print.

  “Clear waves. It’s perfect.” His smile had been like sunshine. Back then, he’d smiled at her often. She’d come to fear his smile though, because she knew it was a brief burst of warmth, almost always followed by a deafening thunderstorm. “The city itself is quite ancient. Cobbled streets that wind through tiny stone buildings, all brightly coloured and washed by the sea. The roofs are terracotta and the smell of citrus is everywhere. The ocean is the most striking shade of green, but as it comes into shore, the waves become clear, like glass, so you can see every grain of sand on the ocean floor.”

  “Do you go there often?”

  “I’ve only been once.” He lifted his broad shoulders, his body strong, his frame bulky. “With one of my closest friends.”

  “Well, I think it sounds perfect. I’d love to see it.”

  “I’ll take you there one day.”

  Michael was good at making promises, but he was much better at breaking them.

  She lifted a hand to her throat unconsciously, wincing as she felt the sting of her flesh there, concealed beneath her turtleneck. After the last time, he’d promised he’d never touch her again. He’d promised he was sorry, that he hadn’t meant it, that he’d get help. He’d promised he’d stop gambling, drinking. That he would do anything rather than lose her.

  But two weeks later, he’d pinned her to the fridge and gripped her around the neck until she’d truly thought she might die.

  Michael had broken every promise that mattered to her.

  She paid cash for her ticket to Rome, despite the fact he didn’t have access to her bank statements. She couldn’t afford to let her guard down. She needed to get away first, to think, to work out what she’d do next.

  Ondechiara wouldn’t shelter her forever, but perhaps with a little time she’d be able to see the grains of sand that made up her fractured, confusing life a little more clearly. Perhaps she’d be able to float once more…

  Chapter 1

  IF SHE HADN’T BEEN wearing that yellow hat, he’d never have seen her. But from where he stood halfway along the floor to ceiling windows that made a wall of glass in his home on the edge of the cliff, rain buffeting the glass so that it was grey and almost impossible to see through, he was aware of a slight figure being pushed by the breeze, the rain that was coming in sideways dragging the summery dress around her slender frame.

  He didn’t think twice. Nico Montebello paced to the front door and wrenched it open, so a gale force wind blew through the architecturally designed home, rattling a painting that hung in the hallway. Dante, his loyal border collie, Labrador, poodle, something, something, had taken shelter beneath the piano some time earlier – he hated storms – but he barked now, bounding towards the door to see where Nico was going.

  “Quiet boy. Stay.” Nico patted the dog’s head, between his ears, then strode onto the deck, taking the steps two at a time, crossing the grassed cliff top until he was within reach of her.

  Her hair was silky blonde, long and loose, halfway down her back. It was wet though, clinging to her like seaweed does the water in the ocean. Her tan was golden, proof of a summer spent somewhere like this, and yet he’d never seen her before. Ondechiara wasn’t a large town, he knew most people in the close-knit community. A frisson of well-trained caution danced across his spine.

  This was private land and there’d been a lot of press interest surrounding his family since Fiero and Elodie’s wedding. The First Montebello Bachelor Bites the Dust! The papers had cried, speculating on who would be next to settle down. Little did they know the curse of the Montebellos was a hard one to shake. Fiero had been lucky but Nico found it almost impossible to believe his brothers or cousins would enjoy a similar fate, despite what the tabloids might wish.

  Si, she could definitely be a reporter, coming to snoop around. It wouldn’t be the first time. Damn it, he’d meant to get security tightened around the property. It had been years since he’d bothered, given the remoteness of the location, which served as its own natural barrier to prying eyes.

  Which meant she must be really good at her job…

  His first reaction of concern was muted to one of suspicion. He approached her from behind. She wasn’t snooping around as a reporter might. Nor was she doing anything to avoid being seen. That yellow hat was like a beacon against the grey sky the summer storm had dragged in over the ancient town and usually crystal clear sea that surrounded this part of Italy.

  When he was close enough to be heard, he shouted, “Basta.” She jumped half a foot off the ground as she turned to face him.

  “Oh my God!” Up close, it was impossible not to be struck by her beauty. Wide-set eyes with an almost turquoise colour, long black lashes that were clumpy and thick from the rain, a fine nose with a slight lift at its end, skin that was tanned caramel, lips that were shaped like a cupid’s bow, and cheeks that had dimples in them when she smiled, which she was doing now. “I didn’t hear you approach. This weather is wild.”

  Another flash of lightning. She was saturated. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  She had to shout to be heard above the lashing rain. “Exploring.” An impish grin. Something surged inside of him with which he was eminently familiar. Desire. Curiosity. That first flush of interest he felt when he met a woman he wanted to know better. It was ridiculous, given that she could very well be here to write an expose on his family.

  “This is private property.”

  She lifted a brow. “Really?” Her gaze drifted to the ocean, so churned up by the wind and waves that it looked dramatic and angry. “It should be illegal to privatise views like this.”

  Curiosity grew. “You’re drenched.”

  Another smile. “I know.”

  “You shouldn’t be out in this weather.”

  “I didn’t mean to be,” she turned back to face him and there it was again: desire, a rolling wave seizing his insides, making it difficult to think of anything else. “It was sunny when I set out.”

  “It’s been raining most of the day.”

  She lifted her shoulders. “Then I’ve been exploring most of the day.”

  She was probably not a journalist but the likelihood of her being a tiny bit crazy was increasing.

  Lightning slashed closer, the bright light dancing towards the sand so Nico swore and gestured to the house. Of the six Montebellos, he was perhaps the most notoriously guarded with his privacy, so he was surprised to hear himse
lf say, “You should wait out the storm here.”

  Her smile dropped. “Oh, no,” she shook her head. “I’m fine.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Where are you staying?”

  Her lips tugged downward into a frown that was bordering on a pout. Mentally, Nico swore. She was somehow even more attractive when she was frowning.

  “I’m not planning to stalk you,” he assured her drily, so she laughed.

  “Sorry.” But there was something in her expression, a hint of wariness that had him wondering. “I rented La Villetta di Pietra for the summer.”

  He made a noise of disbelief but the pouring rain devoured it. “That’s five miles away.”

  “Is it? So far?”

  He stared at her. “You walked here?”

  She nodded.

  “In the rain?”

  Another nod.

  That settled it. “You can’t possibly walk back now.”

  “The storm should clear soon.”

  “It won’t. It isn’t blowing out to sea, it’s settling in.”

  “How do you know?” She looked towards the ocean so he had a glimpse of her elegant, swan-like neck, the skin there smooth and golden.

  “Experience.” He gestured to his house once more. “Come and wait it out.”

  She looked at him thoughtfully, hesitantly. It was an unusual response. Nico was used to women tripping over themselves to be alone with him, but she seemed to be genuinely uncertain.

  “It’s a simple neighbourly invitation,” he heard himself promise. “Nothing sinister whatsoever.”

  “How do I know that?” Her arched brow held a challenge.

  “That I don’t have any bad intentions?”