Billionaire Brides: An Anthology

by Connelly, Clare

  “Why not? You don’t think I know a thing or two about that kind of abandonment? My mum was gone half my life. She cared more about every other kid on earth than she did me. I get it. It sucks. But you’re a grown man and you’re responsible for how you choose to live. Stop being afraid and let yourself feel this.”

  He was resolutely silent, his expression like stone.

  “Or are you actually saying she has nothing to do with this? Why a man like you would choose not to let himself care for another person?”

  He groaned. “Christo, I do care for you, Maddie. Isn’t that enough?”

  “I think you’re in love with me.” She threw the words at him like an accusation. “I think you love me just like I love you but you’re too damned scared to admit it.”

  His eyes flashed with disbelief. She watched him, her heart breaking, her mind spinning, but somehow, for some reason, she couldn’t stop. “I think this whole month we’ve been falling in love with each other and the reason you’ve asked me to stay another week is because you hate the thought of my leaving. Because you don’t want to be away from me any more than I want to be away from you.”

  He shook his head, refusing to acknowledge any truth within her words.

  “What’s going to happen in a week?”

  He was quiet, stony-faced.

  “If I stay,” she pushed. “What then?’

  “I don’t know.”

  She rolled her eyes, unable to stop the derisive gesture. “That’s not enough.”

  “I’m sorry.” The words were a growl. “I wish I could give you what you want, Maddie.” Her heart turned over because she’d wanted to fight with him, to inspire him to a temper, but Nico was incapable of reacting in anger. He was so different to anyone she’d ever known in that respect. Was it further proof of the tight grip he had on his heart, though? “I thought I was clear from the beginning. I believed you understood.”

  “I know what you said.” The words were quiet. All the fight had left her. She could see she was on the losing side of the equation, yet that didn’t stop her from wanting to have this out. “But I also know that this month wasn’t what either of us expected. We were playing with fire from that very first time.”

  “Si,” he agreed quietly. “But I refuse to let it burn out of hand.”

  “Like it’s a choice?” She shook her head emphatically. “Maybe you’re right. If you truly think love is something you can choose to feel or not then we must be looking at this from totally different perspectives.”

  He sucked in a breath, his chest moving visibly. His nostrils flared and his eyes bore into hers. When he spoke, his voice had a coldness to it that was the worst thing she’d ever heard. “I make you the same offer today that I made back then. I want to be with you, like this.”

  “But just for another week,” she snapped.

  He eyed her cautiously and finally nodded. “Si.”

  Her stomach was in knots. It was so completely insufficient. “And nothing more?”

  A slight hesitation that filled her with the most awful hope, because she knew it was without cause. “Nothing more.” His jaw clenched, a muscle throbbed at its base. “Stay because you want to be with me. But do not expect me to love you, cara. I’m just not built that way.”

  She regretted it as soon as she’d left. Not leaving. She’d known she’d have to do that. But telling him she loved him. Marring their last morning together with a stupid argument. She regretted putting him in a position where he had to be honest with her about his feelings – or lack of them. Because it had tainted what they’d shared, so she no longer felt able to enjoy the memories. It was ruined. She’d ruined it, and now the pleasure that had erased so much pain brought its own hurts.

  Autumn made it easier to grieve. In the long sunlit days of summer, she’d felt like a fraud carrying such a heavy heart. But with autumn and the cool change, the dark evenings, and finally, winter’s approach, she relished in her heart’s complementary mood. No matter the seasons though, the nights were unbearable. Nights were for dreams and her dreams had turned to nightmares.

  She saw Nico in her mind and yet she could never reach him. He was there one minute, smiling at her, but when she held out a hand he disappeared. Sometimes, she dreamed he was there, kissing her awake and her eyes burst open with a start, hoping that he was there, that the lines between reality and fantasy would stay blurred. But it was always an illusion. False hope.

  Pain became a part of her. So much pain she wondered how she’d ever felt anything before leaving Nico? What she’d endured with Michael – it was nothing compared to this. There was a piece of her missing, a huge piece of her, and she wasn’t sure if it would ever cease to feel that way. Could hurts that went this deep ever really heal?

  “You’re looking pale, love.”

  She blinked, drawing her attention from the soft falling snow beyond her father’s living room window to focus on Graeme Gray’s face. “What’s that, dad?”

  “You’re looking pale. Are you feeling well?”

  “Yeah.” She cleared her throat and forced what she thought might pass for a smile. “I’m fine.” Her eyes didn’t meet his. The lie was so obvious to her, but he shrugged and smiled, and the warmest rush of affection flooded her heart. Maybe this was the answer? Perhaps love – different kinds of love, but still love – needed to be felt to erase the pain?

  Dressed in his old gown with slippers and a folded up newspaper under his arm, he looked so familiar, so dear, that her smile became more genuine.

  “What do you say, dad? Shall I pour us a cider and we’ll watch Mr Bean?”

  His eyes lit up. “That’s our Christmas eve tradition, isn’t it?”

  * * *

  “For this episode of the Montebellos at Christmas, the part of Gabe will be played by Nico.”

  Nico scowled as he turned towards his cousin Luca, his perennially ‘devil may care’ disposition irritating in a way it never had been before. “What?”

  “What gives, man? We’ve already got one brooding grump in the family. We don’t need another.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You think it’s not obvious?”

  “What?”

  “You haven’t come to dinner for months. You’re avoiding your family, and you’re only here now because Yaya called and told you how much it meant to her, but you’ve barely said two words to anyone. So what the hell is it?”

  “Nothing,” he snapped. Since when did he snap? He wasn’t sure, but he did it a lot these days. Just a week ago he’d had to apologise to his CFO because he’d given him an earful over a pretty minor mistake.

  “Dude. It’s me, Luca. The guy you spent three months hiking across the deserts of India with. You think I can’t read you like a Goddamned book?”

  Nico drew on his beer, his eyes chasing the view. He loved this outlook. Villa Fortune was one of his favourite places on earth, and Christmas with his family was usually a highlight of his year. So why couldn’t he get his head into it?

  Except, he knew why. The answer had been banging him over the head since he’d left Italy. Every single morning he woke up with her name on his lips, her taste in his mouth, her absence right in the middle of his chest like a mallet.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing.”

  He felt Luca’s roll of his eyes. “I’m not buying it.”

  “You know what? I don’t give a shit, man. Just…let it go.”

  He wanted to storm off, to get away from Luca, from everyone. Most of all, he wanted to get away from himself and his own damned thoughts and memories. But he turned to Luca, put a hand on his shoulder and grimaced. “Just leave it, okay?”

  Only a few moments later, he crossed behind the pool and bumped into his cousin Max – the oldest of the six of them. Despite the cool of the evening, he’d been for a swim, as was his tradition. Of the six of them, Max was the most driven by routine. He had that kind of unswerving devotion to his life that
meant he was up at five every day, running eight miles no matter where he was in the world, no matter the weather. A nightly swim was another habit of his.

  “Hey, man. Haven’t seen you in months. What’s up?”

  Nico was about to snap at Max, too, sick of the inquisition, until he realised Max was just asking the question as a casual greeting. He hadn’t meant anything by it. He expelled a slow breath. “Not much. You?”

  “I presume New York’s had you working non-stop? For you not to have come to Fortune for so long?”

  Inwardly, Nico winced. They all came to Villa Fortune, no matter where they were, or what they were doing. It was part of their deal. It was their family, their commitment. It was for Gianfelice’s memory, and for Yaya.

  He shouldn’t have stayed away so long.

  “Yeah, it’s been non-stop.” Then, memories pierced him. He’d been so self-obsessed, so Maddie-obsessed, he’d completely forgotten about Alessia. “Hey, I meant to talk to you over the summer.”

  “Yeah?” Max reached for a towel, rubbing it over his head then draping it around his shoulders.

  “I saw Alessia in Ondechiara.” It was impossible to miss the way Max braced. It was such a small, involuntary movement. A tightening of his shoulders, a firming of his spine, but it was enough. Nico saw it and felt like an A-grade jerk for being so wrapped up in his own issues that he’d completely forgotten about Alessia’s news.

  “Oh? She’s well?” It was natural enough, but Nico could have sworn he heard a tension to the simple question.

  “As always.” Nico’s guilt increased. How the hell could he break this to his cousin? But Max and Alessia hadn’t been that serious about each other, had they? Maybe he wouldn’t even care that much. Then again, how would Nico feel if he heard that Maddie was getting married to some other guy?

  Something like ice dripped over his spine, swiftly replaced by heat. He recognised the panic response. He’d felt it often enough over the past months.

  “Good.” A nod of his head, his trademark resolve very much in evidence. “I’m glad.”

  There was no easy way to do this. “She’s getting married.”

  The air whooshed out of Max’s lungs. He stood completely still, his eyes burning through Nico’s, disbelief obvious in his face. “What?”

  “She’s engaged. To be married.” Then, because it felt appropriate. “I’m sorry.”

  It was just what Max needed to wake him from the shock. He blinked, assumed a look of nonchalance and shrugged. “Sorry for what? It’s her life, she can live it with whomever she chooses.”

  His calm acceptance did something to Nico. It fired something inside of him. An anger he had been fighting for months. “Like you don’t care?”

  Max was very still. “I didn’t say that.”

  “But you’re not going to do a damned thing about it?”

  “Alessia’s in my past.” That resolve again, firm, intractable, as though he wasn’t going to let anything derail him from the decisions he’d made.

  “Damn it, Max, Alessia is…”

  “Yes? What is she?”

  “She made you happy. Are you really going to let that go because of one damned mistake?”

  Max shrugged out of the towel, placing it on one of the sun lounges. “I let her go five years ago, Nico. That was my decision then, and it was the right decision. I stand by it.” He stalked away and Nico watched him go, but his fury wouldn’t abate. Fury, discontent, rage, so many emotions fired through him, each and every one of them misplaced. It wasn’t Max he was angry with. It wasn’t Max’s decisions Nico took exception to.

  He gripped his beer tight to stop himself from hurtling it across the pool deck. He felt like a petulant child. His life was spinning out of control. It was simple, but complex. What he wanted, more than anything, was Maddie.

  Maddie made him happy.

  But he couldn’t do the same for her; what she wanted was impossible.

  There was no way he was going to go to her and risk hurting her more than he already had done. But the idea of not having her in his life, the idea of her moving on, of her having everything she wanted with someone else… heat broke out on his skin and the taste of metal filled his mouth. He wanted to scream. He felt trapped by his own wants, and his brain’s inability to let him succumb to them. To think of her with another man…

  Wasn’t that for the best though? Wasn’t that the reason he’d let her go? It was hard to remember. All he knew, standing on what felt like the edge of the world, was that he missed her in a way that made time stand still.

  He spun on his heel, moving towards the villa with no real idea where he was going or what he was doing. Discontent raged within him and not moving wasn’t an option.

  He could hear his brothers and cousins, their noise coming from the salon at the back. He could imagine the scene in there – the Christmas tree set up, the Montebello wine flowing. Soon his brother Raf would get on the piano and play carols. They’d all sing along. Dante, as if sensing Nico had come into the villa, stepped into the corridor, his rangy frame loping towards Nico so he put a hand out and Dante sniffed it then pushed, as if to guide him forward. Nico expelled a slow breath and went as the dog guided, but at the door to the salon, Dante looked in the opposite direction.

  Nico frowned.

  Gianfelice’s office, and the light was on. That was unusual. After their beloved grandfather had died, they’d only rarely broken the sanctity of this space, and only when absolutely required. He had the originals of some important paperwork which they’d needed to access. But being in here without him felt completely wrong.

  This was his haven. His space. The centre of his universe, and with a man like Gianfelice, that meant something. Nonetheless, curiosity prodded Nico forward, Dante beside him.

  If he’d known what he was to find in there, he might have braced himself harder, but he couldn’t have imagined. To open the door and see Yaya sitting at Gianfelice’s desk, her petite frame hunched forward, her greying hair pulled into a fine topknot, silver tears sliding down her paper-like cheeks – it pulled at every emotion Nico possessed.

  “Yaya?” His voice was deep and throaty.

  Her eyes slid to his – eyes that despite the passage of time had remained full of brightness and amusement. They were smart eyes, they saw everything.

  “I’m glad you came, Niccolo.” She held one of her hands out; her fingers shook a little. “It hasn’t been the same without you.”

  He didn’t reply. His absence felt selfish and childish now. He was feeling that way a lot lately. But why selfish? He’d given Maddie up because it was best for her, when it was the last thing he’d wanted to do. That made him the definition of selfless, didn’t it?

  “What are you doing in here?” He moved to stand beside her, putting a hand on her shoulder comfortingly. It was at Yaya’s knee he’d learned to cook, in her arms he’d slowly recovered from the desertion of his mother. It was Yaya who’d loved him when no one else had cared to.

  “Remembering.” She lifted her eyes to his, then placed a hand over his hand, stroking his fingers. “When I sit here, I feel like he is with me.”

  Nico looked around the office, a shiver passing over his spine. “Yes. In this room, I think a piece of Gianfelice remains.”

  “Not just a piece.” Yaya nodded to the golden urn in the corner and then laughed, a soft sound that turned into a small sob as she shook her head. It was so like Yaya to try to joke through her pain, to set him at ease. “It’s hard at Christmas.”

  “It’s hard every day,” Nico agreed.

  “Yes. Every day.” She sighed. “Where have you been, terremoto?” She used the term of endearment she’d given him as a child. At four, when he’d arrived at the Villa, he’d been out of control. Wild and devastated and unpredictable. Yaya had never yelled. She’d hugged him close, wrapped in her arms, and she’d whispered in his ears until he’d calmed, and always afterwards she’d kissed his forehead and whispered, ‘sei mia
piccolo terremoto’, you’re my little earthquake. The tempers had faded with age but the name had remained.

  “In New York,” he spoke the words with only the slightest hesitation, wondering at the desire now to confide in his grandmother.

  She looked up at him, her intelligent eyes narrowing. “You look different.”

  “Do I?”

  “Hmm.” She frowned, her eyes not leaving his face. “What is it?”

  He smiled at her, hoping to reassure her. “Nothing, Yaya. I’ve just been busy.”

  “Hmm.”

  He laughed, but his heart was heavy and he wondered if Yaya, who knew him so well, could see that somehow. “Did you boys do the star yet?”

  He frowned. “I’m…not sure. I was outside.”

  “Hmmm.” One ‘hmm’ from Yaya was not generally a good sign. Three was troubling. “Come.” She put a hand out, so he held it, steadying her as she stood from the chair. Her body had grown so frail, her movements slow. Her mind, though, was that of a thirty year old’s. Nimble, quick, shrewd.

  “I keep the star in here,” she moved across the office, her hand clutching Nico’s as she went. “Have I told you when your grandfather bought this for me?”

  Nico shook his head, even though he’d heard the story many times.

  She laughed softly. “You’re a good boy, terremoto.” She continued to hold his hand as she pulled the top drawer of a sideboard open. Her breathing drew heavy so she didn’t speak for a moment, concentrating on lifting a silver box from its place. Nico watched as she placed it carefully on the top of the piece of furniture. “You open it. I’ll talk.”

  The box was so familiar to Nico. For as long as he’d lived with Yaya and Gianfelice, the star had been contained in this same place. As a child, it had inspired awe. It still did, even now.

  “It was our honeymoon. We went to a little village in the alps, not far from Turin. Fiamatina. Have you heard of it?”

  “Yes.”

  “It is beautiful. Quaint and perfect, everything just as it always has been. Or perhaps it just felt that way because I was spending a holiday with your grandfather.” She shook her head wistfully. Nico concentrated on unfolding the fine tissue paper from around the star. “These decorations are made by artisan craftsmen. Each generation is trained with these skills. You cannot get them elsewhere. Look.” She ran her finger over the glass. Shaped like a star with a cylinder at the bottom for it to sit on top of a tree, the star itself had been painstakingly etched with nativity scenes. The craftsmanship was unparalleled.