His Merciless Marriage Bargain

by Jane Porter

  He shot her a look she couldn’t quite decipher. “So let’s put our cards on the table. Let’s stop with the games. How much are you asking for him?”

  “How much child support?” she asked, needing to clarify his question.

  “No. How much do you want for him? How much will it cost to take him off your hands permanently?”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  FOR A SECOND Rachel couldn’t breathe. The air bottled in her lungs until they ached, and her head felt light and dizzy. She exhaled on a gasp. “You...want...him?”

  “That is probably stretching the truth.”

  “Then why are you even asking?”

  “Maybe I’m curious as to what it would take to get you out of my life.”

  “So you don’t really want him—you just want to be rid of me.”

  “I want the problem to disappear, yes.”

  “But the problem would be living in your palazzo. Unless you sent him elsewhere. Boarding school for infants, maybe?”

  He gave her a long, hard look. “He would not be mistreated.”

  “Would he be loved?”

  “My family is not in the habit of abusing children.”

  “That’s not the same thing as being cherished and adored—”

  “He would be raised the way Antonio and I were raised. With equal parts love and discipline.”

  “And would you be the one to raise him?”

  “That’s something to still be sorted out.”

  “I couldn’t give you an answer then, not without knowing who’d raise him. Financial support is important but his care...the affection he receives...is everything and will determine not just his health but his happiness.”

  “I wasn’t raised in the Dark Ages. I know children need affection.”

  “Would you be able to give him a mother, or would you hire a nanny?”

  “I am not about to find a wife just to give him a mother. I’d hire a nanny.”

  “Would you be able to spend significant time with him?”

  “I am a bachelor. I work long hours. But I would ensure that my nephew had the best care money could buy.”

  That sounded awful. She suppressed a shiver.

  One of his black brows lifted. “What’s wrong? You don’t look happy.”

  “He deserves more than an expensive nanny.”

  “She’d be well-trained and dedicated—”

  “I think I’ve heard enough. You’ve painted a dreadful picture. There is no way I could leave Michael to your care.”

  “But you were so insistent that Michael be raised as a Marcello!”

  “Is that how you were raised? With the best nanny money could buy?”

  “Yes, and the best boarding schools, before attending the best universities.”

  “You didn’t grow up here at home?”

  “No. And I turned out well, wouldn’t you say?”

  “You turned out heartless.”

  “I’m practical, not heartless. There is a difference.”

  “Well, I want him loved, and protected, so no, you can’t buy me off. I’m not going to abandon him.”

  “But isn’t that what you did earlier? You handed him to my steward and walked away without a backward glance.”

  “It was a desperate ploy to get your attention, and it worked.”

  “Desperate people have a price. I know you have yours.”

  “I’m not that desperate.”

  “Then go back to Seattle, Rachel, and stop wasting my time.” He turned around and walked away from her, entering the room with the open door.

  The sharpness in his voice made her chest tighten and her stomach fall. Was he really so cold and callous or was he testing her? Either way, she was here, and she was not about to be scared off.

  She followed him into the room. “Life is not black or white, Gio, and I don’t believe in all or nothing. I believe in discussion and compromise—even when it’s uncomfortable. We need to find a middle ground—” She stopped as she noticed the soaring stone arches that divided the large room into two. On one side of the beige arches was a massive desk and chair, and on the other was a wall of windows framed in stained wood, topped by clear leaded glass and Palladian style arches. The high ceiling was paneled in dark wood and beams. The marble floor was the color of vanilla and matched the warm plaster walls, while the white slipcovered furniture in the sitting area looked effortlessly chic. This, she thought, was what people meant when they said Italians had style.

  She worked with designers on a daily basis, creating custom plane interiors, but this took her breath away. It was visually stunning. History reimagined. Luxury reinvented. “Incredible,” she murmured. She didn’t know what she loved more—the soaring stone arches that looked as if they’d been lifted from ancient ruins, or the magnificent leaded glass windows that allowed the light to deeply penetrate the room.

  “Your office?” she asked, still marveling over the elegant simplicity. No mirrors or gilded surfaces here. No Murano glass. No shimmering sconces. Just dark wood, stone pediments over tall doorways, marble slab floors and windows that allowed light to spill everywhere, brightening surfaces and reflecting off the white furniture.

  “Yes.” He’d taken a seat on the edge of his dark desk and watched her do a slow turn in the middle of the room.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “Thank you.”

  She approached one of the arches and ran her hand across the surface. “How much of this is original?”

  “All of it. This floor was private, built for the family, not for entertaining. I asked my designer to make a few modifications, but the building dates back to the late fifteenth century and we protected the architecture.”

  “What did she change?”

  “The marble floor is new. The plaster has been patched and repaired. We stripped off the coat of paint that had been applied to the windows and then stained the wood to match the beams.”

  “I can see why you want to work here. I would want to work here.”

  “With technology one can work from anywhere, and I can accomplish far more here than in a noisy office with endless interruptions.” He exhaled, expression shuttering. “You were saying about a middle ground?”

  She hesitated. “Can we find one?” When he didn’t immediately reply, she added, “I don’t expect us to become friends. But if we could try to become...allies, just for our nephew’s sake, I think it would help him. He doesn’t have a lot of family anymore, which is why it would be nice if his surviving family could be cordial.”

  Giovanni didn’t know how to answer her. He’d been furious when he’d walked out of the silver salon earlier, insulted that she’d lecture him on how his own brother would have felt. She had no idea how close he and his brother had been, or how much he’d grieved for Antonio this past year.

  He turned away, faced the window, biting back the sharp words he wanted to say. “The baby. He is healthy?”

  “Yes. Michael’s meeting all his milestones, and more.” She drew a breath. “Would it be possible to please send for him now? I realize that I must appear indifferent to you with regards to Michael—”

  “You do not appear indifferent at all.”

  “But perhaps not as attached as I am. I am very attached.” She drew another quick breath, her voice thickening. “I’ve been in his life since his birth, and I’ve taken care of him from the beginning when Juliet wasn’t able to. And then once she was gone, it was just him and me.”

  He said nothing, letting her talk, because he’d been curious about this very thing. What had Michael’s early months been like? Who had been part of his life?

  She continued, filling the uncomfortable silence. “So you can see why I’m anxious to have him back in my arms, and why I find this all so very difficult. We’ve spent a great deal of time together these past few months...in fact, we’ve spent all our time together these past few months, and I’m missing him. Terribly, as a matter of fact.”

  Giovanni did
not want to like her, or care about her in any way, but it was impossible to not feel anything when tears clung to her lashes and her voice was hoarse with emotion. She was either an incredible actress or she deeply cared for the child.

  “Would you please send for him now?” she asked, her gaze meeting his and holding it. “Please?”

  He wasn’t ready to return the child to a woman who’d abandon him to a stranger, but her husky, tearful request softened his resistance. She sounded sincere, as well as anxious, and Giovanni reached into his pocket and drew out his phone to send a text message to his housekeeper, requesting that the child be brought in. “There,” he said quietly, “He should be here soon.”

  “Thank you,” she said gratefully, shooting him a smile.

  Her smile knocked him off balance. It shaped her generous mouth, tilting the corners up, rounding her cheeks and warming her dark brown eyes. She was an attractive woman, but when she smiled she was positively beautiful.

  He frowned, irritated with himself for noticing. He didn’t want to find her beautiful. Nor did he want to remember how she’d felt outside by the canal, her slim body pressed to his, all curves and soft warmth. Just because she was soft and warm, didn’t mean her heart was pure or her intentions good.

  A light knock sounded on the open office door and Anna entered carrying the child, who was now awake and squirming, making fretful cries. Anna glanced at him, and he nodded at Rachel.

  Rachel moved forward, meeting the maid partway, eagerly taking the infant, cuddling him close to her breast. She kissed the top of his head, and then his temple, and crooned something in his ear. The baby stopped crying. She kissed him again, gently rocking him and he lifted his head after a moment and looked up into her eyes and smiled.

  A knot formed in Giovanni’s chest. He glanced away, uncomfortable. Here, supposedly, was his brother’s son, and yet Gio was an outsider.

  It crossed his mind that maybe he had waited too long to become acquainted with his nephew. In trying to be cautious and thorough with his investigation, he’d allowed Rachel to bond with the child. If he wasn’t careful, she might run and disappear with Michael. He couldn’t allow that to happen. He’d lost Antonio. He couldn’t lose Antonio’s only child.

  Giovanni stepped around to the front of his desk, and moved a pile of papers to a different corner, and then closed a file on his lap. “Michael likes you,” he said casually.

  Rachel froze. For a second she’d forgotten all about Gio, which seemed impossible now that she was looking up at him. Giovanni Marcello was not a man you’d ever forget. His energy was intense, and at times, overwhelming. “I love him,” she answered.

  “You really didn’t have any intention of leaving him here, did you?”

  “I prayed I wouldn’t have to get into the water taxi, and I didn’t.”

  “But what if I hadn’t come out? Would you have gone?”

  “I would have returned to my hotel and waited for you there.” She kissed one of Michael’s small fists, his skin soft and damp. The small hand had been in his mouth just moments ago. She wrinkled her nose, which made Michael laugh. “I would have waited for maybe twenty, thirty minutes, but if you hadn’t come by then, I would have returned here.”

  “And done what?”

  “Broken down your door. Screamed bloody murder.”

  “It didn’t make you uneasy, leaving him here?”

  Her heart did a painful beat as guilt assailed her. “It terrified me.” She nuzzled Michael’s cheek, breathing in his sweet baby scent. “But the future was equally terrifying, and so I did what I thought I had to do, believing that ultimately, you would emerge, and you would help, and you’d make sure that your brother’s son would be raised by those who loved him.”

  Giovanni sat down in his desk chair and leaned back. “How could you have so much faith in a stranger, when you knew I’d rejected all your other attempts to see me?

  “Because Antonio had such faith in you.” She saw his expression darken and she felt a pang of anxiety, but she’d started down this path and had to finish. Fighting the flurry of nerves, she lightly patted the baby’s back, as much to soothe him as to calm herself. “He said you were the best of the best and absolutely trustworthy. He’d said more than once that the Marcellos would not have what they do today if it wasn’t for you and your sacrifices.”

  “It’s never a sacrifice when you’re helping your family.”

  “But you still gave up your needs for theirs.”

  “Just what did Antonio tell you?” he asked. “I’m interested in knowing. It would help keep his memory alive.”

  She shot him a look over the baby’s head. It was obvious that Giovanni wasn’t asking so much as commanding her to share. She smiled faintly, thinking how nice it must be to have so much power over others. He wasn’t just accustomed to people doing what he wanted, but when he wanted it and exactly the way he wanted it.

  He must have caught the curve of her lips. “You’re smiling,” he said.

  Her shoulders twisted. “I was just thinking we’re so different, and our expectations are so different. I arrived here in Venice, shaking and nervous, so nervous that I hadn’t slept in days and couldn’t eat. I was so worried about the outcome. I was certain you’d refuse me, certain you wouldn’t see us, but hoping, praying, you might.” She was talking too much, practically babbling, but she couldn’t stop herself now that she’d begun. “You see, I came prepared to plead and beg, fight and cry. I came determined to get on my knees if need be—”

  “You are aware that is not how you presented yourself this morning at my front door? There was no begging or pleading. You showed up armed and dangerous.”

  “We both know that first impressions matter. If I started out weak, you wouldn’t have respected me or taken my request seriously. And I need you to respect me, not because it will change me, or the outcome of my life, but because it will change Michael’s.”

  Giovanni looked at her from beneath his lashes, his blue gaze piercing, assessing, his firm mouth pressed into an uncompromising line. But something had changed. The very air felt different, charged somehow with an energy and emotion she couldn’t decipher. Her stomach cramped from exhaustion and far too many nerves. “I think this is our cue to leave. I have rooms booked at the Hotel Arcadia, and we’ll return there now so Michael can be changed and have another bottle before taking his afternoon nap.”

  For a long moment there was silence, and then Gio leaned forward. “I think you should stay here.”

  She blinked, confused. “Here? Why?”

  He rose and walked toward her. “You’ve started something, calling the paparazzi and inviting them here. You unleashed the wolves, and once they’re out, they don’t go away. They’re circling, waiting for you—”

  “You make it sound as if they’re going to attack!”

  “Because they will. And you’re not going to be able to control them.” He stopped in front of her, his gaze raking her first, and then the baby, who was contentedly gumming his fist. “It’s not safe for you out there anymore.”

  Rachel’s heart was racing, and not because he was frightening her, but standing this close she could feel his incredible physical energy as strongly as when he’d held her and kissed her outside in front of the cameras and anybody else watching. “They are photographers, not assassins.”

  “They might as well be assassins. They’re not your friends. They’ll want a piece of you, again and again.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Then I’ll send for your things from the Arcadia and we’ll get you settled here—”

  “No!”

  He ignored her protest. “It’s not safe for you out there. You can’t be running around Venice, hopping in and out of water taxis with my nephew, and there is no need, either, when we can accomplish everything we need here, in privacy.”

  “I’m not...comfortable...staying here.”

  One of his black eyebrows lifted.

  �
��It’s your home, not mine,” she said too quickly. “I’m not suggesting you’d be a poor host, but I would be a poor guest. I don’t sleep well and I spend half the night pacing, unable to relax.”

  “But you will be able to relax here. You’ll have help with the child—”

  “Can you please stop calling him the child? His name is Michael. Michael Marcello.”

  “Michael Marcello Bern,” he corrected. “I’ve seen the birth certificate. Your sister and my brother were not married, which is why Marcello has become a middle name instead of a surname.”

  “This is why I don’t want to stay here,” she said, looking away and biting down hard on her lower lip.

  Instead of trying to meet her halfway, he was sharp and negative, offering nothing but criticisms. He didn’t want to see Michael as a real person. He didn’t want to acknowledge Michael as someone of value. No, far better to make him a problem. Something to be discussed the way you’d discuss a bad business deal.

  “He’s a gorgeous boy, and he’s inherited the Marcello coloring. I don’t know if he looks like Antonio. I don’t know what Antonio looked like as a baby, but he’s lovely—”

  “No one is criticizing him, and no one is locking you up, or taking your freedom away. But you need help—you’ve said so many times—and you’ll get that help here.”

  She looked down into Michael’s face. His big dark eyes looked up at her, his expression trusting and adoring. Her heart squeezed. She loved him. She’d become so attached to him and couldn’t imagine life without him. “I don’t want my old life back. He’s...mine...now. But yes, help, would be nice. The right help that is.”

  “Then stay here where Michael can get lots of attention and you can rest.”

  Rachel drew a breath. “I really would be free to come and go? I could go for walks, or shopping?”

  “As long as you don’t take Michael, yes, as I am going to insist that he stays here, hidden and secure. I want to keep him from the cameras. What we discuss, and the decisions we make, should not be dictated by the media.” He reached into his pocket and drew out his phone. “I’ll send for Anna. She’ll show you the way to the guest rooms on the fourth floor.”