Marrying His Runaway Heiress

by Therese Beharrie

  She suspected recreating that moment motivated all her future efforts to please him. Like considering a marriage that would stifle her.

  It was silly. She knew it. His approval had come shortly before he shipped her off to boarding school without any reasons. It meant nothing. His punishment, however, could irrevocably change her life. That was what could happen if she refused to get engaged. That was what had happened after the divorce, when she’d finally realised, courtesy of an innocent comment from a schoolmate, she was being sent away because she looked like her mother.

  Her father wasn’t punishing her; he was punishing her mother. Or maybe he was punishing her, too, because she reminded him of his failure. That was how people like her father thought. Relationships were either successful or they failed. For reasons completely outside the effort they put into the person they were in a relationship with or the relationship itself.

  Micah probably thought that way, too. It was a good reminder. She couldn’t let how adorably insecure he’d been with his speech ingratiate him with her heart.

  Elena took a deep breath and tried to stay in the present. It was early, the sun just lighting the sky, and she was standing in front of St Peter’s Square, staring. She didn’t have any desire to do anything but stare. Or simply be.

  The Vatican wasn’t first on the list of what she wanted to see in Italy, but she had been walking and stopped because of the peace and quiet. The early hour meant she’d beat out most of the tourists. As she walked to the square, pigeons scurried around, searching for food. They did so in the square as well, more of them, and that was the most activity in the place.

  Elena walked between the stone pillars on the outer boundary of the square, wondering why they called it that when it was technically a circle. She imagined what it would be like when the Pope celebrated Mass there. She wandered aimlessly from one side of the square to the other. She took pictures, thinking about who she’d show them to. There were people in her life. People at the newspaper, mostly. Proximity friends.

  It had been the same at school. Real friendships were hard work. Harder for someone like her. She’d experienced, more than once, people wanting to be her friend because of who she was. Those who didn’t know her background almost always changed once they realised it. Once they realised she had money. When she started to refuse her father’s money—it came at too high a cost—they treated her differently because now she had none. Kind of like how Micah had treated her once he realised she didn’t live with her father’s money.

  Was that what he did?

  She refused to dwell on the answer to that. She was in Italy. For work, yes, but this being wasn’t work. She had the morning free because, according to Micah’s itinerary, he had a business meeting until lunch. Most of the itinerary she received were hours blocked out for business meetings, actually. Which was fine. She didn’t expect them to hang out as if they were friends.

  But she did wonder why he wanted her in Italy if he was only going to spend meals with her. They could have done that in South Africa. She knew why the newspaper had agreed to send her to Italy though. She could watch him take over the world first-hand and take readers on that journey, too. It would hopefully lead to a boost in sales for the edition, which would make up the expenses of sending her on a seven-day trip to Italy.

  Micah must have got involved to get the higher-ups to agree to that length of time. Most profiles, if they involved some sort of shadowing, were two or three days long. Why Micah got involved at all had been a question to her. She had her answer now. He wanted her to write about him because she was a John.

  It couldn’t be as simple as that, she knew. Still, she was intrigued by him. From a purely professional perspective. It was part of why she had woken up early that morning. She’d hoped to have breakfast with him, to ask him questions about his charity work, so she could get started on her article if she was bored. She had missed him, which didn’t seem like a loss now that she was exploring. She certainly wasn’t bored. In fact, she wanted to see more. And as she thought it, she noticed a group of passengers getting on a sightseeing bus some distance away.

  She hurried towards them, but the bus had left by the time she got there. A couple of conversations later though, she had her own ticket to a different sightseeing bus. It was leaving in thirty minutes, so she ducked into a café while waiting. It was busy, clearly a place both tourists and residents visited. When she asked for a recommendation on a café speciality, she was offered hot chocolate. Literal, melted hot chocolate. By the end of it, she was convinced she was meant to live near a place that served the drink.

  After a leisurely morning of sightseeing, she got off at a stop closest to where she was supposed to meet Micah for lunch. Or so she thought. Apparently, Rome had two streets named the same about thirty minutes from one another, and so she was thirty minutes late. She stumbled into the restaurant hot and sweaty.

  ‘Oh, my word, I am so sorry.’

  She wiped a hand over her forehead as she slid into the chair opposite Micah. He was watching her over his glass of champagne, looking cool and calm. Of course he looked cool and calm. He’d been in this air-conditioned restaurant for at least half an hour. She, on the other hand, must have looked like a troll. Maybe the look would have worked, had she had bright hair. But her boring brown hair would make her look like a troll without the mitigating cuteness.

  ‘You’re mad, aren’t you?’ she asked when he didn’t reply. ‘I’m sorry. I was on a bus, and I got off at the wrong stop, then I had to take a taxi to get here, which was ridiculously expensive, by the way, and—’

  ‘Why didn’t you just take the car I sent for you?’ he interrupted her, his eyebrow quirking in a way she wouldn’t have thought sexy on anyone else.

  ‘The car? What car?’

  ‘I sent a car to the hotel.’

  ‘Ah.’ A waiter arrived and poured her a glass of water. He disappeared as mysteriously. Or maybe not. She was too busy drinking the water to notice. ‘That would have entailed being at the hotel, and, as I said, I was on a bus.’

  ‘A bus.’

  ‘Yes. Sightseeing,’ she added brightly. ‘It was wonderful seeing the city. The Colosseum is as gorgeous in real life as it is in pictures. From the outside, at least. I didn’t see the inside because I didn’t want to be late to this although I am now and what would it have mattered?’

  ‘Elena,’ he asked after a pause. ‘Are you...uncomfortable by any chance?’

  ‘I...’ She faltered. Pressed a hand to her chest when she realised there was, indeed, a flutter of nerves congregating there. ‘How did you know?’

  His lips twitched. ‘A hunch.’

  She thought back over the last few minutes. ‘Oh. It’s because I was talking so much. Hmm. You’re perceptive.’ She emptied her glass of water before continuing. She was already speaking when the waiter refilled it and disappeared again. ‘I hate being late. I hate contravening anything considered to be polite. Politeness was drilled into me for eighteen years. From the moment I was born, I’m sure, until I left school.’

  ‘It sounds exhausting.’

  His eyes were kinder than she’d seen before. Maybe that was why she said, ‘It was. But it was part of being a John.’

  ‘What happened when you left school?’

  She barked out a laugh. ‘A lot. This isn’t about me, though I know you prefer it that way.’ She let that linger. ‘How was your meeting?’

  He smiled, but not in a friendly way. It was satisfactory or knowing. It was also possibly both or something else entirely. The effect it had on her was distracting her from being able to tell. There was a fluttering in her chest and her skin was clammy. But then, she’d been late, and it was hot. Why did it increase after Micah smiled? She had no idea. She was considering an engagement to someone else. She shouldn’t be noticing other men’s smiles.

  But she was. The wrong ma
n’s smile, because Micah wasn’t a good match. He was too powerful, too intense, too distractingly handsome for her. It didn’t matter though. What she felt for him was more than she’d ever felt for Jameson. Even though their marriage would be purely in name, that didn’t sit right with her. Nor did the thought that Jameson would likely sate his physical needs with women outside their marriage. Heaven knew she didn’t want to sleep with him, but she doubted he would be discreet about his relationships. How would that affect her as his wife?

  ‘It went well,’ he said, interrupting her panic. ‘It was with the executive board of Vittoria. Just to iron out some details about the way forward.’

  She waited as he gestured to the waiter, gave an order for a wine she would die to taste, before she asked her question.

  ‘What does it feel like to be so successful in your thirties?’

  She’d taken out her phone, pressed record while she’d been waiting for him to finish with the waiter.

  ‘It feels...like a challenge.’ He shrugged when she looked at him. ‘It wasn’t easy to gain success. It took ten years of eighteen-hour days, seven days a week. Most of the time, I pushed to see if I could. Now, of course, there’s the pressure to continue being successful. Otherwise, I’m a fluke. It’s a challenge.’

  She leaned forward. ‘That light in your eyes tells me you’re up for it.’

  Now his smile was catlike. ‘I wouldn’t be who I am, where I am, if I weren’t.’ There was a short pause. ‘When people say “Do what you love and you’ll never work a day in your life”, I laugh. Anything you spend a significant amount of time on is work. Be that in your professional or personal life. The key is that when you find something you love doing, you won’t mind putting in the work.’ He sat back. ‘Is that a good enough soundbite?’

  She switched off her phone and mirrored his position. ‘It would be an excellent soundbite—if I needed one. I don’t. I’m writing about you.’

  He narrowed his eyes. ‘You know what I mean.’

  She smiled. ‘I do. But it’s nice to see someone so easily confident get annoyed.’

  ‘I wasn’t annoyed.’

  ‘I know.’ But she smiled. Just in case it would annoy him.

  He tilted his head, then shook it and laughed. ‘You’re something else, Elena.’

  And you like it.

  She startled herself. Those words were on the tip of her tongue. It sounded like...like flirting. She wasn’t a flirt though. She chose her words carefully to avoid being one. Except in Micah’s presence, apparently. Then, she spoke freely, and damn if that freedom didn’t make her feel good.

  ‘I took the liberty of discussing a menu for us with the chef, by the way,’ Micah said. ‘I thought it might be nice for you to experience full Italian dining.’

  ‘Chefs must love you,’ she said with a small laugh. ‘Honestly, you realise you’re not the only patron in this...’

  She trailed off when she realised they were, indeed, alone.

  * * *

  He kept his eyes on her face as she realised it was only the two of them in the room. When she met his gaze, her confusion had the butterflies in his stomach scattering as if a stone had been thrown at them.

  ‘There’s no one here,’ she said.

  ‘I’m aware.’

  She looked around again. What did she see? Sophistication in the wooden floors and accents throughout the restaurant? Class in the white and brown lines of the wallpaper on one of the walls, the brown and white paint on the others? Did she see romance in the white tablecloths, the candles adorning them? Or was it homeliness in the green leaves spilling over pot plants at strategic places; the framed pictures of the Italian family who’d created this wonderful place?

  He’d seen all of it when he’d walked in an hour ago. He could do nothing about the décor, but he’d contemplated the candles. It was a warm summer’s day outside. Why else would she think they needed candles?

  For light, a voice in his head told him. He hadn’t asked for the candles; they illuminated the darkness inside the restaurant. It wasn’t overwhelmingly dark, but enough so that the candles were needed. He was probably being overly sensitive. He didn’t need a waiter to tell him that. So he said nothing. Except now, as she looked around, he thought he should have.

  ‘Two things,’ she asked, her gaze meeting his.

  He agreed with a nod. He couldn’t speak because he was afraid of what his voice would sound like. Spellbound by how he’d just noticed the brown of her eyes were lined with some magical make-up thing. It made her eyes sparkle. It turned him into an idiot who indulged fantastical thoughts.

  ‘One: do you own this place?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Okay, then, two: did you do this for me?’

  ‘I did it for us.’ He stood now, walking to the bar where the waiter was standing and trying to be inconspicuous as he readied their wine. ‘This place is usually closed this time of day, especially in the summer. I pulled some strings so we could have...lunch.’

  He almost said privacy. That would have sounded dodgy. Luckily, the waiter offered him the wine to try. He went through the motions of tasting it, though it was one of his favourites and he didn’t need to. With a nod of his head, Micah moved to Elena and offered her the glass. She did the same thing he had, but her eyes didn’t leave his. He had no idea how drinking from the same glass could be erotic, but it was. Especially when Elena brought the glass to her lips, parted them, and he got the quickest glimpse of her tongue.

  His blood got heavy, his skin grew tight, and heat spread through his body as if a fire had been lit inside him. Elena didn’t help one bit. She was still staring at him with her beautiful brown eyes, her hair wild around her face, her lips red again, the colour mixing with the wine. The glass she offered him now had the trace of her lipstick on it, and it was the sexiest damn thing.

  ‘Do you like it?’ he asked, accepting the glass. It still had the tiniest bit of liquid in it, and he gave in to temptation by drinking it.

  He placed his mouth on the outline of her lips.

  ‘Yes.’ Her voice was throaty. It did strange things to his body. ‘Very much.’

  The left side of his mouth lifted, and he lingered for much longer than he should have. But she was a magnet, and he was attracted to her, and he wanted, no, needed, to be as close to her as possible. Slowly, he turned around and walked to the bar.

  ‘We’re happy with this,’ he told the waiter softly. The man gave him a knowing look, but it was gone before Micah could say something about it. All that was left was cool professionalism. Micah needed to follow his lead.

  ‘Shall I get the starters ready, sir?’

  ‘Please.’

  He took the two glasses of wine the waiter poured to the table, offering Elena hers before settling in his chair.

  ‘How was the sightseeing today?’

  ‘You’re deflecting,’ she replied.

  ‘From what?’ he asked, because he was deflecting, but he didn’t think she’d be straightforward about the chemistry that had happened between them.

  Did chemistry happen? Or was it something two people experienced? Either way, they had it, they experienced it, and Micah wasn’t happy about it. He had a plan. She was part of those plans. Except...suddenly that didn’t feel right any more.

  Maybe he was deflecting. Maybe he was deflecting so much he couldn’t even tell what he was deflecting from.

  ‘The fact that we’re alone. You don’t have to impress me.’

  ‘I know.’ Relief made him say the words with a smile. ‘If it makes you feel any better, I had the restaurant for the meeting before this lunch, too.’ He hadn’t. This had been entirely for her, but he couldn’t admit it now. She was entirely too observant and after the chemistry? He couldn’t admit the truth, even though he hated lying.

  ‘Really?’ Did she deflate?
Was he projecting? ‘No wonder it went well, then.’

  ‘It’s part of it, I’m sure. Now, would you tell me about your day?’

  She narrowed her eyes, as if she couldn’t trust his interest in her. He was offended. Partly because she was right to distrust him—his plan included getting her comfortable with him. But that wasn’t the reason he asked. He wanted to know about her day.

  It disturbed him, the intensity he felt in that desire. He couldn’t remember ever being interested in knowing about someone’s day. Days seemed so mundane. When he spoke, even during small talk when things were supposed to be mundane, he asked about events. Events had purposes. The same couldn’t be said for days. Wanting to know about Elena’s day, wanting to know with an intensity? It rightfully worried him.

  It didn’t stop him from being engrossed in her descriptions.

  ‘I don’t know, Micah. I guess it could be because I haven’t travelled in such a long time. Or that I’m here, one of the places I always wanted to visit.’ The small smile on her face was an intimate glimpse into her mind. He tried to memorise it. ‘It’s wonderful. Every single thing. Even the pigeon who tried to bite my finger off when I tried to pet it.’

  ‘You tried to pet a pigeon?’

  Her cheeks pinkened. ‘I know, I know. I got caught up in the magic!’ she exclaimed, lifting her hands in front of her. Then she laughed. ‘When I was standing in front of the Trevi Fountain, I was the main character of a fairy tale. I would have sung, if I could. Instead, I tried to pet a bird.’ She laughed again, but this time, buried her face into her hands. ‘I am such a dork.’