For Love or Money Bundle (Harlequin Presents)

by Sarah Morgan

  Sam swallowed, plagued by guilt even two and a half years later. “I married Johann. To give Gabby—and prove to the court that she had—a stable, loving family.”

  “Even though you knew it was a lie?”

  Sam ducked her head, didn’t answer. She knotted and unknotted her fingers before finally sitting down in a chair opposite him. “I did it for Gabby, to protect her. The court did award us custody, and Gabby trusts me, Mr. Bartolo. She depends on me. I can’t let her down.”

  “She’s not even your daughter and yet you’re so very protective of her.”

  “I have to be. Someone has to be.”

  Cristiano’s eyes narrowed as he studied her tight expression. “You love her.”

  Without a doubt. “Yes.”

  “And your husband. Do you love him this much, too?”

  Sam’s eyes closed and she sagged inwardly, exhausted, overwhelmed. She’d never loved Johann even though she’d tried initially. She’d thought maybe her kindness, her compassion might save him…that her love could maybe make them a family but she’d been wrong. Naïve.

  Opening her eyes, the fatigue weighed even more heavily on her. She felt as if she’d been battling to save Johann for far too many years now. She didn’t know how to keep fighting for him, for the family, for security any longer. The task had become too great, the toll too much. Living with Johann had drained her. “I’ve done my best to protect him.”

  “And is that the same thing as love?”

  Her lips curved grimly. “It is what it is, Mr. Bartolo.”

  Cristiano’s expression didn’t change, and yet Sam felt something shift—her? Him?—and when he spoke again, the mood somehow was different. “I don’t like your husband,” he said. “I have never liked your husband, but I like him even less now.”

  “Because he wagered me?”

  “And then tried to sell his child, the very child he refused to give to her family.”

  Her mouth went dry and she felt like a marionette doll, odd, gangly, all wooden arms and legs. “He wouldn’t sell Gabby.”

  “He tried. It wasn’t enough he’d settled his debts with you. He thought perhaps he’d buy back some of his lost property, an even exchange, the town villa for his daughter.”

  “No.”

  “Yes, indeed.”

  Sam looked past Cristiano to the creamy marble columns supporting the ornate stained-glass dome. “And what did you say?” she whispered, her mouth so dry, her throat scratchy.

  “I don’t buy children, Baroness.”

  She shook her head, shocked. She knew Johann was selfish and a drunkard, a gambler, and a player—but this…it was repulsive. “Do you see why I can’t leave her there? Do you see why I must protect her?”

  “Baroness, I have no authority over her. I can’t take her. Only the courts—”

  “But I can!” Sam clasped her hands together, leaned towards Cristiano, hands pressed as if in prayer. “I’m still her stepmother.”

  “Johann won’t allow it. Not if he thinks he can get me to pay for her.”

  “How much?” Sam whispered. “How much does he want?”

  “Three million. The price of his town villa.”

  Her eyes burned and she smiled bitterly to hide her pain. “I was ten million and his child was only three?”

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  Sam ground her teeth together, panic growing on the inside. Panic at the future, the present, panic that she was losing her grip on reality, panic that it seemed she was going to lose Gabby.

  “Sit back,” Cristiano said. “Breathe. You look as if you’re going to faint.”

  She shook her head, woozy and nauseous all over again, and struggled to speak, but couldn’t find her voice, couldn’t even shape her lips. Her face felt stiff, frozen. Her whole body trembled.

  Cristiano reached out, touched her arm. “Do you need water?”

  She shook her head again. “No,” she croaked, but she did feel terrible. Terrible, horrible, devastated. It was as if her world had been a little snow globe and it had been dropped, shattered.

  For a moment Sam did nothing but concentrate on breathing, in and out she breathed, deep slow breaths to ease the pain inside her. But just breathing didn’t help. If she breathed in, it hurt. If she exhaled, it hurt. Nothing would change the pain.

  “She’s not your child,” Cristiano said quietly.

  Anger rolled through Sam, hot and wild, cutting through her fog. “But she feels like my child, and I’ll protect her like my child, and I will worry about her, and I will worry for her. You can be selfish and cold but I won’t be.”

  “No, I know you won’t be. That’s why I wanted you. That’s why I played hard for you. You didn’t fall into my hands by chance.”

  If he hoped to reassure her, he was failing, miserably. Every word he spoke only heightened her unease and the sense that everything was changing—quickly, dramatically, drastically—and Samantha resisted change, particularly if it was beyond her control. “You wanted this?”

  “Very much so.”

  “You can’t take another man’s wife.”

  One of his strong black eyebrows lifted quizzically. “You do if she’s neglected.”

  Dazed, she gave her head a slight shake and Cristiano merely smiled, a cool smile, much like the glittering light thrown off by the huge chandeliers overhead. Neither his smile nor the bright light above them warmed his eyes now.

  “Doesn’t it grate you, Baroness,” he said after a slight pause, “that while you’ve scraped and struggled to pay bills, your husband sat in the casinos for months losing thousands a night?”

  It did, oh God it did, but she couldn’t find the words, or the protests. She blinked, held back the tears. “He stopped for a while.”

  “Not very long. I know. Because every time he lost, I won. And everything he offered, I took.”

  “So this is your fault.”

  “He’s a compulsive gambler.”

  “It’s a sickness.”

  “So I discovered.”

  “And could you show no mercy?”

  “No.” And his expression slowly changed, jaw firming, cheekbones jutting beneath hard eyes. “I am not a merciful man.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  CRISTIANO SENT SAM home in a taxi and traveling back home, she glanced at her watch constantly. Two minutes later, five minutes, eight.

  She felt obsessed with time. Driven by time. It was a quarter to noon now. Cristiano had said the car for her would arrive at four, which meant she now had less than four hours to pack and arrange her life, less than four hours to say her goodbyes. Which really meant saying goodbye to Gabby. Four hours to say goodbye after four years of being together…

  Sam couldn’t fathom it, couldn’t get her head around it. The situation boggled her mind, not because Johann had gambled and lost his entire fortune, but the fact that she’d been dragged into this. Johann and Cristiano’s gambling had nothing to do with her, or Gabriela. If they wanted to gamble, let them live with the consequences. She and Gabriela shouldn’t have to suffer for their poor decisions.

  And Gabriela would suffer if Sam left her. Gabby wasn’t even five, and yet how many homes had she known? How many different guardians and adults had drifted in and out of her life? How many had actually helped her? Considered her needs before their own? How many had given love?

  Love, Sam silently repeated, stepping from the taxi, there was a concept. But it was love Gabby needed, not things. Love, not money. Love, not power or control or whatever it was men seemed to think made the world go round.

  And facing the tired villa in need of repairs and refurbishment, Sam knew what she needed to do. She needed to take Gabriela away from here, far from the brittle glamour of Monte Carlo, the selfish, greedy games Johann and Cristiano had played, the shallowness of people who cared more for money than a child. She’d been pushed too far this time.

  Johann was wrong and so was Cristiano. Sam refused to let Gabby be hurt yet a
gain. Once Sam knew what she needed to do, she also knew where she’d go. The moment Gabby came home from school they’d be gone.

  Upstairs, Sam checked the bedrooms and discovering Johann still passed out facedown on his bed, she quickly packed, knowing they didn’t need much for their trip—clothes, yes, and Gabby’s favorite toys but there weren’t many toys, there hadn’t been money for toys in the past year.

  Quietly Sam opened the drawers in Gabriela’s dresser, scooped up the small shirts and skirts, tucking them into the smaller of the two suitcases Sam had brought with her from her last job in Seattle.

  Then Sam went to her room—she and Johann had never shared a bedroom—and packed her own suitcase. It would be cold in England this time of year, far colder than it was in Monaco and the south of France, but it would be safe. Cristiano wouldn’t know to look for them there.

  Suitcases packed, Sam double-checked that she’d put all her documents in her purse, their passports and the other things she’d need once they reached England, then called a taxi.

  Inside the door to Gabriela’s bedroom, Sam paused, glanced one last time around the room that had been a nursery when Sam had arrived three and a half years ago.

  The room was still pale green and white, a scheme that should have been garden fresh but just looked severe thanks to Johann selling the carpet, furniture and artwork out from beneath everyone’s feet whenever money grew tight. And with Johann’s gambling problem money always grew tight.

  But now Johann and his problems would soon be behind them. In less than an hour she and Gabby would be on their way to a new life far from Johann’s drinking, indifference and abuse.

  By the time Sam had finished packing, it was time to meet Gabby. On her way out the front door, Sam set their two suitcases just inside the door, ready to be carried to the taxi the moment it arrived.

  Sam spotted Gabby as the little girl skipped down the school’s front steps and Sam lifted a hand in a wave. Gabby waved back eagerly. Bless the child. What a love she was. In all her years Sam had never met anyone—child or adult—so ready to love, and be loved. Gabby’s heart was pure gold.

  Gabby burst through the school gate, threw herself at Sam’s knees.

  “How was your day, my pet?” Sam asked, hugging her.

  “Very good. But I forgot I had sharing today. I didn’t take anything.” Gabby’s eyes, a lovely green-gold, darkened briefly with emotion before brightening. “But then Mademoiselle said we could tell a story, and I told a very funny story about a mouse that lived in Daddy’s pocket and the adventures the mouse has at Le Casino.”

  Sam blanched, set Gabby on her feet. “You told a story about your papa at the casino?”

  “No, Sam, not Papa, but the mouse in Papa’s pocket.”

  “And did the mouse stay in your papa’s pocket?”

  “No. He played cards with Papa at the casino. But he was a very clever little mouse and he didn’t lose. Not like Papa. And everyone wanted the mouse because the mouse won so much money he bought us a big new house and a car just for you and me so we could go driving whenever we want.” Gabby took a breath and beamed up at Sam. “Isn’t that a good story?”

  Sam felt sick inside. “You are a very clever girl, Gabriela Grace, but you know that, don’t you?”

  Gabby just laughed, and they walked hand in hand back to the villa, but the closer they came to the villa, the more Sam worried. How was she going to break the news to Gabby that they were leaving? How was she going to tell her they were going to live apart from Johann in a country Gabby had never even been to?

  Oh God, none of this was easy.

  And reaching the old town villa not far from the Place de Casino, it only got harder, as parked in front of the villa was Cristiano’s red sports car.

  Cristiano, dressed in the same black slacks and thin cashmere sweater he’d worn earlier, appeared as they entered the house. “Good afternoon, Baroness.”

  Gabby looked at him, not at all shy. “Who are you?”

  Sam struggled to think of an answer and it was Cristiano who smoothly replied, “A friend of the family’s.” He extended his hand to Gabriela. “I’m Cristiano Bartolo. What’s your name?”

  “Gabriela Grace van Bergen.”

  “A big name,” he said dryly.

  “I’m a big girl,” she answered smartly.

  Cristiano’s smile turned wry. “Out of the mouth of babes.” He turned to Sam. “I see you’ve packed.”

  Again her heart sank. “Yes, but I—”

  “Is Papa here?” Gabby interrupted, tugging on Sam’s hand.

  “He’s upstairs sleeping,” she answered woodenly, as Gabby dropped her hand and charged up the stairs. How could Cristiano persist with this? Maybe he wasn’t a gentleman, and maybe he wasn’t merciful, but cruel?

  With Gabby gone, Sam took a step toward Cristiano, dropping her voice. “You can’t do this to her. Please think it through, please try to see it from her perspective. I’m the closest thing to a mother she knows.”

  Suddenly Gabby was running down the stairs again, her long dark braids flying. “Sam, Sam! Papa’s gone. He’s not in his room. He’s not even here.”

  Sam wasn’t sure if she felt fear or relief. Unbuttoning her coat she faced the stairs where Gabby was charging down. “Maybe he went for a walk.”

  “No, Sam, he’s gone. His clothes, his coat, everything’s gone.” Gabby jumped down the last three steps, going forward to her knees before catching herself with her hands. She righted herself, stood. “He must have gone on a trip without us.”

  Relief, fear, hope, panic—they pummeled Sam one by one. If Johann was gone, then Sam couldn’t leave Gabby behind. But if Johann was gone, and Cristiano didn’t want Gabby, then Gabby would be placed in government care until Johann was found.

  Stricken, Sam looked up, straight into Cristiano’s face. This was his fault, Cristiano Bartolo’s fault. He was the devil himself, smiling, playing cards, buying drinks for Johann. Sam knew he’d deliberately gotten Johann drunk, too, upped the stakes, challenged Johann, pushing him out of his comfort zone until Johann was playing over his head.

  But then, Johann always played over his head.

  Sam couldn’t look away from Cristiano’s hard impassive features. He looked perfectly neutral, even indifferent. And she may have disliked him before, but she hated him now. Hated his confidence, his arrogance, the power he thought he had over them.

  “Isn’t that amazing,” she spit contemptuously. “You sit down to play cards and next thing you know, you’ve inherited someone’s family.”

  He said nothing, just looked at her with his hazel eyes, so focused, so alert, so watchful.

  “It doesn’t make sense. None of this makes sense!” Sam crossed her arms over her chest, knuckles pressed to her ribs. “What do you want with us?”

  “Maybe I’m a generous man with a sympathetic heart.”

  “Heart?” Sam heard the word burst from her lips, cold, icy. “No, I don’t think that’s it at all. There’s something else happening here, something far more—” She broke off, bit back the word that crowded her mind. She couldn’t say sinister in front of Gabby, couldn’t alarm Gabby. Instead she shook her head, swallowed her fury and fear and reaching out, placed her hand protectively on the top of Gabby’s head.

  “I’m going to go upstairs,” she said more calmly. “Check and see if Johann left me a note. I’m sure he did. I’m sure he’ll have us join him as soon as he reaches wherever he’s gone.”

  Cristiano’s eyebrows lifted. “If you think so.”

  “I think so,” she snapped, but of course she didn’t think anything of the sort. She wouldn’t be surprised if Johann had just fled. It was in his nature to run from problems.

  Cristiano pursed his lips but held his tongue. He didn’t think Johann was coming back. Not now. Not ever.

  Sam hurried up the stairs with Gabby scampering at her side. Johann’s room was dark and empty. Sam opened the closet, the four wide bureau drawers,
and finally the small drawer in the night table but everything was empty save for a drawing Gabby had made him lying in the middle dresser drawer.

  Sam took the crayon drawing out, looked at the picture which was one of the childish drawings where everyone is a stick figure either wearing a triangle dress or rectangle pants. The picture was meant to be Johann, Sam and Gabby all down at the beach, as if that was the way they were. A family.

  They were no family. They’d never been a family, despite Sam’s best efforts.

  Sam didn’t hear Cristiano come up behind her and when he spoke she jumped. “That’s a lovely picture of the van Bergens on holiday,” he said.

  Eyes burning, face flushed, Sam quickly folded the picture and put it in the pocket of her lavender cardigan. It was that or cry, and she wouldn’t cry, hated crying, having spent far too many years as a little girl in tears. If she’d learned anything, it was to present a confident face to the world. No one needed to know what she was thinking, or feeling. No one needed to know the truth. “Gabby’s a very talented artist.”

  “And optimistic,” he added mockingly.

  She was just turning to walk out when she spotted an envelope on the bed, propped against Johann’s pillow. Her name was written on the envelope.

  Her hand shook ever so slightly as she ripped the envelope open and shook the papers out. Birth certificate, and a paper-clipped set of legal documents slid out. The birth certificate and papers were Gabriela’s.

  He was leaving her, Sam thought, suppressing horror even as it mixed with hope.

  She unfolded the note, read Johann’s wildly slanted scrawl.

  Sam, I’m finished, gone, going home to Vienna. I thought together we had a good chance to beat Bartolo, but the game’s up. Bartolo plays to win, and he’s won. If it’s any consolation, Gabby’s yours. You know better what to do with her than me. I’ve lost it all now. Best of luck. You’ll need it. Johann van Bergen.

  “What is that?” Cristiano asked.

  A miracle, Sam thought, heart racing, eyes stinging. She blinked, turned the note around, held it up for him to see. “Read it.”