Bought with His Name & the Sicilian's Bought Bride

by Penny Jordan

  ‘I’ve been busy with work,’ Rico argued. ‘And watching those two made me—’

  ‘Save it,’ Catherine snapped. ‘Tell the court how you couldn’t even get away for her christening, how you saw your niece for two minutes at the hospital the day after she was born and that you haven’t seen her since.’

  ‘There are reasons!’ Rico roared, but Catherine just glared back.

  ‘Excuses,’ Catherine flared. ‘They are nothing but excuses! And now you have the gall to tell me you want custody of Lily—a baby you’ve barely met. Well, I’m not going to let you do it, Rico. I don’t give a damn about the Mancini fortune, and your power doesn’t frighten me. I will fight for her, and deep down I think you know that I’m the best person for her.’

  ‘You?’

  She heard the scorn and contempt in his voice and deliberately kept hers even. ‘Yes, me, Rico. I will fight for Lily. I will do whatever it takes to ensure her future. Whatever it takes,’ Catherine repeated, just to be sure he understood. ‘I know you don’t think much of me, Rico. You made that abundantly clear on the night of the wedding—’

  ‘That night has no bearing on this discussion.’

  ‘Oh, but it does.’ The sting of embarrassment brought a flush of colour to her pale cheeks, but Catherine refused to be silenced. Lily’s future was too important for her to dodge behind embarrassing facts. ‘You were the one who treated me like a cheap tart, Rico.’ She saw him wince at her brutal words, but ploughed on anyway. ‘You were the one who walked out of the reception without even a goodbye…’ Her cheeks were red now, but not with embarrassment. Instead it was with a year’s worth of humiliation and anger at this man who had treated her with such contempt. ‘I ran after you, Rico. I came to your car and knocked on your window and you refused to even look at me…’

  ‘Because you disgusted me.’

  Her recoil was so visible he might as well have hit her. The colour that had suffused her cheeks drained, and tears that had stayed buried all day, were stinging now, but Catherine bit them back, refusing to let him see her cry, to allow him the glory of her utter humiliation.

  ‘Might I remind you, Rico—’ her voice was strained but dignified, her lips barely moving as she struggled to hold it together ‘—that it takes two? And if you’re going to try and use that night to discredit me in court then it won’t work. You were very much a participant in what happened.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ he sneered.

  ‘Presumably you’re one of those chauvinist men who assume it’s okay for men to behave in such a fashion but that’s it somehow different for women?’ He opened his mouth to speak but Catherine overrode him, her voice coming louder now. ‘And maybe you’re right, Rico. Because try as I might I cannot justify what happened that night. I cannot explain to anyone, let alone myself, how I ended up in a hotel room with a man I barely knew. Yes, I behaved like a cheap tart—so you see, Rico, you can’t hurt me with your cruel words, can’t shame me any more than I shamed myself that night. I may disgust you, but I can assure you I disgust myself more.’

  They stood in bristling silence, her words resonating like an awful echo until Catherine could no longer bear it—couldn’t bear to stand there a moment longer. Her eyes scanned the luxurious room for an exit, settling instead for the safety of the bathroom, and only when she’d closed the door did she let out the breath she had been inadvertently holding. Her jaw was aching from gritting her teeth together.

  How could she explain to him that to her dying day she would never be able to fathom how she had so brazenly allowed him to touch her, hold her? That even a year on she could scarcely comprehend the intimacies she had shared with a virtual stranger that night? But he hadn’t seemed like a stranger, Catherine recalled, resting her burning face against the mirror as she remembered the passion that had gripped her, that had sullied her sensibility and overridden her normal reservation.

  How could she explain to Rico what she couldn’t understand herself?

  Peeling off her clothes, Catherine stepped into the shower, the welcome bliss of water on her body soothing somehow, giving her a few moments to compose herself, to sort through the jumble of events today had thrown at her. She wished she could stay there for ever, wished she could hide from the world for just a moment longer, but somehow she had to be strong, had to go back in that room and face him.

  For Lily’s sake.

  Pulling on a thick white robe, she tied it firmly before filling the sink to wash her stockings and knickers. Luxurious as the hotel might be, it didn’t come with a fully stocked wardrobe—and anyway she was glad of the chance to prolong the discussion a few moments longer.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  Appalled, she swung round, scarcely able to believe his gall.

  ‘How dare you come in here without knocking?’ Eyes blazing, she met his gaze. ‘How dare you come in here? I could have been naked…’

  ‘You are dressed in a robe,’ Rico pointed out, clearly unmoved at her protests. ‘We need to talk, and instead you are hiding in here.’

  ‘I’m not hiding,’ Catherine lied, but Rico just shook his head.

  ‘Why are you washing your clothes like some gipsy in the river, then?’ he sneered. ‘You are hiding, Catherine…’

  ‘You really are the limit—do you know that? For your information, I didn’t stop to pack an overnight bag when the police arrived at my door.’

  ‘Send your washing down to Housekeeping, then.’ Rico shrugged.

  ‘I have some pride,’ Catherine retorted. ‘Not much, I admit that—you’ve managed to obliterate most of it—but if you think I’m going to hand my underwear over to be washed and ironed then you’ve got another think coming.’ Very deliberately she turned away, rinsing out her washing and draping it over the bath ledge, making sure she took her time, sensing his bristling impatience yet refusing to be rushed, refusing to turn as he commenced the discussion she had hoped to delay.

  ‘If Lily were older undoubtedly we could ask her what she wanted. But given she is only six months old, that is of course impossible.’

  She could feel his eyes on her, but she didn’t turn, just gave a small nod as Rico continued.

  ‘So perhaps we should ask ourselves what her parents would have wanted?’

  His words made sense, and reluctantly she turned to face him, willing to at least listen to what Rico had to say.

  ‘Marco and I may have rowed on occasion, and I may have alienated myself from him to some degree because I didn’t approve of his lifestyle, but we still met up regularly. As I said before, we came to this hotel for many lunches, and whatever trouble he was in Marco knew he could always call on me. I know that he did respect me.’ His voice thickened and he swallowed hard before continuing. ‘I know in my heart that he loved me, Catherine, and I also know he would have wanted me to raise his child. So now it’s your turn. What about Janey?’

  His eyes never left her face, taking in every flicker of reaction as his question reached her. ‘What would Janey have wanted for Lily?’

  ‘She’d have wanted me to have her…’ Her voice trailed off, her startled eyes blinking rapidly, and Rico leapt in, sensing weakness and exploiting it in an instant.

  ‘Because she loved you?’ His voice was so silken you might almost have missed the derisive sneer, but Catherine was like a radar where Rico was concerned, and she flinched at his insensitivity. ‘Janey would have wanted you to have Lily because she adored her big sister Catherine?’

  ‘She did love me; I was her sister.’ Her lips were impossibly dry and she ran her tongue over them, her head spinning as he relentlessly continued.

  ‘You don’t have to love your sister, Catherine,’ Rico pointed out mercilessly. ‘You don’t even have to love your husband—and Janey didn’t love Marco, did she? Did she?’ He roared the words the second time—the roar of a lion defending its territory, of a beautiful animal to be admired from a distance, but that could turn in a second. ‘In fact Marco
was just a walking, talking chequebook to his young bride…’

  ‘Rico, please…’ Catherine started. She wanted him to stop, wanted to end this horrible interrogation, didn’t want to sully the few precious memories she had with the awful truth—didn’t want to admit even to herself how little Janey had thought of her.

  ‘Janey wanted the fast cars, the nice home, the maids, the lifestyle—and I don’t doubt she’d have wanted the same for her daughter.’

  ‘Janey would have wanted me,’ Catherine insisted, but the lack of conviction in her voice truly terrified her. ‘You’ve got it all wrong, Rico.’

  ‘Have I?’ His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. ‘Which part?’

  ‘All of it,’ Catherine whispered, pleating the tie of her robe with trembling fingers. And she knew there and then that she could never admit to the truth. Rico was right, damn him, and it hurt to admit it. Janey hadn’t loved her; Janey had hated her. More damaging than that, Janey had blatantly admitted she had married Marco for his money. If it ever got out, if Catherine ever admitted the truth, what chance would she have against the family courts? What chance would she have against the might of Rico Mancini? It would all be over bar the shouting.

  Lily would be gone from her life as surely as she was standing here now.

  A lion Rico might be, but the lioness in Catherine emerged then—proud and wary, sleek and refined, and willing to do whatever it took to protect those she loved. To her dying breath she would deny it. She would take Janey’s words to the grave. Would lie through her teeth if that was what it took.

  Lily needed her.

  ‘Janey loved Marco.’

  ‘She told you that?’

  Dragging in air through her clenched teeth, she wrenched her eyes from the floor and forced herself to do the hardest thing she had done in her life—look Rico in the eye and lie.

  ‘Yes, Rico. She told me that she loved him. Janey loved Marco and his money had nothing to do with it. I know in my heart that—’

  ‘Save it.’ A well-manicured hand flicked in the air. His eyes were more shuttered than ever, his voice almost weary, and for once there was economy in his actions, the usual extravagant Latin temperament curiously subdued as he halted her speech. ‘It is time for bed.’

  ‘I thought we were going to talk,’ Catherine protested, following him out of the bathroom, confused at the sudden change in his demeanour. She had braced herself for confrontation, adrenaline pumping through her veins as she geared up to defend herself, to do whatever it took to keep Lily near. But all the fight seemed to have left Rico now. Suddenly all he looked was exhausted. ‘I thought we were going to talk, Rico,’ she said again. ‘That is why I came here after all; we need to sort something out.’

  ‘And we will,’ Rico affirmed. ‘But I realise now is not the time. We cannot decide anything tonight; we are both tired and it has been an emotional day.’

  She almost laughed—almost laughed at his detached summing up. The man who stood before her seemed curiously void of emotion.

  ‘Here.’ He handed her a crisp white shirt. ‘I always have a spare in my briefcase. You can sleep in this.’

  ‘Rico?’ Even as the word was out Catherine knew she would get no response. His apathy unnerved her and, though she was loath to admit it, somehow she preferred the angry, volatile man she was starting to get used to.

  ‘It is time to sleep, Catherine. You can have the master bedroom; I’ll take the other.’

  * * *

  It should have been uncomfortable, awkward—in any other circumstances sharing a suite with the man who had so carelessly broken her heart would have sent Catherine into a spin. But not tonight.

  Tonight was for Janey.

  By the time she had popped back into the bathroom and pulled on the shirt Rico had left the lounge, and she stood for an uncertain moment before heading to the open door of his room; he was already stretched out on his bed, his hands behind his head, staring fixedly at the ceiling. Catherine knew his averted gaze had nothing to do with the heated words they had shared, or the problems they faced. Knew that his pensive shift in tempo had grief written all over it.

  ‘Goodnight, then.’ She hovered by his door, awaiting a response that never came, before gently closing the door and heading for her own room.

  As the light flicked off and darkness descended the oblivion she so desperately craved didn’t come, but the horrors of the day did recede slightly as she drifted to the gentle past…

  Suddenly she was away from the sullied world Janey had created, back to two little girls, one dark, one blonde. The Janey she chose to remember danced in her mind—Janey before their parents’ death, Janey before money and greed had taken over. The little sister she had grown up with was ready to be mourned now, and Catherine drifted back to the beauty of a past when the world had seemed good and safe. Suddenly she was scared to go there, scared of the depth of her pain, scared to take the lid off her grief, terrified of what she might find. The past a mocking reminder of the void left today.

  An involuntary sob escaped her lips and she bit it back hard, gulping into the darkness, her breath coming in short, ragged bursts as she struggled to hold it in—hold in eight years of agony, eight years of pain, eight years of being alone and having to be the strong one.

  She had learnt long ago the folly of tears, the loneliness of weeping into the night with no one to wipe them away.

  And she would not cry now.

  ‘Catherine?’

  She heard the concern in his voice but she didn’t answer, just lay frozen in the darkness, her ears on elastic as he crossed the room, feeling the indentation of the mattress as he lowered himself onto the bed.

  ‘Catherine, are you okay?’

  She nodded, her hand shielding her eyes as he flicked on the light.

  ‘You are allowed to cry, you know,’ Rico offered gently, but she shook her head.

  ‘Crying won’t bring them all back.’

  ‘All?’ When she didn’t answer he carried on gently. ‘You’re not just talking about Janey and Marco, are you, Catherine?’

  She didn’t respond, but he pushed on gently. ‘What happened to your parents?’

  ‘They died,’ she said simply.

  ‘Tell me about it.’

  She was about to say no, to shake her head and turn away, but something stopped her. A need to share, to delve a little into her past—a past she simply couldn’t face alone tonight. And even if Rico despised her, even if this conversation would be forgotten, or even held against her in the cold light of day, tonight the simple fact that it was another human being, reaching out in the lonely abyss of grief, was enough to make her open up.

  ‘My mother was beautiful.’ Catherine’s voice quivered, and she cleared her throat before going on. ‘Her name was Lily as well, and my father would have done anything for her.’

  ‘Like Janey and Marco?’

  ‘In some ways,’ Catherine admitted. ‘Although my father was always very sensible where the children were concerned. Just not with my mother.’ She gave a wry laugh, but it held no malice. ‘My mother decided she wanted to go skiing, just like that. She saw an advert on the television and demanded my father take her to the snow. It didn’t matter to her that it was a five-hour drive, didn’t matter to her that my father had never even seen snow, let alone driven in it, or that they didn’t have chains for the car; she wanted to go and that was all there was to it.’

  Rico’s hand moved across the bed, capturing hers as she screwed her eyes tightly closed, and somehow his touch gave her the strength to continue, to tell her sorry tale.

  ‘Needless to say they never made it. The police turned up at my home just as they did today, said just what the nurse did this afternoon—“They wouldn’t have suffered.”’

  ‘But you did.’ His free hand moved to her face, brushing away a heavy dark curl then lingering there, tracing the apple of her cheek, the high arch of eyebrow, before capturing her face in his hand. She ached to turn to him, h
is touch a comfort she craved, but still she lay there frozen. ‘What happened then?’

  ‘Their affairs were a mess.’ Catherine closed her eyes for a second, the tension and the agony of those times still painful even now. ‘I took a couple of jobs to support Janey and I…’

  ‘You still went to college, though?’

  Catherine nodded. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t have. Maybe I should have been there more for Janey. I just thought if I could get my training over, forge a decent career, then eventually we’d both be okay. Clearly I was wrong.’

  ‘Janey chose how to live her life,’ Rico suggested gently, but Catherine refused to be comforted.

  ‘Eventually I sold the house.’ Her lip quivered slightly. ‘I just couldn’t handle the mortgage repayments. I put a deposit on a flat with my half; I hoped Janey would do the same with hers. She didn’t,’ Catherine added needlessly. ‘Instead she blew the money on fancy clothes and restaurants, renting apartments she could never afford. No matter how I tried to reel her in, no matter how I tried to slow her spending down, she spun out of control.’

  Tears were precariously close now, but still she bit them back, clenched her eyes closed, raked in some air in an effort to hold on. When she opened them Rico was still there, his eyes not mocking now, infinitely patient as he sat there.

  ‘You have lost so much, Catherine; there is no shame in tears.’

  ‘There’s no point either.’ She gave a tired shrug. ‘I learnt that eight years ago, Rico. Tears don’t change anything.’

  ‘I don’t agree,’ Rico murmured. ‘Sometimes it is better to feel pain than to feel nothing.’

  And Catherine wished perhaps more than she had ever wished for anything that she could do it. Could let out some of what she held in. But as the silence lingered on, as her tears stayed firmly away, it was Rico who broke the loaded silence, Rico who summed it all up in four simple words.