She was a gift.
He sat immobile; completely frozen, for the entire performance. Finally, when the last piece began, he exhaled. He knew it was the finale because he’d heard her practicing for months. But he’d never heard it like this. The keys were loaded with emotion, each and every one.
The final note struck and the audience was silent. Then, as one, it erupted, standing and applauding. The noise was deafening. Christos couldn’t keep the smile off his face. He stood, and her eyes went straight to his. He understood her relief, and also her fear.
The gift she’d nurtured all of her twenty four years was no longer a secret.
She was the public’s, and the public would want more and more of her.
And he would be with her, by her side, supporting her, encouraging her, being whatever she needed.
“She was amazing,” Filip said in his ear and Christos could only nod.
“I had no idea,” Caroline shook her head. “I mean, obviously I knew she was talented, but …” Filip’s girlfriend’s statement trailed off as her eyes were drawn to the stage. Andre had joined Elle on stage. Rather than detract from her moment, he stood aside and clapped, then waved his hands in her direction.
Elle bowed, then walked to Andre. He wrapped her in a hug and together they waved towards the crowd.
When she stepped off-stage, she was shaking like a leaf. “Did that just happen?”
He laughed. “Kiddo, I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Miss Bradley?”
Elle lifted her eyes. A tall man in a tuxedo with thick blonde hair was smiling at her. “That was magnificent.”
“Thank you,” she murmured.
Andre shook his head with amusement. “She’s got no idea who you are.”
“I’m sorry,” she blushed.
“Don’t be. I like to keep a low profile.”
“Elle,” Andre said, “This is Kenneth Morton.”
Her jaw dropped. “CEO of Morton Music.”
“The same,” Kenneth grinned. “I’d love to take a few minutes of your time later tonight.”
“Oh, um, sure. Of course.”
The din of the applause wasn’t dying down and Andre winked at her. “You’re not done yet.” With a gentle nudge, he pushed her back for another bow. She took the piano, barely registering that Christos’s seat was now empty.
Slowly she began to play. And this time, she chose a Tori Amos song. A modern classic, she thought to herself, as her fingers moved over the keyboard. The audience was hushed, and again, when she finished, the applause was deafening.
She left the stage wondering if this was really her life.
It was, and her dreams were falling so perfectly into place that she was barely surprised to find their apartment covered in flowers upon their return, later that night.
“You did this?” She spun around to face Christos, her eyes enormous. Roses, tulips and lillies covered almost every surface. She breathed in their fragrance. “Thank you. It’s stunning.”
“I was so proud of you tonight.” His words were thick with emotion. “I was nervous for you because I so badly wanted it to go well. And you killed it. You were sensational.”
“You were nervous?” She shook her head. “I spent the last five minutes before I went on stage thinking of ways I could get out of it.”
He grinned. “I’m very pleased you didn’t.”
“Me too.”
“You were a runaway success. At this rate, I’m going to be asking you to finance my next venture.”
She laughed. “Hardly.”
“We’ll see.”
“It is nice to know that I can contribute around here.” She ran her finger over one of the crystal ducks that the decorator had installed. “I mean, maybe the next thingo like this can be on me.”
He burst out laughing. “I don’t think we need anymore thingos like that. Weren’t we going to get rid of it? It’s ugly as hell.”
“It’s growing on me.”
“Oh, good. Kind of like I did.”
“I wouldn’t go that far. The duck can at least double up as a paperweight. What are you good for?” She wrapped her arms around him, linking them at his back. “I mean, apart from the obvious.”
Christos put his arms around his wife’s narrow waist, and stared down at her grinning face. “Do you remember what I promised when you agreed to live here with me?”
“Not to call me a whore?” She teased, arching one perfectly-shaped brow in her face.
His nod was droll. “Other than that?”
She bit down on her lower lip and shook her head. “What is it?”
He laced his fingers through hers and lifted her hand to his lips. “For three years you have given my life purpose. Do you realise that you are on my mind all of the time? Your happiness is my priority in life.”
“And I’ve never been happier,” she said seriously.
“I hope with all my heart I can make you just a little happier,” he kissed her forehead softly and then released her. Elle frowned with a hint of confusion that only deepened when he knelt to the ground. Blinding clarity burst through her and suddenly she felt tears gliding down her flushed cheeks.
“You know what you mean to me. When I think of how easily we could have not met, or not been brought together as we were, I am filled with dread. I fell in love with you the first time we met and I have loved you ever since. I promised you three years ago that I would not show my love for you with expensive presents and gifts, no matter how tempting I find it. So this is it. My single gift to you, which I hope you will agree to wear, for the rest of your life.”
Elle looked down just as he slid an enormous diamond onto her hand. It glistened like ice on her finger. “It would have blinded my audience tonight,” she murmured, amused that this was her first thought.
“Do you not like it?” He stared at the rock wondering if it was too ostentatious for her.
“I like it,” she contradicted, lifting her hand to wipe her cheeks. “But I would have been just as happy with a piece of string. I don’t care about diamonds but I care a whole lot about marrying you.”
“I love you,” he said simply, standing and pulling her to him.
“I know.”
He laughed. “You know, Elle Bradley, I think you are always going to have me just a little on the back-foot, no?”
“For as long as we both shall live,” she agreed, grinning as she pressed her lips to his.
And all Christos Rakanti could think was that for all his empire and wealth, the woman in his arms was the truest asset in all the world.
THE END
Excerpt - The Billionaire’s Untouched Bride
BOOK SIX
Prologue
BENEDETTO DI FIORI WASN’T a man to walk away from a challenge. Nor was he a stranger to hardship. In fact, if you’d asked him a week ago what he lived for, he might have answered ‘the fight’.
For as long as he could remember, he’d done things the hard way. Not by choice so much as circumstance: despite the fact he now occupied a position amongst the world’s elite, his position in society hadn’t been handed to him on a silver platter— nothing had been.
No, Benedetto had done it the hard way, using his considerable brains, guile and fearless attitude to shape himself into one of the world’s most ruthless and wealthy bachelors.
If you’d asked him a week ago, he would have said he relished a challenge, but that was before his world came crashing down around his ears in the most spectacular fashion.
“You’re sure this is what they intended?”
Across the boardroom from him, an elderly lawyer who’d introduced himself as Bogart Welsh regarded a fistful of papers over the rim of his spectacles.
“You are Benedetto Alfredo Di Fiori?”
The Italian’s lip quirked in an expression of his trademark disdain. He was known the world over, his name practically a household one thanks to his aggressive investment in the private space explor
ation and satellite industries, not to mention his pioneering efforts with life-saving medical equipment. Fiercely private, he hated the attention, but he’d become reconciled to it over the years.
“Si.” He bit the word out with more derision than he’d intended.
“Then yes,” the old man continued, his American accent pronounced. Beyond the windows of this steel and glass high rise, snow swirled. Benedetto couldn’t look at it without an ache in his gut, a painful accusation that the drifts of white could never answer.
It might look beautiful and soft, but he knew the truth. This weather phenomenon had killed them and his life would never be the same again.
“It makes no sense,” he pronounced, as though he could argue his way out of this. He pushed up from his chair, striding towards the windows, staring out at Manhattan without really seeing its distinctive skyline.
The lawyer made a noise that might have passed as agreement. After all, there was no one on earth who would have said Benedetto Di Fiori was a wise candidate to be legal guardian of a child.
“The Will is quite specific,” Bogart continued. “And it was updated only a week after Alfredo’s birth.”
Alfredo. His namesake. An all-consuming sense of panic surged inside Benedetto, like a tidal wave at its tipping point.
“What the hell were they thinking?” His eyes swept shut and he saw them as clearly as though they were standing right before him. Veronica and Jack, his best friends - except more like siblings to him than friends. Hell, they were the closest thing he had to family.
When the proverbial had hit the fan a year earlier, when his affair with Melinda had hit the tabloids and all the world had condemned his as a home-wrecker, they’d been there by his side, sneering with the same contempt that curdled his insides. Even if the papers had been right; even if he’d judged himself so much harsher than anyone else could.
Veronica and Jack hadn’t judged him. They’d understood. They knew him.
But surely they also knew how defective he would be as the legal guardian to a child? Surely they knew how little he would want this role?
He turned to face Bogart with an expression that would have put fear in his business enemies’ hearts. But Bogart was experienced in matters of probate law, and was used to dealing with frayed tempers and confounded expectations.
“There is a requirement that you will include Veronica’s sister in some decisions – education, for example – but otherwise, the Will is emphatic on this score. Full custody and raising of Alfredo Higham passes to Benedetto Alfredo di Fiori in the event of our death.”
Benedetto curved his hands over the back of a chair, his posture rigid, his lips a disapproving gash in his face.
“What the hell were they thinking?” He repeated; it was a rhetorical question, asked purely of himself, with no expectation of a response.
But Bogart had experience in such matters, and he said, quietly, sympathetically, with a small shake of his head. “I expect they were thinking they’d never die.”
Benedetto’s golden brown eyes – eyes that earned him the nickname il Lupo as a child, for their distinct wolf-like shape and depth – flicked to the older man as though he were being roused from a nightmare, being forced to meet an even scarier reality.
Jack had every reason to understand how closely death stalked – he’d already cheated its gnarled grip once, to hope for a reprieve a second time was to hope for too much.
“They should have known better.” Benedetto stalked to a different chair and lifted his suit jacket from the back. The funeral leaflet was still in his pocket, so as he shifted the jacket, it fell to the floor. He squatted down on powerful legs to scrape it up, his eyes landing on the portrait of Jack and Veronica, taken on their wedding day. The wedding day at which he’d acted as best man. The wedding day when he’d witnessed for himself true happiness, true exultation and trust.
His stomach clenched, because he knew he had to accept this. For as long as he cherished his friends’ memories, he had to respect their wishes. And for some ungodly reason, unbeknownst to anyone on this good earth, they’d left their child to his care.
Benedetto was now, to all intents and purposes, father to a three year old boy.
And he’d just have to learn to live with that.
Chapter 1
Six months later
“COME IN.”
Cleopatra hesitated a moment, running a hand down the front of her simple suit – a steel grey that brought out the shimmering blue of her eyes – then pushed the door inwards, holding her breath a little without realising it.
The man didn’t look up from his computer when she entered. “Take a seat.”
Nerves were normal in an interview. It was just being here, in the Roman townhouse – more like a mansion, in fact – of a man like Benedetto di Fiori that set her nerves even more on edge than usual. This place was as grand as a museum, or a wing of the Vatican, all high ceilings, highly-sheened marble floors, priceless works of art hanging on the walls. Everywhere she looked there was proof of a sumptuous and expensive lifestyle.
She took the seat he’d gestured to, clasping her hands in her lap, keeping her eyes on him out of compulsion rather than choice.
He had a face that demanded inspection. Strong features, as though each had been scraped from granite using a palette knife – a straight nose, chiselled jaw and cheekbones, a high forehead. His eyes were wide-set and large, and the darkest brown – almost black – she could imagine. His flesh was a dark brown, like caramel and his shoulders were broad, hinting at a muscular frame. Her mouth was inexplicably dry.
He looked at her, finally, his eyes sweeping over her face with a small frown etching across his lips.
“Cleopatra Ash-Compton.”
She’d started using her grandmother’s name after she’d received the letter from her brother – the brother she hadn’t known about until a few years ago, a brother she had no intention of ever knowing.
His brows drew together and he studied her for several long seconds, in a way that made her feel as though she were being pulled apart and weighed, bit by bit.
“You applied for the job I’ve advertised?”
And despite her nervousness, the hint of a smile twitched at the corner of her lips. “Yes.”
His only response was to draw his brows closer together. “You look too young to be a nanny.”
Cleopatra shifted her slim shoulders. “Do I?”
His lips quirked as though he’d enjoyed her quick response, but the emotion was flattened out of his face almost immediately.
“Exactly how old are you?”
“Twenty four.”
There was a beat as he processed this. “And you have experience?”
A smile touched Cleopatra’s lips as she thought fondly of Eloise. “Yes, Mr Di Fiori. I’ve worked the last six years for the American ambassador to Italy.”
A fact she was certain he possessed. There was no way she’d have been granted an interview with the great, renowned tycoon Benedetto di Fiori if he hadn’t done an extensive background check and personally called her references. She wondered if he’d uncovered her true identity? Unlikely, given that her father’s name wasn’t on her birth certificate and he’d never publicly acknowledged her. No, the secret that she had herself discovered less than a decade earlier was hers alone – no one other than herself and her biological brother and a handful of lawyers knew that she was, in fact, the love child of one of the wealthiest men in Europe.
“Why are you leaving?”
Another wistful smile. “Eloise – their daughter – just started boarding school. They don’t need me anymore.”
She’d known it was coming, but that didn’t make it hurt any less.
“They’ve been very kind,” she continued softly, her American accent more pronounced as she skated over the admission. “Offering for me to stay at their home for as long as I need, while I find a new position. But without Eloise, I feel somewhat surplus to requi
rements. Besides, I like to be busy and right now, I’m definitely not.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “So you could start immediately.”
Cleopatra tilted her head and tapped her finger against her knee slowly. There’d been very little about Benedetto’s needs in the advertisement she’d seen. “WANTED; NANNY, FULL TIME. EXPERIENCE WITH SMALL CHILDREN ESSENTIAL. IMMEDIATE START.”
“Possibly.”
“Possibly?” It was clear from his recitation of the word that this man wasn’t used to being argued with. His expression confirmed that – halfway to a scowl, he looked impatient and cross.
She bit down on her lower lip. “I think one of the hardest things for a child – and for me, if I’m honest – is taking on a position that isn’t right. I think it’s important to know I’m a good fit for a charge before I officially agree to care for them.”
“Meaning?”
“I need to know a little more about your situation before I agree to start – immediately or ever.”
A shift of his lips again which once more signalled a grudging kind of approval. “You say this with a lot of authority for a woman who’s only had one position as a nanny?”
“Why do you presume I’ve only had one placement?”
“Your age.”
“Ah.” She shook her head. “I worked with another family before I took up the role with Eloise. It was …not really a good fit.”
“In what way?” He leaned forward a little, his eyes scanning her face.
Cleopatra’s cheeks flushed bright pink as she thought back to that awful stage of her life. A friendship she’d taken as innocent that had meant so much more to her charge’s father.
“Well,” she contemplated how to answer that. “Being a good nanny isn’t just about the child. I mean, obviously, he or she is the most important part of my job, and it’s why I do what I do, but the whole dynamic has to be right.”
Pairs VIII Page 33
