by Maya Blake
Her relationship with her father had always been difficult, but she’d never thought she’d lose her sister so completely, too.
She cleared her throat. ‘Sophie, this agreement with Harry wasn’t supposed to undermine anything you were doing with Father to save Penningtons. There’s no need to be upset or jealous. I’m not trying to take your place—’
‘Jealous! Don’t be ridiculous,’ Sophie sneered, although the trace of panic in her voice made Eva’s heart break. ‘And you could never take my place. I’m Father’s right hand, whereas you...you’re nothing but—’ She stopped herself and, after a few seconds, stuck her nose in the air. ‘Our guests are arriving shortly. Please don’t be late to your own engagement party.’
Eva swallowed down her sorrow. ‘I’ve no intention of being late. But neither do I have any intention of wearing a dress that has less material than thread holding it together.’
She strode to the giant George III armoire opposite the bed, even though her earlier inspection had shown less than a fraction of the items she’d left behind when she’d moved out on her twenty-first birthday.
These days she was content with her hostess’s uniform when she was working or lounging in jeans and sweaters while she wrote her music on her days off. Haute couture, spa days and primping herself beautiful in order to please anyone were part of a past she’d happily left behind.
Unfortunately this time there’d been no escaping. Not when she alone had been able to find the solution to saving her family.
She tried in vain to squash the rising memories being back at Pennington Manor threatened to resurrect.
Zaccheo was in her past, a mistake that should never have happened. A reminder that ignoring a lesson learned only led to further heartache.
She sighed in relief when her hand closed on a silk wrap. The red dress would be far too revealing, a true spectacle for the three hundred guests her father had invited to gawp at. But at least the wrap would provide a little much-needed cover.
Glancing at the dress again, she shuddered.
She’d rather be anywhere but here, participating in this sham. But then hadn’t her whole life been a sham? From parents who’d been publicly hailed as the couple to envy, but who’d fought bitterly in private until tragedy had struck in the form of her mother’s cancer, to the lavish parties and expensive holidays that her father had secretly been borrowing money for, the Penningtons had been one giant sham for as long as Eva could remember.
Zaccheo’s entry into their lives had only escalated her father’s behaviour.
No, she refused to think about Zaccheo. He belonged to a chapter of her life that was firmly sealed. Tonight was about Harry Fairfield, her family’s saviour, and her soon-to-be fiancé.
It was also about her father’s health.
For that reason alone, she tried again with Sophie.
‘For Father’s sake, I want tonight to go smoothly, so can we try to get along?’
Sophie stiffened. ‘If you’re talking about Father’s hospitalisation two weeks ago, I haven’t forgotten.’
Watching her father struggle to breathe with what the doctors had termed a cardiac event had terrified Eva. It’d been the catalyst that had forced her to accept Harry’s proposition.
‘He’s okay today, isn’t he?’ Despite her bitterness at her family’s treatment of her, she couldn’t help her concern for her remaining parent. Nor could she erase the secret yearning that the different version of the father she’d connected with very briefly after her mother’s death, the one who wasn’t an excess-loving megalomaniac who treated her as if she was an irritating inconvenience, hadn’t been a figment of her imagination.
‘He will be, once we get rid of the creditors threatening us with bankruptcy.’
Eva exhaled. There was no backing out; no secretly hoping that some other solution would present itself and save her from the sacrifice she was making.
All avenues had been thoroughly explored—Eva had demanded to see the Pennington books herself and spent a day with the company’s accountants to verify that they were indeed in dire straits. Her father’s rash acquisition of The Spire had stretched the company to breaking point. Harry Fairfield was their last hope.
She unzipped the red dress, resisting the urge to crush it into a wrinkled pulp.
‘Do you need help?’ Sophie asked, although Eva sensed the offer wasn’t altruistic.
‘No, I can manage.’
The same way she’d managed after her mother’s death; through her father’s rejection and Sophie’s increasingly unreasonable behaviour; through the heartbreak of finding out about Zaccheo’s betrayal.
Sophie nodded briskly. ‘I’ll see you downstairs, then.’
Eva slipped on the dress, avoiding another look in the mirror when the first glimpse showed what she’d feared most. Her every curve was accentuated, with large swathes of flesh exposed. With shaky fingers she applied her lipstick and slipped her feet into matching platform heels.
Slipping the gold and red wrap around her shoulders, she finally glanced at her image.
Chin up, girl. It’s show time.
Eva wished the manageress of Siren were uttering the words, as she did every time before Eva stepped onto the stage.
Unfortunately, she wasn’t at Siren. She’d promised to marry a man she didn’t love, for the sake of saving her precious family name.
No amount of pep talk could stem the roaring agitation flooding her veins.
CHAPTER TWO
THE EVENT PLANNERS had outdone themselves. Potted palms, decorative screens and subdued lighting had been strategically placed around the main halls of Pennington Manor to hide the peeling plaster, chipped wood panelling and torn Aubusson rugs that funds could no longer stretch to rectify.
Eva sipped the champagne she’d been nursing for the last two hours and willed time to move faster. Technically she couldn’t throw any guest out, but Eight to Midnight was the time the costly invitations had stated the party would last. She needed something to focus on or risk sliding into madness.
Gritting her teeth, she smiled as yet another guest demanded to see her engagement ring. The monstrous pink diamond’s sole purpose was to demonstrate the Fairfields’ wealth. Its alien weight dragged her hand down, hammering home the irrefutable point that she’d sold herself for her pedigree.
Her father’s booming voice interrupted her maudlin thoughts. Surrounded by a group of influential politicians who hung onto his every word, Oscar Pennington was in his element.
Thickset but tall enough to hide the excess weight he carried, her father cut a commanding figure despite his recent spell in hospital. His stint in the army three decades ago had lent him a ruthless edge, cleverly counteracted by his natural charm. The combination made him enigmatic enough to attract attention when he walked into a room.
But not even that charisma had saved him from economic devastation four years ago.
With that coming close on the heels of her mother’s illness, their social and economic circles had dwindled to nothing almost overnight, with her father desperately scrambling to hold things together.
End result—his association with Zaccheo Giordano.
Eva frowned, bewildered that her thoughts had circled back to the man she’d pushed to the dark recesses of her mind. A man she’d last seen being led away in handcuffs—
‘There you are. I’ve been looking for you everywhere.’
Eva started, then berated herself for feeling guilty. Guilt belonged to those who’d committed crimes, who lied about their true motives.
Enough!
She smiled at Harry.
Her old university friend—a brilliant tech genius—had gone off the rails when he’d achieved fame and wealth straight out of university. Now a multimillionaire with enough money to bail ou
t Penningtons, he represented her family’s last hope.
‘Well, you found me,’ she said.
He was a few inches taller than her five feet four; she didn’t have to look up too far to meet his twinkling soft brown eyes.
‘Indeed. Are you okay?’ he asked, his gaze reflecting concern.
‘I’m fine,’ she responded breezily.
He looked unconvinced. Harry was one of the few people who knew about her broken engagement to Zaccheo. He’d seen beneath her false smiles and assurances that she could handle a marriage of convenience and asked her point-blank if her past with Zaccheo Giordano would be a problem. Her swift no seemed to have satisfied him.
Now he looked unsure.
‘Harry, don’t fret. I can do this,’ she insisted, despite the hollowness in her stomach.
He studied her solemnly, then called over a waiter and exchanged his empty champagne glass for a full one. ‘If you say so, but I need advanced warning if this gets too weird for you, okay? My parents will have a fit if they read about me in the papers this side of Christmas.’
She nodded gratefully, then frowned. ‘I thought you were going to take it easy tonight?’ She indicated his glass.
‘Gosh, you already sound like a wife.’ He sniggered. ‘Leave off, sweetness, the parents have already given me an earful.’
Having met his parents a week ago, Eva could imagine the exchange.
‘Remember why you’re doing this. Do you want to derail the PR campaign to clean up your image before it’s even begun?’
While Harry couldn’t care less about his social standing, his parents were voracious in their hunger for prestige and a pedigree to hang their name on. Only the threat to Harry’s business dealings had finally forced him to address his reckless playboy image.
He took her arm and tilted his sand-coloured head affably towards hers. ‘I promise to be on my best behaviour. Now that the tedious toasts have been made and we’re officially engaged, it’s time for the best part of the evening. The fireworks!’
Eva set her champagne glass down and stepped out of the dining-room alcove that had been her sanctuary throughout her childhood. ‘Isn’t that supposed to be a surprise?’
Harry winked. ‘It is, but, since we’ve fooled everyone into thinking we’re madly in love, faking our surprise should be easy.’
She smiled. ‘I won’t tell if you don’t.’
Harry laid a hand across his heart. ‘Thank you, my fair Lady Pennington.’
The reminder of why this whole sham engagement was happening slid like a knife between her ribs. Numbing herself to the pain, she walked out onto the terrace that overlooked the manor’s multi-acre garden.
The gardens had once held large koi ponds, a giant summer house and an elaborate maze, but the prohibitive cost of the grounds’ upkeep had led to the landscape being levelled and replaced with rolling carpet grass.
A smattering of applause greeted their arrival and Eva’s gaze drifted over the guests to where Sophie, her father and Harry’s parents stood watching them.
She caught her father’s eye, and her stomach knotted.
While part of her was pleased that she’d found a solution to their family problems, she couldn’t help but feel that nothing she did would ever bring her closer to her sister or father.
Her father might have accepted her help with the bailout from Harry, but his displeasure at her chosen profession was yet another bone of contention between them. One she’d made clear she wouldn’t back down on.
Turning away, she fixed her smile in place and exclaimed appropriately when the first elaborate firework display burst into the sky.
‘So...my parents want us to live together,’ Harry whispered in her ear.
‘What?’
He laughed. ‘Don’t worry, I convinced them you hate my bachelor pad so we need to find a place that’s ours rather than mine.’
Relief poured through her. ‘Thank you.’
He brushed a hand down her cheek. ‘You’re welcome. But I deserve a reward for my sacrifice,’ he said with a smile. ‘How about dinner on Monday?’
‘As long as it’s not a paparazzi-stalked spectacle of a restaurant, you’re on.’
‘Great. It’s a date.’ He kissed her knuckles, much to the delight of the guests, who thought they were witnessing a true love match.
Eva allowed herself to relax. She might find what they were doing distasteful, but she was grateful that Harry’s visit to Siren three weeks ago had ended up with him bailing her out, and not a calculating stranger.
‘That dress is a knockout on you, by the way.’
She grimaced. ‘It wasn’t my first choice, but thank you.’
The next series of firework displays should’ve quieted the guests, yet murmurs around her grew.
‘Omigod, whoever it is must have a death wish!’ someone exclaimed.
Harry’s eyes narrowed. ‘I think we may have a last-minute guest.’
Eva looked around and saw puzzled gazes fixed at a point in the sky as the faint thwopping sound grew louder. Another set of fireworks went off, illuminating the looming object.
She frowned. ‘Is that...?’
‘A helicopter heading straight for the middle of the fireworks display? Yep. I guess the organisers decided to add another surprise to the party.’
‘I don’t think that’s part of the entertainment,’ Eva shouted to be heard over the descending aircraft.
Her heart slammed into her throat as a particularly elaborate firework erupted precariously close to the black-and-red chopper.
‘Hell, if this is a stunt, I take my hat off to the pilot. It takes iron balls to fly into danger like that.’ Harry chuckled.
The helicopter drew closer. Mesmerised, Eva watched it settle in the middle of the garden, her attention riveted to its single occupant.
The garden lights had been turned off to showcase the fireworks to maximum effect so she couldn’t see who their unexpected guest was. Nevertheless, an ominous shiver chased up her spine.
She heard urgent shouts for the pyrotechnician to halt the display, but another rocket fizzed past the rotating blades.
A hush fell over the crowd as the helicopter door opened. A figure stepped out, clad from head to toe in black. As another blaze of colour filled the sky his body was thrown into relief.
Eva tensed as if she’d been shot with a stun gun.
It couldn’t be...
He was behind bars, atoning for his ruthless greed. Eva squashed the sting of guilt that accompanied the thought.
Zaccheo Giordano and men of his ilk arrogantly believed they were above the law. They didn’t deserve her sympathy, or the disloyal thought that he alone had paid the price when, by association, her father should’ve borne some of the blame. Justice ensured they went to jail and stayed there for the duration of their term. They weren’t released early.
They certainly didn’t land in the middle of a firework display at a private party as if they owned the land they walked on.
The spectacle unfolding before her stated differently.
Lights flickered on. Eva tracked the figure striding imperiously across the grass and up the wide steps.
Reaching the terrace, he paused and buttoned his single-breasted tuxedo.
‘Oh, God,’ she whispered.
‘Wait...you know this bloke?’ Harry asked, his tone for once serious.
Eva wanted to deny the man who now stood, easily head and shoulders above the nearest guests, his fierce, unwavering gaze pinned on her.
She didn’t know whether to attribute the crackling electricity to his appearance or the look in his eyes. Both were viscerally menacing to the point of brutality.
The Zaccheo Giordano she’d had the misfortune of briefly tangling with before
his incarceration had kept his hair trimmed short and his face clean-shaven.
This man had a full beard and his hair flowed over his shoulders in an unruly sea of thick jet waves. Eva swallowed at the pronounced difference in him. The sleek, almost gaunt man she’d known was gone. In his place breathed a Neanderthal with broader shoulders, thicker arms and a denser chest moulded by his black silk shirt. Equally dark trousers hugged lean hips and sturdy thighs to fall in a precise inch above expensive handmade shoes. But nothing of his attire disguised the aura he emanated.
Uncivilised. Explosively masculine. Lethal.
Danger vibrated from him like striations on baking asphalt. It flowed over the guests, who jostled each other for a better look at the impromptu visitor.
‘Eva?’ Harry’s puzzled query echoed through her dazed consciousness.
Zaccheo released her from his deadly stare. His eyes flicked to the arm tucked into Harry’s before he turned away. The breath exploded from her lungs. Sensing Harry about to ask another question, she nodded.
‘Yes. That’s Zaccheo.’
Her eyes followed Zaccheo as he turned towards her family.
Oscar’s look of anger was laced with a heavy dose of apprehension. Sophie looked plain stunned.
Eva watched the man she’d hoped to never see again cup his hands behind his back and stroll towards her father. Anyone would’ve been foolish to think that stance indicated supplication. If anything, its severe mockery made Eva want to do the unthinkable and burst out laughing.
She would’ve, had she not been mired in deep dread at what Zaccheo’s presence meant.
‘Your ex?’ Harry pressed.
She nodded numbly.
‘Then we should say hello.’
Harry tugged on her arm and she realised too late what he meant.
‘No. Wait!’ she whispered fiercely.
But he was either too drunk or genuinely oblivious to the vortex of danger he was headed for to pay attention. The tension surrounding the group swallowed Eva as they approached. Heart pounding, she watched her father’s and Zaccheo’s gazes lock.
‘I don’t know what the hell you think you’re doing here, Giordano, but I suggest you get back in that monstrosity and leave before I have you arrested for trespass.’
