A Marriage Fit for a Sinner

by Maya Blake

  Because two weeks stretched to four, then six with no word from Zaccheo, and no answer to her phone calls.

  At her lowest times, Eva hated herself for her lethargy, for not moving out of the penthouse. For sitting around, wishing for a miracle that would never materialise.

  But the thought of flat-hunting, or, worse, moving back to Pennington Manor, filled her with a desperate heartache that nothing seemed to ease.

  Romeo had brought her coffee this morning at the breakfast table. The pitying look he’d cast her had been the final straw.

  ‘If you have something to say, just say it, Romeo.’

  ‘You’re not a weak woman. One of you has to take the situation in hand sooner or later,’ he’d replied.

  ‘Fine, but he won’t return my calls so give him a message from me, will you?’

  He’d nodded in that solemn way of his. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Tell him I’m fast reaching my tolerance level for his stupid silence. He can stay in Oman for the rest of his life for all I care. But he shouldn’t expect to find me here when he deigns to return.’

  That outburst had been strangely cathartic. She’d called her ex-landlady and discovered her flat was still unlet. After receiving a hefty payday from Zaccheo, the old woman hadn’t been in a hurry to interview new tenants. She’d invited Eva to move back whenever she wanted.

  Curiously, that announcement hadn’t made her feel better—

  ‘You’ve been cleaning that same spot for the last five minutes.’

  Eva started and glanced down. ‘Oh.’

  Sybil, Siren’s unflappable manageress, eyed her. ‘Time for a break.’

  ‘I don’t need a—’

  ‘Sorry, love,’ Sybil said firmly. ‘Orders from above. The new owner was very insistent. You take a break now or I get docked a week’s wages.’

  Eva frowned. ‘Are you serious? Do we know who this new owner is?’

  Sybil’s eyes widened. ‘You don’t know?’ When she shook her head, the manageress shrugged. ‘Well, I’m not one to spread gossip. Shoo! Go put your feet up for a bit. I’ll finish up here.’

  Eva reluctantly handed over the cleaning supplies. She turned and stopped as the doors swung open and Ziggy Preston walked in.

  The smile she tried for failed miserably. ‘Ziggy, hello.’

  He smiled. ‘I heard you were back in town.’

  She couldn’t summon the curiosity to ask how he knew. ‘Oh?’

  ‘You were supposed to call when you got back. I hope that doesn’t mean you’ve signed up with someone else? Because that’d devastate me,’ he joked.

  Eva tried for another smile. Failed again. ‘I didn’t sign with anyone, and I don’t think I will.’

  His face fell. ‘Why not?’

  She had a thousand and one reasons. But only one that mattered. And she wasn’t about to divulge it to another soul. ‘I’ve decided to give the music thing a break for a while.’ Or for ever, depending on whether she felt anything but numb again.

  Ziggy shoved his hands into his coat pocket, his features pensive.

  ‘Listen, I was supposed to do a session with one of my artists tomorrow afternoon, but they cancelled. Come to the studio, hang out for a while. You don’t have to sing if you don’t want to. But come anyway.’

  She started to shake her head, then stopped. It was her day off tomorrow. The extra shift she’d hoped to cover had suddenly been filled. She could either occupy herself at Ziggy’s studio or wander Zaccheo’s penthouse like a lost wraith, pining for what she could never have. ‘Okay.’

  ‘Great!’ He handed her another business card, this one with his private number scribbled on the back, and left.

  A couple of months ago, being pursued by a top music producer would’ve been a dream come true. And yet, Eva could barely summon the enthusiasm to dress the next day, especially when Romeo confirmed he’d given Zaccheo her message but had no reply for her.

  Jaw clenched, she pulled on her jeans and sweater, determined not to succumb to the unending bouts of anguish that had made her throw up this morning after her conversation with Romeo.

  She wasn’t a pearl-clutching Victorian maiden, for heaven’s sake!

  Her life might feel as if it were over, but she’d been through the wringer more than once in her life. She’d survived her diagnosis. She’d survived her mother’s death. Despite the odds, she’d mended fences with her father and sister.

  Surely she could survive decimating her heart on a love that had been doomed from the start?

  Deliberately putting a spring in her step, she arrived at Ziggy’s studio in a different frame of mind. Looking around, she repeated to herself that this was a tangible dream. Something she could hang on to once Zaccheo returned and she permanently severed the ties that had so very briefly bound them.

  Eva was sure she was failing in her pep talk to herself when Ziggy gave up after a third attempt to get her to sample an upbeat pop tune.

  ‘Okay, shall we try one of yours?’ he suggested with a wry smile.

  Half-heartedly, she sifted through her list, then paused, her heart picking up its sluggish beat as she stared at the lyrics to the song she’d composed that last morning on the island.

  ‘This one,’ she murmured.

  At Ziggy’s nod, she sang the first line.

  His eyes widened. ‘Wow.’ Nodding to the sound booth, he said, ‘I’d love to hear the whole thing if you’re up to it?’

  Eva thought of the raw lyrics, how they offered love, pleaded for for ever and accepted any risks necessary, and breathed deeply.

  If this was what it took to start healing herself, then so be it. ‘Sure.’

  She was singing the final notes when an electrifying wave of awareness swept over her. Her gaze snapped up to the viewing gallery above the booth, where she knew music moguls sometimes listened in on artists. Although the mirrored glass prevented her from seeing who occupied it, she swore she could smell Zaccheo’s unique scent.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Ziggy asked.

  She nodded absently, her gaze still on the gallery window.

  ‘Can you sing the last two lines again?’

  ‘Umm...yes,’ she mumbled.

  She really was losing it. If she couldn’t sing a song she’d written with Zaccheo in mind without imagining she could feel him, smell him, she was in deep trouble. Because as she worked through the other songs Ziggy encouraged her to record, Eva realised all her songs were somehow to do with the man who’d taken her heart prisoner.

  She left the studio in a daze and got into the waiting limo. Physically and emotionally drained, she couldn’t connect two thoughts together. When she finally accepted what she needed to do, she turned to Romeo.

  ‘Can you take me to Zaccheo’s office, please?’

  He looked up from the laptop he’d been working on. After a few probing seconds, he nodded.

  A wave of dizziness hit her as they waited for the lift at GWI. She ignored the curious glances, and concentrated on staying upright, putting one foot in front of the other as she made her way down the plushly decorated corridor to Zaccheo’s office.

  Anyetta’s coolly professional demeanour visibly altered when she saw Eva, then turned to shock as her gaze travelled from her head to her toes.

  Eva wanted to laugh, but she couldn’t be sure she wouldn’t dissolve into hysteria. When Anyetta stood, Eva waved her away.

  ‘I know he’s not in. I was hoping you would email him for me.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘It won’t take long, I promise.’

  The tall brunette looked briefly bewildered, but her features settled back into serene composure and she sat down.

  ‘Mark it urgent. Presumably, you can tell when he opens emails from you?’ Eva asked.

&n
bsp; Warily, Zaccheo’s PA nodded.

  ‘Good.’ Eva approached, pushing back the errant curls obscuring her vision. She folded her arms around her middle and prayed for just a few more minutes of strength.

  Anyetta’s elegant fingers settled on the keyboard.

  Eva cleared her throat.

  Zaccheo.

  Since you refuse to engage with me, I can only conclude that I’m free of my obligations to you. To that end, I’d be grateful if you would take the appropriate steps to end this marriage forthwith. My family lawyers will be on standby when you’re ready, but I’d be obliged if you didn’t leave it too late. I refuse to put my life on hold for you, so take action or I will.

  For the record, I won’t be accepting any of the monetary compensation offered, nor will I be seeking anything from you, except my freedom. If you choose to pursue my family, then you’ll do so without my involvement, because I’ve done my duty to my family and I’m moving on. I won’t let you use me as a pawn in your vendetta against my father.

  You’re aware of the state of my father’s health, so I hope you’ll choose mercy over retribution.

  Regardless of your decision, I’ll be moving out of the penthouse tomorrow.

  Please don’t contact me.

  Eva.

  ‘Send it, please,’ she said.

  Anyetta clicked the button, then looked up. ‘He just opened it.’

  Eva nodded jerkily. ‘Thank you.’

  She walked out with scalding tears filling her eyes. A solid presence registered beside her and when Romeo took her arm, Eva didn’t protest.

  At the penthouse, she dropped her bag in the hallway, tugged off her boots and coat as her vision greyed. She made it into bed as her legs gave way and she curled, fully clothed, into a tight ball. Her last thought before blessed oblivion claimed her was that she’d done it.

  She’d survived her first hour with a heart broken into a million tiny pieces. If there was any justice, she might just make it through the rest of her life with a shredded heart.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  IN THE SPLIT SECOND before wakefulness hit, Eva buried her nose in the pillow that smelled so much like Zaccheo she groaned with pure, incandescent happiness.

  Reality arrived with searing pain so acute, she cried out.

  ‘Eva.’

  She jolted upright at the sound of her name. Jagged thoughts pierced her foggy brain like shards of bright light through glass.

  She was no longer in her own suite, but in Zaccheo’s.

  Her clothes were gone, and she was stripped down to her bra and panties.

  Zaccheo was sitting in an armchair next to the bed, his eyes trained on her.

  And he was clean-shaven.

  His thick stubble was gone, his hair trimmed into a short, neat style that left his nape bare.

  Despite his altered appearance, his living, breathing presence was far too much to bear. She jerked her head away, stared down at the covers she clutched like a lifeline.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked.

  ‘You summoned me. So here I am,’ he stated.

  She shook her head. ‘Please. Don’t make it sound as if I have any power over your actions. If I did you would’ve answered my numerous phone calls like a normal person. And that email wasn’t a summons. It was a statement of intent, hardly demanding your presence.’

  ‘Nevertheless, since you went to so much trouble to make sure it reached me, I thought it only polite to answer it in person.’

  ‘Well, you needn’t have bothered,’ she threw back hotly, ‘especially since we both know you don’t have a polite bone in your body. Things like consideration and courtesy are alien concepts to you.’

  He looked perturbed by her outburst. Which made her want to laugh. And cry. And scream. ‘Are you going to sit there with that insulting look that implies I’m out of my mind?’

  ‘You must forgive me if that’s what my expression implies. I meant to wear a look that says I was hoping for a civilised conversation.’

  She threw out her hands. ‘You have a damned nerve, do you know that? I...’ She stopped, her eyes widening in alarm as an unpleasant scent hit her nostrils. Swivelling, she saw the breakfast tray containing scrambled eggs, smoked pancetta, coffee, and the buttered brioche she loved.

  Correction. She’d once loved.

  Shoving the covers aside, she lunged for the bathroom, uncaring that she was half-naked and looked like a bedraggled freak. All she cared about was making it to the porcelain bowl in time.

  She vomited until she collapsed against the shower stall, desperately catching her breath. When Zaccheo crouched at her side, she shut her eyes. ‘Please, Zaccheo. Go away.’

  He pressed a cool towel to her forehead, her eyelids, her cheeks. ‘A lesser man might be decimated at the thought that his presence makes you physically ill,’ he murmured gravely.

  Her snort grated her throat. ‘But you’re not a lesser man, of course.’

  He shrugged. ‘I’m saved by Romeo’s report that you’ve been feeling under the weather recently.’

  Eva opened her eyes, looked at him, then immediately wished she hadn’t. She’d thought his beard and long mane made him gloriously beautiful, but the sight of his chiselled jaw, the cut of his cheekbones, and the fully displayed sensual lips was almost blinding.

  ‘I can’t do this.’ She tried to stand and collapsed back against the stall.

  With a muttered oath, he scooped her up in his arms and strode to the vanity. Setting her down, he handed her a toothbrush and watched as she cleaned her teeth.

  Eva told herself the peculiar look turning his eyes that gunmetal shade meant nothing. Zaccheo had probably come to ensure she vacated his penthouse before succumbing to whatever was ailing her.

  Steeling her spine, she rinsed her mouth. He reached for her as she moved away from the vanity, but she sidestepped him, her heart banging against her ribs. ‘I can walk on my own two feet.’

  Zaccheo watched her go, her hips swaying in that impertinent, yet utterly sexy way that struck pure fire to his libido.

  He slowly followed, paused in the doorway and watched her pace the bedroom.

  Although he’d primed himself for her appearance, he hadn’t been quite prepared for when he’d finally returned to the penthouse last night and found her asleep in her suite. All the excuses he’d given himself for staying away had crumbled to dust.

  As he’d stood over her, his racing heart had only been able to acknowledge one thing—that he’d missed her more than his brain could accurately fathom. He’d thought the daily reports on her movements would be enough. He’d thought buying Siren and ensuring she didn’t overwork herself, or silently watching her from the gallery at Preston’s studio yesterday, listening to her incredible voice, would be enough.

  It wasn’t until he’d received her email that his world had stopped, and he’d forced himself to face the truth.

  He was nothing without her.

  For the last six weeks he’d woken to a tormenting existence each morning. Each time, something had broken inside him. Something that would probably slot neatly under the banner of heartache. It had nothing to do with the loneliness that had plagued his childhood and led him to believe he needed a family to soothe the ache. It had nothing to do with the retribution he was no longer interested in exacting from Oscar Pennington.

  It had everything to do with Eva. Flashes of her had struck him at the most inappropriate times—like the brightness of her smile when he was involved in tense negotiation. The feeling of being deep inside her when he was teetering on the edge of a platform three hundred metres above ground, with no net to catch him should he fall. And everywhere he’d gone, he’d imagined the faintest trace of her perfume in the air.

  Nothing had stopped h
im from reaching out for her in the dead of the night, when his guard was at its lowest and all he could feel was need. Ferocious, all-consuming need.

  Even the air of sadness that hung around her now wasn’t enough to make him not yearn for her.

  His heart kicked into his stomach, knowing it was his fault she wore that look.

  Her throat worked to find the words she needed. He forced himself to remain still, to erect a force field against anything she might say.

  ‘Let’s end this now, Zaccheo. Divorce me. Surely you’d prefer that to this mockery of a marriage?’

  He’d expected it. Hell, her email had left him in no doubt as to her state of mind.

  Yet the words punched him in the gut...hard. Zaccheo uttered an imprecation that wasn’t fit for polite company.

  Give her what she wants. Stop this endless misery and be done with it.

  It was the selfless thing to do. And if he needed to have learned anything from the stunning, brave woman in front of him, it was selflessness. She’d sacrificed herself for her family and turned over her innermost secrets when she could’ve just kept quiet and reaped untold wealth. She’d continued to stay under his roof, continued to seek him out, when fear had sent him running.

  He needed to be selfless for her.

  But he couldn’t. He walked stiffly to the side table and poured a coffee he didn’t want.

  ‘There will be no divorce.’

  She glared at him. ‘You do realise that I don’t need your permission?’

  He knew that. He’d lived with that fear ever since she’d announced back in Rio that she didn’t want to be married to him any more.

  ‘Sì,’ he replied gruffly. ‘You can do whatever you want. The same way I can choose to tie you up in endless red tape for the next twenty years.’

  Her mouth dropped open, then she shut her beautiful, pain-filled eyes. ‘Why would you do that, Zaccheo?’

  ‘Why indeed?’

  She shook her head, and her hair fluttered over her shoulders. ‘Surely you can’t want this? You deserve a family.’

  There it was again. That selflessness that cut him to the core, that forced him to let go, to be a better man. Dio mio, but he wanted her to be selfish for once. To claim what she wanted. To claim him!