Eyes like sunlight on an olive grove.
Why had he asked her to marry him?
She would have agreed to an affair. He could have worked her out of his system, left her at the train station with a diamond bracelet and no backward glances.
He’d done it before. Many times.
So why marriage? Why now? Why her?
Because I’m not that man any more. I don’t want to be that man any more.
His lips twisted into a smile—a smile of self-loathing and also of self-acknowledgement.
He was that man. That wouldn’t change. He could pose, he could pretend, but underneath ultimately he knew who he was. Everyone knew who he was.
Everyone but Meghan.
He wasn’t like her—judged, condemned falsely by one twisted man. He’d been condemned by the truth.
The truth of who he was.
And yet … he wanted her. Wanted her with a desire that shook him, paralysed him with its blinding need, its power. Even made him a little bit afraid.
He wanted a saviour.
The realisation made him hurl his whisky tumbler onto the paving stones, where it shattered. Some things couldn’t be fixed.
Not the tumbler. Not him.
He was past redemption, past saving. He knew that; he’d been told it many times. He saw it in his own soul and he accepted the truth, as everyone who knew him had accepted it.
No matter how hard he tried, how far he ran, it wouldn’t change.
He couldn’t change.
She could change me.
It was a joke; it wasn’t fair. He couldn’t expect Meghan to save him, love him. Didn’t want it.
Didn’t want to need it.
He didn’t want—shouldn’t want—some pathetic, needy smalltown girl trying to fix him. Trying to love him. No matter what she said, he knew she would start to love him. He saw it in her eyes—the hope and the fear.
I won’t love … or be loved.
Except she had eyes like sunlight, and when she smiled he felt … hope.
But there was no hope, could be no hope. Not for him.
He was damned.
If he married Meghan he would be dragging her down with him.
Taking her with him to hell.
But he still wanted her. And he would have her. No matter what it took. No matter what it cost.
Because, Alessandro acknowledged with a bitter, mocking toast to himself, that was the kind of man he was. He was a selfish bastard who took his pleasures where he could, how he could, no matter who he hurt.
And he would hurt Meghan. He might try not to for a while, but the truth would out.
His own nature would out.
No matter what he’d tried to prove in the last two years, the reality was his own blackened soul … and what it would do to Meghan.
Hating himself, Alessandro turned back inside.
CHAPTER SEVEN
MEGHAN awoke to sunlight washing the room in shades of yellow and cream, a slight breeze from the open window ruffling the curtains.
She leaned her head against the pillow, willing herself to enjoy the simple sensual pleasure of the moment before the thoughts, the memories, the doubts came rushing back in.
And so they came, hurtling through her mind with stunning force, leaving her breathless when she hadn’t even moved.
She’d almost made love with Alessandro.
He’d stripped her bare, taken away her pretences, her pride.
He’d asked her to marry him.
Meghan pressed her fists to her eyes, wanting to cry, needing the release, but she’d already shed all her tears.
Her eyes were dry and gritty. It had been a long, sleepless night. Yet now, despite the agony of remembering, of allowing herself to process all that had happened, she realised she felt calm.
She felt strong.
She sat up in bed, pushing her hair away from her face. Today was a new day. Today was the beginning of a new life.
Last night, somewhere between midnight and dawn, she’d decided to marry Alessandro.
It had been a long night of doubt, of uncertainty, and yet also of hope. Her mind told her to run far, far away from Villa Tre Querce, from the hold Alessandro had on her.
And yet she also knew she would never be able to run far enough. In the space of a few days he’d already marked her heart, her mind, her soul.
Even her body.
Just the thought of his hands on her, his fingers lightly skimming her skin, made her shiver in remembered pleasure.
I want you to touch me.
She drew her knees up, resting her chin on top. The breeze blowing from the window was warm, a sign of oncoming summer.
A new life.
What would life be like with Alessandro? The question sent a delicious shiver of anticipation through her, yet chasing it was the sharp bite of fear.
It could all go so horribly, horribly wrong.
Meghan closed her eyes as doubt assailed her once more.
Why was she doing this? It would be easier, safer to run away. Find a new place since she couldn’t return home.
Home. Just the word—the concept—brought pain slicing through her as a grim smile twisted her features.
You knew. You wanted it. You deserved it.
The voices of the past, still haunting her. The shadows, she realised, still there.
Would they ever go away?
You haven’t told him the truth.
The treacherous whisper of her conscience made her shudder. She could not tell Alessandro the truth. She could not share with him the extent of her shame. Admittedly it was hard for him to believe that she would think so little of herself simply because she hadn’t known Stephen was married.
If he knew how low she’d been brought … how ashamed she’d been …
The shadows flickered about the room, the echoes of Stephen’s taunts and leers like whispers in the corners.
And now? Wasn’t she just opening herself to the possibility of even more pain, more humiliation than ever before?
Yes, Meghan thought. She was.
Except now the power would be on her side. She would never be helpless again, never a pawn in someone else’s filthy desire, disgusting needs. She would never again be a victim.
Unless she was Alessandro’s.
The thought chilled her. If she fell in love with him, if she let him inside her heart even just a tiny bit, it could hurt.
It could hurt so much.
But that was a risk she was going to have to take.
When she’d run out of Stanton Springs she’d also run out of choices. She couldn’t go home. She couldn’t keep running. Not for ever.
Alessandro had been right when he’d asked, ‘Does it really matter if I don’t love you?’
Even though the question had caused her pain, she recognised the truth. It didn’t matter. It couldn’t.
She didn’t want to love him; he wouldn’t love her.
They could still be happy. And she would have power. Control. At last.
Why wouldn’t he love anyone? What was his secret? The truth behind the need?
That is the man I am. The man I mean to be.
If it were within her power she would help him become that man. She would make it happen.
Maybe one day he would tell her. And maybe, Meghan thought grimly, she would tell him. The truth. The whole truth.
Maybe.
Her stomach churning with nerves, but also with a new, fiery determination, she sprang out of bed. She dressed in her own clothes—faded jeans and a butter-yellow jumper. She pinned her hair back carelessly on top of her head and scanned her reflection in the mirror. She was pale, too pale, and her eyes looked huge, but there were freckles on her nose from the sun yesterday, and she couldn’t quite contain the smile lurking underneath her fear.
Dragging a shaky breath into her lungs, she headed downstairs. The house was silent, waiting, as Meghan descended the sweeping staircase, one hand on the wrought-
iron railing.
Was Ana back? How would the taciturn housekeeper respond to the news that her employer was marrying? That he was marrying Meghan?
Meghan took another breath. She needed air.
She found Alessandro in the kitchen, drinking coffee and reading the newspaper as if he hadn’t a care in the world. His head was bent and his hair fell boyishly over his forehead. He raked it back with one careless hand, absorbed in the paper.
Meghan’s heart felt as if it had been squeezed, as if Alessandro had reached right inside and tugged even when he’d barely moved. Even when he hadn’t seen her.
Ana stood at the stove, preparing breakfast. She flashed Meghan a quick, malevolent glance before her face went blank and she turned back to the eggs on her stove.
Meghan shifted uneasily. She had an enemy there, and she didn’t even know why.
‘Alessandro?’
He turned quickly, smiling easily, although Meghan could see the shadows in his eyes. Something was troubling him, and she wasn’t sure if it was her.
‘Buongiorno. Did you sleep well?’
Meghan laughed dryly. ‘Not really.’
‘No?’ Alessandro shrugged, spreading his hands. ‘You had a lot to think about, I suppose.’
‘Maybe I’d already made my decision,’ Meghan retorted, nettled a bit by his arrogance.
‘Maybe you had.’
He looked so calm, so urbane, dressed in pale cream trousers with a leather belt, a light green button-down shirt open at the throat, scuffed yet exquisitely made leather loafers on his feet. His hair was still damp and curly from the shower.
‘What do you think it was?’ Meghan couldn’t resist asking. She folded her arms, staring him down.
Alessandro chuckled. ‘Meghan, I don’t think what it was. I know.’
‘Oh?’ She was half inclined to tell him she wouldn’t marry him now. He didn’t have to look so certain!
‘You’d made up your mind before I had even left the room,’ Alessandro continued. The smugness was gone, replaced by simple soft honesty. ‘And if you hadn’t, it didn’t matter. Because I’d made up mine.’
‘You can’t force me to marry you!’
‘Who said anything about force?’ His eyes had darkened dangerously, and Meghan felt her pulse thrum in response. It didn’t take much to have her swaying into him, longing for his look, his touch.
She was conscious of Ana behind them, pots and pans clanking ominously as she moved around the kitchen.
He reached for her hand, pulling her to him slowly, even though she made a pretence of resisting. When she stood only inches away, their bodies still not touching, he brushed his lips against her palm.
‘You look beautiful like that—so natural, so unaffected.’
Meghan looked up, startled. ‘Sloppy, more like.’
‘No.’ Alessandro touched her cheek, trailing his fingers down to gently grasp her chin. ‘I meant what I said. You’re beautiful.’
‘Thank you,’ Meghan whispered. ‘You’re beautiful too.’
Alessandro smiled, and she saw it reached his eyes.
‘And you’ll marry me.’
She wanted to argue, to deny it simply to resist his autocratic dictates, but she couldn’t. It was true, and she wanted it to be true.
I can make you happy, she thought.
‘Yes.’
Alessandro’s smile deepened, and she saw a new satisfaction there, deeper than any she’d seen before. A hunger satisfied.
‘Thank you,’ he said simply, humbly, accepting her acceptance as a gift, a treasure. Meghan’s heart ached.
I can make you happy. Give me a chance. Even if there’s no love. The words buzzed in her mind. She almost said them, gulping them back, choking on air.
Alessandro smiled. ‘Let’s eat.’
Over breakfast, with Ana serving in courteous if rather stony silence, Alessandro informed Meghan of their plans.
‘We must leave for Milan after breakfast. I have business to attend to, and I want to introduce you to my family. The sooner they know you, the sooner we can get married.’ His expression darkened briefly before he turned brisk and businesslike again.
‘Why does it have to be so quick?’ Meghan asked. Her mind was spinning and she took a steadying sip of coffee. ‘We could take time to get to know each other. Be sure we’re not making a mistake.’
‘I’m not making a mistake,’ Alessandro replied with easy confidence. ‘And I want to marry quickly because I want you in my bed every night.’
Meghan flushed. ‘And we need to be married for that?’
He paused, his lips twitching. ‘You do. I won’t have you feeling guilty or ashamed about what happens between us. Ever.’
Meghan was conscious of Ana clearing their dishes. She didn’t think the housekeeper understood much English, yet surely Alessandro’s intimate caressing tone came across in any language?
‘Thank you for that respect,’ she managed stiffly.
Ana loaded the dishwasher while they finished their coffee, and then retreated to another part of the house. Meghan watched her broad back disappear with a twitch of unease.
‘She doesn’t like me,’ she said suddenly.
Alessandro glanced up from the newspaper headlines he’d been scanning once more. ‘Who? Ana?’
‘Yes, she disapproves of me. I can tell. She glared at me when I came into the kitchen.’ Meghan toyed with the handle of her coffee mug. ‘Is it always going to be like that?’
‘Not when we are married,’ Alessandro replied in a flat, final tone. ‘And you’ll discover that Ana doesn’t disapprove of you. She disapproves of me.’
Meghan looked up in surprise, but Alessandro had moved on. He swept the newspaper aside with unconcern and smiled.
‘There are other matters to attend to in Milan. You will need clothes—that haversack cannot hold much. I have a flat in Milan, but perhaps you would like to live somewhere new? I leave such decisions to you.’
‘I’m sure the flat you have now is fine,’ Meghan said faintly. She was reeling from the barrage of information. What was she actually going to do in Milan, in her new life?
‘You know, I was a teacher in Stanton Springs,’ she said hesitantly. ‘Languages. I quit my job when …’
‘A teacher?’ Alessandro glanced at her swiftly, assessingly.
‘Well, of course if you want to teach again in Milan I have no problem with it. Perhaps at one of the English or American schools? Something part-time, so you can travel with me if needed?’ His voice lowered, filled with promise. ‘I don’t want to leave you alone … or to be alone myself.’
She nodded. ‘Yes … part-time. I’ll look into it.’
‘Buon. But first my family, and the wedding.’
The thought of meeting other di Agnios sent a stab of fear through her. Taking another sip of coffee to quell the nerves rising queasily upwards, Meghan asked, ‘What exactly is your business? You mentioned the jewellery boutiques, the property and the finance, but are there other things as well?’
‘My grandfather started with the jewels. My father chose to branch out into property, electronics, shipping.’ He shrugged. ‘A piece of every pie. The jewellery, of course, is our flagship enterprise—what we are truly known for.’ He drummed his fingers on the table. ‘The man you met yesterday, as unpleasant as he was, owns one of the largest chains of department stores in the United States. We were negotiating a contract to feature Di Agnio jewels in select stores—our own boutique within the department store, as it were.’ He shrugged. ‘It’s no matter.’
‘It sounds like quite a big business deal,’ Meghan said after a moment.
‘There are other deals,’ Alessandro replied in dismissal. ‘And no deal, business or otherwise, is worth making if you lose your self-respect.’
‘Is that what we’re making?’ Meghan asked suddenly. Her hands tightened on her coffee mug. ‘A business deal?’
Alessandro frowned. ‘Marriage is a contract, certainly,
’ he replied. ‘But I do not consider it business.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Having second thoughts, cara?’
‘What if I was?’
‘I would tell you it is too late. We drive to Milan within the hour.’
‘Too late?’ Meghan echoed incredulously. ‘Are you always going to be this bossy, Alessandro? Because I won’t have you ordering me around—’
In response, Alessandro plucked the coffee cup from her fingers and set it on the table. ‘Go and get ready. I’ve just decided I want to leave as soon as possible.’
‘You mean,’ Meghan retorted, ‘you want to stop this conversation.’
‘As a matter of fact, yes. Why don’t you pack your things? It won’t take long.’
Wordlessly Meghan rose from the table. She wasn’t going to waste her energy or emotions on arguing over such petty things. She knew she’d need to save them for later—for the bigger, more important battles that were sure to come.
She went upstairs. Stuffed her few paltry possessions into the worn haversack.
‘What am I doing?’ she muttered, a bubble of hysteria rising inside her, threatening to escape in a wild peal of laughter. ‘What am I doing?’
She was leaving for Milan to meet the di Agnio family … to be introduced as Alessandro’s fiancée. Bride.
It was so crazy. It was so real. She didn’t know what to do but continue to move forward, one inch at a time. If she looked further than the next day, the next moment, she would fall into an abyss of fear and doubt.
‘I washed your things.’ Ana stood in the doorway, her expression close to a glare. Meghan’s waitressing uniform was folded neatly in her hands.
‘Thank you, Ana,’ she replied in Italian.
Meghan took the clothes hesitantly. Disapproval and dislike rolled from the woman in waves, and she felt compelled to say something.
‘You know I am marrying Signor di Agnio?’ she said, and Ana nodded stiffly.
‘You will—’ she began, struggling to find the words. ‘You will make him happy?’ It was as much an order as a request.
Meghan blinked in surprise. ‘He told me you didn’t like him,’ she blurted out.
‘I don’t like the man he has become. The boy he was … here … I loved.’ Ana blinked and shrugged, impatient. ‘Goodbye, signorina.’
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