Falling for Her Convenient Groom

by Jennifer Faye

  But first, she had to speak with her father. She found him in his home office. “Hello, Papa.”

  He glanced up from the paper he was reading. He slid off his reading glasses. “What are you doing here?”

  “Hello to you, too.” She sensed his bad mood hadn’t faded like she’d hoped. She nervously spun her wedding rings around her finger. “What have you been up to?”

  He sat forward, resting his arms on the desk. “The real question is why have you married a Marchello?”

  The sight of his pale complexion and gaunt cheeks had tears stinging the backs of Carla’s eyes and silenced the rebuttal in the back of her throat. Not so long ago, he’d been the strongest man she’d ever known. But not one but two heart attacks had taken their toll on him. He was different now. He constantly hovered over her as though he didn’t trust her judgment where business was concerned or even her personal life. She’d endured it because she didn’t want to do anything to get him worked up. But things couldn’t continue that way.

  “Tell me you came to your senses and backed out of that marriage.” Her father’s voice was still deep and vibrant. His sharp gaze needled her.

  She swallowed hard. “No. Franco is a good guy.” She truly believed that or she wouldn’t have gone through with this plan. “You just need to give him a chance.”

  Her father shook his head in disapproval. “Don’t trust him. The Marchellos cannot be trusted.”

  “Why?”

  Her father grunted. “The details don’t matter. Just heed my warning.”

  “This grudge or whatever it is, is it the reason you no longer carry their products in our restaurants?”

  “It is. Trust me, it’s for the best.” And then he quirked a brow at her. “How did you know?” Before she could answer, he said, “You’ve been talking to Franco.”

  “I have. He’s my husband.”

  “You can tell him that as long as I live, his family’s products won’t be in any of our establishments. Ever.”

  “Even if it’s good business?”

  “Doing business with a Marchello is never good business.”

  “I won’t waste my time trying to convince you otherwise. Just know now that I’m married, I’ll be assuming full control of the company while you recuperate. And you might as well know that I’ll be reintroducing the Marchello Spices in the restaurants.”

  Her father’s bushy brows rose. “You can’t do that!”

  “But I can. Remember the deal we signed?”

  He pointed at her. “You tricked me.”

  “No, I didn’t. I simply did what you wanted—I got married.”

  “You were supposed to marry a good and honest man.” His hands waved through the air as he talked.

  “I did. If you would just give him a chance—”

  “I won’t. I refuse.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

  She wasn’t going to push the subject. “Have you been monitoring your blood pressure and writing it down like they told you at the hospital?”

  “Yes.”

  “And taking all your meds?”

  “I can take care of myself. Now go.”

  “But Papa—”

  “I said go.” His voice boomed in the office.

  She didn’t want to leave him like this, but she didn’t see where she had much of a choice. With her being there, he was just getting more worked up. And it wasn’t like he lived alone. Since his first heart attack, she’d hired him a live-in companion.

  She turned and headed for the door. She hesitated in the doorway and then turned back. “I’m happy. I just thought you’d want to know.”

  Her father’s gaze met hers, but he didn’t say anything.

  She walked off to find Aldo and let him know that her father was still agitated, so he should keep a close eye on him that evening. She’d gotten married and assumed control of the company with her father’s best interest in mind. He’d see that when he calmed down. She hoped.

  CHAPTER NINE

  CARLA HAD GONE directly from her father’s house to the office. Still upset with both of the men in her life, she immersed herself in her work. Thankfully there was a lot of it.

  Not in the mood to speak to anyone, she silenced her phone and let the calls go to voice mail. Of course, she kept an eye on the caller ID just in case it was anything about her father.

  There was one call from Gianna. Two from business associates and an amazing four calls from her—erm, from Franco. But considering how easily he’d dismissed their night of lovemaking, she didn’t feel compelled to stop what she was doing to take his call.

  Even though she’d only been out of the office a day and a half, her email was overflowing. By the time she’d sorted through them, it was past dinnertime.

  Part of her felt guilty for not telling Franco that she wouldn’t be around for dinner, but the other part said they were roommates at best and she didn’t owe him updates on her schedule. The truth was that she had no idea how to act toward her husband who wasn’t really her husband. It was so confusing.

  When she arrived at the penthouse, it was getting late. She felt weird about being there. She let herself inside with the key Franco had given her. This was only her second time there. The first time had been to go over some items in the marriage contract.

  “Franco?” She paused inside the door with two bags slung over each shoulder and a big suitcase with wheels.

  The lighting in the apartment was dim. And she didn’t hear anything. Was he even home? She recalled his phone calls. Maybe she should have answered. Did he leave her a voice mail? She fumbled with her purse to retrieve her phone—

  “Carla, you’re here.” Franco stepped into the spacious foyer. He looked relaxed, with his hair a bit scattered, the top buttons on his shirt undone, and he was walking around in his bare feet. “I wasn’t sure what time you’d be home. I tried to call you.”

  “Sorry I missed your call. I was buried in work.” Heat warmed her cheeks. “You know how it is when you’ve been out of the office for a while.”

  “Here.” He stepped up to her. “Let me take those for you.” When she relinquished her load, he said, “I’ll put these in your room.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You can make yourself comfortable in the living room. I just had a pizza delivered. Help yourself to it.” And then he set off with her luggage.

  Guilt assailed her. Here he was being all nice and thoughtful while she’d been ducking his calls. She placed her purse and phone on the large square coffee table where she noticed Franco’s phone and a fat manila folder. It appeared he’d been working at home.

  Remembering her way to the guest bathroom, she freshened up. When she returned to the living room, she found Franco sitting there. He served up a slice of pizza for each of them. For a moment they ate in silence. With her stomach knotted up most of the day, she hadn’t eaten much. As she kicked off her heels and curled up on the large couch, she found her hunger had returned. She devoured her slice of pizza.

  Carla served them each another slice. “I’m really sorry about turning off my ringer.”

  “It’s okay. I’ve been known to do that a time or two.” He sent her a reassuring smile. “How did things go with your father?”

  She found herself opening up about the whole awful affair. It all came tumbling out, and it felt good to get it out there.

  Sympathy reflected in Franco’s eyes. “I’m really sorry—”

  “You have nothing to be sorry about. This whole marriage thing was my idea. I knew it wouldn’t go over well, but I didn’t think he’d be this mad.”

  “Do you want me to speak to him?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “Thank you, but I think that would just make everything worse.”

  “I’m sure he’ll come around. Just give him a little time.”


  She nodded. “I’m sure you’re right.”

  While they finished the rest of their pizza in silence, Franco turned on the television to a police drama. She got drawn into it, but her eyelids grew heavy. She leaned back on the couch. She just needed to close her eyes for a moment. Just a moment.

  “Carla?”

  She heard her name being called, but she wasn’t ready to move. She was so warm and comfortable. And she’d been dreaming that she was wrapped in Franco’s arms as he led her around the dance floor. She didn’t want it to end, because by the look in his eyes, she was certain he was about to kiss her—

  “Carla?” Someone jostled her.

  Still in a sleepy fog, she leaned forward, pressing her lips to his. His touch was warm and gentle. Her lips moved over his. Her fingers reached out, stroking the stubble on his cheek. In her mind they were standing in the middle of a grand dance floor with white glitter lights all around them. She was wearing a flowing white wedding dress, and Franco looked dashing in his black tux. And she pulled back to tell him that she loved him. He spoke her name. Was he going to say I love you first?

  “Carla? Carla, wake up.”

  Her eyes flew open. It took her a moment to gain her bearings. And then with horror, she realized she’d dozed off with her head on Franco’s shoulder.

  She sat straight up. “I’m sorry. I must have been more tired than I thought.” Heat warmed her face as she fumbled to grab her phone and purse. “I should go to bed.”

  “Do you want me to show you to your room?”

  She shook her head, still not looking at him. “I’ve got it. Um...good night.”

  And then she set off in the direction she’d seen Franco take her luggage. The bedroom was done up in tans and blues. A big sleigh bed dominated the room, but there was no sign of her luggage.

  She moved to the other side of the hallway. This bedroom was done up in peaches and cream. When she spotted her luggage, she knew she was in the right place. She stepped inside the room and closed the door.

  She pressed her back against the door and closed her eyes. What must Franco think of her? How had she ended up draped against him? Just the thought brought the heat back to her face. At least she hadn’t talked in her sleep—had she?

  With a groan, she moved away from the door. She glanced around the modern bedroom with its minimalist decor. She tried to decide if this was Franco’s taste in decorating or if he just hadn’t bothered to take the time or effort to add some personality to the apartment. She shrugged and turned to the bags Franco had insisted on carrying for her. They were now spread out over the king-size four-poster bed.

  She pushed the memory of that vivid dream to the back of her mind. Even before it, she hadn’t been sure how to act around him. Maybe they just had to figure out this new development in their relationship. And they’d have plenty of time now that they were not only living in his penthouse but also working together.

  The only thing she did know was that her father was wrong about Franco. Maybe his grandfather was a liar, but not Franco. If her father would just give him a chance, he would realize what a kind and upstanding guy he was—a man they could conduct a successful business deal with.

  Carla set to work, unpacking her things and placing them in the empty walk-in closet. She decided to look upon this temporary move as an adventure. And in the end, they would all get what they wanted.

  Most of her clothes were hung up when her phone rang. She rushed over to the bed. The caller ID displayed the name of her assistant, Rosa. It was strange for her to call her so late, but since Carla had been out of the office for the wedding, things had piled up. Maybe she’d missed something urgent when she’d been at the office earlier.

  She immediately pressed the phone to her ear. “Rosa, what’s wrong?”

  “This isn’t Rosa, it’s Rose. And why are you answering my boyfriend’s phone?” The high-pitched voice hit the wrong chord in Carla.

  Was it possible she’d grabbed Franco’s phone instead of her own? “Who’s your boyfriend?”

  “Franco Marchello. Now put him on the phone.”

  So it was true. She was holding Franco’s phone. Her grip tightened. He’d told her that he wasn’t seeing anyone. Had he lied to her?

  In her mind, she heard her father saying, “I told you so. You can’t trust a Marchello.” Immediately anger pulsed through her veins. She refused to be made a fool of.

  “Franco can’t come to the phone.” Carla wasn’t sure how she kept her voice so calm and level, because she was anything but that on the inside.

  “Who is this? Is this his assistant?”

  “No. This is his wife. And I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t call my husband again.” And then she disconnected the call.

  She rushed out of her room, hoping to find Franco in the living room. He wasn’t there. She checked the kitchen, but the lights were out. She turned to look at the door just off the kitchen—Franco’s bedroom door.

  She was pretty certain if he’d gone out that he would have let her know. That meant he must be in there. It was the last place she wanted to speak with him, but this wasn’t going to wait. She needed her phone back.

  She marched to the other side of the apartment and rapped her knuckles on the door.

  “Hang on,” he called out.

  She didn’t want to wait. She didn’t want to see him. How dare he make a fool of her? With each passing second, her temper rose. She seesawed between telling him exactly what she thought of him and keeping her emotions to herself, not letting him see that it got to her.

  When the door swung open, Franco stood there shirtless, showing off his muscular chest with broad shoulders. A pair of navy boxers hugged his trim waist. “Hi. Did you need something? More towels?”

  “Uh...no.” She struggled to drag her gaze back to his face.

  He smiled as amusement twinkled in his eyes. He propped himself against the door. “I’m not a mind reader, so you’ll have to tell me what has brought you to my door.” And then his eyes widened as though he’d figured out what she wanted—him. He opened the door wider. “You can come in.”

  Heat swirled in her chest and rushed to her cheeks. How dare he think she was going to sleep with him again? If he thought he could have her and a girlfriend on the side, he was very wrong.

  “I trusted you to keep your word,” she said, trying to keep her emotions at bay. “I knew going into this arrangement that it would be hard—it would definitely have its challenges. But I thought you and I were adult enough to handle it.”

  He raked his fingers through his hair, scattering the short dark strands. “What are you talking about?”

  She glared at him. He was playing with her and seeing what she knew. What if there was more that she didn’t know—more women she didn’t know about? An uneasy feeling churned in the pit of her stomach. She refused to acknowledge that the feeling eating at her felt a lot like jealousy. She was not jealous. Not. At. All.

  She refused to play into his game. “Like you don’t know what you’ve been up to and with whom.”

  “I don’t or I wouldn’t have asked you.”

  “Either adhere to our legal agreement or I’ll sue you for breach of contract.” She held out his phone. “Our phones got mixed up. I’d like mine back.”

  His eyes widened as his lips formed an O. He retreated to the table next to his great big bed, and she couldn’t help but wonder how many times Rose had been in this room. Carla immediately stopped the thought. She wasn’t going there. What he did before their marriage was none of her business. He just had to follow their agreement while he was her husband. It wasn’t too much to expect.

  He returned to the doorway where she’d remained. “Listen, I don’t know what you think is going on, but I can assure you that there’s been a misunderstanding.”

  Her unwavering gaze met his. “I didn
’t misunderstand anything. But you might want to have that conversation with your girlfriend.”

  She grabbed her phone from his hand and then returned his phone. Not waiting for him to say anything further, she turned and headed back across the hallway. It wasn’t until she was inside her room with the door shut that she expelled a pent-up breath.

  Did he really think she didn’t know what he was up to? She wouldn’t stand for him sneaking around behind her back. She told herself it was all about them adhering to the deal and it had absolutely nothing to do with not being able to stand the thought of Franco holding another woman in his arms and kissing her the way he’d kissed Carla. None at all.

  * * *

  What in the world had gotten her so worked up?

  And why did she suddenly think he had a girlfriend? A wife was plenty for him. There was no way he’d want to please two women at once. That would be a very dangerous proposition. He shook his head, chasing away the troubling images.

  But if Carla was truly his wife in every sense of the word, did she really think another woman could tempt him away? Definitely not.

  It didn’t take Franco long to realize that a woman he’d briefly seen before he’d met Carla had phoned. He inwardly groaned. The woman was trouble. The last he knew, she’d been called away for a lengthy business arrangement in the United Arab Emirates.

  He didn’t want to call Rose. In fact, it was the very last thing he wanted to do, but with Carla having a total fit, he had to know what Rose had said to her so he could try and undo it. Because while he didn’t care what Rose thought about him, he cared very much what Carla thought.

  The conversation with Rose was mostly one-sided as she regaled him with all her business triumphs in the United Arab Emirates. Every time he interrupted her in order to cut to the chase, she started over and the conversation just went on and on.

  Sometime around midnight, they finally got around to the part he’d been waiting for—Rose’s conversation with Carla—the one where she’d introduced herself as his girlfriend. Franco had inwardly groaned. She wanted to know if it was true that he was now married. He’d told her he was and happily so. Rose was furious. She accused him of leading her on and that she would never forgive him. She hung up on him, which was fine by him. And then he blocked her number, which was something he should have done long ago.