Marriage: For Business or Pleasure?

by Nicola Marsh

  He’d never seen Darby anything but overbearing, arrogant and mean, lording his wealth over everyone foolish enough to get close to him and anyone else who crossed his path. But that man had disappeared beneath a plethora of wrinkles and a greyish pallor that suggested a long-standing illness.

  Anxious to get this over and done with, Nick cleared his throat and stepped into the room.

  ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

  Darby’s eyes flew open, their feverish glint a startling contrast to the pallor of his pasty skin.

  ‘We need to talk, clear the air.’

  ‘I’ve got nothing to say to you, so get out.’

  Still the same cantankerous fool, but there was no way he was leaving without saying his piece.

  ‘I will, but before I go you need to listen.’

  Nick kept his voice devoid of emotion, not wanting to agitate the old guy further considering he’d now flushed an ugly crimson.

  ‘About you marrying my daughter? About bringing disgrace on this family? Dragging our name through the mud?’ Darby sat bolt upright, shook a fist at him. ‘I don’t want to hear it. You’ve won, damn you. Isn’t that enough?’

  Clenching his fists, Nick shoved them deep into his jacket pockets, not willing to show the slightest indication he felt anything other than indifference for Darby’s poisonous barbs.

  Before he could utter a word, Darby pushed up from his chair, his neck muscles rigid, his expression thunderous, his eyes gleaming with a maniacal edge.

  ‘Just because I’m stuck in this godforsaken place don’t think I’m stupid, boy. I know what you’re up to, marrying Brittany out of spite, taking your revenge on me.’ He stabbed his finger in the air, tottering slightly. ‘That stupid girl deserves everything she gets for running around with the likes of you. She won’t get another penny out of me now. I’ve given her more than enough to pad her new life in London. So if you were hoping for a silver lining to your marriage, too bad. You can both go to the devil.’

  Nick silently swore and took a step back, not wanting to believe what he was hearing but, like onlookers at an accident, drawn to the horrifying carnage.

  The extent of Darby Lloyd’s hatred didn’t shock him half as much as his total disregard for his only child, and if the old guy didn’t look as if he had one foot in the grave, Nick would willingly give him a shove in that direction for his callousness towards Britt.

  Instilling a calm he knew would drive the old coot mad, he said, ‘You’re wrong. Our marriage has nothing to do with you or what happened in the past. She’s your daughter. Don’t you care enough about her to at least maintain civilities with me?’

  Darby flushed puce, staggered and flopped back in his chair while Nick shook his head.

  He’d been wrong to come here.

  Time hadn’t soothed the old man’s rampant prejudice; it had festered and grown until he couldn’t see reason.

  ‘Get out, Mancini, and don’t come back.’

  Shaking his head, Nick opened the door. By the old guy’s shallow breaths and mottled red cheeks, he should probably send the nurse in before he left.

  ‘One more thing, Mancini.’

  He paused on the threshold, turned, eager to get out of this place and back to Britt. He could tell her all of it now, for nothing either of them could say or do would make an ounce of difference where Darby was concerned.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘I hope you rot in hell for going near my daughter in the first place.’

  Without a word, Nick walked out and didn’t look back.

  Brittany reread the same paragraph for the fifth time before leaping up from the keyboard.

  Work had succeeded in distracting her from losing Nick a decade earlier, but it wasn’t doing a thing for her now. She’d scanned her emails, managed to form coherent replies for the important ones, read the documentation David had forwarded from Human Resources and toyed with an idea to grab the lucrative advertising contract for a World Cup soccer team.

  All perfectly stimulating stuff she would normally thrive on, but today she couldn’t concentrate for more than a few seconds at a time, her mind constantly drifting to Nick.

  Where was he?

  What was he thinking?

  Why had he run out on her when they needed to discuss this like two normal people?

  He needed time, she understood. But the fact he’d barely spoken more than two syllables since she’d dropped her bombshell didn’t bode well.

  Bombshell? She’d detonated their relationship clean out of the water; first, with the news she was leaving, then with her follow-up declaration she’d give up her dream job to be with her dream man.

  Was she crazy?

  Yeah, crazy about a bad-boy billionaire with molten-toffee eyes and a smile that made her belly clench with desire.

  Heading for the window where she could waste another half-hour or so staring at the killer view without really seeing it, she stopped as she heard the door open and swung around in time to see Nick burst into the suite, his hair dishevelled, his expression wild.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  His eyes lit up as they fixed on her. ‘I am now.’

  ‘What’s all this about—?’

  He crossed the room in two seconds flat, swept her into his arms and crushed his mouth to hers, effectively silencing her, annihilating the need to talk with a frantic, hungry kiss that wiped every sane thought from her mind, let alone the questions that had plagued her for the last few hours.

  After an exquisite eternity, they came up for air and she clung to him, needing a steady anchor for her boneless legs.

  He’d always had the ability to do this, turn her into a quivering, love-struck girl, but she wasn’t a naïve young woman any more.

  She needed more than a ride on the back of his bike and a roll in the plantation’s hay. She needed a guy willing to accept her for who she was. She needed him.

  ‘I’ve been doing some thinking.’

  ‘I figured that, considering you tore out of here like a cane burnout was sparking at your heels.’

  He grimaced, released her to run a hand through his hair. ‘Sorry about that. I needed space. You know I need time out when things get tough.’

  ‘Tough? You ain’t seen nothing yet.’

  She smiled, while her belly twisted in an agony of nerves. Now he was here, she wanted to shake the truth out of him, wanted him to tell her exactly what he was thinking and put her out of her misery once and for all.

  ‘You should take the job.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Disappointment ripped through her, the pain of losing him again cleaving her heart in two.

  She’d made the pitch of her life—and failed.

  ‘But only if we work out a way to spend at least six months of the year together. It’s going to be hard enough letting my wife out of my sight for that long as it is.’

  Her gaze flew to his, seeking some hidden meaning behind his words, not daring to believe her dream could still become a reality.

  ‘Are you saying—?’

  ‘I’m saying this marriage is as real as it gets, Red.’

  She let out an ear-splitting squeal as he picked her up and swung her around until she was breathless and laughing and crying all at the same time.

  ‘Hey, don’t do that.’

  His tenderness in swiping her tears away only made them fall faster and he bundled her into his arms, stroking her hair as she burrowed into her favourite place in the world, inhaling the pure ambrosia of fresh air and ocean and Nick.

  She couldn’t get enough of him and the thought they had a lifetime together ahead made her light-headed with joy.

  ‘About this marriage—’

  The funky tune of her mobile vibrated against her thigh and she fumbled for the phone, switching the darn thing off with a flick.

  ‘You were saying?’

  He grinned. ‘That could’ve been important.’

  ‘Nothing’s as important as hearing you ta
lk about our marriage.’

  ‘Well, then, let’s—’

  She let a curse slip as the suite’s phone rang, loud and jarring, and she laid a hand on his arm as he reached for it.

  ‘Leave it.’

  Sweeping a swift kiss across her lips, still tingling from his recent sensual assault, he said, ‘Maybe someone’s trying to get hold of you? First the mobile, now here? Just answer it, fob them off so we can get to the good stuff.’

  He nuzzled her neck and she moaned, trying to block out the incessant jangling of the phone before giving in with a reluctant curse and snatching it up.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Ms Lloyd? It’s Nurse Peters from the Jacaranda special accommodation facility. I’m sorry to say your father has had another stroke. It’s best you come as soon as possible.’

  ‘I’ll be right there.’

  An instinctive response, a response she might not have given if she’d had time to think, but once it had slipped out and she’d hung up she knew she had no other choice but to go, regardless of her ambivalent feelings towards her dad.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  Twisting her hair into a knot at her nape before letting it fall, she said, ‘It’s my father. He’s had another stroke.’

  ‘Hell.’

  Nick turned away, but not before she’d glimpsed a flicker of guilt she didn’t understand.

  ‘I have to go.’

  ‘Of course. Want me to come with you?’

  She shook her head, laid a hand on his arm. ‘No, I’ll be fine.’

  Her hand drifted upwards, stroked his cheek, her heart swelling with love for her husband. Her husband. She had the right to really call him that now and she couldn’t be happier.

  ‘You stay here, I’ll be back as soon as I can and we can talk some more.’

  He pulled her in for one last, hungry kiss before releasing her and she hurried out the door.

  The faster she paid her father an obligatory visit he’d done nothing to deserve, the faster she could start the rest of her life.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  BRITTANY paused on the threshold of her father’s room, focusing on the man that had made her life a living hell propped up in bed.

  He didn’t deserve this, no one deserved to suffer like this, mind and body wasting away, sapped of dignity, no matter what their sins.

  She’d rushed here out of what? Obligation? Caring? It certainly wasn’t love. He’d wiped any semblance of that emotion the first time he’d raised his hand to her.

  Taking a deep breath, she stepped into the room.

  Whatever sense of familial duty had made her come, she didn’t want to stay. If he hadn’t wanted to broach the gap between them a few weeks earlier, there was no way things would’ve changed now. If anything, being incapacitated would sour his mood further and she had no intention of bearing the brunt of his temper. Never again.

  ‘Dad?’

  She tiptoed to the bed, reaching a hand out to touch his arm before letting it fall to her side when he turned his head slightly, saw her, then rolled towards the wall.

  ‘Go away. Leave me to die in peace.’

  The words came out on a croak rather than his usual grunt, shout or bark and for a second a sliver of remorse prompted her to touch him on the shoulder.

  He stiffened, allowing her fingertips to linger before shrugging them off.

  ‘You’re not dying, Dad. The doctor said you’ve had another minor stroke with no residual effects.’

  He made a sudden move, rolling towards her, and she hated her first reaction was to take a step back.

  When was the last time she wasn’t afraid of this man, afraid of what he was capable of?

  The last time they’d had a normal conversation without his latent temper threatening to explode, she’d been sixteen years old and he’d been teasing her about taking French as an elective at school. It had been the day before her mum had left and the memory stood out as a particularly poignant one as the last time she’d ever connected with him, the last time she’d ever felt safe in his presence.

  ‘What do those old fools know? Pumping me full of heart tablets and blood thinners and goodness knows what. Quacks, the lot of them.’

  She hadn’t come here to argue, hadn’t come to listen to his moaning.

  From what the doc said, Darby wasn’t going to die any time soon and she could leave him to harass the highly paid staff here and walk away, safe in the knowledge she’d done the right thing no matter how much it stung he didn’t give a damn.

  ‘You’ll be fine—’

  ‘What are you doing here anyway? Had a fight with that no-good husband of yours?’

  His malice-filled eyes narrowed, a nasty grimace twisting his lips as he lifted a trembling arm to jab a finger in her direction before letting it fall uselessly on the bed, and she determinedly quashed a surge of pity.

  ‘Nick and I are happy. We—’

  ‘Happy? More fool you. The only reason that lousy son of a gun married you was for revenge. Even came around here earlier to gloat.’

  Unease gnawed at her, insidious and malignant. She had no intention of listening to the hateful ramblings of a vile old man hell-bent on poisoning everyone around him with his vitriol, but something in his smug grin made her skin crawl with apprehension.

  ‘Hates my guts, always has, ever since we made our little bargain.’

  She clamped her jaw shut, determined not to ask what he meant, but her curiosity must’ve shown for he struggled into a half-sitting position, his expression positively gloating.

  ‘Bet he didn’t tell you about our pact. He stopped sniffing around you, I let his stupid old man keep that pathetic excuse for a plantation.’

  A faint buzzing filled her head and she took several quick breaths, desperate for air, desperate for anything to wipe the last few moments.

  ‘How does it feel, to come in last in a two-horse race?’

  His bitter laugh raised her hackles and she backed towards the door, shocked she’d once loved this man, horrified at what he’d become.

  ‘Yep, revenge, pure and sweet. Mancini must be real happy with your marriage.’

  He spat the last word and she turned and bolted, clutching a stomach that roiled with the sickening truth.

  Nick didn’t love her.

  Their marriage wasn’t real.

  This had all been a sick, twisted game to him.

  Her feet flew down the corridor and as she stumbled into the fresh air and doubled over with the pain of his deception she promised herself she’d never get taken in by Nick Mancini ever again.

  By the time Brittany arrived back at the hotel, the legendary temper attributed to her hair colour had hit boiling point.

  She wanted to pack her bags and jump on the first flight back to London, but not before she’d told Nick a few home truths.

  She might have been the good little girl ten years earlier who’d gone quietly after letting him walk all over her, but not any more. This time, she’d go out with a bang.

  She could kill him for making her love him again, for causing the incessant ache gripping her heart until she could barely breathe.

  All she needed was a reason, and that reason glanced up from his desk and fixed his melted toffee gaze on her as she stalked into their room.

  ‘How’s your dad?’

  ‘You tell me.’

  She slammed the door, leaned against it when his gaze turned compassionate. She didn’t need his compassion, damn it, she needed the truth, all of it.

  ‘Apparently you’re so chummy you visited him.’

  She snapped her fingers. ‘Oh, wait, that wasn’t about being friendly. You just wanted to gloat about finally getting your revenge.’

  His expression wary, he stood, moved around the desk towards her.

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Don’t patronise me!’

  Her tenuous control on her temper snapped as she pushed off the door, met him halfway, placing both ha
nds squarely in the middle of his chest and pushing, hard.

  ‘He told me about your pact, about you choosing Papa over me. I get that family is important to you, but you could’ve told me, damn you. Do you know how long it took me to get over you? Do you?’

  She pushed again, softer this time, a feeble attempt as her anger gave way to anguish.

  ‘Let me explain—’

  ‘Don’t bother. I get it. You didn’t love me enough then and you sure as hell don’t love me now.’

  To her mortification, she ended on a sob, knuckling her eyes to complete the pathetic picture with tears.

  ‘Hey, you’ve got this all wrong.’

  He manacled her wrists and she let him, all the fight drained out of her as she slumped onto the back of a chair.

  Thumping him wasn’t an option, not any more, with concern and tenderness and God-honest sincerity blazing from those unforgettable eyes.

  ‘Have I? Because what my father said made sense.’

  Releasing her wrists, he stepped back and ran a hand through his hair, his expression thunderous.

  ‘Remember when you went to Brisbane for a month before leaving for London? Darby didn’t know it wasn’t a holiday, he thought you were coming back. So he warned me off you, threatened to take the plantation off Papa if I didn’t back off.’

  Anger tightened his voice, tensed his shoulders as he stalked to the window and braced against it.

  ‘After Mum left, it was the only thing keeping Papa going and I couldn’t let your father ruin him, so I did what I thought was right at the time, letting him believe he’d succeeded in ending things between us.’

  Damn her dad.

  Damn Nick for being right.

  She couldn’t blame him for his loyalty to Papa, couldn’t fault his logic, but she didn’t want logic or rationale right now, she needed to vent.

  Snapping her fingers, she glared at him. ‘Moot point, considering you’d already ended things between us.’

  ‘I didn’t want to let you go, Red.’

  The sorrow in his tone had her head snapping up to scan his face for proof he was hurting as much as she was.

  ‘Then why? Why did you shut me out those last few weeks? Push me away at the end?’