The Italian Billionaire's Betrayal: What if you fell in love with the one person you couldn't have? A story of forbidden love and overpowering need.

by Clare Connelly

  She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She pulled a flowing cream maxidress on next, and watched as Matteo studied her. “Spin around,” he commanded, and she did so, turning her head to the side so she could see his reaction. He tipped his head backwards as if saying a silent prayer and then moved to her, and crouched at her feet. As he lifted the dress, he placed kisses along her legs, her thighs, her abdomen, and then he lifted it clear off her body and gave his full attention to her nipples, erect and hungry for his skilful ministrations.

  “Next,” he commanded, stepping back and giving her a gentle push towards the shopping bags.

  She selected her favourite dress next, a loose fitting mini-dress with a purple and pink swirl, reminiscent of pop-art prints. It was very short, ending just below her bottom, and his eyes were hooded as he surveyed her. “This one you wear only for me,” he said.

  “You don’t like it?” She asked, pouting playfully.

  “Oh, I like it. I like it very much.” He stood before her and fingered the hemline, but before he could pull it up, she shook her head and nudged him backwards, so that his legs were pressed against the frame of the bed.

  “Sit.” She commanded, and felt a thrill of feminine power when he did, without question.

  The dress still in place, she straddled him, pausing just above his aroused tip. She dipped her hips and took him in one move, rocking her pelvis to accommodate him fully.

  He swore, his eyes lanced through her as he felt his body come alive with a sexual pleasure he’d never experienced before. As she rocked her body, she tipped her head back and cried out. He grasped her buttocks and cried out as he came, feeling her pulsate and tighten as she too reached the natural conclusion to their lovemaking.

  He fell backwards, pulling her with him, and he stroked her back gently.

  “I’m hungry,” she said prosaically, surprising him, and earning a smile from Matteo – the kind of smile that would break your heart if you stared at it for too long.

  “Let’s go eat then.”

  “I’ll just get changed...”

  “Don’t.” He interrupted. “Please. Wear the dress.”

  Her eyes flared with pleasure and she nodded.

  Dinner was served on the rooftop terrace she’d seen on that first night. It was a balmy summer evening and the sun had not yet disappeared. She took her seat at the small wrought iron table.

  “Will you have wine?” Matteo asked.

  She shook her head. “Water is fine.”

  He nodded and filled their glasses with iced water.

  He sat opposite her, their knees brushing beneath the table.

  The housekeeper that Meghan thought was such a sweet little dumpling of the woman brought out two bowls of steaming seafood risotto.

  “Grazie, Bernadetta.” Matteo said with true warmth.

  The older woman dimpled. “Piacere.”

  “Bernadetta seems very sweet.” Meghan observed after she’d disappeared back inside.

  “She is one in a million. She has been working with my family since I was born. She was hired as my nanny, then Pietro’s, and once we were all grown up, she stayed on as housekeeper.”

  “No wonder she seems so fond of you.”

  “And I of her.”

  It was ridiculous, but Meghan felt another stab of jealousy. Oh, of course she didn’t believe there was anything sexual between them, but it was worse than that. He spoke of Bernadetta with open affection and respect, two emotions she wondered if he would ever hold towards herself.

  “Tell me why you do not drink wine, Meghan,” he asked, lifting a fork of the delicious pale dinner to his mouth.

  She sipped her water. “I do drink wine,” She contradicted. “Just not often.”

  “And why is that?”

  “I’m a doctor. I like to remain alert. I never know when I might be called into work.”

  He nodded thoughtfully. “You are very different to my brother. I wonder what you saw in each other.”

  She dropped her fork in surprise. “I ... I don’t think we should talk about Pete. Maybe we should make it a rule.”

  His face flashed with annoyance. “Too raw? Too upsetting still?”

  She squeezed her eyes shut. It was, but not in the way he meant. The contempt Pete had shown her on the day of the funeral had cut her to the quick. With no bonds to her family, her friends were like treasured siblings, Pete especially so, and his lack of sympathy for what she’d been suffering was upsetting, to say the least.

  “It feels like a betrayal,” she said, honestly. “You’re the one who said this should be secret. Can’t we just keep a little bubble wrapped around what’s happening between us? Let’s pretend that none of that exists, that it’s just you and me.”

  He shook his head. “It’s too much. I can’t pretend that. I can’t ignore the fact you were with my brother before me.”

  “I’m telling you, there’s more to it than you know. Please, just forget about Pete.” She pleaded, wrapping her hand around his.

  He scowled then nodded once to signal his agreement, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Tell me why you became a doctor,” his voice held a note of command that made her smile. He was effortlessly authoritative, and it was one of the qualities she most admired in him.

  She toyed with the stem of her empty wine glass. Her reason for going into medicine was one she hadn’t told many people. She felt it was too private. There were some things she couldn’t tell this man, for reasons beyond her control, but if she wanted him to realise that what he felt for her was genuine, she had to be open about everything else.

  “When my parents enrolled me in boarding school, I was very young. Only five years old, suddenly in a foreign country, with none of my own things, none of the people I knew.” She lifted her eyes to his and was surprised to see he was captivated, listening, perfectly still. “I was placed in a dorm with another little girl – Marta was her name – and we bonded instantly. We were inseparable. Her own family had been murdered by the Russian mob, and we both felt completely alone, except for one another.”

  She dropped her gaze and pushed her fork around her plate, but her appetite had deserted her. “When we were twelve, Marta and I were riding horses. It was school vacations; virtually everyone else had returned to their homes, but we had nowhere else to be.” She explained, her voice factual. “She had an accident. I didn’t know what to do. There was blood. Everywhere. And I was helpless.”

  When she lifted her face, the anguish in her eyes was clear. “I lost her. She’d been like a sister to me. Closer, even, and she was gone. I truly was alone in the world.”

  “And so you decided to save all the other Martas you could?” He asked gently, gripping his knees beneath the table to halt the urge to grab hold of her hands and squeeze away the pain.

  She nodded. “I know, it sounds corny...”

  “I think it sounds perfectly understandable.” His deep voice was gravelly.

  “The thing is, I know now that there was nothing I could do. She was dead the minute she hit the ground. Not even a team of the best surgeons in the world could have saved her. I know I can’t fix everybody. But sometimes, even the ones you can’t help medically, you can help emotionally, letting them come to terms with their diagnosis.”

  “It sounds like harrowing work.”

  She nodded. “And rewarding.” She forced herself to smile. “Change of subject. Tell me about you.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes. When did you decide to become a global tycoon?”

  His smile was wry. “Not much choice to it.”

  “Regrets, Signore Maratelli?” She asked silkily.

  “No. It’s what I was destined to do.”

  “You believe in destiny?” She felt her heart kick against her rib cage.

  He reconsidered. “Perhaps what I believe in is genetics. My grandfather, Tony, was never happier than at the helm of the company. I have always shared that passion.”

&
nbsp; “Tony had Esmerelda,” She pointed out. “That gave him great happiness too.”

  “He was a fool for love,” he drawled cynically. “I am not.”

  She leaned back in her chair and regarded him thoughtfully. “Now you don’t believe in love?”

  He echoed her movement, reclining further into his own seat. “I believe no good can come from blind love. Look at Pete, and Sofia. Then Pete, and you. He gave trust to those who did not deserve it, all because he loved blindly.”

  “Love, by its very definition, must be blind. You can’t have a guarantee that someone will not hurt you.” She said, skating over his mention of Pete.

  “D’accord. There are no guarantees. But by ensuring you fall in love with a suitable person, you minimise the risk for pain. Betrayal. Loss.”

  She shivered. “It’s a very cynical take on a beautiful human condition.”

  “Unlike you, I do not believe it bending the truth to suit my circumstances.” He derided silkily.

  She dipped her head, but he caught the pained surprise in her eyes and felt his stomach swirl.

  Meghan was incapable of defending herself. She felt a wave of depression wash over her, to know what an uphill battle she was fighting, and with such an enormous handicap against her.

  “Have you ever been in love?” She asked quietly.

  He admired that she hadn’t lashed out at his frankly very rude remark.

  “I thought I was. Once before. But it was an illusion. I learned my lesson then, and I won’t be making the same mistake again.” His words were spoken with the certainty of lead. “And you? Have you ever been in love? Besides, of course, with my brother.”

  “We agreed not to speak about Pete.”

  “I’m sorry. Walking down memory lane, discussing past loves, it seemed appropriate.”

  She stood on legs that were not quite steady. “Excuse me. I think I’ve had enough for tonight.”

  He stood, followed her. “Hey, hey, where are you going?” He scanned her face, seeming genuinely solicitous.

  She bit down on her lip to stop herself from crying. “I know what you think of me. But I can’t change the past. You’re the one who suggested our little arrangement.” She spat the word out distastefully. “Well, I didn’t agree to spend a week with you so you could use me as your own whipping boy.”

  He ran a hand through his hair. “I did not realise I was doing this.”

  “You can’t resist throwing insults at me, every chance you get. And I understand why our history makes you doubt me. But if you can’t get over what happened and treat me with respect, then there’s no point to me staying.” She felt her heart splinter as she mouthed the words, but she knew she was right. It was impossible to be near this man, who she loved so deeply, feeling that he loathed her.

  “I don’t want you to go,” his words sounded tortured. “But I can’t forget who you are. What you are capable of.”

  She turned her head away as looking at his beautiful face became too difficult.

  He grabbed hold of her hand. “I don’t want you to go. I will try not to... what did you say? Make you my whipping boy?”

  She nodded tensely.

  “Please, Meghan. Hurting you is the last thing I want to do. Stay.”

  It was the wrong decision, but she nodded. Meghan feared that being hurt was now somewhat inevitable, and yet, like a deer caught in headlights, she simply couldn’t run away.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Paolo took Meghan back to the Vatican the next day, and this time, he did accompany her in.

  “You made it sound so enjoyable yesterday, and I haven’t been here since I was a child, in school.”

  “That’s criminal,” She chided. “You have this wonderful history on your doorstep and yet you content yourself to drive past it. Well, I’m thrilled we will experience it together today.”

  She found that Paolo had called ahead and they were shepherded through many queues, given VIP treatment in each section of the museum.

  In the early afternoon, they shared lunch in the cafeteria style food court. Sitting on the grass beneath a large, leafy tree, Meghan stretched her legs out and kicked them at the ankles. “Have you worked for Teo for long?” She asked, trying to keep her voice disinterested.

  He bit into his baguette. “Almost ten years.”

  “Ten years! You must know him well.” She marvelled.

  “I am not his principal driver, but yes, I have come to know him. He is a good man. An excellent employer. Very decent.” He effused. “Unlike many men in his position, he is down to earth. You would not know he is worth a small fortune.”

  She nodded, taking a small bite of her sushi. She wanted to ask him so many questions about Matteo, but she couldn’t do it. She liked Paolo, and it felt wrong to abuse what had become a nice friendship.

  “Are you married?” She asked him, for he didn’t wear a ring.

  He nodded. “Seven years. Domenica. And we have two children.” He reached into his top pocked and pulled out his mobile phone, where he had hundreds of snaps of his little daughters.

  “They’re beautiful, Paolo. Congratulations.” She said honestly, for they were such happy and bubbly looking children that she felt a wistful turn in her gut.

  “I don’t have children, but I work with them. I’m a paediatrician.”

  He looked at her blankly.

  What had Pete said? “Pediatra.”

  “Ah!” He raised his eyebrows, clearly surprised. “I thought you must not work. Most of the women Signore Maratelli normally dates are, how do you say it... idle? Unemployed?”

  Meghan felt the colour drain from her face at his casual mention of other women, but she kept the smile in place, doing her best to behave normally. Of course, she’d known he had seen other women. That was hardly news. Their history didn’t matter, isn’t that what she was trying to convince him of?

  She simply had to make the most of the time she had. And leave, with no regrets, if it came to it.

  When they returned to Matteo’s townhouse, Bernadetta informed Meghan that Matteo had been held up at work. “He asked that you dine without him.” She apologised.

  “Oh.” Meghan’s face dropped with disappointment.

  She decided, regardless, that she would wait for him, but around eleven o’clock, she had a piece of toast and went to bed.

  It was two in the morning when Matteo finally creaked open the bedroom door and crept into the en suite. She heard the shower running, and then felt him, warm, and naked except for his boxers, in bed beside her. Instinctively, she curled towards him, and felt his body envelop her, his strong arms wrapping around her chest and holding her tight.

  As the dawn light burst through the windows, they made love, groggy, half-asleep love that both had desperately needed.

  “Don’t go to work today,” She said, afterwards.

  “I have to.” He said, surprised by how much he wished he could be with her instead. It made him frown slightly. Getting attached was not what he’d intended this week. It was supposed to be about uncovering the root of their attraction so that he could expunge her permanently from his life. Get her out of his system, once and for all.

  “What do you have planned today?” He changed the subject. One more moment looking at her delectable nakedness and he’d give his job the flick, forever.

  She spread her fingers across the cool cotton sheets. “I’ll see what Paolo suggests. Perhaps the Coliseum?”

  “Paolo? The driver?” He asked, his words firmer than he’d intended.

  “Yes, he’s been a wonderful tour guide.”

  “Don’t go getting any ideas about him, will you, cara? I know you probably find him quite attractive, but he’s married, with children.”

  She stared after him, too shocked to say anything. Too hurt to form words. She pulled herself out of bed, and silently grabbed some clothes, wrapped a towel around herself and left their room. She gave in to the childish temptation to slam the door, hard, on her wa
y out, but didn’t have the satisfaction of seeing him jump.

  When she returned home that night, after a full day of exploring the Coliseum and the Roman Forum, Matteo was waiting for her. He eyed her and Paolo grimly as they came into the hallway, laughing over a shared joke from their day together, and again he felt an unfamiliar ache in his gut. He had never been insecure in past relationships. He told himself that Meghan had proved herself untrustworthy, and that’s why he was reacting like this.

  “What would you like for dinner?” He asked when she joined him in the kitchen.

  “You’re cooking?” She asked dubiously.

  “I am reheating.” He grinned. “Never fear, you are unlikely to catch listeria or salmonella.”

  All day she’d fumed at him for his hurtful barb about Paolo, but now, seeing him, she couldn’t summon the energy to be mad.

  “I’m not that hungry. Paolo and I had a late lunch.” She said it warningly.

  He turned to face her, his honey eyes warring with hers. “It was a cheap shot. I shouldn’t have said it.”

  They both knew what he was referring to.

  “No, you shouldn’t. But I appreciate your apology.”

  His face was rueful. “I seem to be making a habit of it with you.”

  She walked across the kitchen and linked her hands around his waist, so that they were touching.

  “I missed you today.” She said honestly. “I don’t want to waste the time we have together arguing.”

  “Nor do I. In fact, I can think of far better things we could waste our time doing.” His voice was like melted chocolate trickling over her skin, giving her goosebumps of anticipation. He kissed the side of her mouth lightly. “But first, I want to feed you.”

  She groaned. “I told you, I’m not that hungry...”

  “Sit.” He said mockingly.

  She did as he suggested, perching on the edge of a bar stool whilst he worked.

  “What are you making?” She asked, curious as he opened a jar of bright red relish.