The Billionaire's Bridal Bargain

by Lynne Graham

  ‘Mr Sabatino is in the office at the end of the corridor,’ Primo informed her as she reached the foot of the grand staircase.

  Almost sick with self-consciousness, Lizzie found the door ajar and walked in without knocking. Cesare’s arrogant dark head flew up from his laptop, subdued fire flaring in his dark, glittering eyes at the interruption until he realised who his visitor was. A well-bred smile lightened his darkly handsome features and curved his hard mouth as he leapt upright, his attention automatically pinning to the lissom curves revealed by the casually elegant outfit she wore. In startling comparison a pink and white X-rated image of Lizzie splayed across his bed erupted at the back of Cesare’s mind and he ground his teeth together as his body leapt in response to the provocation. Not for the first time he regretted the interruption that had left him burning with sexual frustration.

  When he had last called Celine, he had grasped that he had a problem he had not foreseen. Aware that he was getting married, his French lover no longer wished to be seen in his company. Celine guarded her reputation because the clients who paid her a small fortune to advertise their exclusive perfume were conservative and Cesare had perfectly understood her determination to put her career first. It was, nonetheless, a challenge for him to work out how he was to cope for the next few months being married and not married at the same time.

  He had not gone without sex for more than a couple of weeks since he was a teenager. Was he now supposed to sneak around seeking a discreet outlet? Without a doubt, he would have to avoid being seen consorting with any woman other than his wife or their marriage would appear dubious and, after going to such lengths to bring about the marriage, that was not a risk he was prepared to take. Whether he liked it or not and whether anything came of it or not, Lizzie was his only option for the foreseeable future, he acknowledged grudgingly.

  ‘You look terrific, cara,’ Cesare told Lizzie truthfully, politely tugging out a chair for her to use. The jasmine scent of her perfume flared his nostrils and before he could suppress the memory he recalled the wild, hot sweetness of her response. No man could easily forget that kind of passion, he reasoned, exasperated by his stubborn libido and the effect those turbulent hormones had on his usually cool intellect.

  ‘Thanks but it’s all fancy packaging, not really me,’ Lizzie parried uncomfortably, because he was towering over her and close enough that she could smell the citrusy cologne that overlaid the erotic undertones of clean, warm male. Her colour fluctuating, she sat very straight-backed in her seat.

  ‘Learn how to accept a compliment gracefully,’ Cesare advised softly. ‘You have a great figure, gorgeous hair and a beautiful face. Clothes merely provide an effective frame for the looks that nature gave you.’

  Lizzie dealt him a pained half-smile. Unlike her, he was a master of the ready word and the right thing to say and had probably never been stuck for a quote in his entire gilded life. She evaded his shrewd gaze because she felt vulnerable, almost naked in his presence, stripped as she was of her usual working clothing and countryside assurance because his privileged world was so foreign to hers. She loved the way good clothes that fitted perfectly made her feel, but she wondered if he would still want her without that superficial gloss, a thought that made her feel inadequate and a little pathetic. In short, the spectacular luxury of his home, the costly garments and the preponderance of staff made Lizzie feel out of her depth and drowning. All she had required to crown her discomfiture was that ill-judged sexual episode that morning. ‘I want you to sign these documents.’ Evidently impervious to the unease afflicting Lizzie, Cesare extended a slim sheaf of papers. ‘I need your permission to make alterations to the villa on Lionos.’

  Her brow furrowed in surprise. ‘Alterations? But you haven’t even seen the house yet.’

  ‘Because we won’t be married until Friday,’ Cesare pointed out drily. ‘While we’re on our honeymoon in Italy, my grandmother will be having her surgery and recuperating. As soon as she is strong enough we will fly out to Lionos and stay in the villa with her.’

  ‘I didn’t realise we were having a honeymoon.’

  ‘It will only be a honeymoon in the eyes of the outside world,’ Cesare qualified wryly.

  ‘And your grandmother falls into that category too?’ Lizzie checked.

  ‘I’ve already explained that,’ Cesare reminded her. ‘For all that Athene’s strong, she’s an old lady. I don’t want her to guess that our marriage is a fake. If she knew the truth she’d feel responsible and unhappy.’

  ‘I can understand that.’ Lizzie studied him uneasily. He emanated sleek, expensive elegance in a black business suit that outlined his broad shoulders, narrow hips and long, powerful legs to perfection but, unfortunately for Lizzie, she was still seeing him in his form-fitting boxers, an energising image of him half-naked and rampant with masculine potency. She chewed hard at the soft underside of her lower lip, fighting her awareness and her disobedient and thoroughly embarrassing thoughts.

  ‘Before we can stay at the villa, however, some improvements must be made to the accommodation and for that I require your permission as the property belongs to you and your sister.’

  ‘What sort of improvements?’ Lizzie prompted with a frown.

  ‘I want to send Primo out to the island immediately with a team of kitchen and bathroom specialists. The house needs to be brought up to date before we can live there and I want to ensure that Athene enjoys her stay.’

  ‘But won’t she be sentimental about changes being made to the house where she grew up?’ Lizzie asked in surprise.

  ‘That’s a fair point but times have changed since she was a girl and I believe she’ll recognise that. She’s a practical woman and she likes her comforts.’

  ‘From what my mother said, most of the soft furnishings will need to be replaced as well,’ Lizzie told him in wry warning. ‘Drapes, beds, sofas. I don’t think it’s possible to achieve so much within such a short time frame and if you don’t watch out...once you start removing fitments, the villa will quickly become uninhabitable.’

  His supreme assurance untouched, Cesare dealt her an amused smile. ‘Believe me, if I’m prepared to throw enough money at the problem, someone will accept the challenge, cara.’

  Lizzie shrugged because it was immaterial to her what he chose to have done to a house that she had never seen and would only briefly visit. But it was a painful reminder that Cesare only wanted her because she owned the island and could sell it to him if he married her and nobody, but nobody, could make a relationship out of that, she told herself wretchedly. None of her anxious feelings showing on her face, she dutifully scribbled her signature in the indicated places and provided her sister’s address for the documents to be couriered to her.

  A wholehearted smile softened her taut mouth when Archie poked his head round the door and trotted across the polished wooden floor to greet his mistress.

  Cesare watched the dog receive a warm welcome and decided it was educational. Archie looked pathetic with only three working legs and the fourth in a cast and the dog played his advantage for all he was worth, rolling his tummy up in the air to be petted and then struggling pitifully to get up off the floor again. Cesare bent down to lift the terrier and help him upright again. In reaction to his sudden proximity, Lizzie rammed her chair back out of the way, her nervous response setting Cesare’s teeth on edge as he straightened again.

  Lizzie collided with stunning dark golden eyes fringed with black velvet lashes and forgot how to breathe, feverish tension snaking through her every muscle as she rose hurriedly from her chair again and moved towards the door, keen to be gone.

  ‘Your father and your sister will be attending the wedding?’ Cesare sought confirmation.

  ‘Yes...’ Lizzie coughed to clear her convulsed throat. ‘And I’ll ring Chrissie now to explain about the papers she has to sign.’

 
‘I doubt if I’ll see you again before we meet at the church on Friday,’ Cesare imparted softly. ‘Somehow try to practise not leaping away when I come close. It’s a dead giveaway that our relationship is a sham.’

  Lizzie flushed with mortification. ‘Then practise keeping your distance,’ she advised.

  Well, that was telling him, Cesare conceded grimly. She was angry with him. He had been less than diplomatic after that phone call that interrupted them earlier that day. He ground his even white teeth together. He had only told the truth. Did women always punish men for telling the truth? If their arrangement was to work, however, he would need to make more of an effort to sustain their relationship, he acknowledged grudgingly. Women were emotional creatures. Her anxious, uneasy attitude towards him had just underlined that unwelcome reality.

  Furthermore, Lizzie might be a gold-digger who had chosen money over ethics when given the choice, but how could he blame her for that when she had lived in poverty for so many years? It was not a crime for her to seek to better herself. And how could he fault her avaricious streak when, without it, she would have sent him and his proposition packing? It was unjust of him to view her in the same unforgiving light as the many mercenary women who had shared his bed, he conceded wryly. Serafina, after all, had made a straight-up choice to ditch Cesare and marry a man who had been much wealthier, even though he was also much older. He had to be less judgemental and more generous to Lizzie. In any case, as his wife and potentially the future mother of his child, Lizzie was also the equivalent of a long-term project. Somehow he would have to make her happy and keep her happy, because if he didn’t all his plans could still come to nothing.

  * * *

  ‘You look totally amazing!’ Chrissie exclaimed as Lizzie spun to show off her wedding gown, slender shoulders and arms sheathed in the finest see-through lace, her tiny waist accentuated by the fullness of her skirt.

  ‘My brother’s a closet romantic. He’s going to love that dress,’ Maurizia forecast as a knock sounded on the door and she and Sofia went to answer it.

  ‘I’m having so much fun. I wish I hadn’t put that exam ahead of attending your hen do,’ Chrissie lamented, a slight willowy figure in the topaz-coloured bridesmaid dress that she and Cesare’s sisters all wore.

  Lizzie gazed fondly at her sister, thinking that she was the real beauty in the family with her perfect features and superior height.

  ‘A pressie for you from Cesare,’ Sofia announced, placing a jewel case in Lizzie’s hands.

  A gloriously delicate diamond necklace and drop earrings met Lizzie’s stunned appraisal and a chorus of admiration rose from her companions. Of course, Cesare was playing to the gallery, assuming the role of besotted bridegroom for his siblings’ benefit, Lizzie guessed. She put on the necklace and the earrings and realised that she was rather pathetically wishing that her wedding were the genuine article. She loved Cesare’s family and would have given just about anything for them to be her family as well. Instead she had to live with the unlovely truth that she was deceiving them and would soon be deceiving Cesare’s grandmother as well.

  ‘You’re really sure about doing this?’ Chrissie whispered in the church porch as she made an unnecessary adjustment to Lizzie’s gown while their father hovered, looking irritable. ‘Because it’s not too late to change your mind. All I have to do is call a taxi and we’re out of here.’

  ‘Are you trying to cause trouble? Of course, she’s not going to change her mind!’ Brian Whitaker declared in exasperation. ‘That Sabatino fellow has to be the best thing that ever happened to her! At least he has an ounce of sense between his ears.’

  ‘We certainly think so,’ Paola piped up without hesitation. ‘But sometimes the bride does get cold feet.’

  ‘Not this one,’ Lizzie countered steadily, smoothing over the awkwardness that had settled over the bridal party with her father’s tactless words.

  Cesare turned to look at Lizzie only when she reached the altar. Eyes the colour of melted bronze assailed her and she stopped breathing, gripped by the ferocious force of will in that appraisal. He had no doubts, she interpreted. He knew exactly what he was doing, had come to terms with the drawbacks and was concentrating on the end game. She had to do the same, she told herself urgently. She had to stop trying to personalise their relationship and stop wondering whether or not he would kiss her after they had been pronounced man and wife. Such treacherous thoughts were far removed from businesslike behaviour and utterly inappropriate, she scolded herself in exasperation.

  ‘You look fantastic,’ Cesare murmured softly while he threaded the wedding band onto her finger and she followed suit, copying his manoeuvre with less cool and more nerves.

  Indeed, Cesare was taken aback by just how fabulous she looked. The effect she had on him was ever so slightly unnerving. It was his libido, he told himself impatiently. As long as he stuck to his rules of never getting tangled in anything that smacked of an emotional connection, he would be fine and perfectly happy.

  And then the deed was done and they were married and there was no kiss, nor indeed any instruction to kiss the bride. Her hand trembling on Cesare’s arm, she walked down the aisle, seeing a sea of smiling faces on every side of her. It was not her idea of a small wedding because the big church was crammed with guests. Out on the steps, Cesare escorted a tiny woman with vibrant brown eyes set in a round wrinkled face to meet her.

  ‘Athene...meet Elisabetta, known as Lizzie,’ he murmured quietly. ‘Lizzie, this is my grandmother.’

  The two women stood chatting about nothing in particular for several minutes beneath Cesare’s watchful eye. Athene grinned at Lizzie. There was an astonishing amount of mischief in that unexpected grin and she squeezed Lizzie’s hand. ‘We’ll talk later,’ she promised cheerfully.

  Later became much later once the bridal merry-go-round took over. The bride and groom greeted their guests at the country house hotel chosen to stage the reception, dined in splendour while being entertained by a famous singer, listened to the speeches and danced the first dance with Lizzie stumbling over her own feet. In the circle of Cesare’s powerful arms and surrounded by so many well-wishers, Lizzie had to struggle to remember that their wedding was a fake.

  In fact when Cesare lowered his darkly handsome head and kissed her, Lizzie was so unprepared for the move and so taken back by it she fell into it like a child falling down a bottomless well. His mouth moved on hers and his tongue darted across the roof of her mouth and excitement leapt so high inside her she felt dizzy and intoxicated, her head tilting back, her hands tightening round his neck, fingertips flirting with the silky strands of his black hair. It was heavenly and devastating; heavenly to glory in her womanhood and appreciate that she had now discovered her sensual side and devastating to register that the wrong man was punching her buttons, simply to impress their audience.

  In passionate rejection of that belittling image, Lizzie jerked her head back and pressed him back from her. ‘Enough...’ she muttered unsteadily.

  ‘Dio mio, not half enough for me, bellezza mia,’ Cesare rasped in a driven undertone. ‘I want you.’

  Lizzie had become as stiff as a board. ‘We talked about that and decided that it wasn’t sensible.’

  ‘To hell with being sensible!’ Cesare shot back at her with smouldering dark golden eyes framed by black velvet lashes, so breathtakingly handsome in that moment that he took her breath away. ‘Passion isn’t sensible...don’t you know that yet?’

  No, but he was teaching her what she had never wanted to know. Experimentation was acceptable to Lizzie as long as she remained in control. She didn’t want to be out of control, didn’t want to risk getting hurt or making a fool of herself again. Suddenly all her worst fears were coalescing in the shape of Cesare Sabatino and she had only gone and married the guy!

  Sofia approached her. ‘Athene wants you to come and sit
with her for a while. I expect she wants to get to know you... Cesare is by far her favourite grandchild.’

  Lizzie rolled her eyes in sympathy. ‘He’s the only boy.’

  ‘She practically raised him—that’s why they’re so close,’ Sofia explained. ‘Cesare was only four when our mother married his father and although he was supposed to come and live with our parents straight away, he and Athene kept on putting it off and Papa didn’t like to interfere too much. Cesare’s never been easy—he and Papa are so different.’

  ‘Goffredo is a pet,’ Lizzie said warmly. ‘You’re so lucky.’

  ‘Cesare’s too clever for his own good,’ his sister opined. ‘Papa was in awe of his brain and he was such an argumentative little boy.’

  A smile of amusement tilted Lizzie’s mouth. ‘I can imagine. He likes everything his own way.’

  Athene patted the comfortable armchair beside her own. ‘Tell me about yourself. I’m a typical nosy old lady,’ she confided. ‘You talk and I ask the questions.’

  Naturally there were questions about Lizzie’s mother, whom Athene had met while Goffredo was dating her.

  ‘My son could not have made her happy.’ Cesare’s grandmother sighed with regret. ‘Francesca was always dissatisfied and she was disappointed that Goffredo already had a son. I wasn’t that surprised when she broke off the engagement.’

  ‘She wasn’t happy with anyone for very long,’ Lizzie admitted quietly.

  ‘That must have been very difficult for you and your sister when you were growing up. The things that happen when you’re young leave scars,’ Athene remarked wryly. ‘I believe that’s why it’s taken so long for Cesare to put Serafina behind him where she belongs...’