The Magnate's Marriage Merger

by Joanne Rock

  You can’t honestly mean to start parceling off your business to people who are complete strangers to you?

  Ian’s words echoed in Lydia’s mind long after they left his grandfather’s home. They chased around her brain even now, late that night, after they’d arrived at Ian’s apartment at the historic Pierre Hotel on Central Park, where both Ian and Quinn owned space. They’d opted to spend another day in New York so that he would have time to meet with his brothers and figure out what their father’s news meant for the family.

  Lydia hadn’t argued, understanding why he would want to talk to his brothers privately. But the events had shaken her. Ian had locked himself in his library to make calls and Lydia found herself walking in aimless circles around the kitchen at midnight.

  She and Ian hadn’t stayed for dinner with Malcolm after the McNeill family blowup. She understood why a meal together might be uncomfortable with so much unsettled among them, but no wonder she was hungry now. She rifled through the cabinets in the sleek, caterer-friendly kitchen, searching for food.

  Lydia had said good-night to Malcolm McNeill in his study while he drank his aperitif before going in to dinner. Liam had left immediately after his father walked out of the library. Quinn and Sofia had made their excuses as well, and Sofia had looked strained, although she’d taken Lydia’s number and promised to call her so they could arrange a time to get to know each other.

  Cameron alone had remained behind to have dinner with his grandfather. In the car afterward, on the way to Ian’s apartment, Ian had sincerely apologized for the family dustup. But Lydia hadn’t cared about that half as much as she cared about the fact that Ian didn’t believe in welcoming half siblings into the family. He’d called those half brothers “complete strangers,” implying they had no right to any McNeill inheritance.

  He reacted the same way her half siblings had when they found out about her existence. It didn’t matter that they all shared a father. She’d never been good enough in their eyes and it troubled her deeply to think Ian felt that way about people who shared his blood.

  Peering into the huge Sub-Zero fridge, she retrieved a bottled water and sat at the breakfast nook overlooking the lights of Central Park. She’d changed into a nightgown and a white spa robe she’d found in the bathroom. Although Ian owned the Pierre apartment, apparently the whole building shared the hotel maid service and—come to think of it—Ian had told her there was twenty-four-hour room service from the kitchens downstairs. She would have phoned for something, but now, as it neared midnight, she tried to talk herself out of it.

  Even all these years after that photograph of her in a magazine with a “baby bump” at sixteen, Lydia found herself careful not to overeat. Except, of course, in those weeks where she hugged the news of a real pregnancy close. Then, she’d fed herself like a queen, dreaming of the baby she’d never gotten the chance to meet.

  “There you are.” Ian’s voice from the far side of the kitchen startled her from her thoughts.

  He flipped on a pendant lamp over the black granite countertop. The backlight made it so she couldn’t see out the window anymore. Instead, her own reflection stared back at her, a pale, negative image in black and white.

  “Were you able to resolve anything?” she asked, careful to keep her thoughts to herself about any disappointment with Ian’s reaction to his father’s news.

  It was possible the shock of the moment had colored his response. In time, he might feel differently about welcoming his half brothers into the family.

  “Not really.” He took a seat in one of the four white armchairs surrounding the polished teak table in the open-plan dining area. He set his phone on the table beside him. His shirtsleeves were rolled to expose strong forearms and he’d removed his jacket and tie. “I spoke at length to Bentley, the same friend who found you when I was looking for Mallory West. My father called him to go to Martinique two days ago and confirm the identity of my half brothers. Bentley said there’s no doubt. He has photos of my father with his other family when they were young.”

  Ian switched the phone on and called up a photo of Liam McNeill standing with one woman and three small boys in front of the Cezanne she recognized from Malcolm McNeill’s foyer. The three boys had to be Quinn, Ian and Cameron—all three of them sweet and adorable in jackets and ties, but with mischief in their matching blue eyes.

  Below that photo, was another of Liam with an obviously pregnant blonde in a long, white gauzy dress. They stood on a beach at sunset, the sky purple and pink behind them, their arms around two small boys who could have been twins to the three in the photo above. Same blue eyes, same grins. The only difference was that the boys in the beach photo wore white T-shirts and cargo shorts. She wasn’t sure why the third half brother wasn’t in the photo.

  “I can’t believe that no one knew about this.” Lydia ran a finger over the woman’s pregnant belly in the photo. Had she known about Liam’s other family when she carried those children? “I think back to all the stories that ran about me as a teen—complete fiction. And yet your father successfully hid a whole double life from the tabloids.”

  “My mother knew about this.” Ian slid the phone from her hands and turned off the screen, setting it facedown on the table. “She just didn’t want our lives to turn into a media circus so she kept quiet about it when she left my father.”

  “Our mothers are cut from very different cloth, aren’t they?” Lydia wondered if he had any idea how much she identified with his father’s other family. “I’m more surprised that his mistress didn’t expose the truth.”

  Ian shook his head. “Maybe she had enough money. Bentley said the house where she raised her sons was paid for in cash.”

  Lydia drew a deep breath and reminded herself the shock of the news hadn’t worn off yet for him. And still, she couldn’t keep from pointing out, “It’s not always about money. Most women want their children to have a relationship with their father. Don’t you wonder why she cut off all contact and her sons never got in touch with the family either?” She turned that over in her mind. “As much as I resented the way my mother tried to get my father’s attention by making us a spectacle, I wouldn’t have had any relationship with him if she hadn’t brought me to his attention.”

  And in the end, her father had been kind. He’d encouraged her desire to study art and design and introduced her to prominent people in the field in which she now worked. She’d found common ground with him and enjoyed those long, last conversations about beautiful buildings he’d seen all over the world. She treasured those memories.

  “If not for that damned ring showing up, we might never have discovered them.” Ian stared down at the table and she wondered if he’d heard what she’d said. “And now? Everything my grandfather worked for is going to land in the laps of people who never wanted anything to do with us.”

  She tried to bite her tongue. And failed.

  “They’re still your family,” she reminded him. “That counts for something.”

  She wanted—needed—him to agree. Even when she had been pregnant with their child—a baby who would not have had the legal protection of marriage—she had thought Ian would embrace his offspring. That he would see beyond those rigid notions of what “family” meant. But if he truly believed that he could only count the legally recognized brothers as worthy of his notice...

  Then she didn’t know him at all. Then her marriage really was based strictly on a piece of paper and all those tender touches in Costa Rica were just a case of physical attraction.

  He turned on her, blue eyes thoughtful. “How can you, of all people, believe that family trumps all? Your half siblings did everything in their power to discredit you and your mother when your mom sued your father’s estate. How could you even consider them family when they’ve gone out of their way to hurt you like that?”

  Disappointment prickled all over
her, deflating the hope she’d had that Ian was a different kind of man. That they were building a tentative trust again.

  “You can’t pick family the way you choose your friends. But I still believe those relationships are worth investing in. If I hadn’t gotten to know the Whitneys, I would have missed out on knowing my father.” She stared down at the yellow diamond on her finger, more confused than ever about what it meant.

  About what Ian hoped to gain by playing the part of her husband in a way that had fooled even her.

  “Lydia, I’m sorry that this had to come up right now.” He took her left hand and kissed the backs of her fingers. “I can see you’re upset and I don’t blame you. I’m going to order a tray for you from room service and have something brought up.”

  “There’s really no need.”

  “I insist.” The gentle concern in his eyes undid her as he stroked a thumb over the inside of her wrist, still holding her hand. “I haven’t forgotten about your mother’s attempts to reach you. And with your permission, I’ll invite a publicist over tomorrow and you can plan how you want to manage the news about our marriage and your public image. The woman—Jasmine—is a good friend of Sofia’s. Quinn highly recommended her.”

  “Thank you.” Lydia slid her hand away, the diamond weighing heavily on her finger. “I appreciate that. But in all the events of the evening we haven’t even spoken about what this news of your father’s means for your grandfather’s will.”

  A muscle in Ian’s jaw flexed as he leaned back from the breakfast table. “It means nothing.”

  “Ian, it’s not too late to say the wedding photo was—I don’t know—a prank?” She held her breath while he looked back at her with stunned eyes. “I’m not trying to add to your problems, but if it simplifies things for you to quietly annul this, we could—”

  “No.” He bit off the word with a fierceness echoed by the flash of emotion in his eyes. “Absolutely not.” He leaned over the table and kissed her—a hard, possessive kiss. “As much as I regret that you had to witness the whole drama with my father, having you with me was the only bright spot in this day.”

  Her heart contracted, squeezing hopefully around those words. She took a deep breath, no closer to answers than she had been hours ago. Before she could say anything he rose to his feet.

  “I’ll have the kitchen bring something up and then I’ve got a few more calls to make.” He kissed the top of her head. “If the publicist is here at ten tomorrow morning, is that too early?”

  “That’s fine. I’ll be ready.” She knew she needed help figuring out how to manage her public image. Whether or not she stayed married to Ian for the rest of this year, she’d come to one decision tonight. She’d allowed the fear of a scandal surrounding Mallory West to send her running into his arms for protection from a lawsuit, and that problem wasn’t going to go away after twelve months.

  Even if Ian ensured Vitaly Koslov never sought legal retribution, there was the fact that Lydia wanted to return to matchmaking. And aside from that one small scandal that she’d never addressed, her alter ego actually had a great, lucrative reputation.

  More than ever after tonight, Lydia was convinced she had a mission in life to champion single mothers. Women who were ostracized by family or lovers who refused to recognize their own children.

  So, at ten the next morning, she planned to ask Jasmine the publicist how to introduce herself to the world as the mystery matchmaker, Mallory West.

  As for Ian? She didn’t plan to consult him about that particular decision. She had every reason to believe he wouldn’t understand.

  Twelve

  Two hours later, Ian paced the floor of his study, a restless unease still weighing on his chest even though he was checking things off his mental to-do list with reasonable speed.

  He’d exchanged emails with the site manager on the Foxfire project and gotten an update on the South Beach property, a lucky stroke since the guy was as much of a night owl as him. Ian had triple-checked the marriage paperwork to ensure it had all been filed properly, then he faxed his attorney the signed files outlining the provisions Ian was making for Lydia no matter what happened in the next twelve months. She’d made it clear she didn’t want any kind of financial settlement in a year’s time—an issue he’d revisit—but for now, he made sure she received all the legal and financial protections possible as his spouse.

  What she’d said at the kitchen table earlier still needled his brain and he didn’t understand why. He had the impression she was unhappy with his response to his father’s bombshell about his second family, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what he’d done wrong.

  Sure, she’d made the comment that family wasn’t all about money. But she’d also seemed upset that he wasn’t welcoming the McNeill interlopers into his grandfather’s company. And since Ian couldn’t untangle what bothered her, he planned to make sure she knew that he didn’t equate her position in the family with these pseudo McNeills.

  Lydia’s case was different. She was different.

  Special.

  Ian made his last call of the night to Quinn, still hoping to dispel some of the tension of the day. He knew none of his brothers would be getting any sleep tonight either.

  “I have Jasmine confirmed for tomorrow morning,” he informed his older brother, who was probably staring out at this exact same view of Central Park three floors above him right now. “Thank you for the recommendation. She got back to me almost immediately.”

  “She’s a go-getter.” Quinn sounded weary on the other end of the call, but no doubt he’d been making calls well into the night too, trying to sort through the news of their half brothers. “Jasmine is very protective of Sofia and her image. They’re friends, of course, but I got the impression that she’s the kind of person who invests a lot in her clients.”

  “That’s exactly what Lydia needs. Her mother has tried undermining Lydia’s image too many times.” It had upset Ian when he made a quick scan of articles about Lydia tonight—so he could give the publicist some background on the situation. “It will help her to have a go-between she trusts to manage the stories that circulate about her.”

  Lydia had a giving heart and a willingness to help people that was too rare in his world. She should be recognized for her efforts. Or, at the very least, not belittled by sensationalized stories that focused on her personal life.

  “You’ll be happy with Jasmine.” Quinn paused a moment. In the background, Ian could hear the clink of ice cubes in a glass. “And I’ve been meaning to let you know that Sofia has told me twice to cancel any efforts to find Mallory West.”

  “Seriously?” Ian stopped his pacing, instantly alert.

  “Yes. She mentioned it a couple of weeks ago, saying that we shouldn’t hound someone who was responsible for bringing the two of us together.” Quinn’s tone shifted as he spoke about his fiancée. There was a lightness that had been absent in him until Sofia arrived in his life. “I thought she was just being sentimental, or... I don’t know. I didn’t think she was serious about it. But last week she raised the issue again, and apparently she’s already spoken to her father. So definitely call off any search for the matchmaker.”

  That was good news for Lydia.

  And Ian was happy about it, too. One less thing to worry about that could chip away at Lydia’s public image during a time when they were trying to cultivate a new one.

  Yet he had to wonder. Would this give Lydia all the incentive she needed to end their marriage early?

  “Ian? You there?”

  “Yes. Sorry. I’m just surprised. But I’ll abandon that project and call in the investigator.” No use telling Quinn he’d already found Mallory and that she currently slept in his bed.

  “Thanks. And don’t be surprised if Sofia knocks on your door tomorrow morning. She has a ballet class to teach
at noon, but she mentioned wanting to personally introduce your wife to her friend Jasmine before she heads in to work.”

  Distracted, Ian agreed to relay the message before disconnecting the call.

  His brain was still stuck on the news that the Koslovs no longer cared about finding the matchmaker who’d embarrassed them. Now Sofia had decided it was because of Mallory’s matchmaking that she’d met Quinn in the first place.

  Ian couldn’t keep up. Shutting his phone off for the night, he padded barefoot through the apartment, heading to his bedroom. He craved Lydia’s touch. Hell, she was most certainly sleeping already. Even just lying beside her would be enough to chase some of the restlessness away.

  But as he stepped into the master suite, he knew right away that she wasn’t there. Her suitcase had been moved from his closet where he’d set it himself earlier. His bed was still made.

  Maybe she was still in the kitchen? Even as he stalked through the darkened apartment, however, he knew she wouldn’t be there. When he passed the closed door to one of the guest suites, he knew she’d found an empty bed to sleep in for the night.

  He placed a palm on the door, missing her. He told himself that she was probably just trying to get better sleep. This way, he wouldn’t wake her when he went to bed. If that was her reasoning, he could hardly begrudge her the guest room. But the vague unease in his chest all evening took a new form. He’d been worrying about what his father’s betrayal meant for the family when he should have been paying attention to Lydia.

  He’d let her sleep for now. They would speak in the morning when they were both clearheaded.

  Because deep in his gut he knew she hadn’t sought that spare room for the sake of a good night’s rest. His new wife wasn’t happy with him. And more than ever, he feared that she was already dreaming up ways to end this marriage.

  * * *

  As Lydia prepared for her meeting with her new publicist the next morning, she nibbled on the scones that Ian had had delivered to the kitchen, along with a huge platter of other breakfast choices. If this was a real marriage, she would ask him about the possibility of rethinking some of his extravagant expenditures to help others. She could think of five struggling young mothers she helped through Moms’ Connection who were probably going without breakfast today so their kids could have something nutritious. It made it hard for Lydia to enjoy the scone when so much food sat there untouched.