The Magnate's Mail-Order Bride

by Joanne Rock

  “I thought he was an impulsive guy.” Frowning, she raised one bare shoulder in a delicate shrug.

  “That’s part of it. But he was also unhappy with our grandfather for writing up new terms in his will that dictate each of his three grandsons marry in order to secure a third share of McNeill Resorts. He thought it would ensure the company’s future.” Quinn felt bad he hadn’t told her about it before. But there’d been a lot to learn about each other in a short space of time. He’d been busy trying to acquaint himself with her world while she’d been preparing for her audition and managing the fallout of Cameron’s public proposal with the media.

  “That sounds...heavy-handed.” Sofia straightened beside him, her slight withdrawal feeling like an absence. “Why would he think that forcing his heirs into marriages would give his business more stability? Surely he must know those unions won’t necessarily be durable.”

  “He refused to elaborate on his motives before he left for a month-long trip overseas. Privately, I’ve wondered about his state of mind, and whether my father’s very expensive divorce from my mother was a factor in Gramps’ decision.” The legal termination of their marriage had made her a rich woman able to live anywhere in the world she wanted. Unfortunately it wasn’t anywhere near her sons. “But Gramps had his lawyer unveil the new will three weeks ago and so far he’s refused to change it. As it stands, each of our portions of the company will be sold at auction if we don’t follow the rules and stay married for at least a year.”

  The air between them stilled. He felt her body tense further, like a wound spring.

  “So Cameron wanted to marry me to save his shares in the company?” Her voice hardened, her eyes wide as she swung on him. “He really was looking for a modern-day mail-order bride. And you knew this all the time? Oh. My. God.”

  Quinn hadn’t expected such a strong reaction, especially since she’d met Cameron in person. His brother—while headstrong—wasn’t a bad guy.

  “Cameron was the most incensed about the terms because he is close to my grandfather and is most invested in the family business. I think he hoped a rash engagement might make Gramps see he’d pushed us too far.” At least, that was the reasoning as Quinn understood it. With Cameron, who knew?

  Cameron had yet to give him an explanation that made any sense in his mind.

  “So, basically, to hell with me and my feelings. I was just supposed to be the wife of convenience for him.” Sofia shook her head, then took a deep breath as if trying to hang on to her patience. “I hope he’s not going to try that again with someone else.”

  The silences between her words seemed to grow longer, more deliberate and awkward. Was he being shut out?

  She paused, her voice getting quieter. “What about you, Quinn? Are you going to marry and follow your grandfather’s rules?”

  He couldn’t read her right now. Didn’t know if she was already thinking he was ten kinds of ass for considering it. Or if she could possibly have the same idea in mind as him: that a marriage between them could be beneficial all the way around since she’d been pressured by her father to settle down, as well.

  “I wasn’t planning on it.” He chose his words carefully, well aware he was walking on thin ice here, not wanting to lose what they’d just shared. He still wanted to explore where it might lead. Might? Where it damn well was heading at the speed of light. “But I’ll admit that having my grandfather’s health in question now makes me rethink how much I want to dig my heels in about protesting the will.”

  “Meaning?” She lifted an eyebrow in silent question.

  “Meaning...” He was in too deep to turn around, but he realized midstream he probably should have prepared more. Had a real ring that was from him and not Cameron. Thought about what to say. But, too late now. He’d come this far already and he was a man used to making executive decisions quickly, firmly, decisively. “Why don’t you and I get married?”

  * * *

  How could a man she’d only just met break her heart in such a short space of time?

  She’d known Quinn for a week, but it had been an intense time with a lot of personal upheaval for her. Maybe that’s how she’d come to care about him far too much, far too quickly. The turmoil had forged a bond between them, yoked them together. The heat of their passion and the high stakes of preserving her public relations campaign had driven her into the arms of a man that could not emotionally provide for her.

  He’d slipped around tattered defenses when she was battling injuries, professional jealousy and worries her career could end before she had a plan B in place. Before she knew it, she was opening her heart to a man wholly inappropriate for her.

  It wasn’t his fault that her heart ached so fiercely she wanted to hold on to her chest to try to ease the pain. No. The fault was all hers for not protecting herself better, especially when she’d known that he was getting under her skin and making her care.

  “Sofia?” Quinn’s fingers brushed along her jaw, tipping her face up so he could see her better. She wanted to fold into his touch, melt into him again. But things between them had changed. Everything had. “It could solve a lot of problems for both of us. Quiet the speculation about our engagement with the reporters and with your peers so you can focus on the art that’s most important to you. And, of course, it would secure my grandfather’s legacy and fulfil his lifelong dream for his grandsons to run the company. At least where I’m concerned.”

  “If he’d really wanted that,” Sofia interjected, leaning away from Quinn’s touch, the chill of the apartment flooding the space where his fingers had lingered, “he could have just given you each a third of the business.”

  “I think he wanted to—”

  “No,” she said, forcing strength into her voice. She couldn’t pretend to listen seriously to this idea when Quinn had crushed a piece of her by even suggesting it. “I know I agreed to hear you out, but I understand what you are proposing.”

  The thought ripped through her, wounding her more deeply than any injury dance could ever give her. Ballet could never betray her like this.

  “It would only be for one year,” he clarified. “Like dating with incredible benefits for both of us. I could help you solidify your career plans during that time so when you’re ready to quit dancing you have a future you’re excited about.”

  He understood her practical needs so well. Unfortunately he didn’t have any idea about the emotional end of the equation.

  “Most people don’t put a time limit on a marriage, but thank you for making that perfectly clear.” She shot out of bed, dragging a sheet with her, unable to sit quietly by while he spouted more ideas that were like small knives to the naïve vision she’d had of continuing a relationship. “I really thought we had a connection, Quinn.”

  Stepping behind a screen, she flipped the sheet over the top because damned if she was baring any more of herself to him. She found her tank top on the floor and yanked it back on. Then she slid her pants into place, desperate to put boundaries between them, any sort of boundary at this point.

  “We do. I never would have suggested this otherwise.” She heard the creak of the mattress and the whisper of his clothes as he slowly got dressed. “I don’t understand why you’re so upset.”

  “I’m upset you never mentioned this will and the need for all the McNeill men to marry, when it feels highly relevant to our arrangement.” Stomping out in her tank and pants, she found her sweater and punched one arm through each sleeve. “You even suggested marrying if worse came to worst and the Dance magazine writer published something unsavory about me. That would have been the perfect time to clue me in about the will and how—by the way—it would check off some boxes for your goals, too.”

  “How is me using a marriage to satisfy the terms of my grandfather’s will any different than you using an engagement to smooth over your public relations a
genda before a big audition?” Quinn stood, his clothes on but his shirt unbuttoned, the tie loose around his neck.

  “I was trying to maintain focus on my career during a drama that had nothing to do with me. You’re trying to protect your bottom line.” She lobbed the accusation at him and hoped it found its mark.

  “No.” A new stillness went over him, alerting her that she’d at last gotten through to him. “Actually, it’s about protecting family, which is the most important thing to me.”

  Watching the pain flash across his face sent a tiny prick of regret stabbing through her. She couldn’t forget how devastated he’d looked when he’d walked into her apartment tonight. But, damn it, he had hidden the truth from her.

  “You told me that billions of dollars of investments would be at risk if people don’t trust you, but how are you worthy of trust if you treat a person as deceptively as you’ve treated me?” she reminded him. Reminded herself. She kept having to do that. “So, to a certain extent, it is about the money.”

  “If it was just about the money, I would find another way. I know it doesn’t mean much to you, but I’m fairly good at making it.” His mouth twisted. His jaw flexed. “I only care about making sure my grandfather’s life’s work is not lost to strangers because of his desire to see the family settled.”

  He waited for her to say something. But she was at a loss, empty after a night where passions had run high. Her emotions were spent and she didn’t know what—or whom—to trust.

  She stared at the rainbow colors leaping from her engagement ring in the muted light of her bedroom. It was the physical manifestation of every lie and deception.

  With more bravado then she felt, she twisted the ring from her finger, hoping that with its absence, she’d be able to focus on why she was here in New York. On why she didn’t get involved.

  “I’m sorry, Quinn. But I don’t know how to move forward from this. I know I asked you to pretend we were engaged to help me, but I release you from our agreement.” Handing back the ring, she was done with false promises and a relationship that was just for show.

  She’d finally learned to put some trust in her partner, and it had been a mistake that had cost her dearly.

  Quinn stared at the ring in his open palm for a long moment.

  The moment echoed between them. Her heart hammered; she was wretched. If he would just walk away now, she’d be able to curse him, move on. But he just stood there, a lingering shadow of what could have been.

  “I know that people are important, Sofia, not the bottom line.” His hand closed into a fist around the ring, the whites of his knuckles showing. “Has it occurred to you that you’re so busy seeing the bottom line—in my case, a wealthy one—and that you’re not seeing the person behind it?”

  His eyes held hers. Challenging her.

  “I don’t know what I see anymore,” she said tightly, barely hanging on to the swell of raw emotions seething just below the surface. She wrapped her cashmere sweater around her like shrink wrap to hold herself together. “I don’t know what to believe.”

  “I’m not going to be the one to break our engagement.” He set the ring on a whitewashed narrow console table by the bedroom door. “Keep this in case you need it to stem unwanted questions from reporters about its absence. And good luck tomorrow.”

  He walked out of her bedroom. Out of her apartment. The door shut quietly behind him. Only then did she allow her knees to give out beneath her. Curling on her bed, she wouldn’t let herself her cry. Not when she had the most important audition of her life tomorrow.

  There would be time enough for heartbreak afterward.

  But as she closed her eyes, a tear leaked free anyhow. Despite her famous iron-clad professional discipline, her body had its limits for what it would do based on sheer will. She could dance on stress fractures and bunions, pick herself up after her dancing partners dropped her on a hard, unforgiving floor that would leave her body bruised for weeks.

  Yet she’d discovered tonight that her eyes would go on crying even if she told them not to. And her heart would keep on breaking the longer she thought about Quinn. In spite of all reason and practicality, she’d fallen head over heels in love with this man.

  Twelve

  Turning around the stage in petit jeté jumps, Sofia prepared to dance for Idris Fortier. The choreographer sat in the middle of the small practice theater, which would be a closed set for the next hour. He’d allowed Delaney to sit off to one side with her camera, but had requested she not film during the session.

  Even Delaney had been too cowed by Fortier to gainsay him. Sofia smiled to think how quietly the journalist had slunk to the sidelines to watch Sofia perform.

  “Are you ready, darling?” the choreographer called up to her now, his accent lingering over the endearment even though his eyes were still on his tablet screen.

  “I’m ready.” She’d barely slept the night before and wondered if her parting with Quinn was going to cost her this audition, too.

  The role of a lifetime. The cementing of her place in the ballet world. Some dancers were principals twelve, fifteen or even more years. Sofia knew her knees were on borrowed time. She might come back after the surgeries she would one day need, but a dancer never knew if she would be as skilled afterward.

  She needed her career on fast forward in order to have the kind of post-dance life she envisioned for herself. To still work in the field and be able to hold her head high.

  “What will you be dancing for me today?” He put his tablet aside and adjusted the small, round spectacles on his nose, giving her his full attention.

  Sofia had planned for weeks to dance one of Fortier’s dances. A flattering compliment. Plus, dancing a younger choreographer’s work meant that there were fewer ballerinas she could be compared to. New pieces allowed a dancer a little more room for interpretation. But after the tears she’d shed last night, she’d arisen from bed this morning with the Black Swan in her heart and ready to burst through her toes.

  “Black Swan. The final act in the Grigorovich version.” She could dance that one without a partner since there was less emphasis on the pas de deux so important in the Balanchine version.

  “An interesting choice, Ms. Koslov. Wholly unexpected.”

  She had no way of knowing what he’d expected. But most experienced dancers left the world’s most well-danced pieces alone for situations like this since they left too much room for comparison. Today, Sofia did not care. She strode to the side of the stage to start her music, which gave her a twenty-count of silence to walk to position. She wanted to dance the hell out of a virtuoso piece and demonstrate the technical skill her critics all agreed she possessed.

  And if she couldn’t add the extra layer of emotion that some say was occasionally missing from her work? She didn’t deserve the part. Because today, she was nothing but raw emotion with Quinn’s parting words still echoing in her head.

  You’re so busy seeing the bottom line...you’re not seeing the person behind it.

  As if she’d been the one to focus on his wealth.

  Banishing the thoughts from her head, she took solace in the music and let Odile’s seduction blast away everything else. She didn’t want to be hapless Odette who lost Siegfried even though she hadn’t done a damn thing wrong. Right now, she needed the fiery passion of Odile to lure Siegfried to his lonely end.

  With multiple pirouettes spinning her across the stage, Sofia articulated every phrase, letting the music fill her as she poured out the role. Space-devouring leaps ate up the stage. Fast fouettés flowed naturally, one after the other. She didn’t dance so much as she burned—all the heedless energy and longing of the night before torched through this one outlet she understood.

  When she reached the end of the coda, the final fouetté perfectly timed, Sofia held her position into the silence, he
r breathing so heavy the pull of air was the only sound in the theater.

  Until one person clapped. The fast, excited clap of genuine praise. And since Sofia could see her evaluator seated, unmoving, before her, she knew it hadn’t been him doling out enthusiasm. Had Delaney truly been impressed? It didn’t matter, but after tossing and turning about this dance all night, Sofia felt gratified to think someone had liked it. The journalist might be motivated by gossip scoops that would sell more magazines, but the woman would certainly know her ballet.

  “Thank you, Ms. Koslov.” Idris Fortier rose to his feet and glanced sharply to his right. “I’d like a moment alone with my dancer, please?”

  Sofia went to shut off her music while she heard Delaney making moves to leave the theater. As she wiped down her face with a clean towel, Sofia caught her breath and turned to find Idris standing very close.

  “Oh.” She stepped back to give herself room. “I didn’t hear you.” Her shoulders tensed; she hated to feel crowded and had anxiety in social situations where the professional pressure was high. For a split second she wished Quinn would show up—

  And how ridiculous was that?

  Her brief engagement was over, her ring still at home on the console where he’d left it.

  “You have my full attention for this position, Sofia.” Fortier’s accent—French by way of Tunisia—had a peculiar but pleasant inflection.

  “I realize you still have several dancers to audition.” She should be pleased, she knew. She’d hoped to impress him and she seemed to have accomplished that.

  But why was he standing so close? She folded her arms.

  “The part is yours now if you are willing to work hard for it.” He took her arms and unfolded them, extending them. He studied her body. “Black Swan really shows off your Russian training. You have beautiful extension.”

  Her body was part of her art, she reminded herself. Ballet was incredibly physical and she’d been touched often in her career by other dancers, directors and choreographers. So while Idris’s touch felt a bit too informal for their first true professional meeting, it certainly wasn’t out of bounds.