Billionaires: They're powerful, hot, charming and richer than sin...

by Clare Connelly

  “Naturally,” Ava agreed sympathetically.

  “Yes, of course,” Sophie murmured.

  “Only shutting Nicoletta out meant she would be forever estranged from her children. That seems … cold and harsh.”

  Olivia, Ava and Sophie looked from one to the other, their expressions identical. “Yes,” Ava nodded. “Having a mystery surrounding your birth is a very difficult reality to grapple with. We have felt this for a long time.”

  “She never told you who your father is?”

  “Do you mean our mother?”

  Elizabeth winced. “I’m sorry. Yes. Your mother never told you about your parentage?”

  “No,” Sophie said. And she looked at her sisters for approval before speaking. “We understood that there was a financial settlement that prohibited her from disclosing the details.”

  “But even to you?”

  “She didn’t want us to know,” Olivia interrupted. “She told us that our father wasn’t relevant to us. He was not someone she wanted us to know; she told me once that he was not a good person. That we were much better off not having him in our lives.”

  “Did she really?” Ava prompted, scanning Olivia’s face.

  “Yes. I never really thought about it again, only now …” She petered off and shrugged her slender shoulders.

  Elizabeth nodded with compassion. “In any event, the only way to find out the truth seemed to be obvious. I had to speak to Nicoletta. My sisters-in-law – you’ll meet them too – agreed with me that it was time to get to the bottom of the mystery and see if Nicoletta was truly as flawed as our husbands believed. After all, she’d been a doting mother at one time.”

  “And? What did she say?” The mystery was killing Sophie.

  “I’m getting there,” Elizabeth promised apologetically. Her baby began to grizzle and she settled her into a different position, careful not to spill her tea. “Nicoletta is not a woman I will ever understand. Nor a woman I shall ever feel close to. But she is a poor woman, and I pity her greatly. You see, she fell in love with a man who didn’t love her back. She devoted her life to him, and he was faithless and cruel. When she could stand it no longer, she began to cheat on him. I don’t know if she hoped that it would make him jealous; or if perhaps she truly believed she could fill a void by having these trashy romances on the side. If she acted to inspire revenge; her plan failed. Her husband didn’t care. He truly didn’t love Nicoletta. At first I found it hard to believe her account; you understand that my husband and his brothers have always idolised Umberto. But Nicoletta was in possession of enough proof to convince me; he treated her very badly and grief and pain turned her into a bitter, shallow, hateful woman.”

  “That’s awful,” Sophie said softly, her heart so easily touched by empathy.

  Olivia was a little more confused. “I’m sorry, Miss Sanderson –,”

  “Lady Sanderson,” Ava interjected, though she threw Olivia a slanted smile. “I guess you can technically call anyone anything, can’t you, Your Highness.”

  Olivia rolled her eyes. “Are you ever going to let me live it down?”

  “Nope,” Ava promised, then focussed her attention back on Elizabeth.

  But Elizabeth was clearly lost by the interaction and so Sophie explained gently, “Ava recently married His Royal Highness Sheikh Zamir Fayez of Dashan. We’re all adjusting to the fact that our sister is a bonafide princess.”

  “Did you say Dashan?” She murmured, shaking her head and rubbing her temples in disbelief.

  “Yes, why?” Olivia pushed.

  “Oh, it’s just … it neighbours Ashan, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Olivia nodded. “I laughed to see the two countries with their almost identical names. How unoriginal those Bedouin were.”

  Elizabeth’s smile was half-hearted. “You might know, then, Sheikh Malik Desara?”

  Olivia frowned. “I’ve heard my husband speak of him. Speak highly of him,” she added, uncertain of the diplomatic faux pas she might be committing by admitting as much to this woman.

  “My God, is the world a thimble?” Elizabeth marvelled.

  “Why is this surprising to you? You are starting to annoy me a little bit, Elizabeth.”

  “Olivia!” Ava chastised, her face pale.

  But Elizabeth broke into pretty laughter. “It’s fine. I’m annoying myself. It’s so tricky. I don’t even know if I should be here, only something told me … last time I was here, I only suspected. But now I know. And I thought you deserve to know too.”

  “Yes, yes, we do,” Sophie nodded. “But know what?”

  Elizabeth laughed again. “I’m almost there.” She sipped her tea and then placed it onto the coffee table. “My mother-in-law told me that, of his long string of affairs, only one ever proved serious.” She leaned closer, her expression loaded with compassion. “A young American woman named Meredith Henderson.”

  Ava felt as though the world had stopped spinning. She clasped her hands together in her knees and stared at Elizabeth. There was an odd humming sound between the sisters; anticipation and disbelief.

  “Go on,” Olivia urged finally, her voice croaky.

  “She fell pregnant. With triplets, as it turned out,” she said, her blue eyes encompassing the three blondes across from her.

  “You’re saying …” Sophie cleared her voice. “Do you mean to tell me that your husband’s father – no, wait – the man your husband believed to be his father, is our father?”

  She nodded.

  “You can’t be serious …”

  “I’m serious, and I’m certain.” She reached into her pocket, careful not to shift the baby who was looking deliciously sleepy. She pulled a small envelope out and handed it to Ava.

  Ava’s fingers shook as she opened it, then pulled out a small photograph. It was Meredith with a handsome, clearly older, man. “This is our father?”

  “Yes. That’s Umberto.”

  “My God.” Olivia and Sophie craned in closer to see the picture. Ava flicked it over and saw on the back, “All my love, always, Meredith.”

  “She sent it to his office. Umberto’s secretary, who had been his most recent lover, discovered it and sent it on to Nicoletta.”

  “Poor Nicoletta,” Ava murmured.

  “Yes. She was furious. It was the last straw. Your mother is very young, and very beautiful in this picture. Nicoletta tracked her down and discovered the pregnancy. She paid your mother an enormous sum of money to disappear.”

  “She paid mum? Not Umberto?”

  “No. Umberto was furious when he discovered the truth! He loved your mother, I believe, a great deal, and would have left Nicoletta for her before giving her up.”

  “Why didn’t he then?” Ava pushed, her heart turning over for the grief and sense of rejection Meredith had carried with her for so long.

  Elizabeth sighed. “Umberto loved three people more than your mother. His sons. They were old enough by then to understand. Marcos would have been ten or eleven, I suppose. Nicoletta assured Umberto that she would tell not only the press, but all of the papers in Italy, and that no one would ever forget his infidelity. He couldn’t do it to his sons.”

  “So he did it to our mother,” Sophie was affronted.

  “Yes, I know. In such situations, someone always suffers, do they not?”

  “I can’t believe it,” Ava dipped her head forward. She felt dizzy, giddy and a little nauseous.

  “It’s a lot to take in.” Elizabeth breathed in deeply. “I had to tell you. Didn’t I?”

  “Of course,” Olivia nodded. “We’re so very grateful that you did. We have often wondered about him. My only regret is that mum died before she could learn the truth. Even now it would have comforted her to know that Umberto truly did love her.”

  “Not enough,” Ava said with a shake of her head. “Not enough.”

  “No,” Elizabeth narrowed her gaze, for she secretly agreed with this woman’s assessment. No matter how Umberto had felt about
his sons, he had cast aside his young, pregnant lover and never once enquired of their offspring or Meredith’s well-being. There was no excuse for that; no threat that made it acceptable.

  “How did you find us?” Sophie wondered aloud, reached down and tussling Milly’s crop of curls.

  “Ah! Now in that, destino played a fascinating part.” Her smile was wistful. “My husband and I often think destiny brought us together,” she explained. “Though sometimes I wonder if my late husband isn’t pulling the strings from up above,” she said with a shake of her head. She waved a hand through the air. “Too much to explain,” she assured them. “And it’s not relevant now.” Her smile was dazzling. “We honeymooned here. Well, off the coast of Broome, actually. I had always wanted to swim with the dolphins, and we spent a delightful few days touring around. Antonio was invited to attend a Ferrari event in Melbourne – again, to discuss later,” she staved off any interruptions. “And I didn’t particularly want to go,” she smiled. “I hate racing. I hate it. And Antonio knows that. I thought he might not be able to enjoy himself with me glowering over his shoulder.”

  “And so you came to stay here!” Ava nodded. “But I still don’t understand? How in the world did you connect us to this whole story?”

  “I chose this vineyard, and your accommodations, because of their name.”

  “Casa Celli?” Olivia pondered. “Mum meant to call this place Casa Cielo – house of heaven. Only she got it wrong. She was looking after three babies, after all.”

  “Is that what she told you?” Elizabeth’s smile was good-natured.

  “You’re saying it’s not true, Lady Sanderson?” Sophie asked desperately.

  Her expression was knowing. “Please, call me Elizabeth. Or perhaps you’d prefer my married name: Elizabeth Casacelli.”

  The silence was deafening.

  “Casacelli. Casa Celli.” Ava shook her head from side to side. “She named the property after him.”

  “Perhaps she wanted you to know more of your heritage than she let on.”

  “I can’t believe it!” Sophie murmured, her eyes round as saucers. “So you’re telling me that we have three brothers out there somewhere?”

  “Not somewhere,” Elizabeth interjected with a grin. “They’re hovering around the Valley waiting for my text message to tell them you haven’t all died from the shock.”

  “They know about us?” Ava squeaked.

  “Yes. But I only told them on the flight over here.” Her smile was wry. “I needed them contained and unable to storm off. Your brothers have quite the flair for drama.”

  Olivia laughed. “Our brothers? I still can’t quite get my head around this.”

  “It is a lot to take in,” Elizabeth promised. “But we were hoping we could all get to know one another. After all, family’s family, and you’ve found your way into a rather big one.”

  “Yes,” Ava felt tears sting her eyes.

  “Three brothers,” Olivia said again, shaking her head.

  “Three brothers, three sisters-in-law, three nieces and a nephew.”

  “My goodness!” Sophie laughed now, and it was a sound of true pleasure. “This is just … I can’t …”

  “I know,” Ava nodded. “It’s unimaginable. I often wondered about our father. I never considered that he might have had other children.”

  “Are there any more of us?” Olivia posed the question as an afterthought.

  “No,” Elizabeth spoke with confidence. “Umberto was usually very careful. But he loved your mother. I don’t know for certain that he didn’t intentionally …”

  “Planned? You think he planned to get her pregnant?”

  “Who knows?” Elizabeth shrugged her slim shoulders. “This information died with Umberto and your mother.”

  “When did he die?” Ava asked suddenly.

  Elizabeth’s nod was grave. “A month after Meredith. Nicoletta believed it to be grief.”

  They sat in stunned silence for several moments while the news sunk in. “He really did love her.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then her mistrust of men and love was a mistake,” Sophie smiled, relieved that her gentle heart and loving instincts were not as ridiculous as she had often believed.

  “Not to her,” Ava reminded Sophie.

  “So?” Elizabeth said after a minute. “Shall I tell the hoards to join us?”

  “Oh, yes!” Olivia nodded enthusiastically. “I say we talk no more of our parents, though. Not for now. Let’s just focus on the fact that we have a big family to get to know.”

  “Yes, absolutely,” Sophie agreed.

  Ava put a hand on each of their knees. “You might want to tell them to stick around for a few days.”

  Sophie’s laugh was loaded with pleasure. “You don’t mean…?”

  “Cristiano and I said we wanted a family wedding,” she grinned at her sisters. “How could we leave these guys off the guest list?”

  “A wedding?” Elizabeth’s gaze dropped to the girls’ hands. Only one was missing a wedding band.

  “Yes. You’ve arrived at just the right time.”

  Elizabeth was thrilled. “You’re sure we won’t be intruding?”

  “Intruding?” Olivia stood up and beamed a smile at Elizabeth. “Of course not. You’re welcome for as long as you’d like.”

  Olivia stood in tandem with Sophie. “You could even say our casa is your casa.”

  They laughed, but there were tears too. Of happiness? Of wonderment? Or of new horizons…

  One thing was certain; the six Casacellis were going to meet for the first time, and all because of a simple twist of destino that had begun to unravel such long-held secrets.

  THE END

  The Tycoon’s Summer Seduction

  1

  She’d never noticed how long Anita’s legs were.

  Strange, given that the two women had been best friends since Saphire’s tenth birthday.

  But apparently there was a lot she hadn’t really noticed about her friend before.

  The depth of her tan. The red of her fingernails. The tattoo of a butterfly that had danced darkly at the top of her thigh as she’d wrapped her legs around Saphire’s husband’s waist and begged him to, “Take me, baby, now!”

  Saphire blinked but the image was still there, where it would undoubtedly remain forever. Her best friend and husband making love against the perfect Laura Ashley sheets Saphire had picked out only a week earlier.

  No, they hadn’t been ‘making love’. Making love was what she and Jordan did. Making love was calm and affectionate; predictable and reassuring.

  Anita and Jordan had been going at it like wild beasts. They’d been having passionate, animalistic sex all over her perfect bedroom and what she’d thought was her perfect life.

  Her finger jabbed at the ‘call’ button in the armrest impatiently and a hostess appeared almost instantly.

  “Yes, madam?” She smiled politely, pretending not to notice the pallor of Saphire’s skin and the eyes that were bloodshot from far too much crying.

  “Another champagne, please,” Saphire murmured, crossing her legs and consulting the map shown on the screen that was recessed into the seat in front of her. The flight looked to be still at least an hour out of Athens and God, how she wanted to land.

  Despite its decadence, the plane was beginning to make her feel claustrophobic. She sucked in a deep breath and, when the hostess returned a moment later with a crystal flute, Saphire took it as though it were a lifeline.

  The bubbles burned a little as she drank; she didn’t care. She threw back half of it in one go and then squeezed her eyes shut on the stingingly acidic sensation.

  How would she explain any of this to her parents? Two months after marrying a man they’d never approved of – a man she had insisted was the love of her life because of his trustworthiness and kindness, a man she’d thought would always do the right thing by her if only because he worked for her dad – she stood on the brink of …
of what? Divorce?

  The thought left her with a cold ache in her gut. How could she leave Jordan? They’d been dating for ten years before he’d suddenly suggested, out of the blue, that they make it official. The wedding had taken place a week after that and had surprised all of their friends and family, despite the amount of time they’d spent as a couple. Had they been surprised not because of the speed with which Saphire and Jordan had married, but rather that they’d married at all? Had they all known that Jordan Arana was sleeping with the bride’s best friend?

  Had everyone known, and chosen to keep it secret?

  She pressed back into the comfortable leather seat and angled her head so that she could look towards the window. Only a man was between her and it, and his eyes were resting on her face with undisguised appraisal.

  Saphire hadn’t noticed him at all until that moment. They’d been flying for a while, but she’d been in such a state of shock that she’d barely computed her surrounds. It was a testament to good luck alone that she’d managed to get through customs and onto the flight in time.

  “By my count that is your third glass of champagne.”

  She arched her brows, refusing to notice that he had a face like a movie star’s. No, it was better than that, because it wasn’t ‘pretty’ or soft. There was nothing in his appearance to suggest that his stunning good-looks were a result of vanity or effort. It was a naturally chiseled face, with slashed cheek bones, a swarthy tan, eyes that were so dark they looked almost black and thick brows that perfectly framed his slightly mocking expression. His hair was dark too, cropped close to his head, giving him an air of strength and virility that Saphire instinctively recoiled from.

  “Should I be impressed at your basic grasp of mathematics?” She retorted sarcastically, reaching for the glass once more and finishing the rest of it easily. She hiccoughed quietly as she placed the flute back on her tray table, keeping the fingers of one hand curled around the elegant stem.

  He pressed his own call button without taking his eyes off her face. Saphire dreaded to imagine how she looked. Her hair, a polished shade of ebony, was always smoothed into a shimmering curtain but today it was flyaway and wild. Her makeup was minimal – just what she’d been able to scrounge from the bottom of her handbag as she’d instructed the cab driver to take her to the airport. At least her clothes were decent; she’d worn a Prada dress for the intended-lunch with her mother before realizing she’d left her cell phone at home and doubling back to collect it. She’d only been out of the house half an hour – Anita must have been practically waiting in the driveway for Saphire to leave, to have had enough time to peel her clothes from her slender frame and step into Saphire’s bed. Bitch.