Читать книгу The Marriage Clause - Alexx Andria, Alexx Andria - Страница 10

CHAPTER TWO

Katherine

WAS LUCA ACTUALLY offering me a way out of my contract? Was it that simple? Agree to spend a week with him and at the end he’d let me go?

Offering the deal went against Luca’s nature—he was hardwired to go after the win, no matter the cost.

In business, he was ruthless and vicious. His reputation in certain circles was downright scary, and yet he was offering me an opportunity to walk, free and clear.

My belly trembled at the implication, even as there was the tiniest sliver of hesitation that perhaps I didn’t want to be free.

Of course I wanted to be free. Why else would I have made such a bold move to get away from the Donato family?

Because maybe you wanted him to know heartbreak, too?

I shoved aside that annoying voice that seemed to whisper in my ear at the worst moments. I felt nothing for Luca but contempt. I wasn’t going to hitch myself to someone I couldn’t imagine looking at from across the dining table without wanting to throw the saltshaker at his head.

But even more so, I couldn’t give my heart to someone I couldn’t trust. Giovanni had taught his sons that fidelity was expected of their wives but was not necessary for men. The more I’d gotten to know Giovanni, the more I knew I wanted nothing to do with his family.

Especially after Luca had proved he was nothing more than a chip off Giovanni’s block.

But I knew that if I didn’t at least give Luca the appearance of having a shot at winning me back, he’d never give up, and I didn’t look forward to the idea of Luca chasing me from state to state.

“What would this week together entail?” I asked warily. I knew without his admitting it that he, no doubt, thought if he could get me into bed, I’d melt like chocolate in his hands and stumble over my own feet just to walk down the aisle with him. Not fucking likely. The sex had been good—but had it been freedom good? Yes. I couldn’t even begin to delude myself into thinking otherwise. Sex had been the one thing between us that had worked spectacularly. So the answer was obvious—avoid anything that put our naked bodies in close proximity. A slow smile followed as I tacked on slyly, “What if I said there would be no sex between us?”

He shocked me with an easy shrug, saying, “Then there’s no sex.”

Yeah, right. I barked a short laugh. “I don’t believe you.” Luca needed sex the way the human body needed air.

“You have trust issues, Katherine,” he admonished, as if I didn’t already know he was a man slut who fucked anything that walked. “It’s an unattractive trait in a woman.”

“If I do, I do because of you.”

He exhaled, the subtle twitch in his jaw the only indication of his irritation, but Luca did his best to seem reflective. “I’ve made mistakes. I was young.”

“If that’s your idea of an apology, you suck,” I said.

Donatos didn’t apologize. Every action was deliberate, good or bad. From Luca’s viewpoint, he had nothing to apologize for. I could already hear his argument. Was it his fault that I’d given him my heart before he was ready? Was it his fault that I hadn’t been able to go with him to that stupid yacht party? In Luca’s mind, I’m sure the blame for his mistake landed squarely on my shoulders.

Since our breakup, I’d had time to figure out who I was and what I wanted in my life without Luca’s blinding influence clouding my judgment.

“It’s true, I probably do,” Luca conceded with a modicum of humility that momentarily shocked me. “I can’t say I’ve had a lot of practice, but believe me when I say I’m sorry for hurting you.”

I didn’t want a life with a man who couldn’t take responsibility for his fuckups—and offering a blithe semiapology years later didn’t count.

Where was his apology when it’d happened? When I was broken into pieces, sobbing my heart out, utterly betrayed? My lips pressed together to keep from venting all the frustration that he wouldn’t listen to years ago from vomiting out. Why couldn’t I let it go? Whatever had happened had happened years ago. Live in the now, not the past, as Alana liked to say airily, because she didn’t give two shits about anything deeper than when the newest Prada bag was dropping.

But I wasn’t that way. Okay, sue me—I hold grudges. Deep ones.

Especially when I was made to feel stupid and naive.

And that day, I’d felt dumber than a box of hair for believing that Luca Donato could ever be satisfied with only one woman.

I blinked back hot tears, instantly irritated that Luca still had the power to hurt me, if even in memory. I narrowed my gaze, letting him know that I didn’t trust there was much weight behind his apology, saying, “We’ll see,” and left it at that, grateful the plane had begun to taxi. I needed the distraction.

The truth was, I didn’t actually enjoy flying. Anxiety fluttered in my chest as the plane started to eat up the runway. I gripped the armrest tightly, closing my eyes as the plane lifted into the air, the power of the jet engines rumbling beneath our feet.

I focused on my yoga breathing—from the belly, in and out. Flying was safer than driving, so they said.

I had no idea who they were, but I had to assume they knew what they were talking about.

“Are you all right?” Luca asked, interrupting my belly breathing. “You look a little pale.”

“I’m fine,” I snapped, returning to my relaxation techniques, but now I was a little dizzy. “I just get a little anxious during takeoff.”

“Here, take a sip. It’ll help soften the edges,” Luca said, holding out his champagne flute with the remainder of his drink. I shook my head, refusing his offer. He gave me a look that said I was being childish, but I didn’t care. I didn’t need Luca tending to me, in any way. Not even if his suggestion would lessen the sudden tightening in my chest.

“I just need to breathe,” I said, demonstrating my yoga technique. “See? In and out. I feel better already.”

“Suit yourself.” Luca finished his champagne and set his glass in the elegant cup holder until the attendant could retrieve it once we hit thirty thousand feet.

Thirty thousand feet.

Eek! If human beings were meant to fly, we would’ve been born with wings! Panic started to override my breathing, and instead of controlled inhales and exhales, I was suddenly panting and spots were beginning to dance before my eyes.

“You’re so damn stubborn,” Luca said.

I couldn’t spare the oxygen to tell him to shove his opinion up his piehole, so I settled for sending him a dirty look. Damn it, I was going to have to take something to ease my anxiety, which I did not want to do with Luca sitting beside me, looking as handsome as he ever was, reminding me that I wasn’t the only woman who had eyes in her head.

Jealousy, now? Luca made me feel out of control. I wanted to tell him “go fuck yourself” in one breath, yet when women inevitably gave him fuck-me eyes, I wanted to tattoo my name on his forehead just so they knew he was mine.

But he wasn’t mine, because I didn’t want him.

It didn’t make sense in my own head, so I couldn’t possibly explain my feelings to anyone else, which became readily apparent when I’d tried to talk to Alana about the situation.

“You do realize you’re walking away from a gazillion-dollar family, right?”

“It’s not about the money, Alana,” I’d reminded her, flopping back against her plush luxury sofa the night after my last dinner engagement with Luca. “I just can’t do this. All the rules, the obligations, the expectation that I simply nod, smile and look pretty... And his mother! I’m more than a walking uterus. I was made to do more than pump out Donato babies!”

“But your babies would be so cute,” Alana had protested, picking up on the least important detail in my impassioned declaration. “I wonder if they’d have your red hair or his black? That Italian heritage is hard to override, but your red hair is something even Photoshop can’t replicate. Oh! What if they had his black hair but your crazy curls? That would be fab.”

I had snapped my fingers in front of Alana’s dreamy gaze. “Focus, Alana. I’m not marrying him. I can’t. Marrying Luca would be admitting that I’m good with sacrificing everything that I am, just for money. I’m not that person.”

“You’re so dramatic,” Alana had said, rolling her eyes and reaching for her phone. “Have you seen Georgie’s newest Insta post? She’s such a bitch. I can’t believe she had the balls to say that Carolina’s party was a dud. It was way better than her lame masquerade debacle at Halloween.”

“He broke my heart,” I’d reminded Alana, dragging her back on point. “Remember?”

Alana had blinked, then seemed to remember. “Of course, darling. He’s a dick. But aren’t all men? Fidelity is a unicorn, sweetheart. A fun bit of fiction we cling to as little girls, but then we grow up and realize variety is far more fun, and even better than that is having the money to go and do whomever we choose. Okay, so you think he cheated on you, but honestly, it’s actually a good thing because you guys broke the seal before getting married—now you don’t have to cling to those silly, outdated and impossible standards. Besides, you were in college when it happened. Have fun, baby girl. And if you really feel the need to console yourself, do it with his money.”

That was, literally, the worst advice I’d ever been given, but I didn’t fault Alana. The truth was, as much as I loved Alana, her advice just cemented the belief that I would never fit into Luca’s world—and I didn’t want to.

When I chose a husband, I wanted someone who shared the same philosophies about love and marriage. Not someone who believed people were interchangeable and disposable.

“So what are we going to do in California?” Luca’s voice dragged me back to the present, and I reluctantly popped an anxiety pill.

I closed my eyes, willing the medicine to work quickly before I freaked the fuck out and jumped from the emergency door to end up as Flat Katherine.

“I haven’t agreed to your deal yet,” I reminded him with a weak frown, my heart still thundering in my chest. “I don’t know if I can stomach spending a whole week with you.”

He cast a derisive look my way to quip, “You really know how to punch a guy in the nuts.”

I shrugged. Luca’s feelings weren’t my concern. “Just being honest.”

I was grateful Luca didn’t feel the need to offer a rebuttal, which gave the medicine a chance to calm my racing heart and settle my nerves. By the time Luca asked about the plans, I could actually think straight again.

“Did you have a plan when you ran away?” he asked. “A place to stay? Anything like that?”

I opened my eyes, feeling more confident and in control. “Yes, actually. I’ve found a cute hostel in Berkeley that’s cheap.”

Luca’s distaste might’ve been comical if I hadn’t been so irritated that he was tagging along. “A hostel?” he repeated, his lip curling. “Have you ever stayed in a hostel?”

“No, but it looked fine,” I answered, enjoying his displeasure. “Not everyone needs the Ritz. I certainly don’t.”

“You know you have to share a bathroom with strangers, right?”

“Of course I know that,” I said with fake sweetness. Okay, so I’d never done it before, but it wasn’t a deal breaker. I was sure everyone was hygienic and polite. I’d been curious about backpacking since college. Hearing my friends regale me with tales of their summer travels made me yearn for an experience I’d always been denied. The daughter of Bernard Oliver didn’t gallivant around the globe staying in hostels, especially not with students whose families didn’t belong in our social circle. So, maybe this wasn’t quite the same, but hosteling in San Francisco, testing out my new freedom, would be exciting nonetheless. “I’m actually looking forward to the adventure.”

“Adventure. That’s an apt word for it,” Luca responded drily. “Unlike you, I actually stayed in hostels when I did a trip after high school with my friends. It was mostly a drunken crawl across Europe, which was fun but also disgusting. You’ve never stayed in a hotel with less than a five-star rating.”

“Hence the adventure,” I returned with a glare. “Don’t poop on my plans. I’m going to have fun, and you can’t stop me.”

“May I make an alternative suggestion?”

I decided to humor him. “Such as?”

“Let me take you to Fiji. I can guarantee the allure of sharing a composting toilet with a bunch of hipsters will fade a lot more quickly than the experience of lying on a pristine white-sand beach with crystal clear waters lapping at your feet.”

He knew I loved the beach and Fiji was one of those places we’d always talked about when we were younger. I hated that he’d remembered that small detail. I hated even more that a part of me wanted to say yes, but I wasn’t changing my plans.

“I want to experience life like a normal person, and a normal person in their early twenties is usually broke. A hostel is within my budget. But I can understand how that might not be your scene. Feel free to bow out. You’re a little overdressed anyway,” I said with a small smile as my gaze flicked to his suit.

“When in Rome, do as the Romans do,” he said with a shrug. “Jeans and hoodies, it is.”

“You’re really going to stay in a hostel with me?”

“Why not? Sounds fun. Maybe I’ll diversify my portfolio and buy one for a tax shelter.”

My sound of disgust was followed by “Just like a Donato. Not everything is for sale.”

“That hasn’t been my experience.”

“Life is about more than what can be bought.”

He agreed, leaning over to whisper in my ear, “Life is about good sex.”

I gasped, and he chuckled at catching me off guard. If he thought keeping me off balance would tip the scales in his favor, he was wrong. Even if his voice in my ear had just started percolating my blood with a heat I remembered all too well.

I swallowed, forcing a smile. “Yeah, well, we’re not having sex, so...” Keep telling yourself that and you might believe it. It was absolutely essential that neither one of us was naked around the other—that was just asking for trouble.

“Let’s make this week interesting,” he proposed with a playful glint in his eye. “We will compromise—”

“Donatos don’t compromise,” I cut in flatly.

“There’s a first time for everything,” he countered with a small smile. “Are you interested in hearing my proposal?”

No. Yes. Well, maybe. “If only out of sheer curiosity,” I answered, one brow climbing with skepticism. “What is this compromise?”

“If you agree to splitting our days between things I want to do, I will agree to do what you want to do without complaint. I get three days, you get three days, with the last day reserved for travel.”

“Technically, someone is going to get shafted, because today is a travel day, too.”

“Unfortunately, as you’ve already picked hostel living for our first day, you’ve used up one of your days,” he explained, matter-of-fact. “Unless you’d like to change your mind about staying in a hipster hotel. I’d be happy to make arrangements at the Four Seasons.”

I hesitated, weighing his offer. I could tell by the way his gaze intensified that he sensed victory, but he never made the rookie mistake of celebrating too early. He knew I was intrigued by his offer. I was even curious as to how he’d choose to spend his days when I’d taken sex off the table.

But I also knew giving a Donato room to wiggle was dangerous.

“Why do you care, Luca? Wouldn’t it be so much easier to just walk away?” I asked, exasperated by the allure of the game beginning between us. It felt too familiar, too entertaining. I didn’t want to feel anything remotely positive with Luca, because I didn’t want to question or regret my decision.

Luca offered a brief smile before saying with a shrug, “You signed a contract. If being a part of this family has taught you anything, it is that you honor your commitments.”

Not because he loved me, but because Donato men didn’t walk away from an investment. I smothered my disappointment. “Very Game of Thrones of you, but I’m no Lannister—nor am I a Donato. You and I both know that contracts entered into with a child are illegal and, thus, nonbinding. Your family and my father conducted an illegal sale of a person. Even with all your money, that’s still illegal—and despicable, I might add.”

“Have you wanted for anything?” he returned, that tiny twitch returning to his jaw that gave away his temper. “Have you been mistreated in any way?”

“Not the point,” I said stubbornly, shaking my head. “Still illegal.”

“The finest schools, the best opportunities, every need provided for... Yes, I can see how you received the sharp end of this deal.” He stopped me before I could jump in, adding, “And not to put too fine a point on your argument, but you were perfectly amenable to the arrangement until your ego was bruised. Suddenly, you were a victim and we were the devil. So, please, when you’re forming your narrative in your head, be sure to paint yourself with the same colors as you’ve assigned everyone else.”

No one liked to be called on their bullshit, and I was no exception. “Well, even the devil was an angel before he fell” was all I could offer by way of an excuse, because he was right. There was a time when I’d been blissfully happy, blessed even, not because of the money and the privilege, but because I’d been in love with a man I thought felt the same way about me.

“Better to reign in hell than serve in heaven,” Luca said with a flippant shrug. “Let me know your decision before we land. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to catch up on some sleep. Feel free to glower out the window, but do so silently.”

“I don’t glower,” I muttered, but he’d already tuned me out and my anxiety medication was making me sleepy. There was no point in arguing an unfortunate fact. Yes, I’d been in love with Luca, and being his bride had been my favorite daydream.

But things changed. People woke up. And rose-colored glasses often broke under the pressure of reality.

I couldn’t marry Luca—not if I wanted anything that was truly me to survive.