Читать книгу Modern Romance April 2019 Books 5-8 - Шантель Шоу, Chantelle Shaw - Страница 18

‘TWICE IN ONE WEEK—lucky me,’ he murmured, crossing the marble floor of the foyer, his eyes fixed on Amelia diSalvo. As with the last time she’d come to his office in Madrid, she’d dressed to impress, this time in a pair of white trousers and a simple silk camisole top, pale blue in colour. Gold bangles covered one wrist, so many that they ran towards her elbows. Her skin had the hint of a tan and her face was sparingly made-up. He took his time studying her appearance, not least because he sensed her impatience and enjoyed provoking that reaction in her.

‘Antonio—’ her voice was clipped, her eyes cold with a silent warning ‘—can we speak?’

He tilted his head in silent agreement and gestured with his hand towards his office. She shot him one last look, a wary appraisal and a warning all wrapped into one, and then she walked ahead of him, just like the last time she’d been here.

As he passed his secretary he said, ‘Hold my calls. No interruptions.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Yes, sir. That was the response he was accustomed to. He spoke and people listened. His suggestions were universally obeyed because his suggestions made sense. Because he knew what he was doing. Because he was Antonio Herrera.

That seemed to hold little sway with Amelia, however. She didn’t wait on the threshold of his office this time. She pushed the door open and walked inside, so that when he joined her she was pouring two glasses of water.

‘I take it you’ve reconsidered my proposal,’ he murmured and she jerked her face towards his, her eyes zipping with resentment and anger.

‘I’ve reconsidered it and reconsidered it again a thousand times,’ she muttered. ‘In fact, right now I’m wondering what the hell I’m doing here.’

He waited. There were times for arguing and convincing, and there were times for simply being silent and letting a person explain their mindset. This was a time for the latter.

‘If we were to get married...’ she said

Something in his chest heaved with relief. No—not relief. It was a sense of victory that flared in his gut, because she was going to agree with his suggestion after all. This was her own version of Yes, sir.

‘I would have some rules.’

‘I see,’ he murmured, unconcerned. The war was about to be won—so what if there were final skirmishes? ‘Go on.’

She nodded, but there was anxiety in her features. ‘This wouldn’t be a normal marriage,’ she said, a small frown creasing her brow. ‘We don’t like each other. We don’t even know each other. But if the whole purpose of it is to give our child a family, we’d have to...redress that.’

He was silent.

‘I mean, we would need to get to know one another—make an effort to be civil.’

That was simple enough. He nodded his agreement.

Her eyes narrowed, and he saw something beyond her anxiety. A steeliness that he hadn’t expected.

‘And, to that end, you’d need to give up whatever you’re doing with Carlo’s business interests.’

His eyes narrowed imperceptibly and danger whipped through the air. ‘I will not do that.’

‘Then I can’t marry you,’ she said firmly, crossing her arms over her chest in a classic gesture of rejection. ‘So we might as well start talking about custody.’

He held a hand up, his nostrils flaring. ‘You would honestly be happy to give up without even trying?’

He noticed the way his accusation landed; she winced, her face scrunching up, and she looked away from him. ‘I’m here, aren’t I?’

A familiar rush of victory throbbed inside Antonio. ‘Yes.’

‘But I can’t marry a man who hates my brother and my father. They’re—’ her voice cracked unexpectedly ‘—they’re important to me.’

He couldn’t help the snort of derision. ‘So much so you change your name and hide from them in England?’

‘I’m not hiding from them!’ she retorted swiftly. ‘I’m...living my own life. And is it any wonder? With men like you waiting for me as part of the diSalvo legacy?’

He ground his teeth together, refusing to analyse why her words bothered him. ‘Fine. You love them. I hate them. That doesn’t matter.’ He slashed his hand through the air. ‘Our baby is separate to that.’

Her expression was pure exasperation. ‘Our baby is separate to that? You can’t seriously—’

‘What?’ he demanded, waiting for her to finish her sentence.

‘You’re like a child,’ she snapped, lifting her fingertips to her temple and rubbing.

He might have laughed were it not for how ludicrous her statement was. No one had ever called him childish. Even when he was a child!

‘Careful, querida, or I might be tempted to remind you of how very adult I can be...’

He was rewarded by a hint of a blush spreading through her cheeks. ‘That won’t be necessary.’ The words were so clipped and cold, yet he smiled. A wolfish smile, because he could see the fine tremble in her knees and the flush of her cheeks and he knew that whatever had drawn them together in the first instance was still electrifying the air between them.

‘I won’t raise a baby in an environment of hate.’

‘Then let’s not hate one another,’ he proposed.

‘You know what I mean,’ she said, shaking her head so pale blonde hair flew around her shoulders, catching the afternoon sunlight in a way that made him think of the beach and lazy afternoons on the deck of his yacht. ‘My father and brother will be a part of this child’s life.’

That, he hadn’t considered and the suggestion was immediately unwelcome.

‘What’s the baby’s first birthday going to be like, with you and Carlo glaring at one another across the cake?’

‘We shall have two parties.’ He shrugged, as though her concern was really so easily solved.

She rolled her eyes, a habit he should have been bothered by but instead found strangely addictive. ‘So you’re just going to pretend my family don’t exist?’

‘I didn’t say that,’ he responded instantly.

‘Oh, of course!’ She slapped her palm to her forehead in an exaggerated gesture of recollection. ‘You’re going to be busy eviscerating them financially.’

He shrugged. ‘What I do with my business has nothing to do with our child. He will not be affected by this.’

‘So you won’t raise him to hate all diSalvos, as you were raised?’

‘I was not raised to hate your family,’ he ground out. ‘Your brother almost broke my father. Your brother, your father. This is their doing.’

‘Fine,’ she snapped, crossing her arms once more. ‘They started it. So you can still be the bigger person and walk away.’

He narrowed his eyes. ‘It’s too late for that.’

She opened her mouth to say something but he shook his head, lifting a hand into the air to silence her.

‘Marry me. Marry me because you want to give our child a stable family. Marry me because you know it is the right thing to do.’

She swallowed, biting into her lower lip and turning away from him, pacing over towards the windows. Madrid glistened in the distance, and her shoulders slumped forward a little as she—apparently—lost herself in contemplation. Seeing her weakening, realising he could push home his advantage, he took a step closer.

‘You didn’t know your father until you were a teenager. True?’

He knew it was—he’d read the file his investigator had put together.

‘Yes.’

Antonio’s expression tightened and something heavy landed in his gut. He’d known about his own child for a week and already he couldn’t imagine what kind of man he would have to be to neglect him or her like that.

‘And didn’t you wish he’d been more involved in your life?’ he pushed, watching the way her features visibly contracted, showing pain and hurt.

‘There’s no sense wishing for what’s not possible,’ she said with a shrug. It was an imitation of nonchalance, he could tell. He wished she’d turn to face him so he could see her eyes, see her mouth, see all of her.

‘But I knew my father,’ Antonio continued, his voice thick with unexpected emotion—the loss was still fresh, he supposed. ‘He was a busy man but he always made time for me. He talked to me each evening, telling me stories, and on weekends we went hiking through the forest that surrounded our home. We fished in a stream and ran until our lungs threatened to burst. When I was little, if I had a nightmare, it was my father who comforted me. He was an excellent man.’

Amelia turned to face him and her eyes were like the ocean on a turbulent day. ‘Why are you telling me this?’

‘Because you should know what kind of father I intend to be for our child.’

Her eyes swept shut, her long silky lashes forming perfect fans against the pearly whiteness of her cheeks.

‘Don’t you want our child to have that?’

Her expression showed anguish when she opened her eyes, blinking to face him. ‘Yes.’

He admired her for not prevaricating, and he admired her even more when she visibly pulled herself together, extinguishing the flames of anguish and assuming an expression of calm.

‘Yes, I do,’ she agreed more firmly, as though she were convincing herself. ‘But I can’t marry a man intent on destroying my family. That’s obvious.’

He understood her need to negotiate on this point, but Antonio wasn’t a man to give concessions. Not when it came to getting what he wanted. In a battle of wills with Amelia he would back himself every time. ‘Then give me Prim’Aqua. Agree to marry me.’

‘And you’ll stop going after Carlo’s other businesses?’ she whispered, the words haunted.

He looked at her long and hard and finally nodded. ‘For now.’

She frowned. ‘What does that mean?’

‘Only that I expect you to try to make our marriage work,’ he said. ‘If you don’t, if you walk away from me, then the deal is off.’

Her breathing was raspy and shallow. ‘You’re serious?’

‘Deadly.’

Her complexion paled.

‘I am the father of your child, and I want to marry you. I want the marriage to be a success because I am not used to failure, querida. This is what I want. What is it that you want? What matters most to you?’

* * *

Amelia blanched, his ultimatum horrifying because she already knew that she was going to agree. She pressed a hand over her stomach, and her heart squeezed at the thought of the little life growing inside her. Would it be a boy? Or a girl?

She didn’t care—she just wanted a healthy, happy baby.

She turned away from Antonio—looking at him made it almost impossible to think straight—and paced towards the window. The same Gaudí was peeking back at her, this time bathed in gentle sunshine.

Antonio hated the diSalvo family, and the same could be said of Carlo and the Herreras. But her child wouldn’t feel that bitterness. This child had the power to heal those breaches. Surely once their baby was born, and was an actual little person rather than a hypothetical concept, Antonio would see for himself how damaging it was to continue this ridiculous blood feud? Surely he’d wish to put paid to the last vestiges of resentment, for the sake of their child?

It was a gamble.

Because he hadn’t said or done anything to give her the impression that his attitude might soften. But was it possible that over time, and as he got to know her, he would see the futility in hating Carlo the way he did? Particularly when the object of his acrimony was his own child’s relatives.

She spun around, her eyes pinning him, her gaze unknowingly forceful. ‘Promise me you’ll...be reasonable,’ she said instead.

His brows lifted upwards. ‘I’m always reasonable.’

She made a scoffing noise of disbelief. ‘I’m serious, Antonio.’

‘As am I.’

Amelia shook her head. ‘This is ridiculous. There’s been nothing reasonable about how you’ve behaved with me. Nothing. You’re the most intractable, difficult...’

‘Bastard, yes, you’ve said this.’

She ground her teeth together. ‘I’m not going to be trapped into a marriage that makes me miserable, and so far you’ve done nothing to show me that you’re the kind of man I can even vaguely bear to be around.’

His expression was pure sensual challenge and it had the desired result. Her pulse notched up a gear and her breath burned in her lungs.

She pushed on before he could speak. ‘You’re asking me to marry you and stay married to you, and you’re giving me nothing in return.’

‘I am giving you,’ he said so softly it was dangerous, ‘an assurance that I will leave your brother’s other business interests alone. And, believe me, Amelia, this is not a concession I make easily.’

She could believe it. In that moment, she felt his hatred and rage and she wondered how he’d managed to conceal those emotions so well when he’d come to the cottage.

It was so far from ideal! If only there was a way she could wrest some control back from him—show him that she wasn’t going to be pushed around. ‘I won’t sign my shares of Prim’Aqua over to you,’ she said quietly, ‘until the baby is born.’

He frowned, his expression showing he didn’t fully comprehend the distinction.

‘Why the delay?’

‘Because—’ she spoke slowly, logically ‘—once I give you Prim’Aqua, you hold all the cards. Even if I do decide to divorce you.’ She tilted her chin defiantly. ‘And I will not stay with you unless I truly believe that our marriage is in the best interests of the baby. Understood?’

It was obvious from his expression that he hadn’t expected a challenge on this point. He was cool and calm again almost instantly, but for a moment she saw surprise flare in his expression. What she didn’t register was the look of grudging admiration. ‘Fine,’ he said, shrugging with apparent indifference. ‘Seven months is not so long to wait.’

‘And you won’t touch my brother’s businesses in the meantime,’ she demanded, waving a single finger in the air to underscore her point. The silk of her camisole strained across her chest, emphasising the gentle curves there, so Antonio’s eyes momentarily dropped lower. ‘Swear you’ll leave Carlo alone.’

Antonio’s jaw clenched and he slowly drew his eyes back to hers in a way that set her pulse racing. ‘You do not trust that I want to do what is in our child’s best interests?’ he asked after a moment. ‘You are not the only one making a sacrifice here, querida. Believe it or not, marrying you is the last thing I would have wanted.’

‘Gee, thanks,’ she drawled sarcastically.

‘Marrying anyone,’ he corrected with a shrug of his broad shoulders.

‘That makes it so much better.’ She couldn’t help rolling her eyes, but frustration and impotence were burning through her.

‘You came to me today,’ he reminded her after a moment. ‘And I believe we have discussed what we are each willing to give to make this work. So? What is your decision, Amelia?’

‘I...’ What was the conclusion to that sentence? He was right: she’d come to his office today, and with every intention of marrying him. And, while she desperately wanted Carlo to be immune from this man’s vengeance, there was a far greater consideration.

Their baby deserved the very best. Materially, she could provide everything the child needed, but what of that gaping hole in the middle of Amelia’s heart, from her own childhood? What of her own desperate yearning for a father?

Her eyes landed on Antonio’s face, his devilishly handsome face, and she expelled a soft, slow breath. And then, with every sense that she was making a deal with the devil, she nodded. ‘Fine. I’ll marry you.’

There was a momentary response of triumph, a flare of reaction in his jet-black eyes, and then he moved on, with that rapier-sharp mind he was renowned for.

‘You’ll move to Madrid?’

Amelia blinked. She was still processing the monumental agreement she’d just entered into and he was already firing onto the next point of negotiation, without giving her so much as a moment to breathe.

‘But... I live in England. I have a job...’ she pointed out, but weakly, more weakly than she would have liked. Damn it, this was supposed to be on her terms and he was pushing all her buttons to get what he wanted.

‘The same could be said for me.’

She bit down on her lip, swallowing past a lump of uncertainty. Her whole world was about to change—she was having a baby. Fighting change was going to get her precisely nowhere. Leaving her job was inevitable—did it make a difference if that was in six months or now? From the perspective of the children she was teaching, it would be better for them to have a new teacher at the start of the year rather than halfway through.

She could leave her job—temporarily. But to move to Madrid?

She’d run a mile from this very world he inhabited.

Her time in Italy, as a diSalvo, had been harrowing. She thought of the women who’d befriended her as a teenager, using her as a way to get to her brother. The ‘friends’ who’d only been jealous—one in particular who’d got Amelia drunk and then taken unflattering photographs of her passed out and shared them across social media. Men who’d seen her as a new, shiny toy on their society scene and done whatever they could to get her into bed. Only she’d learned her lesson from Penny: Amelia was no one’s plaything.

And marriage? Marriage to a man like this? How many of the men who’d flirted with her and tried to tempt her to become their mistress had been married? Was that the kind of future she had in store? Marriage to a man like Antonio, but marriage in name only?

She’d run a mile from this world, and with very good reason. Her time in Italy had been miserable. And though she’d loved her father and brother, they couldn’t see that the way they lived wasn’t something she wanted any part of. They couldn’t see how ill suited she was for that lifestyle.

Her eyes swept shut as she thought of the life she’d carved out for herself and felt it disappearing from her, like a ship sinking into a silent, deathly ocean.

Perhaps her distress showed in her face because he was suddenly solicitous. ‘You will like Madrid, hermosa.’

‘It’s not about Madrid,’ she said frankly, worrying at her lower lip.

‘Then what is it?’

How could she tell him? To admit vulnerabilities to a man like Antonio was to give him a weapon with which to wound her. And she was smarter than that!

‘It’s just a lot to ask of me,’ she covered awkwardly. ‘Particularly when you aren’t even willing to consider moving to the UK.’

‘I cannot do my work from the middle of nowhere,’ he said simply.

‘And what of my work?’ She couldn’t resist asking, though she’d already made her peace with the sense of leaving her job sooner rather than later.

‘You are going to have to stop working at some point,’ he said with infuriating logic—as though six months was the same as six days! ‘Why not now?’

‘Because I love my job,’ she said, aware that she was being stubborn purely for the sake of it. She expelled a sigh and ran a hand through her hair, not noticing the way his eyes followed the simple gesture as though transfixed. ‘But I will think about it.’

His eyes glowed. ‘Good. Then it is done.’

Amelia blinked rapidly. ‘What’s done?’

He walked away from her, towards his desk, and retrieved something, then a moment later was standing in front of her. ‘Our engagement.’ He reached for her hand and she was too shell-shocked to react. He put something in it and she looked down to see a small velvet box. She flipped it open on autopilot and couldn’t help the small sound of admiration that escaped her lips at the sight of the ring.

An enormous turquoise gem, square-shaped, sat in the centre and it was surrounded by sparkling white diamonds on each side, so that it glistened and shone. The band was platinum and there were delicate swirls on either side.

‘It’s beautiful,’ she said with a frown, because it was so much lovelier and more elegant than she would have credited Antonio with choosing.

He made a gruff noise of agreement then slid it onto her finger. They both stared down at it, and she was mesmerised by the sight of it on her finger.

‘It was my grandmother’s,’ he said after a moment. ‘She had eyes like yours.’

Amelia blinked at this reference to his forebear, as it reminded her obliquely of the feud that lay between them.

She didn’t want to think about it in that moment. It was hardly a romantic marriage proposal, but it was still a proposal and she would have preferred it not to be tainted by talk of the animosity that flowed between their families.

‘Thank you.’ She frowned. It was hardly an appropriate sentiment—he’d blackmailed her into this marriage, no two ways about it.

‘I’ve had the papers drawn and a judge has offered a special dispensation. Our marriage can take place within a week. I presume that’s long enough for you to wrap things up in England?’

‘You make it sound like finishing a meal, not resigning my job and shutting up my house.’

‘I know it is more complex than that, and yet I would prefer to be married as soon as possible.’ And with a sigh, and as though the words were being dragged from him against his will, ‘If your employer requires more notice, then I suppose you could return once we are married. We could stay in your house for a time, if we must.’

‘Gee, great,’ she said with an upward shift of her eyes. ‘Seeing as you’re clearly so willing...’

He interrupted her, his words spoken with the same strength as a blade of steel. ‘I am willing to do what it takes to make you my wife.’

She swallowed, the intensity of his statement almost robbing her of breath. This was about possession, she reminded herself, nothing more. Possession, ownership, control. He wanted their baby: she came with it.

She couldn’t have said why the thought was unpalatable to her. ‘Do you just have engagement rings sitting in your desk drawer on the off-chance a woman might drop by?’

His eyes smouldered when they met hers. ‘I got it from the family vault the day after you left Madrid.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I knew you’d be back.’

She made a groaning noise in acknowledgement of that. ‘What if you’d been wrong?’

He caught her hand and ran his fingertips lightly over the ring. ‘Then I would have come to England and helped you see sense,’ he said, the words simple, light, and yet a shiver of anticipation and adrenalin coursed through her veins.

Was she seeing sense? Or had she moved into the realm of insanity by agreeing to this?

Amelia couldn’t say: only time would tell.

* * *

Antonio stared at his desk, his expression brooding.

It was all laid out before him: the totality of his aggressive investment in diSalvo Industries, the way he’d been slowly, meticulously devaluing them, ruining them for the sake of destruction alone. Businesses that had little interest to him beyond one aspect: their ability to wound Carlo and Giacomo.

His fiancée’s family.

I can’t marry a man intent on destroying my family.

And yet she was, and he was. Destroying the diSalvos had obsessed him for so long, and now, since his father’s death, it had become his reason for being.

For so long, he had planned it: he would take what he could from them, and he would enjoy standing over them, seeing the shock on their faces when they realised how completely he’d masterminded their downfall.

He’d thought Prim’Aqua was the sum total of what he wanted, but now there was Amelia. Was it possible that in marrying her, creating a family with her, raising the child as the Herrera heir, he held the greatest key to destroying them?

Carlo hated Antonio—just as Antonio hated Carlo. So what would this child’s existence do to the diSalvos? His smile was one of dark pleasure. It would destroy them, that was what. They would possibly even believe that Antonio had planned it—the seduction, the pregnancy—planned it all. His grin spread. And wouldn’t that kill them? They’d hate it.

So much the better.

A light on his phone blinked, signalling a call, but he ignored it.

Amelia would be on a flight by now. His brows knitted into a gesture of silent disdain at her insistence that she fly commercial—yet again. To his disbelief, she hadn’t even booked first class.

It was clear that she was engaged in some kind of protest against her wealth and situation, but to ignore all the luxuries she had at her disposal, and then the luxuries that he could furnish her with, beggared belief.

Then again, didn’t everything about this situation?

Sleeping with her had been a mistake. A beautiful, heavenly mistake. Because, while the sex had been unforgettable, he’d returned to Madrid knowing he had to forget her. He had to put that misstep in the past and refocus his attention on his need to avenge the insults inflicted on his father.

And he’d been doing that, destroying the diSalvos and relishing his success.

But her pregnancy... He frowned, thinking of the unlikelihood of that. He was religious about using contraceptives. He was no monk. Sex was a part of his life, and he knew children weren’t on his wish list. But the second Amelia had dropped her bombshell he’d felt an explosion of protective instincts, a primal, all-encompassing need to do whatever he could for that child.

That it was a child he would be raising with a diSalvo was something he would have to accept.

That had nothing to do with business—what he and Amelia shared, the life they would make for their baby, was all personal.