Читать книгу Enemies at the Altar - Melanie Milburne - Страница 8

ANDREAS got the call from his younger sister Miette in the early hours of the morning.

‘Papà is dead.’

Three words that under normal circumstances should have evoked a maelstrom of emotion, but to Andreas they meant nothing other than he was now free from having to play happy families on the extremely rare occasions his path crossed with his father. ‘When is the funeral?’ he asked.

‘Thursday,’ Miette said. ‘Will you come?’

Andreas glanced at the sleeping woman lying beside him in the king-sized hotel bed. He rubbed at his stub-bled jaw and let out a frustrated sigh. It was just typical of his father to choose the most inconvenient time to die. This coming weekend in Washington DC was where he had planned to ask Portia Briscoe to marry him once his business here was complete. He even had the ring in his briefcase. Now he would have to wait for another opportunity to propose. There was no way he wanted his engagement and marriage to be forever associated with anything to do with his father, even his demise.

‘Andreas?’ Miette’s voice pierced his reverie and his conscience. ‘It would be good if you could be there, for me even if not for Papà. You know how much I hate funerals, especially after Mamma’s.’

Andreas felt a claw of anger clench at his insides at the thought of their beautiful mother and how cruelly she had been betrayed. He was sure that had been what had finally killed her, not the cancer. The shame of finding out her husband was sleeping with the hired help while she was battling gruelling rounds of chemotherapy had broken her spirit and her heart.

And then, to add insult to injury, the brazenness of that witch Nell Baker and her trashy little sleep-around slut of a daughter Sienna had turned his mother’s final farewell into a cheap and tawdry soap opera.

‘I’ll be there,’ he said.

But that little hot-headed harlot Sienna Baker had better not.

The first person Sienna saw when she arrived at the funeral in Rome was Andreas Ferrante. At least her eyes registered it was him, but she had felt him seconds earlier in her body. As soon as she had stepped over the portal she had felt a shiver run up her spine and her heart had started a crazy little pitter-patter beat that was nothing like its normal, healthy, steady rhythm.

She hadn’t seen him in years and yet she had known he was there.

He was sitting in one of the pews at the front of the cathedral. Even though he had his back towards her she could see he was as staggeringly gorgeous as ever. His aristocratic bearing was like an aura that surrounded him. He exuded wealth and power and status. His glossy raven-black head was several inches higher than any of the other black-suited men sitting nearby, his thick, slightly wavy hair neither long nor short, but cut and styled so it brushed against the collar of his shirt.

He turned his head and leaned down to say something to the young woman seated beside him. Just seeing the profile of his face made Sienna want to put a hand to her chest where her heart was flapping like a frantic fish suddenly flung out of its fish tank. For years she had dismissed his features from her mind. She had dared not think of him. He was a part of her past she was ashamed of—deeply ashamed. She had been so young and foolish, so immature and insecure. She hadn’t thought through the consequences of twisting the truth. But then, who did at the age of seventeen?

And then, as if Andreas sensed her looking at him, he twisted his head and locked gazes with her. It was like a lightning strike when those hazel eyes hit hers. They narrowed and glared, pinning her to the spot like a bug on a corkboard.

Sienna pasted an indifferent smile on her face and, giving her silver-blonde head a toss, sashayed up the aisle and shimmied her way into a pew on the left hand side a few rows back from his.

She felt his anger.

She felt his rage.

She felt his fury.

It made her skin shiver. It made her vertebrae rattle like ice cubes in a glass. It made her blood race. It made her knees feel weak, as if someone had removed all of her strong stabilising ligaments and put overcooked noodles in their place.

But she showed none of that. Instead, she affected a cool poise that her teenage self, eight years ago, would have sorely envied.

The woman seated beside him was his latest mistress, or so Sienna had gathered from a recent press article. Portia Briscoe had lasted longer than any of his other lovers, which made Sienna wonder if the faint whisper she had heard of an impending engagement had any truth to it.

Not that she had ever thought of Andreas Ferrante as the falling in love type. To her he had always been the playboy prince of prosperity and privilege. When the time came he would choose a bride to suit his Old Money heritage. Just like his father and grandfather before him, love would not come into it at all.

Although, going on appearances alone, Portia Briscoe looked like the perfect candidate to be the next generation Ferrante bride. She was classically beautiful in a carefully constructed way. The sort of woman who never went anywhere without perfectly coiffed hair and expertly applied make-up. She was the type of woman who wouldn’t dream of turning up at a funeral on a whim, in faded jeans with ragged hems and soiled trainers or, God forbid, a T-shirt that had suffered a food spill.

Portia Briscoe only wore exquisitely tailored designer couture. She even had toothpaste commercial teeth and porcelain skin that looked as if it had never suffered a blemish on it.

Unlike Sienna, who’d had to endure the torture of braces for two years and had only that morning had to reach for her concealer to cover a spot on her chin.

Andreas Ferrante would make sure his bride never put a designer-clad foot out of place. His bride wouldn’t have a history of bad choices and reckless behaviour that had caused more pain and shame than she cared to think about.

No, his bride would be Perfect Portia, not shameful, scandalous Sienna.

Good luck to him.

As soon as the service was drawing to a close, Sienna slipped out of the church. She still wasn’t exactly sure why she had felt compelled to pay her respects to a man in death she hadn’t even liked in life. But she had seen the news in the press about his death from a heart attack and immediately thought of her mother.

Her mother Nell had loved Guido Ferrante.

Nell had worked for the Ferrante family for years, but not once had Guido acknowledged her as anything but his housekeeper. Sienna remembered all too well the scandal her mother had caused at Evaline Ferrante’s funeral. The press had gone wild with it, like a pack of hyenas over a carcass. It had been one of the most humiliating experiences of her life. To see her mother vilified, to see her shamed in the most appalling way, was something Sienna still carried with her. She had sworn that day she would never be at the mercy of a powerful man. She would be the one in control. She would be the agent of her own destiny, not have her life dictated to by others who had been better born or had more money than her.

She would never fall in love.

‘Excuse me, Miss Baker?’ A well-dressed man in his late fifties approached. ‘Sienna Louise Baker?’

Sienna set her shoulders squarely. ‘Who wants to know?’ she asked.

The man held out a hand. ‘Allow me to introduce myself,’ he said. ‘I am Lorenzo Di Salle, Guido Ferrante’s lawyer.’

Sienna took his hand briefly. ‘Nice to meet you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go.’

She had barely moved a step before the lawyer’s words stopped her in her tracks. ‘You are invited to be at the reading of Guido Ferrante’s will.’

Sienna turned back around and stared at him with her mouth open. ‘Pardon?’

‘As a beneficiary to Signor Ferrante’s estate you are—’

‘A beneficiary?’ she gasped. ‘But why?’

The lawyer gave her a smile Sienna didn’t much care for. ‘Signor Ferrante has left some property to you,’ he said.

‘Property?’ she said blankly. ‘What property?’

‘The Chateau de Chalvy in Provence,’ he said.

Sienna’s heart did a double shuffle. ‘There must be some mistake,’ she said. ‘That was Evaline Ferrante’s family home. Surely it should go to Andreas or Miette?’

‘Signor Ferrante insisted it be left to you,’ he said. ‘There are, however, some conditions attached.’

Sienna narrowed her eyes. ‘Conditions?’

Lorenzo Di Salle gave her a serpentine smile. ‘The reading of the will is in the library at the Ferrante villa at three p.m. tomorrow. I look forward to seeing you there.’

Andreas prowled the length and breadth of the library feeling like a lion in a cat carrier. He hadn’t been to his family home in years, not since the night Sienna had been found all but naked in his bedroom at the age of seventeen. The little she-devil had lied her way out of it, making him out to be some sort of lecher while she had maintained the act of innocent victim, a role she played all too well. Why else had his father included her in his will? She wasn’t a blood relative. She was the housekeeper’s daughter. She was nothing but a little gold-digging slut who had already married once for money. She had obviously inveigled her way into his ailing father’s affections to get her greedy little hands on what she could, now that her elderly husband had died, leaving her practically penniless. His mother’s estate in Provence was the one thing Andreas would do anything to keep out of Sienna’s possession.

And he meant anything.

The door opened and Sienna Baker came breezing in as if she owned the place. At least today she had dressed a little more appropriately, but not by much. Her short denim skirt showed off the long slim length of her coltish sun-kissed legs and her white blouse was tied at her impossibly slender waist, showing a glimpse of the toned flesh of her abdomen. She didn’t have a scrap of make-up on her face and her silver-blonde hair was loose around her shoulders, but even so she looked as if she had just stepped off a photo shoot.

The whole room seemed to suck in a breath and hold it. Andreas had seen it happen so many times. Her totally natural beauty was like a punch to the solar plexus. He had worked hard over the years to disguise his reaction, but even now he could feel the effect she had on him. He had felt it yesterday in the church. He had known the very minute she had arrived.

He had sensed it.

He glanced at his watch before throwing her a contemptuous glare. ‘You’re late.’

She gave him a pert look as she flipped her hair over one shoulder. ‘It’s two minutes past three, Rich Boy,’ she said. ‘Don’t be so anal.’

The lawyer rustled his papers on the desk. ‘Could we get started?’ he asked. ‘There’s a lot to go through. Let’s start with Miette …’

Andreas remained standing as the will was read out. He was glad his younger sister was well provided for, not that she needed it as she and her husband had a very successful investment business based in London, but it was a relief to know she hadn’t been elbowed out by that brazen little blow-in. Miette had inherited the family villa in Rome and assets worth millions set in trust for her two young children. It was a satisfying result given that Miette—like Andreas—hadn’t been all that close to their father over the last years of his life.

‘And now we come to Andreas and Sienna,’ Lorenzo Di Salle said. ‘I think we should conduct this part of the reading in private. Just the two of you, if the others don’t mind.’

Andreas felt his spine tighten. He didn’t want his name bracketed with that little wildcat. It made him feel edgy. It had always made him feel that way. She was a tearaway who rocked his world in ways he didn’t want.

Had never wanted.

He had stayed away from the family home because of her. For years he hadn’t stepped over the threshold, not even to spend those few precious weeks with his mother before she died. Sienna’s outrageous deceit had destroyed any chance of a working relationship with his father for the last eight years. Andreas blamed her for it all. She was a sly little vixen intent on her own gain.

He hated her with a vengeance.

The lawyer waited for the others to leave the library before he opened the folder in front of him. ‘The Chateau de Chalvy in Provence is entailed to you both but on the proviso that you live together legally as man and wife for the minimum of six months.’

Andreas heard the lawyer’s words but it took a moment for them to register. He felt a shockwave go through him. It was like being shoved backwards by a toppling bookcase. He couldn’t get his throat unlocked to speak. He stood staring at the lawyer, wondering if he had imagined what he had just heard.

Sienna and him … married.

Legally tied.

Stuck together for six months.

It was a joke.

‘This has got to be a joke,’ Andreas said, raking a hand through his hair.

‘It’s no joke,’ Lorenzo Di Salle said. ‘Your father changed his will in the last month of his life. He was adamant about it. If you don’t agree to marry each other within the time frame, the property will be handed over to a distant relative.’

Andreas knew exactly which distant relative the lawyer was referring to. He also knew how quickly his mother’s ancestral home would be sold to feed the second cousin’s gambling addiction. His father had laid the perfect trap. He had thought of everything, every get out clause and every escape route. He had made it impossible for Andreas to do anything but obey his orders.

‘I’m not marrying him!’ Sienna shot to her feet, her grey-blue eyes flaring in outrage.

Andreas flicked her a disparaging glance. ‘Sit down and shut up, for God’s sake.’

She pushed her chin up, her bottom lip going forward in a pout. ‘I’m not marrying you.’

‘I’m very glad to hear it,’ Andreas said dryly and turned to the lawyer. ‘There’s got to be a way out of this. I’m about to become engaged. You have to make this go away.’

The lawyer lifted his hands in a gesture of defeat. ‘The will is iron-clad,’ he said. ‘If either of you refuses to cooperate, the other automatically inherits everything.’

‘What?’ Andreas and Sienna spoke at once.

Andreas threw her a look before he addressed the lawyer. ‘You mean if I don’t agree to marry her she inherits Chateau de Chalvy, plus all the other assets?’

Lorenzo nodded. ‘And if you do marry and one of you walks out before the six months is up, the one who stays inherits everything by default,’ he said. ‘Signor Ferrante set it up so neither of you have a choice but to marry each other and stay married for six months.’

‘Why six months?’ Sienna asked.

Andreas rolled his eyes as he muttered, ‘Because any longer than that he knew I would probably end up on a murder charge.’

Sienna sent him a withering look. ‘Only if you got in first.’

Andreas dismissed her comment by turning back to the lawyer. ‘What happens at the end of six months if we do decide to stick it out?’ he asked.

‘You get the chateau and Sienna gets a pay-out,’ the lawyer said.

‘How big a pay-out?’ Sienna asked.

Lorenzo named a sum that sent Andreas’s brows sky-high. ‘She gets that much for doing what exactly?’ he asked. ‘Flouncing around pretending to be the lady of the manor for six months? That’s outrageous!’

Sienna curled her lip at him. ‘I’d say it was pretty fair compensation for having to put up with you for six days, let alone six months.’

Andreas narrowed his eyes to paper-thin slits. ‘You put him up to this, didn’t you?’ he said through clenched teeth. ‘You got him to write this crazy will so you could get your greedy little hands on whatever you could.’

Her grey-blue eyes held his defiantly. ‘I haven’t seen or spoken to your father for five years,’ she said. ‘He didn’t even have the decency to send me a card or flowers when my mother died, let alone attend her funeral.’

Andreas stared her down. ‘Why did you come to his funeral if you hated him so much?’

Her chin stayed at a pugnacious height. ‘Don’t think I would’ve made a special trip because I damn well wouldn’t,’ she said. ‘I was here for a dress fitting for my sister’s wedding next month.’

‘I heard about your long lost twin,’ Andreas said. ‘I read about it in the paper.’ He curled his lip and added, ‘God help us all if she’s anything like you.’

She glared at him furiously. ‘I came to your father’s funeral out of respect for my mother,’ she said. ‘She would’ve come if she was still alive. Nothing on this earth would have stopped her.’

Andreas gave her a mocking look. ‘No, not even common decency, it seems.’

She shot to her feet with a hand raised to slap him. He only managed to stop it from connecting with his jaw by grasping her wrist in mid-air. The shock of her soft silky skin against his fingers was like a power surge going through his body. He saw the sudden flare of her eyes as if she had felt it too.

A nanosecond passed.

Something entered the air between them, a primal, dangerous thing that had no name, no shape or form—it was just there.

Andreas dropped her wrist and stepped back from her, surreptitiously opening and closing his fingers to see if they were still able to function. ‘You’ll have to excuse Miss Baker—’ he spoke to the lawyer again ‘—she has a reputation for histrionics.’

Sienna threw Andreas a filthy look. ‘Bastard.’

The lawyer closed the folder and got to his feet. ‘You have a week to come to a decision,’ he said. ‘I suggest you think about this carefully. There’s a lot to lose on both sides if you don’t cooperate.’

‘I’ve already decided,’ Sienna said, folding her arms across her chest. ‘I’m not marrying him.’

Andreas laughed. ‘Nice try, Sienna,’ he said. ‘There’s no way you’d turn your back on that amount of money.’

She came and stood right in his body space, her chin up, her eyes flashing, her hands on her slim hips, her beautiful breasts heaving. He had never felt such raw sexual energy coming towards him in his life. His whole body jolted with it. It was like being zapped with a Taser gun. He felt it rush through every vein like a flood of roaring fire. His groin pulsated as she leaned in closer, close enough for him to smell the sweet honey scent of her breath as it danced over his face. ‘You just watch me, Rich Boy,’ she said and then she swivelled on her trainer-clad feet and left.