Demanding His Billion-Dollar Heir / The Scandal Behind The Italian's Wedding

The sound of her boots on the marble floor cut through his thoughts and he turned to find her looking up at him nervously, her hands twisting within each other, but valiantly bearing the weight of his scrutiny as he searched her expressive features for clues of her motivation for being here.

She was still breathtakingly beautiful. He’d half convinced himself that he’d imagined it. The shocking impact she’d had on him that night. The way that his pulse kicked up a notch, just being near her. The way his need rose within him to seize him by the throat.

‘Hi,’ she said simply.

He nodded, unable to trust himself to say more. To bring about the moment where she exposed her greed.

‘Can we…?’

‘Talk?’

She nodded, an almost sad smile on her features. And for a moment he almost felt sorry for her. Because while she obviously knew who he was, she clearly did not realise just who she was up against.

‘This way,’ he said, his words as clipped as the sound of their shoes as he led them to the last elevator.

He swiped his key card over the electronic plate and the doors swished apart revealing the mirror-lined lift that led only to the top floor where his offices were housed.

She silently followed him into the confined space and when he inhaled he was swamped by that scent of hers. Sage and salt, something so unique to her and that night that he had to fight against the sudden wave of desire that rose up within him from being this close to her.

He studied her in the mirrors, Maria determinedly looking ahead and not making eye contact, offering him the chance to take in her appearance. The night they’d met, she had been dressed in white lace. Now, she wore tight grey denim jeans and a black leather waterfall jacket that covered a loose T-shirt in a burnt-pink colour.

Her hair, loose again, fell in waves over her shoulders and down her back, the slight curls twisting strands of dark browns and reds, making him want to reach out and touch. But he stifled the ridiculous urge.

The elevator drew to a stop and the doors opened, prompting him to gesture for her to go first, and then he realised how silly that was, when she pulled up short in the large area between three glass-fronted rooms. Two of which were meeting rooms, the third, his office.

He stepped around her and entered the latter. Immediately regretting not showing her to one of the large meeting rooms and ensuring that she would be ill at ease and more likely to reveal the truth about her intentions under such stark surroundings.

Instead, his office was completely different. Dark brown leather sofas faced each other, with a corner chair bracketing the end nearest the side wall. A discreet unit fronted the rest of the wall on the other side of a hidden door in the panelling that led to a bathroom and shower unit. A fireplace was hidden by the large corner chair—one that he never used and tried as much as possible to ignore behind the smooth dark leather. His father had loved it when this office had been his and, as much as he’d wanted to brick it up, he couldn’t seem to do so.

The opposite wall, in front of which was his desk, was covered head to toe in shelves full of books. Beautiful leather-spined tomes that gave the room an almost gothic feel, despite the sleek modern technology that covered the desk. Two large monitors fed into a discreet desktop hidden on a lower-level shelf just beneath the surface of the desk—a feature that had forced him to raise the desk a few inches in order to seat his long legs comfortably and without taking his kneecaps off every time he sat.

He turned to watch Maria take in the space.

‘Would you care for a drink?’ he asked, his hands unaccountably reaching for the bottle of whisky that had remained largely untouched for the three years it had been in his office’s wet bar.

‘Sparkling water, please.’

Where had the woman so full of words and even a bit of humour gone? Perhaps it was him. Was she picking up on his cynical reaction to her presence?

He poured sparkling water over ice, the cubes splintering and fracturing beneath the liquid in each glass. He passed Maria’s drink to her and was about to say some pithy salutation when she blurted, ‘I’m pregnant.’

The glass hovered before his lips, his fingers gripping it so hard, his knuckles turned white from his apparent shock. His eyes went from speculative to furious in a heartbeat and Maria inwardly cursed, wishing she’d had the courage to say it more gently, to warn him… Anything other than what she’d just thrown between them like an unexploded bomb. Only it wasn’t unexploded. It had detonated three months earlier, though neither of them had known.

‘Congratulations. Who is the lucky man?’

Maria frowned, both shocked and confused by his question.

‘What do you mean?’ she said, wondering why she was still holding the glass of water and he his, as if they were having a polite exchange rather than the fact he’d just implied that…that…

‘Well, given that we used protection, every single time—’

‘Wait, what?’

‘You cannot really expect to turn up here a convenient three months after our…encounter, and lay claim to my being the father of this miraculous child?’

She was speechless. She had imagined this conversation so many times, but this? Not what she’d expected. Encounter? He’d called the night they shared an encounter? Now she was angry. Of all the feelings she’d experienced thus far, since discovering the fact she was to have a child, anger had not been one of them. Until now.

‘You bastard.’

‘I think the press prefer to call me a beast, but I suppose that will do just as well.’

‘I shouldn’t have come here,’ she said, more to herself, rather than him. But it didn’t stop him from answering.

‘No, you probably shouldn’t have,’ he said, sighing as if she were an inconvenience rather than the mother of his child. ‘Many others have tried to lay claim to such a thing, and believe me, Maria, they were much more skilled at deception than you. And ultimately, they were proved to be the lying, scheming serpents that they were. I must say, I’m quite disappointed. I had thought you different.’

Maria shook her head. Both at the shocking hostility in his tone and at the awfulness that there had been women who had apparently tried to trick him in the past. In a second, all the things she thought they’d shared, the beauty of that one night she’d clung to as her world had morphed and changed before her eyes, burned to dust. She didn’t know this man. She was nothing to him. And she would never, never, force such a thing upon her child.

‘Not as disappointed as I am. I hope that your conscience is kind to you when you realise just how wrong you are,’ she stated, gathering her wits about her, and the scraps of her feelings from the floor. She placed the untouched glass down on the small coffee table, reaching into her bag to retrieve the black and white sonogram image of their, no her, child—the one thing that she could give him, the only thing, and, placing it beside the glass, she turned her back on him and stepped towards the door.

‘Wait.’

‘What for?’ she asked without turning, her back still to him. ‘For you to hurl even more insults at me? I don’t think so.’

‘Please.’

She turned then, not because his tone was pleading—which it wasn’t—but because she would give him this chance. She needed to. She found him standing by the coffee table, one finger on the corner of the sonogram. He wasn’t looking at her, but at it. The image of their child. She wondered what he saw in the grey shapes, the patches of darkness and the surprisingly detailed white figure of their baby. The head, the umbilical cord, arms and legs, all clearly visible.

Finally he looked up at her.

‘Do not lie to me about this, Maria. Do not test me.’

She shook her head. ‘I’m not. I’m pregnant. The baby is yours.’

‘How?’

Again, shaking away the doubt and confusion she had felt when she’d first seen that thin blue line. ‘Condoms aren’t fail proof, I wasn’t on any other kind of contraception. I…’ She shrugged.

‘You’re pregnant. The baby is mine.’

Maria nodded and Matthieu’s whole world shifted on its axis. He cast his eye back to the small black and white image on the coffee table. His child?

‘I’m…’ stunned, shocked…what? His mind was completely blank. Though the one thing he could recognise above the white noise roaring in his ears was that Maria deserved an apology.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, the sea of confusion and chaotic thoughts making his tone dark, guttural almost. The instant refusal that had risen to his mind had been both cruel and devastating. He hadn’t missed the way her already pale skin had turned almost bone white beneath his taunt. But it hadn’t been that that had convinced him that she spoke the truth. No. It had been her ready departure. So different from the crocodile tears and insincere desperation he’d experienced in the past. Maria had been willing to walk away not just from him, but from what many others had tried to secure. His money. His ring.

A ring he’d once sworn never to put on a woman’s finger. Never imagining for a second the need to do so. Never being so unfailingly irresponsible to sire a child that would, along with its mother, invade his carefully ordered life.

He gestured for her to sit and only after she had stiffly approached the sofa opposite where he stood, and sat, or rather collapsed slightly into the deeply upholstered leather, did he finally sit down too.

‘What is it you want?’ he asked, holding her gaze with the steel trap of his own, ruthlessly seeking out her intentions, almost willingly seeing hints of her avarice.

‘Nothing,’ she said, seemingly confused by his question. ‘I just wanted to let you know. You…have that right.’

He bit back a cynical laugh. He doubted the truth of her words very much. She might not be after his money or his ring, but there must be something. There was always something.

‘You waited three months?’ he said, accusingly, not having to work hard to do the maths. He’d known every single one of the days since he’d last touched her, kissed her, brought them both to orgasm.

She nodded. ‘The first three months are so…precarious,’ she said, shaking her head and shoulders, as if she hadn’t been alone to bear the weight of that knowledge, that fear that something could have happened, could have taken away their…their child.

The child he could see formed by light and dark in the small black and white sonogram on the table between them.

‘Did you think that I would try to change your mind? Is that why you waited?’ Not needing to work hard to find the fury at the possibility that she would think such a thing of him.

‘It wouldn’t have mattered. I’m keeping this baby, Matthieu, whether you want to be part of its life or not.’

‘I would never—’

‘How would I know that?’ she demanded. ‘I didn’t even know your last name.’

‘But you found out.’ The unspoken question in his mind rang loud, beating in time with his heart.

‘Only when I needed to.’ Her assurance, the promise offered by her words that she had not sought him out until she’d had to, melted the ire edging his anger, transforming it, lessening it—but only slightly. ‘Look, I respected what you said then about it only being one night,’ she pressed on. ‘I’m only here now to let you know, and to give you the chance to choose whether you would like to be in the baby’s life or not. Nothing more, nothing less.’

‘That simple?’ he asked, unconsciously echoing the conversation from that night.

‘I am beginning to see that where you are concerned, Matthieu, nothing is simple.’

He reached then for his water, not because he was thirsty, but to buy time. And he never had to buy time. He always knew what to say, how to react. Until now. Until her. He began to wonder if he ever had any choice in the matter at all. His body overriding all senses, all sensibilities.

Father.

He was going to be a father.

‘We will marry.’

The look on her face would have been comical in any other circumstance. The horror and shock overriding the fierce neutrality that she had presented in the last few moments.

‘No.’

That’s different. So many had tried to coerce themselves into his life, but of course Maria was different. He briefly wondered if this might have been part of some larger game, some grander scheme, but he decided not. There had been nothing about Maria then, or now, that indicated some ulterior motive. Wasn’t that what had driven him to her in the first place? Her innocence?

‘I don’t think you understand—’

‘No. It is you who doesn’t understand,’ Maria cut in. ‘That’s not why I came here. I have no intention of marrying you. I don’t want that, or your money. My only interest is the level of your involvement in my child’s—’

‘Our child’s,’ he said, interrupting her.

‘Our child’s life.’

‘And that is what I’m telling you, Maria. My interest will be deep, my level of involvement will be total.’

CHAPTER FOUR

MARIA FELT PULLED beneath a tide of emotion, some parts fear, some parts daunted, and all parts consuming. She hadn’t lied to him. She hadn’t come here to demand marriage, or anything more than maybe weekend visits. She hadn’t imagined that he’d even want that if she was honest. Certainly not after reading the hundreds of articles on the ‘notorious beast’. She hated herself for using that description even mentally. Because she knew why they had called him that. His scars had made him the subject of intense speculation, his wealth and almost cruel single-minded, driven success all the more so.

And now, to have all that focus pinned on her… She couldn’t help but want to shrink back from it. But she couldn’t. Not now that she had someone else to protect. Her unborn child. Her hands instinctively wrapped around her waist, his hawk-eyed gaze watching her every move.

‘Why?’ she couldn’t help but ask. Everything about Matthieu screamed isolation. The way he did his business, the way he reportedly lived.

‘I will protect my child,’ he said, his determined voice sending a shiver down her back.

‘Protect? Not love?’ she demanded. Because in truth that was all that mattered to Maria right now. It was the only thing that mattered.

‘Of course I will love my child,’ he said dismissively.

But not the mother of his child.

Maria pushed aside the sad thought. How had this happened to her? Just when she was on the brink of her freedom, her jewellery business beginning to find traction, her false feelings for Theo behind her, to discover who she was outside that, to find an independence that meant so much to her.

‘We don’t have to marry for you to…protect our child.’

He scoffed an almost cruel laugh. ‘Are you that naïve, Maria? Do you have even an inkling of what will happen when the press find out?’

She hadn’t thought of that. She simply hadn’t thought of anything past the point of telling Matthieu about the baby. Unease began to grow within her at the sheer conviction in his tone.

‘They will hound you, Maria. They will dig up every little thing they can find out about you. They will stalk your friends and family, they will offer money for any salacious story they could print, they will go through your rubbish and camp on your doorstep. They will follow you and anyone who knows you.’

Maria didn’t have to work hard to imagine the awful things he was saying. Because she knew how the press worked. Had experienced a little of it first hand when her father had been exiled, when her brother had been forced to assume the purse strings and sell off nearly every single thing they had owned. Even now they still stalked Sebastian and every single woman he encountered. Some thought he courted it, but Maria knew he resented it, hated it. But he was happy as long as they’d left her alone.

Her brother. Her protector. Just as Matthieu wanted to protect their child. She didn’t think for a minute that Seb could help her in this situation though. No. The Rohan de Luens were minor exiled nobility. Matthieu Montcour was a completely different level of notoriety and fame. She had seen that for herself within seconds of hitting enter on the search bar with his name in it.

His words had conjured exactly what he had intended. Fear. And more than that. His words had chipped away at her belief that she could still have her freedom, that she could still be in charge of her life the way she hadn’t before now, and now never would.

‘But how can we marry? I don’t know anything about you,’ she said, fighting back the rising tide of panic in her chest.

‘You know my birthday and my favourite colour. That is more than most know.’

‘You don’t know anything about me,’ she said, almost on a whisper as her last defences began to crumble. He waited until she met his gaze before speaking and his words were the final blow.

‘I know that you make jewellery and that you do it in spite of your stepmother’s objections. I know that you are kind and thoughtful or you wouldn’t have been so upset at the idea of breaking someone’s engagement, no matter how you thought you felt about the groom. I know that you are not after my money or this conversation would have been significantly different, and I know that you are strong, defiant and determined. And I know that you will do whatever you need to do to protect our child.’

I also know the feel of your skin beneath mine, the blush that rises to your cheeks when you can’t fight your desires, and I know the sounds of your pleasure when you climax, Matthieu concluded silently, unwilling to speak his wayward thoughts out loud.

He watched as her eyes grew wide with surprise, a faint blush—as if conjured by his very thoughts—rising to her cheeks.

‘If we were to marry… If,’ she repeated as if she hadn’t already made her decision, which he very much believed that she had. ‘What would that…be like? What would it look like to you?’

Terms. He was good at this. Securing contracts and finalising practicalities. He would have time later to consider the implications of impending fatherhood. Feelings had no place here, not now. The irony of that would have struck a more righteous man in the heart.

‘You will live with me here in Switzerland. I can arrange for everything you could ever need to be available to you. As I’m sure you have already figured out, there are certainly benefits to marrying me. Especially for your business.’

‘No. That’s…that’s not up for discussion. My business is mine and I don’t want your involvement.’

He frowned. For many, that would have been enticement enough.

‘I have contacts around the world and the resources to give you access to some of the finest materials—’

‘I said no. I can source my own materials and any achievements I make professionally will be my own.’

Her words were fast and harsh, as dark as he’d ever heard her tone, both tonight and three months ago. Clearly her independence was important to her, but he resisted the urge to warn her not to let pride get in the way of success. Partly because he very much found pride in his own success. He knew what that meant and found that he respected her for it.

‘Do you have a particular stipulation in mind?’

He also gave her credit for not flinching, though clearly she wanted to. It might have been distasteful to discuss the matter in such a way, but necessary to avoid future upset, misunderstandings…he couldn’t say heartache, because he would never, never, allow himself such an indulgence.

‘I…we…would stay married until our child is at least twenty.’

He almost laughed then, at her naivety, her innocence. ‘Maria, hear this now. In the little time they were alive, my parents at least installed in me a sense of the sanctity of marriage. I may not be religious, but I do not believe in divorce.’

As if refusing to acknowledge his declaration, she looked at her hands.

‘I’m not sure that I can just pack up my life and move in with you.’

‘Really? I get the impression that you are more than capable of anything you put your mind to, Maria.’

Her gaze flew to his and her expressive face registered surprise, and something else…something warmer, serving only to heat his blood from within. He ruthlessly pushed that aside. It was absolutely vital that he got her agreement in this. He’d meant what he said. He would protect his child, and by extension her too. But he wouldn’t lie to her. She had asked him of his expectations and it was important that he state his intentions now.

‘My home is on the edges of Lake Lucerne, in the heart of this country. It is…certainly big enough for us, and our child.’ He knew his words were modest. The large sprawling estate was an architectural marvel and he forced himself to stifle the discomfort at the idea of opening it up to another person, to Maria. But he would. He’d have to. The idea of Maria and his child being anywhere other than with him? Simply untenable.

‘You will have access to anything you could want. Truly. But I need you to understand one thing, Maria.’ Her eyes grew watchful, assessing, as if she realised that this was the most important thing of all. ‘Do not build hopes and fantasies about me. I promise you now, that I will love, care for and provide every single earthly want for our child. But that is the extent of what I will offer.’

He was saying that he wouldn’t, couldn’t, love her. He was refusing her the one thing she’d only just realised she’d ever wanted. A wave of sorrow crashed over her and she thought, How funny. An engagement is supposed to be a happy thing.

She forced herself to focus on what he was offering her. Her child would want for nothing. Her child would grow up with the kind of security she had once taken for granted, until it had been lost. Never would her child experience the shocking devastation she had. Because she would protect their child. She, who had been protected all her life, would become protector and that thought fired her determination more than any other.

‘One condition.’

‘Anything.’ His response, quick and sure.

‘It will be a small wedding. No guests.’ She didn’t want that day to be a public spectacle. Didn’t want her family there, her stepmother turning it into a farce. She could already imagine the lascivious glint in Valeria’s gaze, the image of her mother in her father’s eyes, and the disappointment in her brother’s.

‘Just us and two witnesses?’

‘Yes.’

‘It will be so.’

He reached for her hand across the table, the heat of his fingers searing as they wrapped around her cool skin. A handshake, as if nothing more than a contract had been agreed to.

Tears threatened the backs of her eyelids, but she willed them away. Others might be full of joy and brimming with happiness, but she wasn’t one of those soon-to-be brides. No. She was a soon-to-be mother and would do whatever it took to care for, protect and love her child in the way that she had not felt herself.

Matthieu might have wanted a quick wedding, but even he, with all his might and money, could not force Swiss bureaucracy to bend to his will. Once their marriage application had passed through the churning machine of legalities and regulations they had still needed to wait ten long days before the ceremony could take place. And Matthieu had used that time well. He might not have known much about Maria before, but, having collected the many required details for the application, he did now.