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‘It’s not going to go away, Natalie,’ he said. ‘I’m not going to go away.’
She continued to glare at him. ‘Why are you here?’
‘I’m here to take you out to dinner.’
‘What if I’m not hungry?’
‘Then you can sit and watch me eat,’ he said. ‘Won’t that be fun?’
‘You are totally sick—do you know that?’ she said.
‘Did you like the roses?’
She turned away from him and began stalking down the wide corridor. ‘I hate hothouse flowers,’ she said. ‘They have no scent.’
‘I didn’t buy you hothouse flowers,’ he said. ‘I had those roses shipped in from a private gardener.’
She gave a dismissive grunt and pushed open a door leading to a large formal sitting room. Again the attention to detail was stunning. Beautifully co-ordinated colours and luxurious fabrics, plush sofas and crystal chandeliers. Timeless antiques cleverly teamed with modern pieces—old-world charm and modern chic that somehow worked together brilliantly.
‘Do you want a drink?’ she asked uncharitably.
‘What are you having?’
She threw him a speaking glance. ‘I was thinking along the lines of cyanide,’ she said.
He laughed. ‘Not quite to my taste, mia piccola,’ he said. ‘Can I have a soda and lime?’
She went to a bar fridge that was hidden behind an art deco cabinet. He heard the rattle of ice cubes and the fizz of the soda water and then the plop of a slice of lime. She fixed her own glass of white wine before she turned and passed his drink to him with a combative look on her face.
‘I hope it chokes you,’ she said.
He lifted the glass against hers in a salute and said, ‘To a long and happy marriage.’
Her gaze wrestled with his. ‘I’m not drinking to that.’
‘What will you drink to?’
She clanged her glass against his. ‘To freedom,’ she said, and took a sip.
Angelo watched her as she moved across the room, her body movements stiff and unfriendly. She took another couple of sips of her drink, grimacing distastefully as if she wasn’t used to drinking alcohol. ‘I drove past your studio on the way here,’ he said. ‘Very impressive.’
She gave him a quick off-hand glance over her shoulder. ‘Thank you.’
‘I have a project for you, if you’re interested,’ he said.
She turned and looked at him fully. ‘What sort of project?’
‘A big one,’ he said. ‘It’s worth a lot of money. Good exposure for you, too. It will bring you contacts from all over Europe.’
She stood very still before him, barely moving a muscle apart from the little hammer beat of tension at the base of her throat. ‘Go on,’ she said, with that same look of wariness in her gaze.
‘I have a holiday villa in Sorrento, on the Amalfi Coast,’ he said. ‘I bought another property nearby for a song a few months back. I’m turning it into a luxury hotel. I’m just about done with the structural repairs. Now it’s time for the interior makeover. I thought it would be a good project for you to take on once we are married.’
‘Why do you want me to do it?’ she asked.
‘You’re good at what you do,’ he said.
Her mouth thinned in cynicism. ‘And you want a carrot to dangle in front of me in case I happen to find a last-minute escape route?’
‘You won’t find an escape route,’ he said. ‘If you’re a good girl I might even consider using your linen exclusively in all of my hotels. But only if you behave yourself.’
The look she gave him glittered with hatred. ‘You’ve certainly got blackmail down to a science,’ she said. ‘I didn’t realise you were this ruthless five years ago.’
‘I wasn’t,’ he said, taking another leisurely sip of his drink.
She tightened her mouth. ‘I’ll have to think about it,’ she said. ‘I have a lot of work on just now.’
‘How capable is your assistant?’ Angelo asked.
‘Very capable,’ she said. ‘I’m thinking of promoting her. I need someone to handle the international end of things.’
‘It must be quite limiting, not being able to do the travelling yourself,’ he said.
She lifted a shoulder in a dismissive manner. ‘I manage.’
Angelo picked up a small photo frame from an intricately carved drum table next to where he was standing. ‘Is this Lachlan as a toddler?’ he asked.
Her deep blue gaze flickered with something as she glanced at the photo. ‘No,’ she said. ‘It’s not.’
Angelo put the frame back on the table and, pushing back his sleeve, glanced at his watch. ‘We should get going,’ he said. ‘I’ve booked the restaurant for eight.’
‘I told you I’m not having dinner with you,’ she said.
‘And I told you to behave yourself,’ he tossed back. ‘You will join me for dinner and you will look happy about it. I don’t care how you act in private, but in public you will at all times act like a young woman who is deeply in love. If you put even one toe of one foot out of line your brother will pay the price.’
She glared at him, her whole body bristling with anger. ‘I’ve never been in love before, so how am I going to pull that act off with any authenticity?’ she asked.
Angelo gave her a steely look. ‘Make it up as you go along,’ he said, and put his glass down with a dull thud next to the photo frame. ‘I’ll be waiting outside in the car.’
Natalie waited until he had left the room before she picked up his glass. She mopped up the circle of condensation left on the leather top of the table with the heel of her hand and then wiped her hand against her churning stomach.
Her eyes went to the photo of Liam. He was standing on the beach with a bucket and spade in his dimpled hands, his cherubic face smiling for the camera. It had been taken just hours before he died. She remembered how excited he had been about the shells he had found. She remembered the sandcastle they had built together. She remembered how they had come back to the pool with their parents to rinse off. She remembered how her mother had gone inside for a rest and her father had left her with Liam while he made an important phone call …
She gently straightened the photo frame with fingers that were not quite steady. And then, with a sigh that burned like a serrated knife inside her chest, she went to get ready for dinner.
The restaurant Angelo had booked was a popular one that attracted the rich and the famous. Natalie had been a couple of times before, but no one had taken much notice of her. This time everyone looked and pointed as she came into the restaurant under Angelo’s escort. A couple of people even took photos with their phones.
She tried to ignore the feel of his hand at her back. It was barely touching her but it felt like a brand. She could feel the tensile strength of him in that feather-light touch. It was a heady reminder of the sensual power he had over her.
Still had over her.
The maître d’ led them to a table and then bustled off to fetch drinks after he had handed them both menus.
She buried her head in the menu even though she had no appetite. The words were just a blur in front of her. She blinked and tried to focus. A week ago she wouldn’t have dreamed it possible for her to be sitting with Angelo in a restaurant. Ever since their break-up she had kept her distance both physically and mentally. But now she was back in his world and she wasn’t sure how she was going to get out of it. How long would their marriage last, given the irreconcilable differences between them? He had loved her once, but he certainly wasn’t motivated by love now. Revenge was his goal.
It had taken five years for the planets to align in his favour, but Lachlan had provided the perfect set-up for him to make her pay for leaving him. A man as proud and powerful as he was would not be satisfied until he had settled the score. How long would he insist on her staying with him? He surely wouldn’t tie himself indefinitely to a loveless marriage. He was an only child. He was thirty-three years old—almost thirty-four. He would want children in the not too distant future. He would hardly want her to be the mother of his heirs. He would want someone biddable and obedient. Someone who would grace his many homes with poise and grace. Someone who wouldn’t argue with him or question his opinions. Someone who would love him without reservation.
‘Are you still a strict vegetarian?’ Angelo asked.
Natalie looked at him over the top of the menu. ‘I occasionally eat chicken and fish,’ she confessed a little sheepishly.
His dark brows lifted. ‘You were so passionate back then.’
She lowered her gaze to the menu again. ‘Yes, well, I was young and full of ideals back then. I’ve realised since that life is not so black and white.’
‘What else have you changed your mind about?’ he asked.
She put the menu to one side. ‘I haven’t changed that much,’ she said.
‘Meaning you still don’t want children?’
Natalie felt the all too familiar pain seize her. She thought of Isabel’s little newborn daughter Imogen, of how it had felt to hold her in her arms just a couple of weeks ago—the soft sweet smell, the tiny little starfish hands that had gripped hers so firmly. It had brought guilt down on her like a guillotine.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I haven’t changed my mind about that.’
‘So you’re still the high-powered career girl?’ he said.
She picked up her glass and raised it in a salute. ‘That’s me.’
His dark brown eyes kept holding hers. ‘What about when you’re older?’ he asked. ‘You’re young now, but what about when your biological clock starts to ramp up its ticking?’
‘Not every woman is cut out to be a mother,’ she said. ‘I’m not good with kids. I think I must have missed out on the maternal gene.’
‘I don’t believe that,’ he said. ‘I accept that there are some women who genuinely don’t want to have children, but you’re a born nurturer. Look at the way you’re prepared to put your neck on the line for your brother.’
She gave a careless shrug. ‘I hate the thought of ruining my figure,’ she said. ‘I don’t want stretch marks or sagging boobs.’
He made a sound at the back of his throat. ‘For God’s sake, Natalie, surely you’re not that shallow?’
She met his gaze levelly. ‘No, but I’m convinced some of your recent lovers have been.’
He gave her a glinting smile. ‘So you’ve been keeping track of me over the years, have you, cara?’ he asked.
‘Not at all,’ she said, looking away again. ‘It is of no interest to me whatsoever who you sleep with. I have no hold over you. We dated. We broke up. That’s it as far as I’m concerned.’
‘We didn’t just date,’ he said. ‘We lived together for five and a half months.’
Natalie picked up her drink, just for something to do with her hands. ‘I only moved in with you because my flatmate’s boyfriend moved in with us and made me feel I was in the way,’ she said. ‘Anyway, five months is not a long time compared to some relationships.’
‘It was a long time for me.’
‘Only because you’ve been playing musical beds since you were a teenager,’ she said.
‘Now who’s talking?’ he asked, with a diamond-hard glitter in his gaze as it clashed with hers.
Natalie wasn’t ashamed of her past, but she wasn’t proud of it either. While not exactly a constant bed-hopper, like some of her peers, she had occasionally used sex as a way to bolster her self-esteem. But the physical sensations had meant nothing to her until she had met Angelo. Not that she had ever told him. While she had been totally open with him physically, emotionally she had always held him slightly distant. She wondered if that was why he had found her so attractive. He was used to women falling head over heels in love with him and telling him so right from the start.
But she had not.
‘Careful, Angelo,’ she said. ‘Your double standards are showing.’
His jaw tensed as he held her look. ‘How long did you date the guy you replaced me with?’ he asked.
‘Not long,’ she said.
‘How long?’
‘Is this really necessary?’ she asked.
‘I want to know.’
‘We went out for a couple of weeks,’ she said.
‘Who broke it off?’
Natalie found his intent look unsettling. ‘I did,’ she said.
‘So who have you dated since?’
‘No one you would know,’ she said. ‘I try to keep my private life out of the papers.’
‘Well done, you,’ he said. ‘I try to, but it’s amazing how people find out stuff.’
‘How do you stand it?’ she asked.
He gave a little shrug. ‘I’m used to it,’ he said. ‘My family’s wealth has always kept us in the spotlight. The only time it cooled off a bit was when I came to study in London. I enjoyed being anonymous—not that it lasted long.’
‘You lied to me.’
‘I didn’t lie to you,’ he said. ‘I just didn’t tell you I came from such a wealthy family. It was important for me to make it on my own. I didn’t want my father’s name opening any doors for me.’
‘You’ve certainly made a name for yourself in your own right,’ Natalie said. ‘You have twice the wealth of your father, or so I’ve heard.’
‘For someone who says they have no interest in what I do or who I see, you certainly know a lot about me,’ he said with a sardonic smile.
She ignored his comment and picked up her glass again, took a sip. ‘What have you told your family about me?’ she asked.
‘A version of the truth,’ he said.
