скачать книгу бесплатно
Humiliatingly, he paid the bill and then led her downstairs to a very exclusive jeweller, which looked, to Emma’s untrained eyes, to be closed.
Zarios pushed on the intercom and growled out his name. It was clearly the abracadabra word, because the thick black glass doors parted.
‘Mr D’Amilo…’ A suited gentleman greeted them politely, ushering them to waiting chairs. An assistant entered with two glasses of champagne and an arrangement of chocolates, before the serious business of choosing a ring began. Emma hesitantly tried a couple on with the encouragement of the jeweller, as Zarios sat drumming his fingers on his thigh as he did when he was bored.
‘They’re all beautiful…’ Emma gulped. ‘What do you think?’ Her eyes turned to his, silently pleading with him for some help, but his uninterest was embarrassingly apparent, causing Emma to flush in front of the jeweller.
‘Does that one fit?’ Zarios pointed to the one she was wearing.
‘Don’t worry about size—’ the jeweller began, but Zarios’s mind was already made up.
‘I think my fiancée has chosen.’
He didn’t even have to hand over his credit card! Zarios, Emma was fast realising, lived in the world of the seriously rich, where no money or signature was either exchanged or required. No doubt an invoice would be sent somewhere and dealt with by somebody.
As they stepped out Emma could feel tears stinging her eyes. Rather than letting them fall, she sniffed loudly.
‘What’s wrong?’ Zarios said irritably.
‘Could you have made it any more obvious in there?’ Emma sniffed again, then checked herself.
‘Made what obvious?’
‘That we’re not a couple—that we don’t…It doesn’t matter.’
‘Clearly it does,’ Zarios observed, then stopped walking, turning to face her. But they were blocking an aisle, and Zarios moved her out of the current to the entrance of a shop. ‘How do you want me to be?’
‘I’m just saying that in public…’
‘Am I not affectionate enough for you?’ There was a dangerous glint to his eyes.
‘It’s not that.’ His face was so close she could barely breathe, her thought processes dizzied by his proximity.
‘Would you rather I was more demonstrative?’
‘No!’ Emma shrilled. ‘But if we are going to pretend, then at least you could look as if you care…’
‘You confuse me, Emma.’ His face was coming nearer so she backed away, leaning against the shop window. She was confused herself as to what it was she was saying, what it was that she wanted, but Zarios was rapidly enlightening her! ‘You tell me to leave you alone, you dress like a gypsy for bed—and you certainly didn’t want my attentions this morning—but now, suddenly, when I am observing your wishes, you accuse me of not being demonstrative enough.’
‘We’re supposed to be engaged…’ Emma swallowed. ‘We’re supposed to look as if we’re in love. Yet you snapped your fingers at me in the hairdressers, you couldn’t have been less interested in the choice of ring, and you didn’t even hold my hand!’ Oh, what was the point? Shaking her head, she went to stalk off—but now he caught her hand and held it.
‘Is that better?’
‘No!’ She stared down at their entwined fingers, at the obnoxiously large ring that had been placed there in the name of business only, unable to hold the tears back. ‘I’m ashamed enough by what we’re doing, even though I have my reasons for doing it…’ There was a stoicism about her, despite the tears. ‘But I’m not that good an actress, Zarios. If my real fiancé ever treated me or spoke to me in that way, I’d walk!’
‘Fair enough!’ For once it wasn’t a flip comment. ‘You’re right—it does not look good—and for what it’s worth, if you were my real fiancée, I’d expect you to walk…Hey…’ he added as her tears fell further. ‘My fiancée crying in the street is not a good look either.’ But there was almost a smudge of kindness hidden in his pompous voice.
‘They’re tears of joy!’ The irony of her words actually eked a smile from his haughty face. ‘Just don’t treat me like a lapdog…’ Emma sniffed ‘…don’t embarrass me further than I already am.’
He loosened his grip from her hand and with the pads of his thumbs wiped away the tears on her cheeks so tenderly it almost felt as if he meant it.
‘Is that better?’
‘Yes.’
‘You’re sure?’ Zarios checked.
‘Quite sure.’
‘And if I did embarrass you in there…’ his mouth lowered to hers, kissing her clamped unmoving mouth slowly and very, very surely as she stood there rigid ‘…then I was wrong.’ He moved his face away just a fraction. ‘I will remember to behave better in public next time.’
He was still just as appalling in private, though.
He ignored her request to stop at her flat and grab some things. ‘You don’t need them—you have nice things now!’ Zarios said, pinging open the car boot once they had slid into the forecourt of a luxury five-star hotel.
‘Where are we?’
‘Home.’
She felt like a beggar girl as boxes and bags were hauled out of the boot by the bellboys, and King Cophetua led her by the hand briskly though the lobby, where they were whizzed to the Presidential Suite.
‘You live here?’
‘Sometimes,’ Zarios said, dropping his jacket as he did so, and kicking off his shoes as he walked. He stretched out on the settee in the lounge, flicking a remote control. Instead of the television coming on, the drapes lifted to reveal the most stunning view out over the city and beyond to the bay. ‘I divide my time between many cities. It makes sense to stay in hotels rather than maintaining several homes.’
Of all the surprises Zarios had thrown at her this was the one, however unwitting, that shocked her the most. Oh, it was luxurious—Emma had never stayed at such an exclusive hotel before, let alone in the Presidential Suite. At every turn it screamed luxury, and as she wandered through, Emma tried to take the details in: the deep sofa, the six-seater oak dining table with a lavish Australian native flower arrangement. The master bedroom was vast, opening into a sparkling marble bathroom, with racks lined with fluffy white towels, two robes hanging on the door just begging for someone to step into them—even soft white slippers patiently waited outside the luxurious two-person shower. Back she wandered, frowning as she realised there was even a small butler’s kitchen, and the gnawing disquiet she felt multiplied as Zarios flicked through the room-service menu.
Staring out of the window, she saw Port Phillip Bay stretched like a horseshoe, and her eyes scanned the familiar landmarks that lined it: Brighton Pier, then along to Mentone, and ever on till they came to rest, as they always did, on the gorgeous tip at the end that seemed to be reaching out to embrace Queenscliff. The jagged edge that contained within it her family home.
This wasn’t, as first she had thought, Zarios’s home within a hotel.
This—despite its luxurious furnishings, despite the impressive artwork that lined the walls—was just a hotel room. A room that when Zarios left would be painstakingly prepared for the next well-heeled guest to stay.
Emma’s eyes were so thick with tears that she could hardly make out her home now—but even if it was being sold in two weeks, even if her parents had gone way too soon, even if she was indebted to Zarios, still she was richer than he had ever been.
Even if she’d mourn them for ever, at least she’d had a family, and at least she’d had a home.
Which were two luxuries that Zarios had never been afforded.
CHAPTER NINE (#ulink_6e881142-739e-56ea-8869-b2a73e7b07dc)
‘IT’S just a dream, Emma.’
By unspoken consent it was the only time he held her. When nightmares crept in, so, too, did his hand, bringing her back to reality and then holding her for the rest of the scary night. It had never been discussed, and for that Emma was grateful. She was just surprised each and every night by just how nice he could be when he wanted—by the remarkable tenderness he offered at these times, and the infinite patience he was capable of.
But only at night.
Their first week together had passed in a blur of endless social functions as Melbourne’s elite toasted the happy couple. Her days, though, had been long and lonely, while Zarios attacked his formidable workload, leaving Emma to rattle around the Presidential Suite like a marble in a tin.
Stretching in bed now, Emma glanced at the clock, her head pounding after another restless night.
‘Morning!’
Emma jumped as she padded through and saw him at the table, dressed and ready for his day, lazily drinking coffee and flicking through his usual mountain of post.
‘Sorry.’ He grinned at her startled expression. ‘Were you hoping I’d already gone?’
‘Not at all.’ Emma gave him a sweet smile, buttering some toast even though she didn’t feel like it, shaking her head as Zarios picked up the coffee pot.
‘I’ll have tea.’
‘Since when?’ Zarios frowned. ‘You always have coffee.’
‘We’ve only been engaged for a week,’ Emma pointed out.
‘Full of surprises.’ Zarios grinned again, but there was a glint to it which she chose to ignore. ‘So, what are you doing today?’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘The tickets have arrived for next Saturday’s ball—which reminds me.’ Zarios glanced up. ‘You need to get something to wear.’
‘I have a wardrobe full of new things to wear,’ Emma retorted, but Zarios wasn’t listening. He just took a rather loud slurp of his coffee, which set Emma’s teeth on edge.
‘Sorry, darling!’ Zarios said, which told her he wasn’t. ‘That’s the awful sort of habit that should only slip in once you’re safely married.’
‘Which we’ll never be!’ Emma said, pouring her tea and adding a heaped spoon of sugar. She watched as Zarios ripped up an engagement congratulations card, which she could only assume was from his mother, and carried on with the rest of his mail.
‘Oh, I don’t know…’ He slurped his coffee again, and Emma realised that he was toying with her. ‘When are you paying me back again?’
‘Next Monday,’ Emma answered coolly—refusing to rise to whatever bait he was dangling, picking up a newspaper and reading the headlines.
‘Good!’ Zarios said, watching as she turned the pages, still too new to the game to be bored with the novelty of seeing her name in print. ‘What are they saying about us today?’ he asked.
‘The usual…’ Emma rolled her eyes. ‘I’m your rebound from Miranda, a decoy for the board…’ She scanned the words, more interested really in the picture. But it was the same one again! Zarios, Emma had fast realised, was always two steps ahead—the unexpected tenderness he had displayed outside the jewellers had been captured on film, and though he had denied it when Emma had confronted him, she was quite sure he had manufactured the whole thing just so that he could be photographed wiping away her tears of happiness and, as the paper had reported, sealing the deal with a kiss.
‘This is a better picture of you…’ Still reading his mail, almost distracted, he handed her another tabloid, neatly folded at an open page. Emma felt her insides turn to liquid. ‘I think you’re going into The Casino gaming rooms—I thought it must have been before last week, but your hair’s already done. There’s a small piece about you…’ He wasn’t pretending to be distracted now. He was staring over at her, his face loaded with contempt. ‘It mentions that you looked as if you were crying when you came out…’
Zarios wasn’t just two steps ahead, Emma realised, he was a whole street in front. This, Emma knew as she scanned the offensive article, was the real reason he was joining her for breakfast. She’d gone to The Casino looking for Jake. After numerous failed attempts to get through to him panic had gripped her, and Emma had headed to the one place she knew she might find him.
‘I know how this must look…what you must think.’ Emma ran a worried hand through her hair. ‘But I don’t have a problem—’
‘Well, I do,’ he interrupted darkly. ‘I deal in people’s money, in their investments, their savings…My fiancée staggering out of the gaming rooms isn’t quite the image I’m hoping to portray.’ She squirmed at his implication. ‘I don’t want your excuses, and I don’t want your reasons—just know that I will not be shamed. Zarios D’Amilo’s fiancée does not have a gambling problem—there will be an apology in the newspaper tomorrow. Don’t make me call in any more favours again. Do you think you can stay away for one more week?’
When all she managed was a rigid nod, he said, ‘Good. Don’t think as my wife you will have access to limitless funds to feed your filthy habit.’ Picking up his briefcase he turned to go, but thought better of it. ‘I’m assuming that will be the case? I mean,’ he added nastily, ‘people don’t usually come out of a casino crying when they’ve won!’
‘You’re so quick to think the worst…’ She didn’t have to justify herself to him—didn’t have to beg his understanding or forgiveness for a crime she hadn’t even committed. ‘You’re so sure that everyone’s out for your precious dollar!’
‘Remind us both again—exactly why are you here, Emma? Even before we got into this you told me yourself that was the only thing you wanted from me!’
‘After you had gone back to her!’ Tears stung her eyes as she veered towards the truth. ‘You slept with me and then went back to her, Zarios. What did you want me to say? Congratulations? I hope the two of you will be happy—or the three of you, or whatever made you deem it necessary to just walk away?’
‘Leave it, Emma…’ Zarios warned, but she wasn’t listening.
‘You hurt me, Zarios, and I said those things to hurt you.’
‘That morning…’ His usually swarthy face was pale, his jaw so quilted with tension she could see the effort it took for him to form words. ‘It was never my intention to go back to her. Miranda told me…I found out that she was…’ He shook his head hopelessly. ‘Leave it, Emma,’ he said again.
Oh, but she wouldn’t.
‘She was pregnant?’
‘No.’
‘Did she have an abortion?’ Emma flailed in the dark for an answer. ‘Or lose the baby?’
‘I’ve told you!’ Zarios roared. ‘There was no baby.’
‘So it’s true, then?’ Over and over she’d tried to fathom an excuse for him—told herself that the papers had got it wrong, that the man she happened to love really wasn’t that much of a bastard.
Except he was.
‘I have every right to say those hateful things.’ Through pale strained lips she told him her truth. ‘I have every right to hate you—because you threw away what we had for no good reason. And Miranda has every right to hate you, too.’
‘Leave her out of it.’
‘Just as you did,’ Emma spat, ‘when she couldn’t provide you with children. Well, guess what, Zarios? You don’t deserve them!’
Always Zarios had the last word—always there was a retort or a scathing reply—but not this time. His face was as white as chalk apart from his black angry eyes. He didn’t even pick up his briefcase. He just walked towards the door. And if it hadn’t been 8:00 a.m.—if she hadn’t seen that he had been perfectly lucid just moments earlier—from his stagger Emma would have sworn he had been drinking.
‘Zarios!’ She called out to him but it was too late. The door had closed behind him without so much as a slam.
Emma was shaking—not just at the venom of her words, but at the effect they had had. She could feel nausea rising, and barely made it to the bathroom in time. Crouching, hugging the bowl, she was more sick than she had ever been in her life. The anger that had been aimed at him was now aimed somehow at herself, at her fury for not being able to accept that he wasn’t the man she wanted him to be, was sure he could be.
After rinsing her mouth, Emma made her way back to the lounge, reading again the article that had led them to this row. Heading for the bin, she picked up the card he had tossed away.
The English wasn’t great, but Emma was touched at the effort the woman had made.
Emma and Zarios,
It was with happiness I received the good news of your engagement.
Emma, I hope to meet you soon, to share in your joy.
Mamma xxx
What joy?
Emma stared at her luxurious surrounds and realised then that they counted for nothing—the trappings of wealth had done nothing to fade his scars.
