Page 113 of A Diamond Deal
‘Moretti.’
Then she sucked in a breath and it was somehow so instantly familiar, so like she’d been yesterday, that he gripped the phone tighter.
He wanted this to work.
It was the easiest, most straightforward way to achieve his aim. But it was about more than his family’s reputation. While that was at the heart of his plan, he knew that it would bring his grandfather peace, to think Massimiliano had finally settled down, and found love. That he’d met someone he wanted to make a life with. The older Moretti had spoken often of his own marriage, and how happy his life had been. To him, it was the purpose of the work, the money. It was all about family.
For Massimiliano, the opposite was true. He hadn’t always been like this, but after his father’s betrayal, when the whole world had turned on him, he’d been cut too deeply to recover. Friends had deserted him. His fiancée had walked out on him faster than she could say ‘it’s over’. He realised how utterly superficial it had all been, and from that point on, he’d known the only relationships he’d ever enter into would be transactional. Easy to walk away from, easy to forget. Comfortingly meaningless.
The women he dated were under no illusions—he made sure of that. Right from the outset, he laid down the ground rules. There’d been one or two who’d tried to change his mind, who’d thought perhaps he would become attached and want more. But the second Massimiliano thought there was any risk of wantingmore, he left.
It was his insurance policy, and it had worked brilliantly for him.
But for his grandfather, the constant string of women moving in and out of Massimiliano’s life—and bed—was a source of despair. He simply couldn’t understand how Massimiliano could live without forming attachments.
‘Amelia?’
Another breath sound and then, ‘Yes.’
‘Have you thought about it?’
‘I—have some thoughts, yes,’ she murmured. ‘Are you free this morning?’
‘You don’t want to talk over the phone?’
‘It’s easier in person. I think. Maybe it’s not, but it feels—’ Another deep breath, this time as though she was steadying herself. ‘In person is better. Where can we meet?’
He glanced around his Knightsbridge penthouse, with sweeping views of Hyde Park. ‘I’ll text you my address, if you’d like to come here?’
There was a beat as she considered that. ‘Okay. I’ll see you soon.’
Chapter Three
IT WAS MADNESSto be considering this. Madness to have a list of requirements to go through with her prospective fiancé. The man who was all but blackmailing her into a marriage deal.
And yet, he’d been right, the night before. This was her chance to reach out and change her life. Ever since she was a little girl, she’d been in a position of having things happen to her. She couldn’t help her parents. The fact their marriage was miserable and they fought often. Nor the fact her mum just simply disappeared one day. That after that they were struggling for every penny they could find. But at least Amelia had been able to apply for a scholarship to study medicine—she’d finally been on her way to the future she’d wanted. Until, that very same week, her dad’s cancer had been diagnosed, and she’d known she could never leave him.
These things had happened without her ability to influence them. She’d simply reacted to the circumstances as best she could, behaving, she hoped, in a way she wouldn’t regret.
And that same wisdom guided her now.
He was right that, if she let this chance go, she might very well end up working dead-end jobs for ever, finding it impossible to regain her footing in life.
So why not grab what he was offering with both hands? She’d spent so long looking out for everyone else, including her dad, and becoming an adult way ahead of time, why shouldn’t she look after herself for once?
Didn’t she deserve to get what she wanted in life?
But there were no compromises here. If she did this, she wanted it to be just what she needed. Which meant being brave, and asking. Demanding. Telling him exactly what would make this worth her while.
Her cheeks flushed pink as she glanced up at the modern-looking building just a stone’s throw from Harrods. Two fancily dressed men stood sentinel on either side of the glass doors. She smiled nervously at them as she walked past, then approached the elevators.
She jabbed the button, her stomach in knots as she waited and then, as the elevator began to glide upwards, so fast and smooth, it was unlike anything she’d ever felt. The doors pinged open right onto a huge floor-to-ceiling mirror. She stared across at her reflection. She had set out today in an outfit she usually adored—a simple black pencil skirt and a champagne-coloured camisole, with a denim jacket and high tops. But looking at her reflection, she felt like a misplaced punk rocker in Buckingham Palace.
Closing her eyes as the butterflies in her belly threatened to take up occupation through her entire body, she counted to ten then stepped towards a double set of glossy white timber doors with gold-plated handles.
She lifted her fist and knocked once. It was barely audible. She tried again, louder this time, then jumped back and waited, knotting her fingers as she did so.
He opened the door, and her heart jolted. While he wasnotnaked, he wore only a pair of shorts, with a towel wrapped around his neck, dangling on either side of hisvery buff, broad chest, so she could only stare at him, her mouth dry, her blood rushing through her body.
