Page 121 of A Diamond Deal
‘A copycat, perhaps, made of glass or cubic zirconia. I don’t want to spend the next two years living in a state of permanent fear that I’ve lost something that valuable.’
‘It is special, but it is still just a ring…’
‘Not to me, and I don’t think to you, or your family, either. Please, save it for your next wife, someone you marry because you’re in love, and genuinely want to bring into your family. I can’t wear that.’
His expression was shuttered, his lips forming a tight line, as out of nowhere he thought of the first woman he’d intended to marry—with a sense, as always, of betrayal. ‘As far as I am concerned, you are the only wife I will ever have, but if you truly cannot bring yourself to wear the ring, I will have another made for you, instead.’
She breathed out a slow sigh of relief. Not only because he was going to replace the ring with something far less valuable, but because he was showing himself to be reasonable, and the more signs she had of that, the more comfortable she became with what she’d agreed to do.
‘Will you at least wear it for tonight, though?’ he asked, right when she’d thought the matter was closed. ‘I will stay by your side the entire time.’
She wanted to argue, because just the thought of having that thing on her finger for several hours was intensely stressful, but, at the same time, she knew why he was asking it of her. If there were pictures of her wearing the Moretti diamond, it would immediately convey what they ostensibly meant to each other. It was all part of the ruse she’d agreed to. The faster it became known that Contessina Rossi was marrying Massimiliano Moretti, the better.
‘Okay. Just until there’s a cheap replacement,’ she murmured. ‘And only when you’re around.’
Chapter Five
HE SPENT THEentire drive through Rome asking her questions about the mugging, and between mentally reliving those few scary minutes of her life, and the stunning view beyond their windows, she was almost distracted enough not to be so incredibly aware of the man she’d agreed to marry. The man with his handsome, angular face, broad, powerful chest, and voice that sounded like whisky, gravel and smoke, all at once.
A man who was looking at her with obsidian eyes and that now-familiar determination.
She tried to keep her voice level as she answered his questions, but sitting in the plush limousine with his knee coming within centimetres of brushing her own when they went over a small bump in the road, she found herself wishing for more bumps, and a definite brush.
It was hardly surprising that she should be so aware of him. He was objectively beautiful, and she was almost completely inexperienced. Nothing in her life had prepared her for coming face to face with a man like this, let alone entering into a marriage deal with him.
She trembled as that thought swirled through her mind, and he slipped his phone back in his pocket. ‘Tell me about my grandparents,’ she said, partly because she wanted to prepare, and partly because she wanted to fill the silence. She was nervous. Nervous to be with this man, to be marrying him, to be knowing that—because of her—that would include sleeping with him, once, as well.
A tension shifted through him, locking his jaw. ‘What do you want to know?’ he said, after a beat.
‘Anything.’
‘I have not been in the same room as them for a long time.’
‘I thought you said your grandfather is friends with them.’
‘Was,’ he corrected swiftly. ‘Your grandparents were amongst the many people my father cheated. Afterwards, they turned their backs on us.’
Her jaw parted at this new—and relevant—information he’d withheld from her. ‘So-o-o-o, they’re not likely to be thrilled about this.’
‘They are thrilled you are back in Italy. I suspect they will harbour some gratitude to me for having been the mechanism of bringing you here.’
Her eyes swept closed against that. The way it made her sound like an item, rather than a person. The way it neatly skipped over all of her own tumultuous feelings about what being in Italy and back in the bosom of her family meant to her. The betrayal she could feel whispering beneath her skin, at how her father might feel to know that she’d returned to this place, these people, who’d caused him so much grief.
‘Oh, God.’ She pressed her palm to her stomach as it lurched wildly, her throat constricting with anxiety. ‘This is crazy.’
‘What is?’
‘This. Being here. With you, them. This isn’t my life.’
‘Your life is nothing to fight for.’
She glared at him then, frustration arcing through her. He wasright. She knew he was right. She had no family, no friends, no money, and no real prospects. But it was still so new—living in a world without her father. Surely she could be given a period of grace to work things out for herself?
‘Can you not do that?’
He held her gaze, silently inviting her to continue.
‘Don’t sit there surrounded by all your money—and the confidence that brings—and belittle who and what I am.’
