Wife By Force: International Billionaires II: The Italians (12 page)

So. She hadn’t thought about it. Until now.

Her hands shook as she smoothed down the silk of her dress.

Tonight, he would find out her secret.

He might laugh at her or be disgusted. Perhaps he’d even renege on the deal because she didn’t know what the hell to do in bed with a man.

No, wait. He couldn’t. He’d signed the bloody contract even before she had. If she let him do what he wanted to her body, then he was stuck. Stuck with her and her ineptitude. That should make her feel good, right? That would be part of her revenge.

Gulping in a deep breath, she tried to push every boomeranging thought from her head. Yet the emotions couldn’t be stopped. Embarrassment. Fear. The always present anger.

Nausea welled inside her stomach.

“I’m so happy for you and Dante.” Daniella moved to her side and smiled. “I feel like you’ve been my sister forever and now it will be official.”

“There is that.” She closed her eyes for a moment before pasting on smile.

“Uh, oh.” Her friend gave her a look. “Do I detect bridal nerves?”

More like a bridal panic attack. “No,” she succeeded in saying. “I’m fine.”

“Good.” Her friend patted her hand. “My brother would never let anything go wrong with his wedding. Even when there was trouble at Viola’s wedding, Dante took care of it.”

“Trouble at Viola’s?”

Dani waved her question away. “A minor argument at the service. My brother fixed it fast.”

“I’m sure.”

“And Mamma is at her best with weddings. She’s sure had enough experience lately.”

“She’s been magnificent.”

Dani grinned. “She is happy for Dante. She says you are the perfect girl for him.”

“Really?” Lara managed to swallow the nausea welling inside her throat. “I had no idea.”

“I think she’s right. He needs someone who’s strong and sure of herself. I hated some of his girlfriends.”

If only one of those girlfriends had snagged him long ago. “Mmm.”

“No, honestly.” Daniella shook her head. “They hung on his every word and did whatever he wanted. They were disgusting.”

“I would think a man would enjoy that.”

“Maybe. But not my brother.”

She managed to swallow her hoot of disbelief along with another bout of nausea.

“He respects you.” Her friend leaned closer, her eyes shining with sincere belief. “He has always had the good sense to know what’s right for him.”

“I can’t think of a thing to say.” Lara gave her an ironic look, all the time knowing this might be the very first thing she’d said during the entire month that was the God’s honest truth.

“You’ll see,” Dani said. “As soon as you both settle into the marriage, you’ll see Mamma is right. You are his perfect match.”

“Are you girls talking about me?” Dante’s mother bustled up, her black eyes sparkling and the feather in her hat bobbing. “Dani, go help Carlotta with the flowers. I want to talk to Lara.”

“Okay.” Obediently, her daughter gave a quick pat to Lara’s arm and bounded away.

“Lara.” Giana Casartelli clapped her hands together in pleasure. “You look beautiful.”

“You’re the one who chose the dress.”

“No, no,
bambina
.” The older woman touched the lace on her shoulder with tender care. “I meant the girl who’s wearing the dress. Since you were a child, I have noticed how loving and caring you are. It does my heart good to see my eldest son finally find happiness with such a lovely woman.”

“Is he happy?” Maybe she could get his mother’s attention. Maybe if this woman truly saw what was going on, she would stop this.

“Yes.”
Signora
Casartelli nodded. “I know my son is not demonstrative, but a mother can tell.”

Not demonstrative. Quite the understatement. “He is contained.”

Giana threw her a shrewd look. “True. He learned the hard way to control his emotions. He had to in order to ensure the family survived. Yet you must remember when he was younger. How charming he was.”

“I don’t remember that at all.”

“You were young. Nevertheless, he was an energetic child, full of life and fun.”

“I find that impossible to picture.”

“You must remember him as a teenager,
bambina
.” The woman winked. “I have a distinct memory of your large crush on my son.”

A flare of embarrassment rushed up her face. “Not really.”

The older woman chuckled. “What? Do you not remember following him wherever he went? You were only six, perhaps seven, when you started, but surely you have some memory of this.”

“I seem to have forgotten that entirely.”

“Does a girl ever actually forget her first crush?” Giana winked again. “Never mind. It’s turned out right in the end. I am hopeful this marriage will give him some of the joy and verve he lost with the death of my husband.”

The sudden pain on Giana’s face told the story—the loss was still keen even eleven years later. Lara placed her hand over the older woman’s. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here when that happened.”

“
Si
, you missed all of it. You were visiting your English relatives and then away at school, weren’t you?” The woman sighed. “That was not a pleasant time for anyone, especially for my oldest son.”

“I’m sure.” She continued to pat the plump hand in hers.

“Dante had to fight off quite a few vultures to keep the family company intact. Not many of them thought a young twenty-five-year-old would be able to handle the business.” The proud mother smiled. “But he more than handled it. He triumphed.”

“I’m sure I would have had no doubts,” she said, a dry note in her voice.

“You’re a good girl. You are loyal and honest. He needs that.” Turning, Giana became the proficient wedding organizer again. “Girls, girls. We must leave for the church now.”

Dresses rustled and the chatter rose to a crescendo as the Casartelli women gathered their purses, flowers, shoes. With loud kisses and teary eyes, one by one they left her alone in her bedroom.

Less than one hour.

“Muffin.” Her father’s voice echoed softly from the door. “Time to go to the church.”

Bittersweet tears clogged her throat at his use of her old childhood nickname. At the same time, her heart lurched into a furious clatter.

“You look lovely.” Hugo Derrick walked to her and put his hands on her shoulders. “Your mother would be so proud.”

His eyes brimmed with tears. Happy tears if she wasn’t mistaken.

I must do this. I must. My family is depending on me
.

In less than one hour, she would be married again. To another man she despised.

T
he organ was too loud
.

His necktie was too tight.

This ceremony had to be stopped.

The music pounded into his brain.
Thump, thump, thump
. Idiot. Moron. Fool. For a man in command of every area of his life, this mess was an abomination. He’d let his temper push this catastrophe forward until…

Until here he was. Standing with his brother, Tomas, at the altar. Waiting for his lovely bride to appear.

“
Idiota
,” he muttered under his breath.

Tomas chuckled at his side. “I can’t believe it. My big brother is nervous.”

“Shut up.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the flash of his brother’s grin. “Come on,
fratello
. Let me have this one moment of fun watching you squirm.”

His conscience had not started rumbling until he walked into the church. It had stayed silent for weeks, smothered in layers of wrath and fury. Yet as soon as he’d strode into the sanctuary today it had roared. He had every expectation of God throwing a lightning bolt to strike him down for letting this farce continue.

He had to stop this marriage.

It was impossible to believe he had gotten himself into this predicament. He, Dante Casartelli. Renowned for his cool intellect under fire. Reputed to be the calmest investor in times of turbulent markets. He, the owner of a worldwide financial empire. The man who never got flustered by anything, according to his PA and staff. He. About to force a woman to marry him because he’d lost his temper.

He had to stop this.

There’d been the hope—or the fear—that Lara would talk to her father and find out the truth. Figure out he held no real power over her, that the rescue of her father and brother had nothing to do with the insane contract she’d made him draw up. However, the other shoe had not dropped. Day after day, he’d waited. Day after day, he’d hidden from his conscience. And day after day, the wedding approached.

“Is that sweat I see on the side of your face?”

He gritted his teeth and ignored Tomas. There were more important things to take care of than stopping his brother’s teasing. Such as stopping this ceremony with the minimum of fuss and embarrassment. He eyed the elderly priest standing a step above him. Would it be possible to pull the old man aside and tell him the marriage was off? Father Gibaldi had known him his entire life, had heard his confessions for years. Would he understand?

The priest beamed at him.

No, he would not. He would think Dante Casartelli had suddenly turned into a complete moron. Which he was.

“Don’t worry,” his brother rumbled beside him. “She might be a bit late, but I’m sure she’s on her way. She’ll show.”

He wished she wouldn’t show.

“
Sciocco.
” Oh, yes, he was an utter fool.

“Come on.” Tomas leaned in. “You can’t seriously be worried about her not showing.”

“That’s not the problem.”

“Everything else is running like clockwork, Big D. Mamma’s got everything in hand.”

Dante glanced at his mother in the first pew, her lace handkerchief held tightly in hand for the inevitable happy tears. Her smile was as full and bright as he’d ever seen it. His sisters lined the rest of the bench. All of them laughing, whispering, smiling at him. Their husbands sat behind them, attending to assorted nieces and nephews who were trying to sit politely, waiting for the promised cake and ice cream.

The church was packed. His business associates. Far-flung family members. The neighbors that lived around them. All here to witness the union of one of the most eligible men in Europe to a beautiful, graceful woman many had known since her childhood.

Madonna in cielo
.

He hadn’t felt this trapped and foolish since his father’s death. Never had he screwed something up so badly as this. His mother was going to be heartbroken. His sisters were going to hate him. His brother was going to laugh at him. The extended family was going to question his character. The neighbors were going to gossip for months. His business associates were going to wonder about his honor and integrity.

Yet if he stopped this now, perhaps Lara would someday forgive him.

He cleared his throat. “Tomas, I must—”

“Here she is.” His brother peered down the long row of pews to the entrance. “See? I told you there was nothing to worry about. After all, what woman would walk away from your money?”

Dante winced as a shaft of pain sliced through him like a clean, swift kill.

“Hey!” Tomas grabbed his shoulder. “I’m kidding. She isn’t that way. You know her.”

“
Si
,” he managed.

He finally looked at her. The sunlight shining through the massive stained-glass windows highlighted her form, splintering a golden halo around her. Her father stood next to her in the arched stone entryway. Dani glided down the aisle, the only bridesmaid Lara wanted.

She moved towards him. Towards this marriage.

Dante sucked in a breath and held it. As she paced away from the entrance, her face and form became clear. The veil muted her features: the solemn turn of her wide mouth, the flash of honey eyes as she glanced at her father, the clean edge of her jaw. All softened and gilded with creamy lace. Her wedding gown was cut to show her figure, all willowy beauty and lovely curves. Lace curled around the edges of the dress and he saw the peep of her cream pumps as she slowly moved towards him. Towards this marriage.

He couldn’t do it.

He couldn’t let her go.

He knew it was wrong. This was not the way to start a marriage. There were too many misunderstandings, too many problems. Still, every one of their issues faded, completely, as she walked toward him in total beauty and grace.

He had to have her.

Hugo Derrick’s brows rose as they arrived at his side. What did the man want of him? He couldn’t smile. What was there to smile about? He was going to marry a woman who hated him because he had to. No control. No calm decision. No, the feelings pumping through him were entirely chaotic, entirely crazy. The craving, the wanting, the desire were in complete dominance. He hated this feeling, had learned to repress this madness for so long. But now, now, it was all there once more.

He must have her.

Dante managed a slight nod at Hugo and it seemed to satisfy the man. He kissed his daughter’s forehead and handed her over, stepping away to sit in the nearest pew, beside her brother.

She stared at him through the lace. Deep, dark golden pools of mystery. Her mouth tightened. What was she thinking?
Dio
, he didn’t want to know. Her thoughts would probably push him across the edge of his control into complete and utter insanity. He imagined himself throwing her over his shoulder, marching down the aisle as she screamed her hate at him.

Not caring. Only wanting.

Her hand was cold in the warmth of his. Looking at her long, lovely fingers, he silently begged her forgiveness for what he was going to force her to do. There was no help for it; there was no way he could not do this.

He must have her
.

Father Gibaldi coughed and she turned toward the priest with a gentle smile.

And it began.

The words meant nothing. The cry of a baby, the hushed scolding of a niece, nothing penetrated his world of chaos and craving and wanting. He rode wave after wave of emotion, tossed from crest to crest without any direction or focus.

He had to have her as his wife.

This was wrong
.

He must have her in his bed.

You are forcing her
.

He would spend the rest of his life making it up to her.

Not good enough
.

He was a man who could fix anything, make anything happen.

You cannot fix a marriage that should never have been
.

The wild swells inside him drew him back to his boyhood, where his emotions always ruled him. He’d reveled in the highs and lows, they were part of him, part of his soul. His father had been right, however; the wild, emotional boy he had been could never have ruled the financial empire and the family successfully. He’d been forced to change and over the years had begun to see himself as a composed, imperturbable man. But now, the façade washed away as he stood at the altar, marrying a woman who couldn’t stand him because he couldn’t stand the thought of not having her.

“I do,” she murmured beside him.

Somehow, in some way, he would make this right.

He took a deep breath. “I do.”

Inside him, he wrenched himself back into control.
Think, man, think
. This union could work, would work. He merely had to convince her of how much potential lay between them. After a while, her anger would fade. The sexual connection between them would help heal the wounds. He merely had to suppress his wild emotions. No baiting. No fighting. Instead, there would be mutual respect and regard. Eventually, she would see this marriage working and would come around to his way of thinking.

Wouldn’t she?

“You may kiss your bride.” Father Gibaldi smiled at him with warmth.

He turned and faced her. Again, the deep pools of her eyes told him nothing of her feelings. He lifted the veil, uncovering her face. Her beautiful, serene face, with the cream of her skin like velvet, the clean blade of her nose perfectly setting off her high cheekbones.

Her mouth was free of lipstick, pale pink. The lushness of the lower lip complemented the slight bow of her upper one.

Respect her. Honor her. Protect her.

He leaned over and placed a soft kiss on her. It was a promise, a pledge.

He would make this right.

M
arried
.

Signora
Casartelli.

Lara glanced at her hand lying on her lap. The cool dampness of her white palms contrasted with the subtle heat of her thighs and the softness of the bright pink cashmere of her dress.

The five-carat diamond flashed in the sun, a cold, brilliant burden.

The hum of the plane engine was the only sound echoing in the cabin.

A private plane. A huge, luxurious, private plane.

Owned by her husband.

She took another look around. Plush cream leather covered the sofas and chairs. Pillows of crimson and touches of mahogany gave a counterpoint to the light luxuriance of the interior. They were several hours out of Aeroporto di Firenze, on the way to their lavish honeymoon in Barbados. Daniella had told her of the hotel and the villas spread along the beach. The fancy restaurants, the plush beds, the swimming pools. All of it owned and managed by one of Dante’s subsidiary companies.

How could she be surprised?

But a startling realization had washed through her as they left the wedding reception. She and Dante had been surrounded by bodyguards, the
pop pop pop
of the paparazzi cameras exploding around them. Granted, the ceremony was news, she’d known that, yet what had stunned her was the impression these men were not hired guns for an event. They worked for her new husband; it was clear in their interaction with him. Like a king, he had to be protected at all times.

Dante Casartelli had a full-time staff of more than housekeepers and gardeners.

He had a full-time staff of bodyguards.

Her hand fisted in her lap.

She wouldn’t put up with it. She wouldn’t. For almost a decade, she’d been watched and guarded and controlled by Gerry. One of the best things about these last eighteen months was her freedom. Freedom to go where she wanted, when she wanted, for whatever reason she wanted.

The bodyguards could guard their boss, that was fine with her. She would have nothing to do with them in the future, though. Her new husband would probably disagree, but too bad. Accepting surveillance hadn’t been a clause in their vile contract so he couldn’t impose something she hadn’t agreed to.

Still, she had agreed to one clause. A clause that loomed in her thoughts once more as she pushed aside the thought of unwanted bodyguards.

The deep yawning silence in the plane’s cabin, a silence that continued hour after hour as they flew towards their honeymoon night, made the contract clause she kept thinking about appear ludicrous. The man across from her clearly could not care less.

No loving words. No promises of a night filled with passion.

Only cold silence.

Exactly like her previous union.

Drawing in a deep breath, she swung her head around and pinned a determined stare on the fluffy clouds dancing along the wings of the airplane.

Perhaps this was good. This was what she should want.

Dante Casartelli might be exactly like Gerry and never make a sexual move toward her during their marriage. Maybe, just maybe, her secret would be safe.

Clause #3. Lara Derrick Casartelli will willingly engage in marital relations with her husband on a daily basis
.

Her throat locked up.

Because she knew she was fooling herself. And the clause, the bloody damn clause in their monstrous agreement, was only one reason.

It had only taken one look.

Mere hours ago.

One look from his black eyes.

Dante was nothing like Gerry in one way. Even she, in her inexperience, knew enough to realize that. True, he had an icicle for a heart—exactly like her dead husband. Yes, he had no honor or integrity—completely like good old Gerry. Yet in one specific area, he was nothing like her unlamented dead husband.

He lusted for her.

She’d had her doubts during the last month. However, with one look, a moment she’d almost missed, with one look during their wedding dance, she’d seen what he intended for tonight.

Black scorching heat. For one brief second. Then his long dark eyelashes hid him from her again and she’d been too shocked to sort it out as he swung her around in the waltz. She’d been too frazzled. Too frazzled by her family and his. Too overwhelmed by the piles of gifts proclaiming Dante’s important and wealthy friends. Too stunned by the paparazzi attention as they left the reception to contemplate what that look meant.

Too, too, too...until now.