The Italian's Marriage Bargain

‘Co-owner,’ Felicity corrected.

‘Co-owner?’ he blasted the word out of his mouth, like two pistol shots, and Felicity flinched with each one. ‘He is not a co-owner. I am the owner! All the managers of my minor resorts have a five per cent holding; it is good for morale,’ Luca explained his voice still angry. ‘It ensures profit.’

‘Ah, yes, profit.’ Felicity found her voice, her hazel eyes flashing with distaste, meeting Luca’s full on. ‘There it is again! We’re all very familiar with your love for that particular word.’

‘Scusi?’ For the first time Luca’s English slipped, but he quickly corrected himself. ‘What is that supposed to mean?’

‘Profit,’ Felicity sneered. There was no point holding back now, she was already in it up to her neck, but at least she could let this jumped-up, haughty, control freak know exactly what she thought of him and his methods—pay him back for the agony he had inflicted on her family. At least the final word in this whole sorry saga would be hers. ‘That’s the bottom line for you—and the top one, and the bit in the middle. Profit’s why you pay your staff a pittance, why they have to stay behind night after night for no extra pay, why a beautiful resort is barely a shadow of what it used to be.’

‘Barely a shadow?’

‘Don’t pretend you don’t understand!’ Felicity retorted. ‘The resort is on its last legs—finished, kaput, finito. Now do you get it? Oh, I’m sure it’s still returning a healthy profit. I’m sure on paper everything looks just fine. But the staff are leaving in droves and it’s only a matter of time before the clients follow.’

The silence that followed was awful. Felicity reeled, scarcely able to believe she had admitted the truth, least of all to Luca, and Luca in turn paled, the muscles in his face contorting in fury, his knuckles white as he dug his nails into his palms.

‘But what has all this to do with you? Why would you be…?’

‘Prepared to get engaged to him?’ Felicity finished as Luca’s voice trailed off. ‘You dare to ask why I would prostitute myself with a man like Matthew?’ She watched him flinch at her words and she enjoyed it—enjoyed watching the might that was Luca Santanno squirm. ‘Because I’m my father’s daughter. I see what needs to be done and I do it.’ When he didn’t respond she carried on, her small chin jutting defiantly, a stricken dignity in her strained voice. ‘My father isn’t the poor businessman you make out; he isn’t a gambler or a drinker who frittered his money away. My brother was dying…’ A tiny pause, a flicker of shadow darkening the gold of her eyes, the only indicator of the depth of her pain. ‘The money my father made from selling the resort bought Joseph some time.’

‘How much time?’

‘Six months. There was a treatment in America—it was never going to be a cure, but selling the resort turned a few agonising weeks into six precious months. It took him to Paris and Rome, gave us time to say all the things that needed to be said, to cram a lifetime of love into six wondrous months, and if he had his time over my father would do it all again.’

‘I still don’t understand.’

‘Death puts things into perspective, but it doesn’t stop the bills coming in.’ She was almost shouting again. ‘Your mortgage doesn’t disappear just because in the scheme of things it doesn’t really matter. My father has had to start again, now has to work for a pittance for the Santanno chain, has to watch his beloved resort dissolve into nothing. But he doesn’t complain. All my father wants is three more years of work. Three years to pay off his mortgage and get together some funds for his retirement—an honest day’s work for an honest day’s pay. But then what would the great Santanno empire know about that? All you care about is profit.’

‘You are wrong.’ Luca waved in abrupt dismissal. ‘Yes, I care about profit, I am a businessman after all, but I also care about my staff, and in turn they reward me with absolute devotion. I do not need to check up on them, breathe down their necks while they work, for I know they are giving one hundred per cent.’

‘They’re giving one hundred percent,’ Felicity snarled, ‘because they’re terrified of losing their jobs.’

‘Rubbish.’ If she’d seen him angry before then Luca was livid now, a muscle pounding in his cheek, his blue eyes blazing. ‘My staff know I look after them. I ensure their birthdays are remembered, their loyalty is rewarded. Take Rico, the man I was speaking with this morning, it is his fortieth wedding anniversary next weekend. He will be staying in this very room with his wife, receiving the same service I demand for myself…’

‘With a ten per cent staff discount,’ Felicity bit back. ‘Matthew reluctantly does the same.’

‘There will be no discount,’ Luca sneered. ‘There will be no bill at all. Rico deserves it.’

For a moment she didn’t respond, absorbing his words, his vehement denial confusing her. He certainly didn’t sound like a man who mistreated his staff, didn’t sound like the ogre she had envisaged. Her initial abhorrence was shifting. The layers of the onion peeled back were revealing a man far removed from the malicious man she had built up in her mind. But suspicion still abounded. The simple facts spoke for themselves—she had seen first-hand the devastation his leadership caused.

‘This is Matthew’s fault.’ His voice was calmer now, but she could hear the hatred behind it, hear the venom behind each word. But his anger at Matthew brought only cold comfort; twelve months of pain were not eradicated that easily. ‘I would never treat my staff like that.’

‘But you have!’ Livid eyes glared at him. ‘Don’t you understand, Luca, that you’ve done just that? Matthew may just be your partner—or manager, or co-owner, or whatever it is he calls himself—but it’s your name on the headed paper, your signature on the cheques. You’re the one destroying my father!’

‘Sei pazza!’ His expletive needed no translation. The hands that had been clenched grabbed at her wrists, pulling her towards him, but the fury she had unleashed didn’t scare her, if anything it empowered her. She let her words sink in, gathered her shaking thoughts and took a deep cleansing breath before she continued, her voice calmer now, but still filled with unbridled hatred.

‘Matthew has been blackmailing me.’ She felt the hands around her wrists tighten, saw the fury burning in his eyes as she continued in low, steady tones, lacing each word with the contempt it deserved. ‘He won’t just sack my father; he’ll destroy him in the process. He’s made it very clear to me that he’ll accuse my father of embezzlement if things don’t go according to his sordid plans. He’s already ruined my father’s career, and now it would seem he’s happy to trash my father’s reputation if it will further his cause.’

‘Which is?’

The hands weren’t just tight around her wrists now, they were like two steel vices, and Felicity wriggled them free.

‘Matthew considers it his divine right to have a pretty blonde wife on his arm.’ She gave a wry smile. ‘And if that sounds conceited I make no apology.’

‘It is the truth,’ he said simply, his mind temporarily leaving the devastating news she had just imparted and focusing instead on the attractive woman in front of him. ‘You make it sound like a curse to be beautiful.’

‘I never said I was beautiful,’ Felicity corrected matter-of-factly. ‘But, yes, looking like a fragile teenager can have its disadvantages, both on the professional and private front.’ She stared at him boldly, her back rigid, her eyes defiant. ‘Would you take me seriously in the boardroom, Mr Santanno?’

Her question clearly confused him, but he answered her promptly. ‘I am not sexist. If your point was valid of course I would listen.’

He almost sounded as if he meant it, but Felicity tried and failed to bite back a scornful laugh.

‘You contradict yourself, Felice.’ Luca responded. ‘You demand to be taken seriously, despite your stunning looks, while on the other hand you are prepared to get engaged to a man who wants you only for a trophy. It doesn’t make sense.’

‘I thought I could do it.’ The scorn was gone from her voice. The directness of his observation was as loud as her own conscience. ‘I really thought I could treat this arrangement as a business deal.’

‘But in the end you couldn’t go through with it.’ It was a statement, not a question, but still she gave a tired nod.

‘I’m not a romantic, Luca. I don’t believe in the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. I don’t think there’s a soul mate out there, waiting in the wings for me. Marrying Matthew wasn’t saying goodbye to some long-held cherished dream; it was a means to an end, a solution to a problem.’

‘For someone so young you have a very jaded view of marriage.’ He shook his head in bemusement. ‘What if he had wanted children? What if he—?’

‘No!’ She shook her head vehemently. ‘I would never have given him a baby.’

‘How can you be sure?’ Luca demanded. ‘How do you know he wouldn’t have upped the stakes, demanded a child?’

‘He could have demanded it till he was blue in the face, but that is the one thing I wouldn’t have given him—whatever the cost to my father.’

‘At least you thought that much through.’ His eyes raked her face, searching for a clue in the chameleon pools of her eyes, for insight into this fickle personality.

‘That’s one thing that wasn’t open to negotiation.’ For an age her words hung in the air. Escaping his hungry eyes, she stared down, taking in the dark strong hands entwined around her slender wrists. She could almost hear the question in his unspoken words, the expectation in each rapid short breath as he waited for her to elaborate. ‘I could never have had his child.’ She turned to go, but still he held her.

‘Tell me just one thing?’ he asked, and as she reluctantly turned to face him he stared into those amber eyes, so wary and fierce. She reminded him of a stray kitten his mother had brought home, hissing and spitting, yet utterly adorable. ‘How did you get to be so bitter, Felice?’

For a second she wavered, his harsh judgement searing through her. She wanted to scream at his injustice, to tell him he was wrong, but what possible purpose would that serve?

It was better that he thought her a hard-nosed madam, better just to walk away now.

‘Years of practice. Now…’ she gave a very thin, very strained smile ‘…if you’ll let me have my wrist back, please, I’d like to have that shower.’

Oh, the bliss of the water as it slid over her body, washing away the caked on make up, the sticky lacquered hair. She allowed the tears she had held back so fiercely to slip unnoticed down her cheeks as she stood trembling under the jets, trying to fathom what she had done, the huge ramifications of the Pandora’s box she had opened.

Wrapping herself in a soft white robe, she dragged a comb through her damp blonde hair. She was almost listless now, the unleashed emotions leaving her curiously drained. Staring in the mirror, she gazed at her reflection. The clear amber eyes stared back, for once unsure. The usually stiff upper lip was trembling as she attempted a mental plan of attack, a resolution to her problems.

She had really thought she could do it.

Really thought she could push emotion aside, ignore the awful implications of an empty engagement, do whatever it might take to buy her father some peace. But in the end she had failed him.

She pushed aside the internal ream of excuses that sprang to mind as forcibly as she pushed open the bathroom door.