Moretti's Marriage Command

Luca must have been thinking along the same lines because he reached for the in-flight magazine as the plane took off, and then spent the rest of the four-hour flight looking over some paperwork. Hannah asked him once if he needed her to do anything, and he snapped at her that he didn’t.

In fact, with each passing hour of the flight, he seemed to get more and more tense, his muscles taut, his eyes shadowed, his face grim. Hannah wondered what was going on, but she didn’t dare ask.

She tried to watch a movie but her mind was pinging all over the place, and so she ended up simply staring out of the window at the azure sky, waiting for the minutes and hours to pass.

And then they did, and they landed on Santa Nicola, the Mediterranean glittering like a bright blue promise in the distance.

‘Is someone meeting us at the airport?’

‘Yes, one of Tyson’s staff is picking us up.’ Luca rose from his seat and shrugged into his suit jacket. ‘Let me do the talking.’

Okay... ‘I thought you wanted me to socialise.’

‘I do. But not with the staff.’

Bewildered, Hannah stared at him, but Luca’s deliberately bland expression gave nothing away. He held a hand out to her to help her from her seat, and after a second’s hesitation she took it.

The feel of his warm, dry palm sliding across and then enfolding hers was a jolt to her system, like missing the last step in a staircase. Instinctively she started to withdraw her hand but Luca tightened his hands over hers and pulled her forward.

‘Come on,’ he murmured. ‘People are waiting.’

With his hand still encasing hers she followed him out of the plane, blinking in the bright sunlight as she navigated the narrow steps down to the tarmac. She was just thinking that she wished she’d packed her sunglasses in her carry-on rather than her suitcase when she heard someone call a greeting to Luca and then felt his arm snake around her waist.

Hannah went rigid in shock at the feel of his fingers splayed on one hip, her other hip pressed against his thigh.

‘Signor Moretti! We are so pleased to welcome you to Santa Nicola.’ A tanned, friendly-looking man in khaki shorts and a red polo shirt with the Tyson logo on the breast pocket came striding towards them. ‘And this is...?’ he asked, glancing at Hannah with a smile.

‘Hannah Stewart,’ Luca filled in smoothly, his arm still firmly about her waist. ‘My fiancеe.’

CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_5304709b-3e8b-5c76-a896-3892d1f3ac31)

HANNAH STOOD BLINKING stupidly at the man who had come forward. He reached for her hand and numbly she gave it to him.

‘Signorina Stewart. So pleased to meet you! Signor Moretti mentioned he was bringing his fiancеe, and we look forward to getting to know you. I am Stefano, one of the members of Mr Tyson’s staff.’

Hannah could only stare at Stefano, trying to find the brain cells to string two words together. The only word she could think of was the one Luca had used with such confident precision. Fiancеe.

What on earth...?

‘Hannah,’ Luca murmured, and she felt the pressure of his hand on her waist, the warmth of his palm seeping through her skirt.

Still reeling, she forced a smile onto her face. ‘Pleased to meet you, I’m sure.’

As soon as she said the words she wished she hadn’t. Now she was complicit in this...whatever this was. A lie, obviously. A ruthless deception—and for what purpose? Why on earth would Luca pretend she was something she wasn’t?

Because he was pretending he was something he wasn’t.

The answer was so blindingly obvious Hannah couldn’t believe she hadn’t twigged earlier. Andrew Tyson was a family man, and this weekend was meant to be a social occasion. Of course. Luca Moretti, the famous womaniser, needed a woman. A fiancеe to show he was the kind of family man Tyson must want him to be. What other reason could he have possibly had for introducing her that way? For lying?

‘Come this way,’ Stefano said, beckoning towards the waiting open-topped Jeep emblazoned with the Tyson logo, a dolphin jumping in front of a sun. ‘Mr Tyson’s villa is only a few minutes away.’

Hannah walked like an automaton towards the Jeep, Luca next to her, his arm still around her. She wanted to shrug it off but she didn’t think she’d be able to; his grip was like a vice. She tried to catch his eye but he was staring blandly ahead. Damn the man. What on earth was she supposed to do now?

They got in the back of the Jeep and Stefano hopped in the front. Hannah was barely aware of the gorgeous surroundings: mountains provided a stunning, jagged backdrop to lush greenery that framed both sides of the paved single-track road. She’d read that Santa Nicola was virtually unspoilt, save for the resort, and she could see it now in the jungle of bright flowers that gave way to superbly landscaped gardens and high walls of pink sandstone.

‘Luca,’ she muttered meaningfully, although she hardly knew where to begin, how to protest. ‘You can’t—’

‘I already have,’ he murmured as the Jeep came to a stop in front of a sprawling villa, its pale stone walls climbing with ivy and bougainvillea.

‘I know,’ Hannah snapped. ‘And you shouldn’t have—’ She was prevented from saying anything more by Stefano coming around to open the door on her side and help her out onto the cobbled pavement.

‘Mr Tyson looks forward to welcoming you properly this evening, during the cocktail hour. In the meantime you can both rest and refresh yourselves.’

‘Thank you,’ Hannah muttered, although everything in her cried out to end this absurd charade. She was so angry and shocked she could barely manage to speak civilly to Stefano, who of course had no idea what was going on. Yet.

And Hannah wondered how on earth she could tell him, or anyone here, the truth. Luca had made it virtually impossible, and yet still she fantasised about coming clean and watching Luca Moretti get the send-up he undoubtedly deserved. How dare he put her in this position?

Stefano led them into the gracious entryway of the villa, a soaring foyer that made the most of the house’s unparalleled view of the sea. Down a long terracotta-tiled corridor, and then through double louvred doors into a spacious and elegant bedroom, a massive king-sized bed its impressive centrepiece, the French windows opened to a private terrace that led to the beach, gauzy curtains blowing in the sea breeze.

‘This is marvellous, thank you,’ Luca said, shaking Stefano’s hand, and with a murmured farewell Stefano closed the doors behind them, finally, thankfully, leaving them alone.

Hannah whirled around to face Luca, who stood in the centre of the bedroom, hands in the pockets of his trousers, a faint frown on his face as he surveyed the room with its elegant furnishings in cream and light green.

‘How could you?’ she gasped out. ‘How dare you?’

Luca moved his gaze to her. He seemed utterly unmoved, without a shred of remorse or embarrassment. ‘If you are referring to the way I introduced you—’

‘Of course I’m referring to that!’

‘It was necessary.’ And he strolled over to the windows as if that was actually the end of the discussion.

Hannah stared at his broad back, watching as he closed and fastened the windows. Finally she managed to say in what she hoped was a level, reasonable voice, ‘Do you actually think this can work?’

Luca turned around to face her, eyebrows arrogantly raised. ‘I don’t embark on ventures that are doomed to failure.’

‘I think you may be in for a new experience, then,’ Hannah snapped.

‘Why? Why shouldn’t Andrew Tyson believe you’re my fiancеe?’

‘Because I’m not—’

‘Are you not suitable?’ Luca steamrolled over her, his voice silky and yet underlaid with iron. ‘Are you not pretty or smart or sophisticated enough?’

A hot flush broke out over Hannah’s body as she glared at him. ‘No, I’m not,’ she answered flatly. ‘As you well know. I hadn’t even flown first class before today—or drunk champagne—’ Suddenly the memory of him pressing the flute into her hands, smiling at her with such gentle amusement, was enough to make her burst into tears. She swallowed hard before continuing furiously, realisation ripping away any illusions she’d had left. ‘So everything you’ve done has been to maintain this...this ridiculous facade.’ She glanced down at her varnished nails, her hands curling instinctively into fists. ‘The manicure and pedicure?’ she spat. ‘The hair and make-up...’ She remembered the look of approval in his eyes. You look good. And she’d inwardly preened at his praise. ‘You just wanted me to look the part.’

‘Is that so objectionable?’

‘This whole farce is objectionable! You tricked me.’