One Night To Wedding Vows

‘Sorry.’ His teeth clenched at the laughable inadequacy of the word.

But Sergio simply brushed away the comment with a gesture of his hand. ‘Continuity is important to me—you know what I’m talking about.’

Raoul exhaled a long, slow, measured breath and thought, Hell, not this, not now!

‘Your brother was never going to provide an heir.’

Raoul said nothing. This was the closest the older man had ever come to acknowledging his brother’s sexuality. He’d never called Jamie’s long-term partner, Roberto, anything other than his friend. Raoul felt a stab of guilt. He should have stayed for Rob at least—the man had been utterly devastated at the funeral service.

‘Jamie is barely cold...’ But his skin had been like marble when... Raoul cleared his throat. ‘Can’t this wait?’

‘Time is not a luxury I have.’ Sergio saw his grandson wince and took a step forward, adopting the stare that made powerful men sweat, and laid his hands on his grandson’s shoulders. ‘I made allowances for you after... Lucy died.’ Raoul’s hooded gaze dropped, a nerve along his jaw clenched. ‘But you have to move on.’

‘I have moved on.’

A sound of distaste escaped the old man’s lips before he turned away. ‘I’m not talking about screwing around.’

The uncharacteristic crudeness from his grandfather’s lips wiped the last shreds of alcohol-induced haze from Raoul’s brain. ‘There is no doubt about the diagnosis?’

‘None.’

‘Sorry,’ he said again, knowing that any more tactile or emotional gestures would not be appreciated. His grandfather had a volcanic temperament but he had never encouraged physical displays of emotion in either of his grandsons. It hadn’t stopped Jamie, but he... It hadn’t come naturally to Raoul. He had learned the advantages of not showing his feelings—his robot face, Lucy had called it. Half her twisted pleasure had been seeing her victims suffer.

The older man tipped his head in acknowledgement. ‘It will all come to you now. Whether,’ he added before the flare of anger in his grandson’s dark eyes could spark into flame, ‘you want it or not. You will be a powerful man.’

The last man standing.

Whether I want it or not...and I don’t!

‘That power brings responsibility,’ Sergio warned.

It wasn’t the time to point out that many considered Raoul a powerful man already. While Jamie had chosen to work for his grandfather, after Harvard Raoul had joined a New York law firm, refused the opportunity to become the youngest partner in the history of that prestigious firm and had instead struck out on his own, ignoring all the voices that said he’d regret it.

No voices now, when just a few years later he had offices in several global capitals with a client list of some of the richest companies and private individuals in the world.

The perfect life, but without the rush of the courtroom he was bored out of his mind! At some point he had stopped being a litigator and become a glorified manager. But his brother was the only person Raoul had confided his frustration to. Damn you! Why did you have to go?

‘And wealth, of course, but more importantly you will carry on the name. And don’t launch into one of your egalitarian rants—’

Raoul cut across him. ‘Is this where you say something that begins with, if you want to make a dying old man happy...?’

‘Yes.’

‘So, moral blackmail.’ He spoke without resentment; he could see the logic in his grandfather’s approach.

‘I may never see my grandchildren.’

He lowered his gaze, though not before Raoul had seen a sheen form in the old man’s eyes. But when he looked up again the only thing in those deep-set eyes was a familiar ruthless determination. Raoul dropped the hand he had stretched out and rubbed it along his thigh, his square fingertips white as he pressed into muscle. He sighed.

‘But I have time enough to see you married to a woman who will give you children. You can’t recapture what you had with Lucy and it’s about time you accepted it.’

An image floated into Raoul’s head, a laughing face, perfect and beautiful, the way the world had seen his wife... Recapture...? Only an insane person would want to recapture the life of undiluted hell he had lived with his blackmailing, toxic wife.

Raoul was not insane!

His marriage had not left him a woman hater. He liked women; women were gorgeous! The problem was him. It was a fact painfully proven that when he allowed himself to be emotionally involved with a woman, he simply couldn’t trust his own judgement. It was fatally flawed.

So when his grandfather had accused him of screwing around he had not been wrong, nor had it been an accident. Casual sex satisfied a basic need, and if occasionally he was conscious—regardless of how great the sex—of a nebulous something missing, it was something that he was willing to live without.

‘Anyone in mind?’

His grandfather ignored the sarcastic tone. ‘Obviously the choice is yours.’

‘Generous of you.’

‘This is not a joke. Our family name is not a joke. I do not want to die with a playboy grandson as my sole legacy in life. It’s time you faced up to your responsibilities.’

Raoul bit back a retort that hovered over his tongue, hands digging deep in his pockets as he walked towards the ornate marble fireplace. ‘So what do you suggest—should I draw up a job spec and work my way through a shortlist of applicants? Or are you, God forbid, suggesting I follow my heart?’ The sarcasm spilled over, but Raoul didn’t care. The day couldn’t get any worse now.

Again his tone fell on infertile ground; instead his grandfather looked thoughtful.

‘That is actually not such a bad idea.’

‘What, following my heart?’ His experience with Lucy had cured Raoul of any trust in following his heart. The fact that there had been clues with Lucy only rubbed salt in the wound, clues that in any other situation he would not have ignored, but he had been in love and seen only what he had wanted. ‘Or advertising?’

The older man flashed him a look. ‘Sometimes putting things down in writing focuses the mind. After all, your wife will require certain q...qualities...’ Without warning Sergio reached out for support, a sound close to a groan escaping his clamped teeth.

It was all so unexpected that for a moment Raoul froze. Then as the old man staggered the paralysis broke. The resentment of moments earlier evaporated as he sprinted to his grandfather’s side, reaching him before he crumpled.

A supportive arm across Sergio’s back helped lift him into the nearest chair. Raoul was shocked to feel through the tailored suit, not the solidity and strength that had always been there, but sharp ribs.

This was real. It was happening.

For the first time the reality hit him. His grandfather had been the one constant in his life and now he was dying and nothing Raoul could do would stop it.

The same way he hadn’t been able to stop his mother being just another statistic in a flu epidemic, his father shooting out his brains or his brother’s big heart bursting. It seemed like a lot of death and loss for one person to take. A curling wave of anger and helplessness washed over him.

He really was the last man standing. He could get drunk and feel sorry for himself or he could... He looked at his grandfather and felt an overwhelming wave of love for the tough, proud old man.

He could do something. His grandfather had just told him what he could do, not to stop him dying but to make him die content. He wouldn’t have thought twice if it were bone marrow or a kidney he was being asked for, so why hesitate now?

Because losing his right hand would be easy compared to what his grandfather was asking. Marriage had taught him that he could not trust his own judgement when his heart was engaged. And that you could never really know another person, never trust them. So gambling your future and giving up your freedom was insane.

There had to be an alternative and when he sobered up it would be obvious...

‘I’ll get an ambulance.’

‘No...’ The hand that covered his was shaking but the voice was stronger now and emphatic as he repeated the prohibition. ‘No, no hospitals. It’s passed.’ The hand that still grasped his grandson’s tightened. ‘I can’t make you do this...today of all days... Jamie would have called me a selfish old—’