Hired:The Italian's Bride

“That would be lovely, Luca.” Her voice was soft, but it cut straight to the heart of him.

“I have some calls to make, first,” he said bluntly, and without another word, she left his office, shutting the door behind her.

He picked up the phone and began to put his plans in motion.

Mari studied her reflection with a frown, wondering for the umpteenth time if she should have worn the dress. But the Panorama Room was formal, and she knew the perfect dress was the one she’d bought after their gallery trip. Still heady from Luca’s kisses, she’d stared at the dress in the window for only a few seconds before darting inside to try it on. Mari had been under a spell that day, she was sure of it now. The rich scarlet silk of the dress seemed so unlike her, the cut even more daring as it swept from one shoulder down to her waist, leaving the other shoulder bare, the skirt then falling negligently to the floor.

It might have been modest except for the deep slit at the side, revealing her other moment of insanity—the red, sequined slingbacks.

She didn’t want to be here. She wasn’t sure how to gracefully say goodbye, not when she wanted more. Even when wanting more frightened her so badly her knees were shaking.

Mari swiped a finger beneath her eyelids, wiping away any stray smudges of liner and forcing a smile to the other occupant of the public bathroom.

Her life had been devoid of affection for so long, and she wanted desperately to be romanced. Even if it was only for tonight.

She gathered her pashmina firmly around her and squared her shoulders. It was impossible, she knew that. And caring for Luca as she did and still knowing he wasn’t for her gave even a simple farewell dinner a bittersweet taste.

She turned toward the marble stairs and her gaze fell on Luca, waiting for her at the top.

Her heart gave a single, satisfying thump, as if to say, “This is it.”

For a few seconds her feet refused to move as their gazes locked. It was something out of a bygone movie as she climbed each of the four stairs, her hand resting on the curve of the elaborate iron railing. The night of shared secrets ceased to exist; the tense atmosphere at breakfast and in the moments since drifted from her memory as she walked to him, her shoes making tiny clicks on the Italian veined marble, her breath catching at how very splendid he looked in evening wear.

At the top he took her hands and kissed each of her cheeks and her eyes slid closed before she could think twice. Pulling back slightly, he held out his arm, and she hesitantly looped hers through his elbow, awareness and something darker skittering along her nerve endings as he placed his hand over her forearm.

“You look…bellisima. Beautiful, Mariella. More beautiful than I can possibly describe.”

This was the Luca she remembered, not the practiced stranger from their breakfast, or the distant boss from this afternoon. Whatever had caused the change, it was gone and in its place was a man who exuded warmth and spoke to her as if she were the only woman in the world. She tried to push the hope down in her heart, yet a little of it remained. Her throat tightened as he led her to the door of the dining room. This was what he’d brought her to, then. He’d made her hope where before there had been nothing.

Then the door opened and her lips dropped open.

It was more than she’d dreamed, even though she’d seen the plans. Everything was gilded and regal, like stepping into a fairy tale with her prince on her arm. Chandeliers dripped with crystal and gold; pristine linens a backdrop for the cream and gold china and the distinctive tinkle of real crystal stemware. Candles flickered in clear, thick pots, covering everything with a luminous, peachy glow. Tuxedoed waitstaff darted between tables amid the hush of opulence.

It was the royal castle Luca had envisioned from the beginning and it was perfect. She knew the end was growing near, yet that little seed of hope in her heart told her it felt like a beginning. “Oh, Luca. Look at what you’ve done.” Her feet stopped moving as she blinked rapidly.

“Not just me. You, Mariella. You inspired this the day you took me to the attic.”

“Me?” She turned to him in surprise, found his eyes on her steady and completely in earnest.

“You inspire me, Mariella. Is that so hard to believe?”

“Yes,” she whispered, her stomach lifting uncontrollably as his gaze dropped to her mouth. He wouldn’t dare kiss her here, would he?

And the moment held, suspended.

He’d been waiting. For her. Tonight she wanted to live the fairy tale. To grasp the few fleeting hours and pretend she was the princess. To believe she was chosen. She knew it would end soon enough. Tonight it was hers and she would not ruin it with doubts and fears.