His Merciless Marriage Bargain

Gio placed the Italian paper on top of the English one. He tapped the photo as he read the headline to her, translating it from Italian to English. She looked at him, dark arching brows drawn.

“My grandfather Marcello had an older brother,” Gio told her quietly. “He was kidnapped during an outing, taken right from the arms of his mother during a morning walk. The kidnappers demanded a million dollars. My great-grandparents paid the ransom. Their fourteen-month-old was returned to them, in a box.”

“Dead?” she whispered.

He nodded. “It was a sensational story, and the three men were eventually arrested, tried and found guilty. But it didn’t bring back the child. My grandfather grew up aware that he was the replacement, and equally aware that his birth did nothing to assuage his mother’s grief. Money does not always solve problems. Wealth can make one a target. I do not want Michael vulnerable, and yet you, cara, have made him so.”

Gio could see the effect of his words. Rachel paled and grew still. He almost regretted putting the blame on her shoulders, but she had to understand, the world he inhabited was not like hers. His world was one of power and prestige, but also envy and greed. People could be dangerous. Gio had to protect Michael—and Rachel—from those that would try to destroy them.

The breakfast room was unbearably quiet.

Heartsick, Rachel felt hot and then cold, her stomach plummeting. Last night as she’d paced with the baby, she’d thought about money, and how important it was for her to feel stable and secure. She’d never considered the flip side, and how having a great deal of money could become a trap. “I’m sorry,” she said, meaning it. “I’m sorry to have brought Michael to the world’s attention. It makes me sick—”

“We just need to be careful from now on. We need to make sure he has the right people around him and be sure he’s not exposed to danger.”

She nodded jerkily, eyes gritty, trying to wrap her head around Michael’s future. He would forever be an heir now: the boy who’d inherit a fortune. It wasn’t the life she’d wanted for him. She hadn’t wanted to change his life, just improve it. “I wish I could go back… I wish I’d known.”

“What’s done is done. Now we need to make the best of it.”

“But won’t a party here invite trouble into your home?”

“I have already vetted the guest list, and there will be security, a great deal of it.”

She said nothing and he pressed on.

“The party will be on Saturday, next week. We’ll host the event in the grand ballroom. With the invitations going out in today’s mail, it will keep the ball from looking like a rushed affair.”

“A ball? Not a cocktail party? Something simple?”

“It’s impossible to host anything in a seventeenth-century ballroom without it looking like a major event. Besides, everyone likes to dance.”

“But I don’t see how an engagement ball will solve any of our problems!”

“It will add legitimacy to our relationship, publicly solidifying us as a couple. People will enjoy helping us celebrate our commitment to each other and Michael.”

“Speaking of Michael, when will we tell everyone that Michael is actually Juliet and Antonio’s?”

“Never.”

“What? Why not?”

“There is no need to make an announcement. Those close to us will know the truth. But the rest, why correct them? It’s no one’s business but ours—” He broke off as Anna returned with coffee and breakfast.

Rachel murmured thanks for her coffee but couldn’t even look at the food, far too shaken by the developments. “How many people are you inviting to this party?”

“Two hundred and sixty. I anticipate we will have about two hundred actually attend.”

“That’s a huge party.”

“The ballroom is huge.”

“Then put the party in another room, your mother’s favorite room, for example. We could have twenty in there and it would be lovely.”

“That sounds lovely and intimate, but it won’t communicate what we want it to. A large, lavish party doesn’t just convey confidence, but excitement, and joy…all the things we want the public to associate with our marriage.”

“Our engagement, you mean. A faux engagement, at that.”

He shrugged. “The goal is to present a united front to all. Even to those in our inner circle.”

“What about your mother?”

“I will tell her what she needs to know.”

“The truth.”

“I am not going to create worry and anxiety for her, not if I don’t have to.”