The Secret to Marrying Marchesi

Rigo sighed. ‘We will need to find a way to stop this enmity if we hope to convince people this is genuine.’

‘I’ll just draw upon my mediocre acting skills, shall I?’

‘I’m serious, Nicole. There is a lot at stake here for both of us. The press is not going to be gentle.’ He raised a brow. ‘But I’m sure you’ve grown a tough skin over the years.’

‘I’ve been given no choice.’ Nicole sat back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other and casually smoothing out her dress across her knee.

‘So why run away from them in the first place?’ he asked. ‘Why not sell your story straight away?’

‘Instead of selling it now, you mean?’ She squared her shoulders at his veiled comment. ‘Is that why we’re here? For you to try to make me confess my crimes?’

Rigo shrugged. ‘I’m just trying to make sense of the woman I’m set to marry.’

‘Well, you clearly already have me tarred, so forgive me if I don’t feel like pleading my case.’ Nicole felt the shame of his accusation wash over her.

‘You’re not on trial here, Nicole. Whether or not you leaked that story makes no difference to me. I don’t need to trust you.’

‘Good, because I will never trust you,’ she countered.

‘Well, then, this is an excellent start to any marriage.’ His laugh was entirely false as he took a sip of his wine and continued to survey her with that cool blue gaze.

‘I’m sure we will live happily ever after,’ Nicole said drily. She wished she were back in the apartment watching Anna sleep rather than sitting here under his scrutiny.

‘Ah, there’s that sarcasm again,’ Rigo said harshly. ‘We may not be traditionally happy, Nicole, but we owe it to each other to make things tolerable at least. We’re in this for the long run after all.’

Nicole sat up straight in her seat. ‘Just how long do you plan to stay married?’

‘We are barely engaged and you are already planning the divorce?’

She felt his comment like a slap in the face. ‘I’m aware that you see me as a cheap copy of my mother, Rigo. Please stop insulting me.’ She cleared her throat and looked away from him, refusing to show any sign of the emotion that was bubbling under the surface.

‘Look at me. That is not what I meant.’

His hand on her wrist turned her back to him, the contact sending a thrill of electricity up her arm.

‘Per l’amore di Dio, everything I say is not a deliberate attack on your character.’

‘You have made presumptions about my character since the first time we met. At least be upfront about your opinion of me and then maybe we can move on.’

‘You want me to be honest? Fine.’ He sat back in his seat. ‘When I first saw you in that ballroom I pinned you as yet another husband hunter, joining the pack. I didn’t know your name but I knew your type. Desperate to be noticed. You were everything I deliberately avoid, and yet...I couldn’t take my eyes off you.’ He took a sip of his wine, keeping her pinned with his eyes as he continued to speak in that low, husky tone. ‘I kept seeking you out in the room, listening for your laugh. It was irritating, and damned infectious, and it made me desperate to know what the hell was so funny.’

Nicole remembered looking up into those deep blue eyes for the first time, being pinned by the infamous Marchesi blue gaze. She had already been far out of her depth and she hadn’t even known it.

‘You entranced me, Nicole. It’s rare that I do anything without a second thought. But with you... I don’t think either of us did much thinking after that first dance.’

She felt his gaze sweep over her features, down past the neckline of her dress. It wasn’t leering or inappropriate, the way he looked at her. It was the same way he had looked at her that night all those months ago. As though she were a work of art that his eyes needed to worship and savour. As though she was the singularly most beautiful woman on the earth.

She bit her lip, calming the rage of hormones that seemed to have risen within her. It must be a combination of the wine and being out for the first time in a long time, she argued with herself, and nothing to do with the magnetic male presence across the table from her.

‘And now look—it seems I’ve caught myself a husband after all.’ She raised her glass in a mock toast, desperate to steer the conversation back to safer waters.

‘If that were true you might possibly be the most forward-planning woman in history.’

His words were intended as jest, but Nicole could see a hint of speculation in his eyes.

They were interrupted by the arrival of the first dish: the chef’s specialty, pâté en croute. Nicole took her first bite and stifled the urge to moan. This was so more than just food. It was a work of culinary art. It made the tension of their conversation melt away as the food took over.