“I normally prefer the stairs,” Marcu said, “but you’ve been on your feet all day, so I suggest we take the elevator.”
They did, traveling down, but it was impossible to say how far down they went, before the doors silently opened, revealing a black-and-white marble parquet floor, massive columns, and what looked like the entrance to a huge bank vault. Walls glimmered gold and silver on the other side of the vault entrance. She glanced at Marcu, an eyebrow lifting in silent enquiry.
He gestured for her to proceed through the open vault door, where they were greeted by a gentleman in a dark suit and black shirt. “Mr. Uberto,” the man said. “It’s good to have you back.”
They were ushered past an elegant bar of stainless steel and thick glass where a bartender was mixing drinks, then through another archway to a dining room dotted with chandeliers. The chandeliers were an eclectic mix of styles and time periods, and hung from a silver ceiling casting soft pools of light on pale lavender velvet chairs and upholstered booths. There weren’t more than a dozen tables in the room. There were men at some tables, and couples at others. Monet and Marcu were taken to yet another room, this one small and private, with just one table. The chandelier was all pink glass, and the upholstery on the high back chairs was gray.
Monet sank into her well-upholstered chair with an appreciative sigh. It felt even more welcoming than it looked. “This is quite a place,” she said, as waiters appeared in quick succession with bottles of chilled mineral water, olives, and pâté with slivers of toasted baguette.
“It was once part of the Bank of Sicily. It’s now a private members’ club.”
“I suspected as much.” She reached for an olive and popped it in her mouth, suddenly ravenous. “Let me guess, your father used to have a membership here, and they extended an invitation to you?”
“My grandfather used to own the bank, my father closed it, and when he couldn’t find someone to buy the building for its proper value, I took it on and turned the Vault into a private club five years ago.”
“What happened to the rest of the building?”
“It’s now a members-only hotel and spa.”
“Do you use the same door to access the hotel and spa?”
“No, there is a different entrance.”
“Why?”
“Because membership to the hotel doesn’t give one automatic membership to the Vault.”
“Is this where you stay when you’re in London?”
“The top floor is my apartment, yes.”
“It’s quite spacious.”
“You don’t make that sound like a question,” he replied, leaning back in his chair.
“It’s not,” she answered, before thanking the waiter who presented her with a silver menu. She glanced down at it, scanning the delectable offerings. She could have been perfectly happy with just pâté and toast but once she spotted the flat-iron steak she knew what she wanted.
After ordering, Marcu got straight to the point. “I do need you, urgently. I would have liked to leave tonight, but obviously it’s too late now. So I’ll organize travel for the morning—”
“Marcu, I haven’t said yes.”
“But you will.”
She rolled her eyes, frustrated, and yet part of her frustration was based on the truth in his words. She did owe him. “January would be so much better for me.”
“I’ve already told you, I have a conference in the Far East in January, and I would like to have things sorted by then.”
“Sorted as in...?”
“Married, with Vittoria at home with the children. I worry more about the children when I am far away. This way they’d have their nanny, Miss Sheldon, who’s on leave at the moment, and a mother—”
“But they don’t have a close relationship with this new mother, do they?”
“They’ve been introduced.”
She felt a bubble of incredulous laughter. “I don’t know who to feel more sorry for, your future wife, or your children. Where is your sensitivity—?”
“Oh, that’s long gone. I’m as hard as they come now.”
“Your poor future wife.”
“I’m not romantic. I never have been.”
“So says the man who loved opera? Who’d listen to Puccini for hours?”
“You loved opera. I simply supported your passion.”
She eyed him, trying to come to terms with this new version of Marcu. He was so hard to stomach. “You do know you’d be better off hiring a new nanny, or even two, to job-share than trying to fix things by acquiring a wife. Wives do come with feelings—”
“Not all women require extravagant gestures. Vittoria is quite practical. And I’m hoping you can be practical, too. I’ll pay you one hundred thousand euros for the next five weeks,” he added. “Hopefully that will adequately cover any lost wages from Bernard’s.”
“And if they don’t take me back afterward?”
“You will continue to earn twenty thousand euros a week until I find you a new position.”
She was intrigued and appalled. “That’s a lot of money.”
“My children are worth it.”
“So you are still consumed with guilt over your wife’s death.”
“I’m not consumed with guilt, just determined to make amends. They are very good children, but they are also in need of a mother. I do not, and cannot, meet all their needs, which is why I’m determined to marry again. A mother will be better equipped to handle their ups and downs and various emotions.”
“This mother you speak of will be practically a stranger to them.”
“But they will form a relationship. I don’t expect it to happen overnight, but I do believe it will happen eventually, and I imagine when a new baby arrives, the children will be excited to have a new brother or sister.”
Monet studied him for a long moment. Did he really think his children, who had already been deprived of a mother, would welcome the competition of a new baby for their father’s attention? “I remember you studied finance at university. It’s a shame you didn’t study more psychology. Creating a new family isn’t an easy thing, and children who have been through loss and heartbreak don’t always welcome more change.”
“I don’t expect them to understand immediately. They are still very young but their innocence is also to their advantage. They will be grateful for a permanent mother figure. As it is they are very attached to their current nanny, and I fear the day Miss Sheldon leaves us for good.”
“I thought your nanny was only on temporary leave?”
“So she is, but I see the writing on the wall. It’s only a matter of time.” He hesitated. “Miss Sheldon has fallen in love with my pilot. They’ve been secretly dating for the past year. They don’t think I know, but neither of them are as discreet as they imagine.”
“Your nanny couldn’t marry and continue working for you?”
“They will want to start a family of their own. She’s in her thirties. I know how these things go. She’s not our first nanny, nor will she be the last.”
“But she hasn’t left yet—”
“I don’t care to discuss Miss Sheldon with you. I’m simply informing you that you will not lose any wages while you work for me.”
His brusque tone put her teeth on edge. His arrogance was beyond off-putting. The very idea of working for him made her nauseous. She’d had so many feelings for him, but none of them involved being his employee. She didn’t want him as her superior. The idea of having to answer to him made her want to stand up and storm out. She’d thought she’d loved him once—desperately, passionately—but he’d deemed her unsuitable. Unworthy.
Suddenly she flashed back to another conversation, one between Marcu and his father as they’d discussed how inappropriate Monet was for someone of Marcu’s stature. That Monet might be sweet and charming but she was the kind of woman you took as your mistress, not as your wife.
To hear this at eighteen. To be so painfully and thoroughly dismissed, reduced—marginalized—at only eighteen. It had changed her forever.
“I can’t work for you,” she said in a low voice. “I can’t be at your beck and call.”
“I won’t be around after the first few days. I’ll only be there to get you settled and then I’m taking Vittoria to Altapura for Christmas. She loves to ski. She’s a very good skier, too, so unless something unexpected happens, we’ll return just after New Year.”
“You won’t be spending the holidays with your children?” she asked, confused.
“No. That’s the whole point of me seeking you out. I won’t be with them this year, but you will be.”
Monet felt another welling of pity for his children. It was also difficult to believe that Marcu had become such a cold, pragmatic man. He’d been so warm and kind when he was younger. He’d been a very loving, and much-adored, big brother. “Do they know this?”
“They know that it’s going to be a different kind of holiday this year. I haven’t told them more than that. I didn’t think it appropriate until Vittoria accepts my proposal.”
“You worry me, Marcu, and you make me worry for the children, too.”
Marcu’s eyes met hers and held, the light blue gaze heavily hooded, and assessing. “They are not mistreated in any way.”
“They’ll miss you.”
“They won’t. They might even be relieved to have me gone.” He hesitated. “I know they have more fun with Miss Sheldon when I’m away.”
“And that doesn’t bother you?”
“I never asked to be both mother and father.”
“But leaving them altogether seems exceptionally unfair—”
“It seems you want to fight with me. Does it give you pleasure? I’ve already told you I’m not good at this parenting thing. I have not been a rousing success. What more do you want from me?”