The Marriage Clause (Dirty Sexy Rich 1)

Except the thought of losing Katherine for good.

“Give me a week to change your mind,” I proposed, my gaze pinning hers, willing her to agree to my deal. I needed this to work. “If by the end of the week, you still want to be free...I’ll do what I need to release you from your obligations to the Donato family without penalty, as long as you promise to keep the details of our contract confidential.”

Katherine stared with suspicion, clearly believing my offer was pure crap. “You’re lying. I don’t believe for a second that your family would walk away from an investment.”

She was right, but I planned to win, so the consequence of failure was a nonissue. However, I couldn’t exactly say that without sounding like an arrogant ass. Instead, I said, “This isn’t about an investment—it’s about me and you. Give me a chance to change your mind.”

“I’m serious, Luca. I don’t want to marry you.”

“You’ve made yourself perfectly clear.”

“Then let’s skip the experiment and just call it done. You go your way, I’ll go mine.”

Never. “If you’re so sure your feelings won’t change, where’s the harm in letting me spin my wheels?” While she considered my point, I pressed my agenda, saying, “Give me one week,” because I wasn’t going to stop until she agreed.

The fact was, I loved her. I didn’t want anyone but Katherine.

Now it was up to me to remind her why, once upon a time, she’d loved me, too.

CHAPTER TWO

Katherine

WAS LUCA ACTUALLY offering me a way out of my contract? Was it that simple? Agree to spend a week with him and at the end he’d let me go?

Offering the deal went against Luca’s nature—he was hardwired to go after the win, no matter the cost.

In business, he was ruthless and vicious. His reputation in certain circles was downright scary, and yet he was offering me an opportunity to walk, free and clear.

My belly trembled at the implication, even as there was the tiniest sliver of hesitation that perhaps I didn’t want to be free.

Of course I wanted to be free. Why else would I have made such a bold move to get away from the Donato family?

Because maybe you wanted him to know heartbreak, too?

I shoved aside that annoying voice that seemed to whisper in my ear at the worst moments. I felt nothing for Luca but contempt. I wasn’t going to hitch myself to someone I couldn’t imagine looking at from across the dining table without wanting to throw the saltshaker at his head.

But even more so, I couldn’t give my heart to someone I couldn’t trust. Giovanni had taught his sons that fidelity was expected of their wives but was not necessary for men. The more I’d gotten to know Giovanni, the more I knew I wanted nothing to do with his family.

Especially after Luca had proved he was nothing more than a chip off Giovanni’s block.

But I knew that if I didn’t at least give Luca the appearance of having a shot at winning me back, he’d never give up, and I didn’t look forward to the idea of Luca chasing me from state to state.

“What would this week together entail?” I asked warily. I knew without his admitting it that he, no doubt, thought if he could get me into bed, I’d melt like chocolate in his hands and stumble over my own feet just to walk down the aisle with him. Not fucking likely. The sex had been good—but had it been freedom good? Yes. I couldn’t even begin to delude myself into thinking otherwise. Sex had been the one thing between us that had worked spectacularly. So the answer was obvious—avoid anything that put our naked bodies in close proximity. A slow smile followed as I tacked on slyly, “What if I said there would be no sex between us?”

He shocked me with an easy shrug, saying, “Then there’s no sex.”

Yeah, right. I barked a short laugh. “I don’t believe you.” Luca needed sex the way the human body needed air.

“You have trust issues, Katherine,” he admonished, as if I didn’t already know he was a man slut who fucked anything that walked. “It’s an unattractive trait in a woman.”

“If I do, I do because of you.”

He exhaled, the subtle twitch in his jaw the only indication of his irritation, but Luca did his best to seem reflective. “I’ve made mistakes. I was young.”

“If that’s your idea of an apology, you suck,” I said.

Donatos didn’t apologize. Every action was deliberate, good or bad. From Luca’s viewpoint, he had nothing to apologize for. I could already hear his argument. Was it his fault that I’d given him my heart before he was ready? Was it his fault that I hadn’t been able to go with him to that stupid yacht party? In Luca’s mind, I’m sure the blame for his mistake landed squarely on my shoulders.

Since our breakup, I’d had time to figure out who I was and what I wanted in my life without Luca’s blinding influence clouding my judgment.

“It’s true, I probably do,” Luca conceded with a modicum of humility that momentarily shocked me. “I can’t say I’ve had a lot of practice, but believe me when I say I’m sorry for hurting you.”

I didn’t want a life with a man who couldn’t take responsibility for his fuckups—and offering a blithe semiapology years later didn’t count.

Where was his apology when it’d happened? When I was broken into pieces, sobbing my heart out, utterly betrayed? My lips pressed together to keep from venting all the frustration that he wouldn’t listen to years ago from vomiting out. Why couldn’t I let it go? Whatever had happened had happened years ago. Live in the now, not the past, as Alana liked to say airily, because she didn’t give two shits about anything deeper than when the newest Prada bag was dropping.

But I wasn’t that way. Okay, sue me—I hold grudges. Deep ones.

Especially when I was made to feel stupid and naive.

And that day, I’d felt dumber than a box of hair for believing that Luca Donato could ever be satisfied with only one woman.

I blinked back hot tears, instantly irritated that Luca still had the power to hurt me, if even in memory. I narrowed my gaze, letting him know that I didn’t trust there was much weight behind his apology, saying, “We’ll see,” and left it at that, grateful the plane had begun to taxi. I needed the distraction.

The truth was, I didn’t actually enjoy flying. Anxiety fluttered in my chest as the plane started to eat up the runway. I gripped the armrest tightly, closing my eyes as the plane lifted into the air, the power of the jet engines rumbling beneath our feet.

I focused on my yoga breathing—from the belly, in and out. Flying was safer than driving, so they said.

I had no idea who they were, but I had to assume they knew what they were talking about.

“Are you all right?” Luca asked, interrupting my belly breathing. “You look a little pale.”

“I’m fine,” I snapped, returning to my relaxation techniques, but now I was a little dizzy. “I just get a little anxious during takeoff.”

“Here, take a sip. It’ll help soften the edges,”

Luca said, holding out his champagne flute with the remainder of his drink. I shook my head, refusing his offer. He gave me a look that said I was being childish, but I didn’t care. I didn’t need Luca tending to me, in any way. Not even if his suggestion would lessen the sudden tightening in my chest.

“I just need to breathe,” I said, demonstrating my yoga technique. “See? In and out. I feel better already.”

“Suit yourself.” Luca finished his champagne and set his glass in the elegant cup holder until the attendant could retrieve it once we hit thirty thousand feet.

Thirty thousand feet.

Eek! If human beings were meant to fly, we would’ve been born with wings! Panic started to override my breathing, and instead of controlled inhales and exhales, I was suddenly panting and spots were beginning to dance before my eyes.

“You’re so damn stubborn,” Luca said.

I couldn’t spare the oxygen to tell him to shove his opinion up his piehole, so I settled for sending him a dirty look. Damn it, I was going to have to take something to ease my anxiety, which I did not want to do with Luca sitting beside me, looking as handsome as he ever was, reminding me that I wasn’t the only woman who had eyes in her head.

Jealousy, now? Luca made me feel out of control. I wanted to tell him “go fuck yourself” in one breath, yet when women inevitably gave him fuck-me eyes, I wanted to tattoo my name on his forehead just so they knew he was mine.

But he wasn’t mine, because I didn’t want him.

It didn’t make sense in my own head, so I couldn’t possibly explain my feelings to anyone else, which became readily apparent when I’d tried to talk to Alana about the situation.

“You do realize you’re walking away from a gazillion-dollar family, right?”

“It’s not about the money, Alana,” I’d reminded her, flopping back against her plush luxury sofa the night after my last dinner engagement with Luca. “I just can’t do this. All the rules, the obligations, the expectation that I simply nod, smile and look pretty... And his mother! I’m more than a walking uterus. I was made to do more than pump out Donato babies!”