‘But...?’
‘In case my grandfather needs proof of some sort or wants to check on you...make sure I am indeed married. It is merely a precaution, that is all.’
And also a way for him to be in control, because I strongly suspected Matteo Dias was a man who needed to be in control of everything—including me. Something I resisted instinctively.
‘And in a year or two?’ I asked. ‘Why would you annul the marriage then?’
‘My grandfather has been diagnosed with cancer. He’s not been given very long to live.’
He spoke so coldly that I drew back a little.
Matteo bared his teeth in a grim smile. ‘As you are most likely able to surmise, we are not close.’
‘So you want me to marry you and then live on some remote island for a maximum of two years?’
Not that it sounded so bad right then. I was a breath away from being homeless as it was. And yet it would be a prison of sorts, and it meant giving this man all the power—two things I really didn’t like.
‘There could be worse things, surely?’
Of course there could. And yet...
‘Why should I trust you? I could agree and you could bundle me into the back of a van in the next second.’
Matteo’s eyes flashed with ire, as if he disliked being accused in such a way. ‘I could bundle you into the back of a van regardless of whether you agree or not. If you need some guarantees I shall put them in place.’
‘How?’
He shrugged. ‘Everything will be written in a legal contract and witnessed.’
I shook my head. ‘That’s not worth very much. How do I know I can trust you not to take advantage?’
His gaze raked me from head to toe. ‘Trust me, I will not take advantage.’
Ouch. My cheeks flushed and I focused my humiliated gaze on my coffee. Why was I even having this conversation?
‘But if it makes you feel better, everything can be done in public—the contract, the marriage itself, your transport. I’ll book a first-class ticket on a commercial airline.’
I hesitated, because it all sounded too good to be true, and I knew what that looked like. I knew what it felt like. Just the memory of Chris Dawson’s leering face and grasping hands was enough to turn my stomach and make me want to hang my head in shame. Surely I’d wised up since then? Realised that people spouted honeyed words and then watched you get stuck in them?
‘There must be some catch,’ I protested.
‘No catch.’
‘There’s always a catch.’
‘This time there isn’t.’
He placed one hand on my arm, making me jolt. A warm rush of longing swept through me, surprising me in its strength, because his touch was so clearly one of empathy rather than desire. I was smart enough to realise that this man did not think of me that way, and most likely never would—which was a good thing. That was a complication, not to mention a danger, I most certainly didn’t need.
He gave me a smiling look of understanding and compassion, and its warmth strengthened that surge of longing in a way that made me feel deeply uneasy. It was one thing to be physically attracted to a man like Matteo Dias. That was inevitable. It was another matter entirely to connect with him emotionally—even for a second. Far, far too dangerous.
I pulled away and he dropped his hand.
‘I understand why you’d be concerned. You’ve had a bad experience recently, and it’s all too easy to be taken advantage of these days—especially when you are a young woman on your own. You are on your own?’
It was barely a question, an
d it grated that it was so obvious I had no one in my life—no boyfriend, no family, no friends, even. ‘Yes.’ I forced myself to give him a direct look. ‘How did you know?’