‘You speak as if this...this preposterous marriage is a fait accompli,’ she said. ‘I said it seven years ago and I’ll say it again now. I am not going to marry you.’
‘Six months is not a long time. At the end of it you get joint ownership of a luxury villa to do with as you please. You can sell your half or keep it. The choice is yours.’
The choice wasn’t hers. How could it be? She was being forced into a marriage with a man who no longer loved her—if he ever had. What he had wanted to do back then was control her. It was what he wanted to do now. What better way to punish her for having the gall to say no to him than to chain her to him in a loveless union?
Alice wouldn’t do it. No. No. No.
She wouldn’t subject herself to the humiliation of being his trophy wife while he continued to sleep with whomever he liked. He knew...he knew how much she’d hated seeing her mother cheated on by each of her husbands. It had been one of the things that had impressed her about him. He believed in monogamy—or so he’d said.
But what about your business plan?
Alice had somehow become the go-to girl for wedding make-up. The girl who had sworn against marriage was preparing brides all over London for theirs. Go figure. Her appointment diary was booked out for months ahead for the wedding season. It was becoming the biggest source of her income, especially high-profile weddings. She had plans to buy another salon—a larger place so she could extend her business because her Chelsea salon was getting too small to handle the burgeoning wedding market.
It had been a dream of hers for months. Years, actually. The only thing holding her back was the thought of taking on a load of property debt. Debt was something that terrified her. The mere thought of it kept her awake at night. She remembered too well how it had felt as a child to have not enough money for food, for clothes, for electricity when her mother had been between relationships.
She knew she could always rent another property like this one in Chelsea, but that left her at the mercy of landlords, something she had seen too many times during her childhood. Rents could be put up and buildings suddenly sold. The business she had worked so hard to establish would be jeopardised if she didn’t own the property herself.
You could sell the villa after six months and be debt-free for the rest of your life.
Alice allowed the thought a little traction. The business she had sacrificed so much for was her baby, her mission, her purpose in life. Seeing it grow and develop over the last few years had been enormously satisfying. She had built it up from just a handful of clients to now one of the busiest salons in the area. She had celebrities and minor royalty on her books. People came to her because of the standards of excellence she maintained. To achieve her dream of setting up a luxury wedding spa would finally prove she had made it.
Failing wasn’t an option.
Not after using her career as the excuse for not wanting to marry Cristiano. The career she put before everything else. Relationships. Holidays. Fun. Even friendships. All of it had been sacrificed for work.
But she couldn’t marry Cristiano to solve that problem for it would throw her in the middle of an even bigger one.
Alice rose from her chair with her spine steeled with resolve. ‘I’ve made my choice. Now, if you’ve finished catching up on old times, I have a business to run.’
His eyes continued to tether hers as if he were waiting for her cool composure to crack. ‘Are you involved with someone? Is that why you’re saying no?’
Was he still so arrogant? Yes. Arrogance was hardwired into his DNA. A man in his privileged position had no concept of why a woman wouldn’t want to thrust her hand out for him to put a ring on it. He had it all: the money, the looks, the luxury lifestyle, the fast cars and exotic holiday destinations. Alice wished she had a lover to fling in his face. She considered inventing one but knew it wouldn’t take him long to call her out on her lie. He wouldn’t have to hunt around too far to find her social life was practically non-existent. Her work was her social life.
‘I know you find it hard to believe you’re irresistible because of your wealth and other...erm...assets, but I am not going to prostitute myself for the sake of an inheritance I neither asked for nor need.’
His expression gave nothing away. ‘I meant what I said, Alice. It will be a marriage in name only.’
No one said her name quite the way he did. His Italian accent gave it a completely different emphasis. Aleece. The sound of it was like an erotic caress. It made the base of her spine shiver as if he had touched her with a brush of his warm male hand. Thinking of his hands made her want to look at them.
Don’t. Don’t. Don’t.
But in spite of her rational brain’s pleas, she looked. Those broad-spanned hands had travelled over every inch of her flesh. Those long tanned fingers had coaxed her into her first proper orgasm. They had discovered all of her erogenous zones, tortured them with such intense pleasure it had shaken her to the core of her being. She could feel the echo of it even now, as if just being in the same room as him, breathing the same air as him, made her body recognise him as her only pleasure giver.
Alice dragged her gaze upwards and collided with his. He knew. Damn it, he knew how much sensual power he had over her. She could see it in the knowing glint in his pitch-black eyes. She felt it when he sent his gaze over her body as if he too were remembering what it had felt like to hold her in his arms as she splintered into a thousand pieces of shivering, quivering ecstasy.
He lifted a hand to his jacket pocket and took out a business card and placed it on the desk next to the copy of his grandmother’s will. ‘My contact details should you change your mind. I’ll be in London for the next week while I sort out some business affairs.’
Alice wilfully ignored the card. ‘I’m not going to change my mind, Cristiano.’
I’m not. I’m not. I’m not.
A cynical smile lifted one side of his mouth. ‘We’ll see.’
We’ll see?
What did he mean, ‘We’ll see’? Alice didn’t get the chance to ask him for he turned and left her office, leaving her with the lingering fragrance of his aftershave, the lemon and lime with a base note of leather that made her nostrils tingle...not to mention the rest of her body.
Meghan was bug-eyed when she came back. ‘Oh, my God! You didn’t tell me you knew Cristiano Marchetti. I didn’t recognise him at first. He’s much more gorgeous in the flesh than he is in photographs in the press. I nearly fainted when he walked past me just then and smiled at me. What did he want? Is he going to come here for treatments? Please let me do him. Can I do him? Please, please, please?’