Claiming My Bride of Convenience

‘People take to you,’ he’d said. ‘Your natural warmth, your down-to-earth personality...it’s refreshing, glykia mou. Don’t ever change.’

I reminded myself of that as I unpacked my clothes—far too many for only a weekend in the Caribbean, but Matteo was insistent that I should be completely kitted out. I had several evening gowns to choose from, both for this evening and tomorrow night, and with a smile I wondered which one I should surprise Matteo with tonight. Already my mind jumped ahead to the end of the evening, when he would peel it off me...

Banishing such thoughts for now, I checked in with Maria, to make sure Amanos Textiles was surviving without me, which it was, before heading to the pool to sunbathe and read the latest bestseller I’d picked up at the airport.

In the late afternoon, as the sun started to sink towards the aquamarine horizon, I decided to start getting ready for dinner.

The bungalow’s bathroom was almost as large as its bedroom, with a huge marble tub and a double glass-walled shower. As I stood beneath the spray I marvelled yet again at my luxurious surroundings, as well as at the fact that I was with Matteo at all—married to him. Never mind my middle-of-the-night doubts; this was happiness, and my heart was full of it.

I started to sing—something I hadn’t done in years, since Chris Dawson had told me the truth about my voice.

I’d always loved singing as a child; my grandmother had taught me hymns and folk songs, and I’d whiled away the many hours of scrubbing and cleaning with songs. I’d sung at church, as well, and had always been told my voice was lovely—a gift from God. Which was what had led to my disastrous attempt to make it as a singer in the big city.

Since Chris Dawson’s crushing set-down, I hadn’t sung at all, barely hummed under my breath. It was as if he’d killed something inside me. But today, when I was filled with joy, it came to life again.

‘Daisy!’

Matteo’s shocked voice had me whirling around in the shower and nearly slipping on the slick tiles.

‘I didn’t see you there.’ I turned off the shower and reached for a robe, embarrassed that he’d caught me belting out a hymn. ‘Sorry, I must have sounded like a frog.’

‘Far from it.’

He was eyeing me oddly as I belted my robe and twisted a towel around my wet hair.

‘You have a beautiful singing voice, Daisy.’

‘Oh, please.’ I made a face. ‘Don’t worry, Matteo, I was disabused of that notion a long time ago—as I believe I told you. I’m not entertaining dreams of being

a famous singer any more, trust me. You don’t have to humour me.’

He folded his arms. ‘I’m not humouring you. You have a beautiful voice. Husky and sensual.’

I blushed and then shook my head, still refusing to believe his flattery. ‘Really, you don’t...’

‘Daisy, when have I humoured anybody? I’m telling you the truth.’ He frowned, his forehead scoring briefly with worry lines. ‘Why don’t you believe me?’

I hesitated, unwilling to delve into my rather desperate and sordid past. ‘Someone told me the truth once,’ I finally said. ‘That’s all.’

‘And who was that?’

‘One of New York’s premier casting agents, so...’ I walked past him into the bedroom, pulling the towel from my hair. ‘I think he probably knows a bit more than you do about what a good voice sounds like.’

‘A casting agent?’ Matteo propped one shoulder against the door frame as he watched me riffle through my clothes. ‘How did you end up singing in front of him?’

I shrugged, my eyes on the hangers in front of me. ‘Lucky, I suppose.’ Or not.

‘Why, glykia mou, do I feel as if you’re not telling me something?’

In two swift strides Matteo had crossed the room to me, stilling my pointless riffling of the clothes I couldn’t think of wearing in this moment.

I glanced up at him warily. ‘Why do you care so much, Matteo? It’s old history.’

‘It concerns you, and therefore it concerns me.’

It was an admission that should have thrilled me, but I was too reluctant to share this humiliating piece of my history to savour it. ‘It’s not important.’

‘I think it is.’