His Merciless Marriage Bargain

“But you were so insistent that Michael be raised as a Marcello!”

“Is that how you were raised? With the best nanny money could buy?”

“Yes, and the best boarding schools, before attending the best universities.”

“You didn’t grow up here at home?”

“No. And I turned out well, wouldn’t you say?”

“You turned out heartless.”

“I’m practical, not heartless. There is a difference.”

“Well, I want him loved, and protected, so no, you can’t buy me off. I’m not going to abandon him.”

“But isn’t that what you did earlier? You handed him to my steward and walked away without a backward glance.”

“It was a desperate ploy to get your attention, and it worked.”

“Desperate people have a price. I know you have yours.”

“I’m not that desperate.”

“Then go back to Seattle, Rachel, and stop wasting my time.” He turned around and walked away from her, entering the room with the open door.

The sharpness in his voice made her chest tighten and her stomach fall. Was he really so cold and callous or was he testing her? Either way, she was here, and she was not about to be scared off.

She followed him into the room. “Life is not black or white, Gio, and I don’t believe in all or nothing. I believe in discussion and compromise—even when it’s uncomfortable. We need to find a middle ground—” She stopped as she noticed the soaring stone arches that divided the large room into two. On one side of the beige arches was a massive desk and chair, and on the other was a wall of windows framed in stained wood, topped by clear leaded glass and Palladian style arches. The high ceiling was paneled in dark wood and beams. The marble floor was the color of vanilla and matched the warm plaster walls, while the white slipcovered furniture in the sitting area looked effortlessly chic. This, she thought, was what people meant when they said Italians had style.

She worked with designers on a daily basis, creating custom plane interiors, but this took her breath away. It was visually stunning. History reimagined. Luxury reinvented. “Incredible,” she murmured. She didn’t know what she loved more—the soaring stone arches that looked as if they’d been lifted from ancient ruins, or the magnificent leaded glass windows that allowed the light to deeply penetrate the room.

“Your office?” she asked, still marveling over the elegant simplicity. No mirrors or gilded surfaces here. No Murano glass. No shimmering sconces. Just dark wood, stone pediments over tall doorways, marble slab floors and windows that allowed light to spill everywhere, brightening surfaces and reflecting off the white furniture.

“Yes.” He’d taken a seat on the edge of his dark desk and watched her do a slow turn in the middle of the room.

“It’s beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

She approached one of the arches and ran her hand across the surface. “How much of this is original?”

“All of it. This floor was private, built for the family, not for entertaining. I asked my designer to make a few modifications, but the building dates back to the late fifteenth century and we protected the architecture.”

“What did she change?”

“The marble floor is new. The plaster has been patched and repaired. We stripped off the coat of paint that had been applied to the windows and then stained the wood to match the beams.”

“I can see why you want to work here. I would want to work here.”

“With technology one can work from anywhere, and I can accomplish far more here than in a noisy office with endless interruptions.” He exhaled, expression shuttering. “You were saying about a middle ground?”

She hesitated. “Can we find one?” When he didn’t immediately reply, she added, “I don’t expect us to become friends. But if we could try to become…allies, just for our nephew’s sake, I think it would help him. He doesn’t have a lot of family anymore, which is why it would be nice if his surviving family could be cordial.”

Giovanni didn’t know how to answer her. He’d been furious when he’d walked out of the silver salon earlier, insulted that she’d lecture him on how his own brother would have felt. She had no idea how close he and his brother had been, or how much he’d grieved for Antonio this past year.

He turned away, faced the window, biting back the sharp words he wanted to say. “The baby. He is healthy?”

“Yes. Michael’s meeting all his milestones, and more.” She drew a breath. “Would it be possible to please send for him now? I realize that I must appear indifferent to you with regards to Michael—”