His Merciless Marriage Bargain

The very description sent a chill through Rachel. She was not an A-lister herself. She was not even close to a B- or C-list.

Gio was right. She was firmly middle class. A woman from Burien, Washington who had to struggle for everything in life.

“How does it feel knowing that you will have the wedding of the year?” Heidi asked Rachel. “Is it at all intimidating?”

“Very much so,” Rachel answered, voice wobbling. “Giovanni’s friends are powerful and influential...aristocrats, millionaires and billionaires, race car drivers, fashion designers, models, actors and socialites...” Her voice faded, the stream of words ending. “Not my sort of people at all,” she concluded unsteadily, aware that Heidi and the photographer had just exchanged curious glances.

Giovanni didn’t seem disturbed. He kissed the top of her head. “My sweet bride.”

Heidi scribbled something. “And the baby?” she asked. “Will we meet him? Do say yes. We are so hoping for a picture of the three of you.”

“No. We’re determined to protect his privacy,” Gio answered firmly. “It was the one condition we had about the interview. The focus would be Rachel and me. It’s not fair to Michael to put him in the limelight.”

Heidi nodded. “Of course. And I did know. But what kind of journalist would I be if I didn’t try?”

Gio gestured toward the door. “I believe our chef is here. Shall we go discuss our wedding cake?”

While Heidi stayed back with the photographer, helping hold one temperamental light, Rachel moved close to Gio, whispering to him as they exited the dining room. “You seem to be quite enjoying the fuss.”

“It’s for the cameras.”

She shot him a dubious glance. “I don’t believe you.”

He glanced back at Heidi, who was now bustling toward them. His broad shoulders shifted. “I want a wedding to remember.”

“Funny, but I want a wedding I can forget.”

“You’ve lost your sense of humor, Rachel. Why can’t you have fun with this? Why not enjoy planning the wedding?”

“Because it seems like a terrible extravagance!”

“Maybe I see this as the right opportunity to return to society.”

“The right opportunity being before the stock offerings,” she said under her breath.

But he heard her. He lifted a brow. “My goal is to protect all. The company. The employees. The family. Michael.” He reached out and tipped her chin up, his gaze locking with hers. “You.”

“I’m not a Marcello.”

“Not yet in name, but in body, I’ve already claimed you.”

Her heart hurt and heat washed through her. “You have no idea how much I regret that, too.”

He gave her a look. “I don’t believe that, and neither do you.”

With that, he headed into the palazzo’s vast kitchen, a room that might have been medieval at one point, but was a stunning space of light and gle

aming white marble.

Like the dining room that had been filled with flowers, the long white marble counters were filled with cakes. Tall, white, layered cakes and large square cakes covered in sugared fruit. There was a cone cake with caramel-covered pastries and puffs of whipped cream and a chocolate something with more whipped cream.

The photographer immediately wanted photos, and Heidi went over to introduce herself to the chef.

Giovanni leaned against a white counter, arms folded across his chest. “You must admit this is an easy way to do an interview,” he said as Rachel reluctantly came to stand at his side. “We’re giving them a show, but we’re not having to tell them very much about us.”

“I’d like to give them a show, but it would involve smashing cake in your face.”

He laughed softly. “You are determined to be angry.”