The Secret to Marrying Marchesi

* * *

Nicole held her breath as the car pulled to a stop. Bright lights flashed rhythmically against the one-way windows. Rigo finally ended the call he had been on for the entire journey just as the chauffeur opened the door.

Plastering on her best smile, she stepped out behind her fiancé, accepting his arm as support as they headed into the fray.

Cameras flashed from all directions as they stopped on the bottom steps of the hotel to pose for the photographers. Questions were fired at them in loud streams of French, Italian and English. Some were innocent, enquiring about their upcoming nuptials and about the dress she wore this evening. But one particular journalist took no time in going in for the kill.

‘How does it feel to have nabbed a billionaire, Miss Duvalle?’ she asked acidly. ‘Your mother must be very proud.’

Nicole kept her smile frozen in place, ignoring the attempt at provocation. Her skin prickled where Rigo’s hand lay at the base of her spine. She stole a glance at him. He was effortlessly casual, wearing the same smile he used for all the press. They were directing questions at him, too, mostly about the recent jump in sales of Marchesi prêt-à-porter range and the subsequent rise in stock prices. No one asked him about his sexual past, or made assumptions about his character. They treated him like a person. They respected him.

She focused on smiling for the cameras, moving her body so that they got good shots of the dress.

‘You seem very covered up, Nicole.’ A young male journalist smirked. ‘Has your fiancé decided to take your risqué dress sense in hand?’

‘Do you still have an alcohol problem?’ another called out.

‘How do you plan to shed all that baby weight for your wedding?’

Nicole swallowed hard as the barbs kept on coming. The PR team had been clear on the questions they should answer and the ones they should ignore. But it seemed the more that she ignored their assaults, the harder they pushed.

Rigo just sailed through without a scratch, but she felt as if she was fourteen again, being thrust in front of the paparazzi like a juicy steak to a pack of starving dogs. They all wanted a piece of the golden widow’s daughter. They wanted her to be just as scandalous as her mother.

‘What about the baby, Nicole? Who gets the magazine spread for little Anna?’

Nicole froze.

‘Who asked that question?’ she called out, unable to control her response.

Her voice was drowned out in the sea of noise. Rigo held her arm tighter, trying to steer her further along the line, but Nicole stood firm.

‘Who was it?’ she asked again, her voice a little louder. ‘There will be no talk of my child—do you understand?’

She was vaguely aware of Rigo’s hand sliding around her waist, her body being turned towards him before his mouth was next to her ear.

‘Smile and walk, Nicole,’ he whispered harshly, his breath fanning against her neck.

She shivered in response, her teeth scraping her bottom lip as she fought the mad urge to nestle against him and drown out the poisonous din that surrounded them.

She gave one final wide smile before letting Rigo guide her away from the flashes and up the wide stone staircase of the hotel. Once they were safely inside and away from prying eyes, he turned to her with barely controlled frustration.

‘You almost lost it out there,’ he warned, his voice a low rumble. Anyone walking by would think they were lovers, whispering sweet nothings to one another.

‘I held it together,’ she said quietly.

‘Barely.’ He reached a hand under her chin, forcing her head up to look at him. ‘You need to practise your poker face.’

‘You’re saying it doesn’t affect you when they speak your daughter’s name? When they talk about her as though she is a commodity to be speculated upon?’

‘It’s their job,’ he gritted. ‘You need to grow a thicker skin.’

Nicole shook her head in disbelief. Of course he didn’t care about Anna. All he cared about was how this sham of a relationship affected his stock prices.

She stepped back from him, letting his hand fall from its place on her chin and regaining a little of her composure. ‘I just don’t want them talking about my child. I don’t care what they think of me.’

She walked past him, powering ahead towards the elevator that would take them to their party on the top floor.

Rigo fell into step behind her. ‘Maybe just try to pretend that you’re happy to be here?’

Nicole fought the urge to roll her eyes, pinning her best smile back in place and focusing on maintaining as little physical contact with her infuriating companion as was humanly possible.

Once they reached the opulent grand ballroom and greeted their A-list guests, that task became significantly more difficult. With each new introduction Rigo took to draping his muscular arm lightly around her waist in a display of confident possession. His seductive smile and hooded looks were certainly for show, and yet she felt her pulse quicken with every change in the pressure of his fingers through the lace of her dress.