The Convenient Bride Page 4

  He let her go, but he couldn’t tear his eyes from her. He noticed a pink tinge touch her cheeks. His groin tightened as he watched how his attention affected her. An image of stripping the golden fabric from her body raced through his mind. He tore his eyes away. She’d been very specific about the contractual clauses covering intimacy. He cursed inwardly. Women usually came to his bed willingly. Not Sienna. She’d made sure there were clauses ensuring amore remained off the agenda. But there was a way around every clause. He smiled.

  ‘Mario, let’s wrap this up,’ he said, walking to the door.

  ‘I’ve only finished the day wardrobe,’ the designer whined.

  ‘Day!’ Sienna exclaimed. ‘You have to be kidding. This is more than enough,’ she said, pointing to a row of clothes hanging on a nearby rack.

  Antonio stared at the goddess before him. She didn’t want him and she didn’t want to spend his cash. Who was this woman?

  The designer heels pinched her toes as Sienna walked to the sofa and collapsed into its lush cushions.

  ‘Please, no more,’ she said, holding up her hands. ‘I’ve more clothes now than I’ve had in my whole life. I want to sleep.’

  Mario looked anxious. ‘We still have the evening wear, the lingerie, the sleepwear and the sporting clothes . . .’

  ‘Send over whatever else you think she needs,’ Antonio instructed. ‘We can always come back in a few days.’

  ‘Wait!’ Mario shrieked. ‘Sienna must try on her wedding dress.’

  Sienna jolted upright. ‘Wedding dress?’

  Antonio joined her on the couch. ‘With the wedding so soon, I commissioned one immediately,’ he said.

  ‘I brought . . .’ Her head swam. ‘I thought I’d wear my mother’s dress. It’s what I’ve always . . .’ Sienna realised that wouldn’t be an option.

  ‘Oh, darling, that is so . . . sweet!’ Mario exclaimed. ‘But when you marry Antonio Moretti only an original Sabatini will do. Come on.’ He held out his hand. ‘I believe it is my best design ever.’

  Sienna didn’t know if it could be possible to feel more exhausted and emotional. She allowed Mario to pull her to her feet.

  ‘Sorry, Antonio,’ Mario said. ‘You will have to leave. It’s bad luck to see the dress before the wedding.’

  Antonio seemed to hesitate then turned and strode from the room.

  It took Mario and his assistant ten minutes to secure Sienna into a mass of lace, tulle and silk.

  When Mario swept back the curtain hiding an enormous floor-to-ceiling mirror, Sienna couldn’t stifle a gasp. The woman staring back at her looked like a stranger.

  Each year, on her mother’s birthday, she carefully unwrapped her mother’s wedding dress. She’d slip it on and have a little cry. Afterwards, she’d take it to a specialist drycleaner. The cleaner knew her family and understood the ritual. It always came back in a new box, beautifully wrapped. Sienna had always known she’d wear her mother’s dress when she married, and her mother would feel close.

  But this. She slid her hands down the rich cream fabric. This magnificent gown, which fitted her more perfectly than her own skin, felt soulless. She wiped quickly at her eyes, but a tear escaped and slipped down her cheek.

  Mario wiped it away. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘I wept as I sewed on the last pearl.’

  ‘It’s so beautiful,’ she said, managing a wan smile. She didn’t belong in this world of first-class travel, couture clothes and limitless credit cards.

  ‘Antonio will be delighted,’ Mario gushed, as he fussed with the train.

  That’s it. With sudden clarity, Sienna realised making Antonio happy was all that mattered. Make him happy and the Plaza would be hers. Give the man what he wants.

  She straightened her shoulders and swept back her hair. Whatever happened, she needed to fit into Antonio’s world.

  But would his world grant her admission? Even if it didn’t, did she care? She just needed enough time to save the Plaza.

  Chapter Three

  ‘We’re walking?’ Sienna asked, glancing down at her new ten-centimetre heels. At Mario’s insistence, she’d worn one of her new outfits out of the salon. She’d made no objection; she didn’t relish the thought of being caught out again by the paparazzi. ‘Slowly, I hope,’ she continued, taking a tentative step onto the cobbledstone street.

  ‘It’s not far,’ Antonio said. ‘Walking and water – they’re the only options in Venice.’

  ‘Gondolas,’ she said wistfully.

  ‘They’re only for the tourists,’ he said disparagingly.

  I wish I was a tourist. They looked so happy.

  The early afternoon light bathed the tops of the buildings. At street level, shadows hugged the alleys. She stopped and looked around.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Antonio asked.

  ‘In heaven,’ she breathed. The magnificence of the city blew away her jetlag.

  He nodded knowingly. ‘Women and clothes.’

  ‘I don’t care about that,’ she said, waving her hand dismissively. ‘Look at this place.’ She spread her arms to encompass the scene. ‘It’s magical.’

  Antonio shrugged. ‘I suppose. I don’t really notice.’

  ‘How could you not notice?’ She turned around and around, taking in the magnificence of the city before her. ‘This is one of the most beautiful, romantic, historic cities in the world.’

  He cocked his head and considered her for a moment. ‘Perhaps I don’t have the luxury of time that most people do.’ His voice had a hard edge.

  ‘Why don’t you make time?’ she countered.

  ‘This way,’ he said, striding off down the street.

  Right, so that’s the end of that conversation.

  She followed as fast as her heels would allow. She imagined she now understood how a baby giraffe felt when taking its first steps. Antonio turned, walked back and took her hand. He’d obviously noticed the incompatibility of inexperienced feet in heels on cobblestones.

  ‘Why do women insist on wearing such stupid shoes?’

  ‘You got me.’ She stumbled. Antonio held her tight. ‘I hate these things.’

  His lips curved ever so slightly. ‘I thought all women loved shoes.’

  ‘Perhaps I don’t have the luxury of buying many like most women you know do,’ she said, deadpan.

  He laughed. ‘I’m beginning to think you aren’t like other women I know,’ he said.

  ‘So the other women you mix with love expensive clothes and shoes, couldn’t care less about history and architecture and let you take the lead in every situation?’

  Antonio turned his dark eyes on her and opened his mouth to retaliate but stopped. He frowned, then shrugged. ‘I suppose so,’ he said.

  ‘They sound a little boring.’

  ‘Or perhaps you’re just a handful.’

  Maybe, but that had to be better than boring.

  Within minutes, tourists surrounded them as they walked through alleys and over little bridges. Sienna wanted to take her time, linger, but Antonio took her as fast as she could manage.

  ‘I’ll arrange a tour for you later in the week,’ he said.

  ‘Can’t you show me around?’ she asked.

  ‘No, there is a lot to arrange. I’ll be working most days.’

  She felt strangely disappointed but shoved the unwelcome emotion aside. Without him she could wear comfortable shoes and take her time. That would be better, wouldn’t it?

  The throng increased dramatically. Maybe they were close to St Mark’s Square.

  Antonio’s grip slipped from her hand. She stopped, but he’d vanished into the crowd.

  ‘Antonio,’ she called over the heads of the tourists. She couldn’t see him. Nervously she edged to the side of the street. Best to stay put.

  ‘Caffè?’ a waiter asked her. She realised she was standing next to a café.

  ‘No, grazie.’

  She walked a little way down the street in the direction they’d been heading. Fingers of fear
crept up her spine. She didn’t know where she was. She didn’t know the name of Antonio’s hotel, and too much longer in these shoes and she’d be walking barefoot. Tourists jostled as they passed. She squeezed against the cold stone building. Where was he?

  Then, through a break in the crowd, she saw him. She dodged her way across the lane.

  ‘Antonio —’ She stopped and stared. Antonio knelt next to a little boy whose eyes streamed with tears. Stepping closer, she listened.

  ‘England,’ she heard Antonio say. ‘I love England. Whereabouts?’

  ‘Surrey.’ The little boy sniffed.

  ‘That’s my favourite county.’

  The little boy looked up into Antonio’s face. ‘Truly?’

  ‘Absolutely.’ Antonio stood. ‘Now let’s find your mother.’

  The child took Antonio’s hand and then pressed himself up against the wall, the crowd clearly intimidating him. ‘We’ll never find her,’ he wailed.

  ‘I’ve an idea,’ Antonio said, bending down to the boy’s level. ‘Why don’t we play lighthouses?’

  The child looked dubious.

  ‘You hop up on my shoulders and be the searchlight.’

  ‘Cool.’

  Sienna couldn’t believe her ears. She watched dumbstruck as Antonio lifted the child onto his shoulders. Seeing this hard man of business care for a lost child shifted something inside her.

  ‘Can you see her?’ Antonio asked.

  ‘No.’ The little boy’s voice quivered.

  ‘Can you see a lady in a gold dress?’

  ‘I’m here,’ Sienna called and fell in next to the boys.

  ‘We have a situation,’ Antonio said.

  ‘So I see.’ She smiled. ‘You seem to have it in hand.’

  ‘Sorry I left you. Children and canals . . .’

  ‘It’s okay,’ she said.

  ‘Now,’ he said to the child. ‘I’ll turn around and you search.’ Antonio walked down the street, turning slowly every couple of steps.

  ‘Mummy,’ the boy cried out less than a minute later.

  ‘Where?’ Antonio asked.

  ‘There. There.’ The child pointed up the street. ‘Mummy! Mummy,’ he shouted.

  ‘Tommy!’ The woman’s hysterical voice screeched over the din.

  Antonio lifted the boy and put him down gently.

  Tommy’s mother pushed through the crowd and grabbed her son. ‘Thank you, thank you,’ she stammered, cuddling her son to her chest.

  ‘It’s nothing,’ Antonio said and made to walk away.

  Before he could take two steps, the woman hugged him, her son still in her arms so the boy was pressed between them.

  Sienna stole a quick breath as she watched a flash of anguish pass across Antonio’s face.

  ‘Please, it’s nothing,’ he said, as he gently extricated himself. He turned and walked down the street. Sienna and the woman stared silently at the retreating figure.

  ‘Please, tell him again how grateful I am,’ the woman said, laying her hand on Sienna’s arm and giving it a squeeze. ‘Most men would have just walked by. He’s a keeper.’

  Sienna looked at the woman and then back at Antonio’s retreating figure. A keeper? Obviously this woman didn’t know what she was talking about. But she wondered what else there was about the man that she didn’t know.

  ‘I’ll tell him,’ she said and tottered on down the street.

  Antonio waited for her at the corner.

  ‘Why’d you rush off?’ she asked.

  ‘I dislike emotional situations,’ Antonio said.

  Sienna frowned. ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘The hotel is on the next street.’

  He walked just ahead of her so she couldn’t pursue the conversation. But for a man who didn’t like emotional situations, he caused enough of them with his presence. Sienna watched in wonder as women – and quite a few men – stared as Antonio passed. As he walked, people seemed to part to let him through; he possessed a regal aura that radiated around him.

  So, he disliked emotions. That explained a lot. It explained how he could enter a loveless marriage to secure a hotel. That he seemed to have no understanding or consideration of how his plan impacted upon her and her life. After all, this was a man who’d commissioned a wedding dress without even consulting the bride.

  Or could it be that the man would do anything to achieve what he wanted, whatever the cost? Her lips tightened. Arrogant and self-centred, good words to sum up the man who walked before her. But even as she thought the words, they seemed not to fit.

  The heel of her shoe caught a crack in the street and she pitched forward. She cried out as the cobbles rushed up at her. Instead of slamming onto the hard stone, she fell into Antonio’s arms.

  She didn’t know if it was the jetlag, the fact that her heel was wedged or that the feel of his body was so good, but she didn’t pull away. It’d been so long since someone had held her. Since someone had cared for her.

  Antonio reached down and pulled her heel from the crack. He kept his other hand on her hip to steady her. The warmth of his hand sent a tingle down her spine. As he stood up, he placed his free hand on her waist.

  ‘All right?’ he asked. Was that concern on his face? So far he’d dealt with her so . . . efficiently, like an employee. She blinked and the look disappeared.

  ‘Fine,’ she answered quietly.

  He took her arm and walked slowly by her side. She didn’t want to let him but walking arm in arm through the streets of Venice with Antonio Moretti affected her more than she wanted to admit.

  This was the life she’d dreamed of. Not the hot man walking beside her, whom she couldn’t deny was just slightly wonderful, but a life of ancient cities, different cultures and new experiences. A life of passion and adventure.

  When she’d spoken to her parents about studying architecture, her father had only agreed at her mother’s insistence.

  ‘The De Lucas are hoteliers,’ he’d argued. In Italy, before their ancestors had immigrated to Australia and then for four generations on Aussie soil, the De Lucas had owned and operated hotels. The eldest child inherited the business and that was the way things were.

  And of course the De Luca curse featured prominently in her father’s arguments. She sighed. Her father fervently believed in the curse and insisted that after her degree she return to work in the hotel. She needed to learn the ropes for the day she took over.

  But fate had intervened. Her mother’s illness had cut short her studies and the hotel responsibilities had fallen abruptly on her shoulders.

  ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ Antonio asked.

  She looked up. Antonio’s eyes were upon her again, always so intense, as though sizing her up. She nodded. ‘Oh, I meant to tell you, the boy’s mother wanted me to thank you again.’

  He looked ahead and didn’t answer. He obviously didn’t want to talk about it.

  ‘You were so good with him,’ she pressed.

  Still nothing.

  ‘You’ll make a great father one day.’ She couldn’t believe the words that tumbled from her mouth. What was she thinking? Bringing up such a topic when she was marrying him within a week? Babies meant . . .

  ‘I don’t want children.’

  Her gaze jerked to his face. ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘I’m always serious.’

  ‘But —’ What could you say to a statement like that?

  ‘I take it you do,’ he asked, as if such a notion were unthinkable.

  ‘Lots.’

  She hated being an only child. With her parents both working, she’d suffered a very lonely childhood. The hotel had been her playground and prison at the same time. With her childhood over, now it was just a prison. And she’d learned through hard experience that being an only child also came with heavy responsibilities.

  ‘Lots!’ Antonio sounded aghast.

  ‘Yes, I want a big, happy family.’

  ‘And what happens whe
n one of your children gets sick . . . dies? How will you feel then?’

  She stopped in her tracks. What a terrible thing to say.

  Antonio dropped her arm and walked ahead to the entrance of a marble-fronted building almost flush with a canal.

  She stared after him. What would make him say a thing like that? This man was an enigma – saving children one minute, dismissing them the next.

  A uniformed doorman stood to attention as Antonio approached and opened the heavy gilded doors. A gondola lay moored close by, tied up to brightly painted red and yellow striped pylons.

  ‘Welcome to Moretti’s Venice,’ Antonio said when she joined him. He led the way into the hotel foyer.

  The gold and marble room glowed with the light from two massive crystal chandeliers. Marble-topped tables adorned with ornate gilded porcelain vases lined the walls. Beautiful people dressed in head-to-toe designer fashion sat in the lounge sipping drinks and chatting.

  Sienna looked up at the detailed moulded ceilings. The walls featured artworks she vaguely recognised, all sure to be originals. But even with all that magnificence, the building lacked warmth.

  An impeccably dressed man strode towards them. ‘Everything is as you requested, signor.’

  ‘Thank you. Sienna, this is the hotel’s general manager.’

  ‘Sienna De Luca. Lovely to meet you,’ Sienna said, holding out her hand.

  The manager looked taken aback, but shook her hand politely.

  ‘Please ensure Sienna receives everything she needs during her stay,’ Antonio said.

  ‘Of course, signor.’

  ‘And send Carmela up in half an hour, please.’

  The man gave a nod and left.

  Antonio took Sienna’s arm and led her to the bank of lifts.

  ‘The hotel’s beautiful,’ she said.

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘But . . .’

  He turned his glittering gaze upon her as they stepped into a lift. ‘Yes?’ he said slowly.

  ‘It lacks warmth.’

  ‘I’m sorry my forty-million-euro renovation doesn’t meet your exacting standards.’