The Forgotten Gallo Bride

He cursed Jasper for sending her to him.

He walked back to the front door, but when he opened it he saw that, while the hail had stopped, the rain had returned. It was almost completely dark now and it would be impossible for her to see three feet in front of her while driving. No way could he let her leave in this weather. Inwardly he cursed more.

‘It isn’t safe for you to leave tonight,’ he said gruffly. ‘You’ll have to stay here.’

He looked at her again and something stirred in the back of his mind. Had he said those words to her before?

He scowled at the déjà vu—the trick of a feeble mind.

He loathed it when it happened. Hated thinking there might be a memory just out of reach and that there was nothing he could do to draw it closer or clearer. The most random, inconsequential things sparked it. He paused, waiting, hoping the fragment would float to the forefront of his mind.

It didn’t. It never did.

Frustration flamed his anger to fury. He stepped towards her, his gaze narrowing. The shine in her eyes had gone. So had her smile.

‘Do I know you?’ He rapped the question, like machine-gun fire, hating that he was compelled to ask. Hated giving his weakness away.

* * *

‘No,’ Zara answered baldly, her throat aching from holding back her disappointment. She’d tried to prompt him just then, but it seemed that what had happened a year ago had been so minor that he’d forgotten it. He’d forgotten her.

She knew it was stupid to feel it, but the reality of her insignificance crushed her. Yet what had she expected? This wasn’t a fairy tale. It never had been and never would be. It had been one afternoon, one night, one morning. It had been nothing to him, not even worth remembering.

And she hadn’t just lied. He didn’t know her. He never truly had.

But that hadn’t stopped him from marrying her.

CHAPTER TWO

‘I want your niece.’

IT HAD BEEN for less than two days and it had been total madness. But it had been real. They’d married.

She should try again to remind him outright, but she was too mortified. That year’s worth of imaginings, of meeting him again and hoping to change his first impression of her? That she could show she was no longer that weak woman who’d needed rescuing—that she was strong and capable and going places—that kernel of hope that he might see her in a different light?

She’d been so stupid.

She had to get away from him—from here—immediately.

She stepped towards the still-open doorway, but before she got there he closed it and faced her, blocking the exit.

‘You’ll stay here for the night and travel on in the morning when the weather has eased,’ he said.

His dictatorial tone checked her momentarily, but she held her ground. ‘And if it hasn’t eased?’

‘You’ll at least be able to see in the light.’

‘My car has good headlights, I think it’s better if I leave now.’ The last thing she wanted was to stay here.

‘No.’ His tone brooked no argument.

She remembered that implacable decisiveness and the air of authority so very well. Once he’d made his mind up that was it. Done. He couldn’t be crossed or fought. She’d seen that when he’d dispatched the argument of her uncle with an icy blade. And there was that weak part of her that still wanted his recognition to come.

‘If you’d care to show me the kitchen,’ she said coldly. ‘The least I can do is make some supper for us both.’

And she’d be on the phone to Jasper as soon as she was alone.

‘I don’t need anything, but please help yourself to anything you may like,’ he replied equally coolly.

He refrained from indulging in a smile of satisfaction, but that obvious restraint made her all the more annoyed. He was too used to getting his own way.

‘You must be hungry after your journey,’ he added formally.

He was determined to reject her assistance in any way, yet was insistent she accept his help. It was an arrogantly unfair power play. He’d ensured she was reliant on him, yet he refused any assistance or even kindness from her.

One day she’d make him accept it somehow, some time. Just for once she didn’t want to be the weak one.

She followed him down the long cold corridor. In the light she now noticed a very slight limp as he walked.

‘My office is on the second floor, but the kitchen is this way,’ he explained briefly. ‘Where have you driven from today, Zara?’

‘Up north,’ she answered carefully.

She was hyper aware of the latent strength in his lean physique as she followed him. He seemed more ruthless, he smiled a whole lot less, but he was still breathtaking. She’d forgotten just how much he fascinated her. Fortunately he didn’t appear to realise the effect he had on her. Thank goodness. He’d never noticed how he made her feel.

Her heart thudded at the strangeness of this arrangement. She shouldn’t have agreed to come. He didn’t need her help at all—what had Jasper been worrying about?

‘I’m sorry if I’ve inconvenienced you,’ she said politely, still trying to get over the smarting hurt that he’d not remembered her.

‘I will ensure there is a room ready for you,’ he replied and left her.

She watched as he left. Not big on small talk, was he?

The kitchen was beautiful and scrupulously clean and she realised she needed food. She’d think better if she warmed up. She’d prepare something and then speak to Jasper.

She checked the cupboards. There were barely the staples in the pantry. She opened the freezer and found a stack of containers—single-serve portions—labelled with the dish and the date it had been made, but also the date for him to eat. Someone had prepared enough for him to last the next few days. Who had done that, when Jasper had insisted that Tomas’s housekeeper had walked out suddenly, leaving him in the lurch?

Someone had organised this for him. She frowned. So why had Jasper been so insistent she come then, if he’d already been taken care of?

Her frown deepened as she looked in the fridge. There was milk and another—uneaten—prepared whole meal, but no raw ingredients.

But the meal he was supposed to have eaten last night was still in there. So was the container labelled as his lunch. She glanced at the counter and the sink again; there wasn’t even a drop of water from the tap in the bottom of the sink. If he’d prepared anything for himself, he’d not left a single sign of it.

She shrugged, telling herself not to care. But she would make herself—and him—something to warm up.

She took off her jacket and scrabbled round in the bottom of her shoulder bag and found the bar of plain chocolate she had there. Thank goodness she’d not eaten it on the drive down. She found a copper pan and gently warmed the milk on the stovetop and grated the chocolate in. As she stirred it to melt the slivers she couldn’t stop the memories from tormenting her. She’d made him coffee that morning, served it with her special lemon-slice cake—that first recipe she’d ever tweaked.

‘He’s here to invest in the casino—don’t screw it up. Stay out of sight as much as possible.’

By then she’d got good at staying out of sight. Her uncle’s temper had been worsening by the day and she was the easiest person for him to vent it on. So she knew when to avoid him, but that day he’d needed her skills.

She’d been the only child of doting parents who’d died when she was just twelve. Her only living relative had flown in to console her. Uncle Charles had said he lived on a luxury yacht in Antigua and ran a casino. He’d sold her parents’ home and told her she’d love it on his boat, with his glamorous second wife.

But that wife had walked out ten months later, fed up with the chauvinistic abuse he served up twenty-four-seven. She’d left teenaged Zara there alone to witness the drinking and womanising and gambling and sleaze.

Her uncle had blamed her for his wife’s departure. In the end everything was her fault. That flashy ‘home’ had offered no relief from isolation and grief—it only exacerbated it, because she didn’t fit the mould.

She’d been nothing but a disappointment to her uncle and he’d let her know it. She’d been so scared and lonely she’d let him stomp all over her—had shut herself away like some sad Cinderella. She’d been so stupidly quiet and shy.

She’d never been able to live up to the expectations he had of her. He’d told her time and time again she was useless. He refused to send her to school and begrudged the correspondence-school paperwork she requested.

She’d retreated below deck. Len, the Scottish chef he employed, became her one true friend and mentor. Over the next few years he’d taught her everything he knew. But then Charles sacked Len and told Zara to take over the food prep full time. At the time she’d thought it had been to spite her, but in hindsight she realised it was one of several signs of the financial failure he was verging on.

By then she’d long since lost contact with her school friends. She was isolated, lonely and trapped; her uncle held her passport and was the sole trustee of her finances—and the money her parents had left her?

All gone. Didn’t she know how much it had cost her uncle to house her? Wasn’t she grateful for that?

Her uncle Charles had been embarrassed that she’d had to wait on his unexpected, important guests. She wasn’t decorative enough—not thin enough, not perfect enough. Not for investment guru, Tomas Gallo, and his lawyer, Jasper Danforth. She was the useless, mousy niece he’d inherited and had never wanted.

But for that business meeting she’d had to be the hostess as well as prepare the coffee and cakes. When she’d caught sight of Tomas Gallo as she’d carried the tea tray into the room, she’d nearly dropped everything.

He’d not appeared to notice when she spilt some of the coffee, but he’d eaten some of the lemon slice. Two pieces in fact.

She’d sat in the corner, mute, suffering silently as her uncle had made joke after joke at her expense. She’d been bowled over by Tomas’s appearance and the bottomless depths of his eyes. He was the most striking man she’d ever seen but he and Jasper had appeared amused, as if they’d agreed with every one of her uncle’s words. And she’d died that bit inside to see that someone so gorgeous could be so cruel.

Almost an hour had passed when Tomas had dropped the bombshell.

‘Sorry, Charles, I don’t think the casino is the right fit for us at this time.’

Her uncle had been beyond furious at losing the investment. He’d been unable to contain his rage, venting it on her down in the galley while the two guests upstairs were readying to leave. She’d stared at the floor as he’d berated her in a bitter hoarse whisper.

‘You’re worse than useless. If you were attractive you could have seduced him. But as if any man would ever want you. You’re a millstone, you ungrateful, lazy little cow. You can’t even pour a coffee properly.’

The blow had come sudden and hard. It had stung so much.

She’d run from the galley only to collide in the corridor with Tomas Gallo. She’d gasped, appalled that he was down there—that he might have heard...

* * *

Firm hands held her upper arms and she flinched when she looked into his thunderous face. He quickly stepped back into the side room, lifting her with him and swiftly closing the door behind them.

‘Don’t be afraid,’ he muttered harshly.

But the lethal anger in his eyes told her he was so very much more dangerous than her uncle. He visibly made himself relax and force a small smile. That was when she realised his fury was not for her.

‘He hit you.’ He tilted her chin and inspected the red of her upper cheek.

‘It doesn’t matter.’ She wanted him to leave before her uncle found out he was down here and made everything worse.

‘It always matters,’ he replied curtly.

Her heart was his in that second.

Tomas released her and she dashed the tears away with the back of her hand, willing him to go back up to the deck and leave with his lawyer. But he didn’t.

‘You’ve lived here how long?’ he abruptly asked. ‘How long?’ he prompted when she didn’t answer.

‘Almost ten years,’ she whispered.

‘You have money?’

She shook her head.

‘Passport?’

‘My uncle...’ She trailed off hopelessly.

‘I see.’

* * *

Yes, she’d known he saw more than she’d ever wanted anyone to see—not only had he seen through her uncle’s ‘joking’ façade to the emotional abuse that it was symptomatic of, he’d witnessed the occasional physical violence her uncle subjected her to. She’d hated that she hadn’t the strength or resources to leave, she’d loathed the depth of her dependence on her uncle. Flushing with mortification, she’d made to push past Tomas but he’d grabbed her arm again. She’d been forced to meet his gaze. There she’d read the steel and the concern, the sympathy and—to her shock—empathy.

It was as if he’d understood, because he’d been there himself.

But that had to have been her own projection. She’d wanted out for so long, but she’d become so trapped by imposed gratitude, felt so beholden and been so downtrodden, she hadn’t known which way to turn or how to get herself out of it. She’d had no money, no chance to study, or to work. She’d been made to feel as if she owed Uncle Charles everything.

* * *

‘Do you want out?’ Tomas asked bluntly.

‘Out?’ She blinked uncomprehendingly. ‘You mean do I want to leave?’

‘Yes. Do you want me to help you?’

His question was brusque and unexpected. She instinctively knew he wasn’t going to wait for her to um and ah. He wasn’t going to cajole or try to convince her. This was a single offer and she had a single second to decide.

She nodded.

‘Follow my lead.’ He let her go and turned towards the stairs. ‘No matter what.’

Back up on deck Jasper was standing with his briefcase in hand. Her uncle was attempting to hide his anger and disappointment by talking incessantly about the tourism boom. Zara stood terrified at a distance, knowing her uncle would be even angrier that she’d returned to the deck.

‘Sit back down, Jasper,’ Tomas said with deceptive softness. ‘I’ve had some time to think about things some more while freshening up.’

‘You have?’ The glow of bitterness in her uncle’s eyes morphed to avaricious excitement. ‘Go fetch more drinks, Zara. Now.’

‘No, I want her to stay,’ Tomas overruled him firmly. ‘She’s a crucial detail to this possible deal.’

Cold sweat slid down Zara’s spine. Surely he wouldn’t call her uncle out for hitting her? She sent Tomas a desperate look, but he wasn’t looking at her at all.

‘I want your niece,’ Tomas said bluntly. ‘I’ll invest in your casino operations, but only if I have Zara.’

Zara’s heart stopped. She couldn’t have heard right.

‘You want Zara?’ Her uncle narrowed his eyes. ‘You can’t want—’

‘Those are my terms.’ Tomas didn’t let her uncle continue. ‘Without Zara there will be no investment.’

‘You want...’ Her uncle just stared at him in shock. ‘How do I know you’re serious?’

‘I’ll marry her,’ Tomas answered bluntly. ‘How soon can we arrange that, Jasper?’

It took five seconds for Charles to collect himself and shut his dropped jaw.

Terrified, she stared from Tomas to Charles to Jasper. The lawyer’s face was utterly impassive while he checked data on his tablet, as if his boss made outrageous queries every day. He’d said to follow his lead, but this was almost barbaric.

‘It seems...er...that you can marry today if you really want to,’ Jasper said, sending his boss a covert look. ‘There’s no notice or stand-down period required. Just the fee, two witnesses and passports.’

‘Good,’ Tomas said, ignoring that warning plea in the tone from his lawyer. ‘So we can leave now.’

Zara stared at her uncle, trying to read his reaction. Surely he’d say no to such a preposterous suggestion? Surely he’d have some compunction?

But a greedy light entered his eye. ‘You’ll be my nephew-in-law.’

‘That’s right.’ Tomas nodded. ‘We’ll be family.’

A prickle ran down Zara’s spine at something in Tomas’s tone. There was something so very cold when he said that word.

Uncle Charles smiled. ‘She can cook.’ He nodded, as if suddenly approving of her skills. ‘She’s a virgin too, you know.’ His proud smile made her skin crawl. ‘She’s been very sheltered.’

She closed her eyes, engulfed in scalding shame and mortification. He was talking about her as if she were a thing to be traded. And as if her sexual experience were anything that mattered?

‘Then it’s decided. Zara, go pack your bag.’ Tomas issued the order without even looking at her.

Sickened to her soul, she knew she had no choice. If she stayed she’d be her uncle’s skivvy and, increasingly, his punchbag, for the foreseeable future. His temper would only worsen the more his business failed. And now she knew how he really saw her. How he’d trade her for some stupid business deal.

‘Wait.’ A suspicious twist tightened her uncle’s mouth. ‘I’ll come with you to the register office.’

‘Of course,’ Tomas said unblinkingly, staring her uncle down. ‘You’ll want to witness the wedding. Go and pack now, Zara.’

Her uncle hadn’t even bothered to ask her how she felt about it. He was acting as if he owned her. But then, that was how he’d always acted. She meant absolutely nothing to him. She’d been a source of money—and when that had gone, she’d become little more than another of his staff. Only he hadn’t had to pay her.

She left the room without a word. And then she ran.

* * *

Zara poured steaming-hot chocolate into two mugs and blinked back the tears at the recollection of how little her uncle had cared for her. But she was away from him now—and so much stronger.

She sprinkled a hint of cinnamon on the top of each. She found a half-empty packet of biscuits at the back of the cupboard and added a few to a small plate and loaded the wooden tray she found in a cupboard.

It had all happened so quickly it was almost a blur. Yet those moments were seared in her mind. There she’d stood in the council offices shivering in a cheap sundress and make-up covering the mark from where her uncle had hit her.

The ceremony had been ridiculously brief. Uncle Charles had witnessed it. Jasper had been the other signatory and given Tomas a ring to slide onto her frozen finger. Heaven knew where he’d found it so quickly.

She could have said no. She could have tried to tell the officials that it was all a farce and that her uncle was insisting she marry a stranger. But she didn’t. She’d just said yes.

There’d been no photos. No glasses of champagne. No speeches. And no kiss. Tomas had given her a cool peck on her cheek when the official had given the corny ‘you may kiss the bride’ permission. She’d pushed away that fleeting feeling of disappointment, reminding herself it wasn’t real.

Her uncle had stood practically rubbing his hands in glee as she married the wealthiest man either of them had ever met. But Tomas Gallo had flipped the tables on Uncle Charles completely. He’d waited until they returned her uncle to the marina before dropping the bomb. He’d told her to remain in the car, but she’d opened her door already and could hear every word between the two men now eyeballing each other.

* * *

‘I’ve changed my mind about the deal,’ Tomas said coolly. ‘I’m not going to buy into your company.’

‘But you just—’

‘We signed nothing and there was no formal agreement,’ Tomas continued, ignoring the interruption. ‘Jasper, Zara and I are leaving now and you won’t see us again.’

‘You...you...’

For the first time she saw her uncle lost for words. Suddenly he spun towards her, his face contorted with rage.

‘You manipulative little...’ He lunged for her through the open car door but Tomas stepped in front of her like an avenging angel.

‘She’s my wife.’ Tomas bit the words out. ‘And you’ll leave her alone.’

‘Your wife? She’s worse than useless. She won’t be—’

‘I neither want nor expect anything from her,’ Tomas interrupted, still ice-cold. ‘She’s not a commodity to me.’

He jerked his head at Jasper and the lawyer closed the car door, sealing her away from the ugliness and the threats. But she could still hear their conversation.

‘Try to contact her again and I will destroy the little you have left of a life.’

She shivered at the ruthless promise.

Her uncle fell back a step. ‘You can’t destroy me. I’ll go to the media—’

‘And tell them you sold your niece to a total stranger? The same girl who bears the bruises from your fist?’ Tomas coolly goaded. ‘You’re a gambling man. You know it’s time to cut your losses and leave.’

Tomas got back into the car and drove them away. The last time she saw her uncle he was red-faced, sweaty and defeated.

Tomas’s mouth was held firm and she didn’t dare speak a word as he drove them away from her uncle and towards the hotel he was staying in. She could feel the cold rage rolling off him. Jasper, sitting in the back seat, was utterly mute.

Tomas glanced at her and suddenly broke the silence. ‘Don’t be frightened. He won’t bother you again.’

She was still afraid. She had no idea what she was going to do.

‘You’ll fly to London in the morning,’ Tomas continued, turning his attention back to the road. ‘I have your passport from your uncle as we needed it for the wedding. Jasper will ensure the marriage is annulled in the next few days. I will gift you a one-off payment. You never have to return here and you never have to see him again. Or me, for that matter. You’re free to do as you wish.’

Her fears melted away. She bit her lip. She didn’t know how to thank this man. She couldn’t even look him in the eyes; he was so gorgeous, and now he’d done this?

‘Your uncle is a greedy gambler and poor businessman. He thought our marriage would mean I’d committed to his company. He didn’t bother asking me to draw up any binding documents in regards to any investment. He thought he’d won the lottery and showed just what he was capable of.’ He shook his head regretfully. ‘He thought he could sell you.’ He pulled up outside the hotel and sent her a small smile. ‘But we got him, didn’t we?’

He was so handsome and, in that moment, almost mischievous...

* * *

On a whim she’d probably never fully understand, he’d offered her an escape and she’d sold herself to him that very afternoon.

But he’d never actually wanted her. He was too much the maverick for that. It was his distaste for her uncle that had forced him to act. In less than forty-eight hours Tomas had gotten her out of there and then disappeared from her life.

She lifted the tray and made herself lift her chin. She did owe him. And now it seemed she was going to owe him for yet more—a night’s accommodation to wait out the storm.

As she walked back along the corridor and headed up the wide staircase, she realised his wing of the house was warm. The luxurious thick carpet was plush and intricate. It truly was a stately home with its antique furniture and polished wood. On the first floor she glanced at the walls, expecting gilt-edged frames of the family portrait gallery.

That was when she paused in amazement. There were pictures, but they weren’t in frames. Slowly she progressed along the gallery towards the lit room at the end that she assumed was his office. But she was unable to look away from the pages and pages pinned to the wall. Pictures of people with notes written underneath all of them—dates, times, messages about meetings, details about the individuals pictured.

Her heart pounded. It was like the case room in some FBI movie. Was she in a house with a total psychopath or was he some kind of overachieving stalker?

Of course he wasn’t. She knew that about him. She knew he was ruthless, yes. But he was also kind. And he was ferociously good at his job.