The Venadicci Marriage Vengeance

Gabby laughed in his face. ‘Marry you?’ She injected as much insult as she could into her tone. ‘And spend the rest of my life like your mother did, scrubbing other people’s houses? Thanks, but no thanks.’

‘I won’t let you go through with it, Gabriella,’ he warned. ‘If you don’t call the wedding off tonight I will stand up during the ceremony tomorrow and tell the congregation why the marriage should not go ahead.’

‘You wouldn’t dare!’

His eyes challenged hers. ‘You just watch me, Blondie,’ he said. ‘Do you want the whole of Sydney to know what sort of man you are marrying?’

She threw him a look of pure venom. ‘I am going to make damned sure you’re not even at my wedding,’ she spat back at him. ‘I’m going to speak to the security firm Dad has organised and have you banned from entry. I’m marrying Tristan tomorrow no matter what you say. I love him.’

‘You don’t know who or what you want right now,’ he said, with a fast-beating pulse showing at the corner of his mouth. ‘Damn it, Gabriella, you’re only just twenty-one. Your brother’s suicide has thrown you. It’s thrown all of us. Your engagement was a knee-jerk reaction. For God’s sake, a blind man could see it.’

The mention of her brother and his tragic death unleashed a spurt of anger Gabby had not been able to express out of respect for her shattered parents. It rose inside her like an explosion of lava, and with the sort of strength she had no idea she possessed, she tore herself out of his hold and delivered a stinging slap to his stubbly jaw. It must have hurt him, for her hand began to throb unbearably, all the delicate bones feeling as if they had been crushed by a house brick.

Time stood still for several heart-stopping seconds.

Something dangerous flickered in his grey-blue eyes, and then with a speed that knocked the breath right out of her lungs he pulled her into his crushing embrace, his hot, angry mouth coming down on hers…

Gabby had to shake herself back to the present. She hated thinking about that kiss. She hated remembering how she had so shamelessly responded to it. And she hated recalling the bracelet of fingertip bruises she had worn on her wedding day—as if Vinn Venadicci, in spite of her covert word to Security to keep him out of the church, had vicariously come along to mock her marriage to Tristan Glendenning anyway.

‘Just tell me what you want and get it over with,’ she said now, with a flash of irritation, as she continued to face him combatively across the expanse of his desk.

‘I want you to be my wife.’

Gabby wasn’t sure what shocked her the most: the blunt statement of his intentions or the terrifying realisation she had no choice but to agree.

‘That seems rather an unusual request, given the fact we hate each other and have always done so,’ she managed to say, without—she hoped—betraying the flutter of her heart.

‘You don’t hate me, Gabriella,’ he said with a sardonic smile. ‘You just hate how I make you feel. It’s always been there between us, has it not? The forbidden fruit of attraction: the rich heiress and the bad boy servant’s son. A potent mix, don’t you think?’

Gabby sent him a withering look. ‘You are delusional, Vinn,’ she said. ‘I have never given you any encouragement to think anything but how much I detest you.’

He got to his feet and, glancing at his designer watch, informed her dispassionately, ‘Time’s up, Blondie.’

She gritted her teeth. ‘I need more time to consider your offer,’ she bit out.

‘The offer is closing in less than thirty seconds,’ he said with an indomitable look. ‘Take or leave it.’

Frustration pushed Gabby to her feet. ‘This is my father’s life’s work we’re talking about here,’ she said, her voice rising to an almost shrill level. ‘He built up the St Clair Resort from scratch after that cyclone in the seventies. How can you turn your back on him after all he’s done for you? Damn it, Vinn. You would be pacing the exercise yard at Pentridge Jail if it wasn’t for what our family has done for you.’

His eyes were diamond-hard, the set to his mouth like carved granite. ‘That is my price, Gabriella,’ he said. ‘Marriage or nothing.’

She clenched her hands into fists, her whole body shaking with impotent rage. ‘You know I can’t say no. You know it and you want to rub it in. You’re only doing this because I rejected your stupid spur of the moment proposal seven years ago.’

He leaned towards the intercom on his desk and pressing the button, said calmly, ‘Rachel? Is my next client here? Mrs Glendenning is just leaving.’

Gabby could see her father’s hard-earned business slipping out of his control. He would have to sell the house—the house his parents and grandparents before him had lived in. Gabby could imagine the crushing disappointment etched on his face when she told him she had failed him, that she hadn’t been able to keep things afloat as her brilliantly talented brother would have done. If Blair was still alive he would have networked and found someone to tide him over by now. He would have had that margin call solved with a quick call to one of his well-connected mates. That was the way he had worked. He had lived on the adrenalin rush of life while she… Well, that was the problem.

She couldn’t cope.

She liked to know what was going to happen and when it was going to happen. She hated the cut and thrust of business, the endless going-nowhere meetings, the tedious networking at corporate functions—not to mention the reams of pointless paperwork. And most of all she hated the rows and rows of numbers that seemed more of a blur to her than anything else.

Gabby liked to… Well, there was no point in thinking about what she liked to do, because it just wasn’t going to happen. Her dreams had had to be shelved and would remain shelved—at least until her father could take up the reins again… If he took up the reins again, she thought, with another deep quiver of panic.

Gabby had been the last person to speak to her brother; the last person to see him alive before he ended his life with a drug overdose. Because of that she had responsibilities to face. And face them she would. Even if they were totally repugnant to her. Being forced to marry a man like Vinn Venadicci was right up there on the repugnant scale. Or maybe repugnant wasn’t quite the right word, she grudgingly conceded. Vinn was hardly what any woman would describe as physically off-putting. He was downright gorgeous, when it came down to it. That long, leanly muscled frame, that silky black hair, those sensually sculptured lips and those mesmerising eyes were enough to send any woman’s heart aflutter—and Gabby’s was doing a whole lot more than fluttering right now at the thought of being formally tied to him.

Entering into a marriage contract with Vinn was asking for trouble—but what else could she do? Who was going to lend her that amount of money in less than twenty-four hours?

Gabby gulped as she glanced at him again. Could she do it? Could she agree to marry him even though it was madness?

Actually, it was dangerous… Yes, that was the word she had been looking for. Vinn was dangerous. He was arrogant, he was a playboy, and—even more disturbing—he had a chip on his shoulder where she was concerned.

But she had nowhere else to turn—no other solution to fix this within the narrow timeframe. It was up to her to save her family’s business, even if it meant agreeing to his preposterous conditions.

‘All right,’ Gabby said on a whooshing breath of resignation. ‘I’ll do it.’

‘Fine,’ Vinn said, in a tone that suggested he had never had any doubt of her accepting, which somehow made it all the more galling. ‘The money will be deposited within the next few minutes. I will pick you up this evening for dinner, so we can go through the wedding arrangements.’

Gabby felt herself quake with alarm. ‘Couldn’t we just wait a few days until I have time to—?’

His cynical laugh cut her off. ‘Until you have time to think of a way out, eh, Gabriella? I don’t think so, cara. Now I have you I am not going to let you escape.’

‘What am I supposed to say to my parents?’ she asked, scowling at him even as her stomach did another nosedive of dread.

He smiled. ‘Why not tell them you’ve finally come to your senses and agreed to marry me?’

She gave him another glare that would have stripped three decades of paint off a wall. ‘They will think I have taken leave of my senses.’

‘Or they will think you have fallen head over heels in love,’ he said. ‘Which is exactly what I would prefer them to believe at this point in time. Your father’s health is unstable and will be for some weeks after the surgery, I imagine. I wouldn’t want him to suffer a relapse out of concern for you or for his business.’

Gabby couldn’t argue with that, but she resented him using it as a lever to get her to fall meekly in with his plans. ‘I was planning on going to the hospital this evening,’ she said tightly. ‘Will I meet you there or at the house?’

‘I have a couple of meetings that might string out, so if I don’t make it to the hospital I will meet you at the house around eight-thirty,’ he said. ‘I would like to speak to your father at some point about my intentions.’

Gabby couldn’t stop her top lip from curling. ‘Somehow you don’t strike me as the traditional type, asking a girl’s father for her hand in marriage. In fact I didn’t think you were the marrying type at all. All we ever read about you in the press is how you move from one relationship to another within a matter of weeks.’

He gave her another unreadable smile. ‘Variety, as they say, is the spice of life,’ he said. ‘But even the most restless man eventually feels the need to put down some roots.’

She eyed him warily. ‘This marriage between us…it’s not for the long term…is it?’

‘Only for as long as it achieves its aim,’ he said— which Gabby realised hadn’t really answered her question.

Vinn moved past her to hold the door open for her. ‘I will see you tonight,’ he said. ‘I’ll call you if I am going to be late.’

She brushed past him, her head at a proud angle. The subtle notes of her perfume danced around his face, making his nostrils flare involuntarily. She smelt of orange blossom. Or was it honeysuckle? He couldn’t quite tell. Maybe it was both. That was the thing about Gabriella—she was a combination of so many things, any one of them alone was enough to send his senses spinning. But all of them put together? Well, that was half his problem, wasn’t it?

The door clicked shut behind her and Vinn released the breath he’d unconsciously been holding. ‘Damn,’ he said, raking a hand through his hair. ‘God damn it to hell.’

‘Mr Venadicci?’ His receptionist’s cool, crisp voice sounded over the intercom. ‘Mr Winchester is here now. Shall I send him in?’

Vinn pulled in an uneven breath and released it just as raggedly. ‘Yeah…’ he said, dropping his hand by his side. ‘I’ll see him. But tell him I’ve only got five minutes.’

CHAPTER TWO

GABBY put on her bravest face while she visited her father’s bedside. The tubes and heart monitor leads attached to his grey-tinged body made her stomach churn with anguish—the very same anguish she could see played out on her mother’s face.

‘How are you, Dad?’ she whispered softly as she bent down to kiss his cheek.

‘Still alive and kicking,’ he said, and even managed a lopsided grin, but Gabby could see the worry and fear in his whisky-coloured eyes.

‘Have the doctors told you anything more?’ she asked, addressing both her mother and father.

‘The surgery is being brought forward to tomorrow,’ Pamela St Clair answered. ‘Vinn spoke to the cardiac surgeon and organised it when he was here earlier. He insisted your father’s case be made a priority. You just missed him, actually. It’s a wonder you didn’t pass him in the corridor.’

Gabby stiffened. ‘Vinn was here just now?’

‘Yes, dear,’ her mother said. ‘He’s been here every day. But you know that.’

‘Yes… It’s just I was speaking to him this morning and he said he had meetings to attend all afternoon and evening,’ she said, unconsciously biting her lip.

Her mother gave her a searching look. ‘I hope you’re not going to be difficult about Vinn,’ she said, with a hint of reproof in her tone. ‘He’s been nothing but supportive, and the least you could do is be civil towards him—especially now.’

Gabby could have laughed out loud at the irony of her mother’s turnaround. Pamela St Clair had always been of the old school, that actively discouraged fraternisation with any of the household staff. She had barely spoken to Vinn’s mother during the years Rose had worked at the St Clair estate other than to hand Rose a long list of menial tasks to get through. She had been even less friendly towards Rose’s surly son during the short time he had lived there with his mother. And after he’d had that slight run-in with the law Pamela had tried to ban him from the property altogether, but Gabby’s father had insisted Vinn be allowed to visit his mother as usual.

Gabby hadn’t been much better towards Rose— which was something she had come to sincerely regret in the years since. She still cringed in shame at how inconsiderate she had been at times, carelessly leaving her things about, without a care for the person who had to come along behind her and pick them up.

But it was Gabby’s treatment of Vinn that had been the most unforgivable. She had been absolutely appalling to him for most of her teenage years—teasing him in front of her giggling friends, talking about him in disparaging terms well within his hearing. She had flirted with him, and then turned her nose up at him with disgraceful regularity. She had no excuse for her behaviour other than that she had been an insecure teenager, privately struggling with body issues, who, in an effort to build her self-esteem, had tended to mix with a rather shallow crowd of rich-kid friends who had not learned to respect people from less affluent backgrounds.

On one distressingly memorable occasion, at the urging of her troublemaking friends, Gabby had left an outrageously seductive note for Vinn, asking him to meet her in the summerhouse that evening. But instead of turning up she had watched from one of the top windows of the mansion, laughing with her friends at how he had arrived at the summerhouse with a bunch of white roses for her. What had shamed her most had been Vinn’s reaction. Instead of bawling her out, calling her any one of the despicable names she had no doubt deserved, he had said nothing. Not to her, not to her parents, and not even to her brother Blair, whom he’d spent most of his spare time with whenever he had visited the estate.

Gabby’s father reached out a weak hand towards her, the slight tremble of his touch bringing her back to the present. ‘Vinn is a good man,’ he said. ‘I know you’re still grieving the loss of Tristan, but I think you should seriously consider his proposal. You could do a lot worse. I know he’s had a bit of a rough start, but he’s done well for himself. No one could argue with that. I always knew he had the will-power and the drive to make it once he got on the right path. I’m glad he has chosen you as his bride. He will look after you well. I know he will.’

Gabby couldn’t quite disguise her surprise that Vinn had already spoken to her father. She moistened her dry lips and tried on a bright smile, but it didn’t feel comfortable on her mouth. ‘So he’s spoken to you about our…relationship?’

Her father smiled. ‘I gave him my full blessing, Gabby. I must say I wasn’t the least surprised to hear the news of your engagement.’

Gabby frowned. ‘You…you weren’t?

He shook his head and gave her hand another light squeeze. ‘You’ve been striking sparks off each other since you were a teenager,’ he said. ‘For a time there I thought… Well…Blair’s accident changed everything, of course.’

Gabby felt the familiar frustration that neither of her parents had ever accepted their only son’s death as suicide. They still refused to acknowledge he had been dabbling with drugs—but then stubborn denial was a St Clair trait, and she had her own fair share of it.

‘I’m glad you both approve,’ she said, banking down her emotion. ‘We are having dinner this evening to discuss the wedding arrangements.’

‘Yes, he told us it wasn’t going to be a grand affair,’ her mother said. ‘I think that’s wise, under the circumstances. After all, it’s your second marriage. It seems pointless going to the same fuss as last time.’

Gabby couldn’t agree more. The amount of money spent on her marriage to Tristan Glendenning had been such a waste when within hours of the ceremony and lavish reception she had realised the terrible mistake she had made.

She stretched her mouth into another staged smile and reached across to kiss both her parents. ‘I’d better get going,’ she said, readjusting her handbag over her shoulder. ‘Is there anything you need before I go?’

‘No, dear,’ her mother assured her. ‘Vinn brought some fruit and a couple of novels for your father to read by that author he enjoys so much. I must say Vinn’s grown into a perfect gentleman. Your father is right. You could do a lot worse—especially as you’re a widow. Not many men want a woman someone else has had, so to speak.’

Gabby silently ground her teeth. If only her mother knew the truth about her ill-fated first marriage. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ she said, and with another unnatural smile left.

The St Clair mansion was situated on the waterfront in the premier harbourside suburb of Point Piper, flanked on either side by equally luxurious homes for the super-rich and famous. The views across Sydney Harbour were spectacular, and the house and grounds offered a lifestyle that was decadent to say the least.

Gabby had moved back home two years ago, after Tristan’s death in a car accident, and although now and again she had toyed with the idea of finding a place of her own, so far she had done nothing about doing so. The mansion was big enough for her to have the privacy she needed, and with her finances still on the shaky side, after the trail of debts her late husband had left behind, she had decided to leave things as they were for the time being.

The doorbell sounded right on the stroke of eight-thirty and Gabby was still not ready. Her straight ash-blonde hair was in heated rollers, to give it some much needed body, and she was still in her bathrobe after a shower.

She wriggled into a black sheath of a designer dress she’d had for years, and shoved her feet into three inch heels, all the time trying not to panic as another minute passed. She slashed some lipstick across her mouth and dusted her cheeks with translucent powder, giving her lashes a quick brush with a mascara wand before tugging at the rollers. Her hair cascaded around her shoulders in springy waves, and with a quick brush she was ready—or at least as ready as she could be under the circumstances. Which wasn’t saying much…

Vinn checked his watch and wondered if he should use the key Henry had insisted he keep on him at all times. But just as he was searching for it on his keyring the door opened and Gabriella was standing there, looking as if she had just stepped off the catwalk. Her perfume drifted towards him, an exotic blend of summer blooms. Her normally straight hair was bouncing freely around her bare shoulders, the black halter neck dress showing off her slim figure to maximum advantage.

It had always amazed him how someone so slim could have such generous breasts without having to resort to any sort of enhancement. The tempting shadow of her cleavage drew his eyes like a magnet, and he had to fight to keep his eyes on her toffee-brown ones. She had made them all the more noticeable with the clever use of smoky eyeshadow and eyeliner, and her full and sensual lips were a glossy pink which was the same shade as that on her fingernails.

‘I’ll just get my wrap and purse,’ she said, leaving the door open.

Vinn watched her walk over the marbled floor of the expansive foyer on killer heels, one of her hands adjusting her earrings before she scooped up a purse and silky wrap. She turned and came back towards him, her chin at the haughty angle he had always associated with her—even when she was a sulky fourteen-year-old, with braces on her teeth and puppy fat on her body.

‘Shall we get this over with?’ she said, as if they were about to face a hangman.

Vinn had to suppress his desire to make her eat her carelessly slung words. She meant to insult him, and would no doubt do so at every opportunity, but he had the upper hand now and she would have to toe the line. It would bring him immense pleasure to tame her—especially after what her fiancé had done to him on the day of their wedding on her behalf. The scar over his left eyebrow was a permanent reminder of what lengths she would go to in order to have her way. But things were going to be done his way this time around, and the sooner she got used to it the better.

He led the way to his car and opened the passenger door for her, closing it once she was inside with the seatbelt in place. He waited until they were heading towards the city before he spoke.

‘Your parents were surprisingly positive about our decision to marry—your mother in particular. I was expecting her to drop into a faint at the thought of her daughter hooking up with a fatherless foreigner, but she practically gushed in gratefulness that someone had put up their hand to scoop you off the shelf, so to speak.’

Gabby sent him a brittle look. ‘Must you be so insulting?’ she asked. ‘And by the way—not that I’m splitting hairs or anything—but it wasn’t exactly our plan to get married, it was yours.’

He gave an indifferent lift of one shoulder. ‘There is no point arguing about the terms now the margin call has been dealt with,’ he said. ‘I have always had a lot of time for your father, but your mother has always been an out-and-out snob who thinks the measure of a man is what’s in his wallet.’

‘Yes, well, it’s practically the only thing you’ve got going for you,’ she shot back with a scowl.

He laughed as he changed gears. ‘What’s in my wallet has just got you and your family out of a trainload of trouble, cara, so don’t go insulting me, hmm? I might take it upon myself to withdraw my support— and then where will you be?’

Gabby turned her head away, looking almost sightlessly at the silvery skyscrapers of the city as they flashed past. He was right of course. She would have to curb her tongue, otherwise he might renege on the deal. It would be just the kind of thing he would do, and relish every moment of doing it. Although it went against everything she believed in to pander to a man she loathed with every gram of her being, she really didn’t see she had any choice in the matter. Vinn had the power to make or break her; she had to remember that.

She had never thought it was possible to hate someone so much. Her blood was thundering through her veins with the sheer force of it. He was so arrogant, so very self-assured. Against all the odds he had risen above his impoverished background and was using his new-found power to control her. But she was not going to give in without a fight. He might make her his wife, but it would be in name only.

Not that she would tell him just yet, of course. That would be the card up her sleeve she would reveal only once the ceremony was over. Vinn would be in for a surprise to find his new wife was not prepared to sleep with him. She would be a trophy wife—a gracious hostess, who would say the right things in the right places, and smile and act the role of the devoted partner in public if needed—but in private she would be the same Gabby who had left the score of her nails on the back of his hand the night before her wedding.

The restaurant he had booked was on the waterfront, and the night-time view over the harbour was even more stunning, with the twinkling of lights from the various tour ferries and floating restaurants. The evening air was sultry and warm, heavy with humidity, as if there was a storm brewing in the atmosphere.