His Chosen Wife: Antonides' Forbidden Wife / The Ruthless Italian's Inexperienced Wife / The Millionaire's Chosen Bride

“Yes. You’re my wife, so I’m married,” he said simply, and punctuated the reality by taking another bite out of a cookie.

“Yes, but—”

He wiped powdered sugar off his mouth. “You’d rather I’d call you a liar?”

“No. Of course not.” Ally sighed and shook her head. “I didn’t imagine you shouted it from the rooftops. You didn’t say anything in the article about being married,” she reminded him. “On the contrary, the article said you were dating hordes of eligible women.” She could have quoted word for word exactly what it had said, but she didn’t.

“Hordes.” PJ gave a bark of laughter. “Not quite. I escort women to business functions. Acquaintances. Friends. It’s expected.”

“But they don’t know you’re married.”

“Hell, Al, most of the time, I barely even know I’m married!”

His exasperation relieved her and swamped her with guilt at the same time. “I know,’ she said, clutching the glass tightly in both hands. “I’m sorry. It was selfish of me, marrying you. We never should have. I—” she corrected herself “—never should have let you do it.”

“You didn’t ‘let’ me,” PJ retorted. “I offered. You just said yes. Anyway—” he shrugged it off “—it was no big deal.”

“It was to me.”

Marrying PJ had given her access to her grandmother’s legacy. It had allowed her the freedom to make her own choices instead of doing what her father prescribed. It had been the making of her. She owed PJ for her life as she knew it.

“Well, good,” he said gruffly. “So tell me all about it. We didn’t have much of a chance to talk … last time.”

Last time. Five years ago when she’d come back to Honolulu for an art opening, when he’d showed up with a gorgeous woman on his arm. Ally gave herself a little shake, determined not to think about that. “It was a busy time,” she said dismissively.

“So it was. You’re a household word now, I gather.”

“I’ve done all right.” She’d worked very hard, and she was proud of what she’d accomplished. But she didn’t want him to think she was bragging.

“Better than, I’d say.” PJ leaned back in his chair and ticked off her accomplishments. “World renowned fabric artist. Clothing designer. International entrepreneur. Business owner. How many boutiques is it now?”

Clearly he’d done some homework, too.

“Seven,” Ally said shortly. “I just opened one in Honolulu last month.”

She had gone to California to art school after leaving Hawaii—after their marriage—and to supplement the money from her grandmother’s legacy, she’d worked in a fabric store. Always interested in art, she’d managed to put the two together rather quickly and had begun to design quilts and wall hangings that had caught the public’s eye.

From there she had branched out into clothing design and creating one-of-a-kind outfits. “Art you can wear,” she’d called it.

Now her work was featured not only in her own shops, but in galleries and even a few textile museums all over the world.

“Impressive,” PJ said now. He balanced one ankle on the opposite knee.

“I worked hard,” she said firmly. “You knew I would. You saw that I had.” Five years ago, she meant.

“I did,” he agreed, lounging back in his chair, and regarding her intently as he drawled, “And you didn’t need any more favors from me.”

Ally stiffened. But she knew that from his perspective she was the one who had been out of line. “I was rude to you that night.”

It had been the last time—the only time—she had seen PJ since the day of their marriage.

She’d come back to Honolulu for her first local public art show. It had been in the heady scary early days of her career when she certainly hadn’t been a “household name” or anything close. In fact the show itself had doubtless been premature, but she’d wanted desperately to do it, to prove to her father that she was on her way to making something of herself, and—though she’d barely admitted to herself—she’d hoped to see PJ, too, to show him that his faith in her had not been misplaced. So she’d jumped at the chance to be part of the show when another artist backed out.

She’d sent her father an invitation to the opening and had waited with nervous pride and anticipation for his arrival.

He’d never come.

But PJ had.

Looking up all of a sudden to see him there across the room, big as life and twice as gorgeous as she remembered, had knocked Ally for a loop.

She hadn’t expected to see him at all.

When she’d known she was coming back, she’d casually asked a friend who had gone to the same beach with them about where PJ was now.

May had shaken her head. “PJ? No idea. Haven’t seen him in ages. But you know surfers—they never stay. They’re always following the waves.”

So the sight of him had been a shock. As had the sight of the woman on his arm.

She was, in a blonde bombshell way, every bit as gorgeous as PJ himself. With his dark hair and tan and her platinum tresses and fair skin, the contrast between the two was eye-catching and arresting. The artist in Ally had certainly appreciated that.

The woman in her didn’t appreciate him striding up to her, all smiles, hugging her and saying cheerfully, “Hey. Look at you! You look great. And your stuff—” he let go of her to wave an arm around the gallery “—looks great, too. Amazing. I brought you a reviewer.” He’d introduced the blonde then, took her arm and pulled her forward. “This is Annie Cannavaro. She writes art reviews for the Star.”

He had not said, “This is Ally, my wife.”

In fact, he hadn’t mentioned any relationship to her at all. Not that Ally had expected him to. She knew their marriage had been for her convenience, not a lifelong commitment. He’d done her a favor.

But standing there, being introduced to the Star’s art critic, made her realize that PJ thought she needed another favor now. The very thought had made her see red. She was not still the needy girl she’d been when he married her!

He’d been perplexed at her brusqueness. But Ally had been too insecure still to accept his freely offered help.

And—a truth she acknowledged to no one, barely even to herself—seeing PJ with another woman, a far more suitable woman for him than she was, had made it a thousand times worse.

She’d been stiff and tense and had determinedly feigned indifference all the time they were there. And she’d only breathed a sigh of relief when she’d seen them go out the door. Her relief, though, had been short-lived.

Right before closing, PJ had returned. Alone.

He’d cornered her in one of the gallery rooms, demanding, “What the hell is wrong with you?” His normally easygoing smile was nowhere to be found.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she’d replied frostily, trying to sidestep and get around him, but he moved to block her exit.

“You know damned well what I’m talking about. So you don’t want to know me, okay. Maybe you’re too much of a hotshot now. Fine, but that’s no reason to be rude to Annie.”

“I wasn’t! I’m not—a hotshot.” Her face had burned furiously. She’d been mortified at his accusation. “I just … I didn’t mean to be rude. I just don’t need your help. You don’t need to keep rescuing me!”

“I’m not bloody rescuing you,” he’d snapped. “I thought you’d like the exposure. But if that’s the way you see it, fine. I’ll tell her not to write anything!”

“You can tell her what to write?” So it was true!

He’d said a rude word. “Forget it. Sorry I bothered.” He spun away and started out of the room.

But she couldn’t let him go without calling after him, “Is that all?”

He looked over his shoulder. “All? What else could there be?”

Ally’s mouth was dry. She had to force the words out. “I thought … I thought you’d be bringing the divorce papers.” She’d feared there was a quaver in her voice, but she tried not to betray it.

PJ stared at her. She met his gaze even though it was the hardest thing she’d ever done.

“No,” he said at last, his voice flat. “I don’t have any divorce papers.”

“Oh.” And there was no accounting for the foolish shiver of relief she’d felt.

Still they’d stared at each other, and then she’d dragged in a breath and shrugged. “Fine. Well, I just thought … whenever you want one, just let me know.” She’d tried to sound blasé and indifferent.

“Yeah,” PJ said. “I’ll do that.” And he’d turned and walked away.

She hadn’t seen him again, hadn’t heard from him, hadn’t contacted him—until today.

Now she said carefully, “I apologize for that. I was still trying to find my own way. I’d depended on you enough. I didn’t want another handout.”

“Is that what it was?” There was a rough edge to his voice. The cool irony of his earlier words was past.

Their gazes locked—and held—and something seemed to arc between them like an electric current.

Or rather, Ally assured herself, more like a sparkler on the Fourth of July—bright and fizzing, ultimately insubstantial—and definitely best ignored.

Determinedly she gave her head a little shake. “I’m sure that’s what it was,” she said firmly. “I shouldn’t have done it, though. Anyway, I’ve found out who I am and what I can do. And I owe it to you. So I came to say thank you belatedly and—” she reached down and picked up the portfolio she had set by her chair and opened it just as she’d rehearsed doing “—to bring you these.”

She slid a file of papers out of the portfolio and held it out to him.

He took the file, looked at it, but didn’t open it. “What are they?”

“Divorce papers. About time, huh?” She said it quickly, then shrugged and grinned as brightly as she could, willing him to grin back at her.

He didn’t. His gaze fixed on the file in his hand, weighing it, but he didn’t say a word.

“I know I should have done it sooner,” she went on, papering over the awkward silence. “I’m sorry it took so long. I thought you’d do it. You could have had one at any time, you know. Well, almost anytime. After I turned twenty-one anyway. I told you so, remember?”

He still didn’t speak. He didn’t even blink. His face was stony, his expression unreadable. And so she babbled on, unable to help herself. “I know it’s past time. I should have taken care of it ages ago. It’s a formality really—just confirming what we already know. I don’t want anything from you, of course. No settlement, naturally. But,” she added because she’d already decided this, “if you want a share of my business, it’s yours. You’re entitled.”

“I don’t.” The words cut across hers, harsh and louder than she expected.

“Well, I wanted to offer.” She took a breath. “Okay, then it will be even easier.” She reached inside her portfolio for a pen. “In that case, all you really need to do is sign them. I can take care of the rest.”

“I don’t think so.”

The rough edge was gone now. PJ’s voice was smooth and cool, like an ocean breeze. Ally looked up, startled.

He was sitting up straight in the chair and was regarding her steadily.

“Well, of course I’ll understand if you want a lawyer to look them over.…” Still she fumbled for the pen.

“I don’t.” Still cool. Very cool.

She frowned, rattled. “Well then—” Her fingers fastened on the pen at last. She jerked it out and thrust it at him, giving him one more quick smile. “Here you go.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t take it.

And of course, she realized then, he didn’t need one. He already had a pen in his shirt pocket. She felt like an idiot as she gestured toward it. “Of course you have your own.”

But he didn’t get it out. Instead PJ dropped the papers on the table, then looked up and met her gaze squarely. “No divorce.”

CHAPTER TWO

“WHAT? What do you mean, no divorce?”

“Seems pretty clear to me. Which word didn’t you understand?” He raised an eyebrow.

Ally stared at him, unable to believe her ears. “Ha-ha. Very funny. Come on, PJ. You’ve had your joke. You made your point. I was rude. I’m sorry. I’ve grown up, changed. Now just sign the papers and I’ll be on my way.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Why not?” She was rattled now. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Sure it does.” He shrugged. “We’re married. We took vows.”

“Oh, yes, right. And we’ve certainly kept them, haven’t we?”

The brow lifted again and he said mildly, “Speak for yourself, Al.”

She gaped at him. “What are you saying?”

“Never mind.” He looked away out the window, stared out at Manhattan across the river for a long moment while Ally stewed, waiting for him to enlighten her. Finally he looked her way again. “I’m just saying we’ve been married for ten years. That’s a long time. Lots of marriages don’t last that long,” he added.

“Are you suggesting that more people shouldn’t see each other for ten years? Or five,” she added, forcing herself to add that one disastrous meeting.

He shook his head, smiling slightly. “No. I’m saying we should give it a shot.”

“What?” She couldn’t believe her ears. “Give what a shot?”

“Marriage. Living together. Seeing if it will work.” Deep green eyes bored into hers.

Ally opened her mouth, then closed it again. She couldn’t believe this was happening. Not now! Not ever, for that matter. That had never been the plan. Not for her, and certainly not for PJ.

“We don’t know each other,” she pointed out.

“We were friends once.”

“You were a beach bum and I was the counter girl where you bought plate lunches and hamburgers.”

“We met there,” he agreed. “And we became friends. You’re not trying to say we weren’t friends.”

“No.” She couldn’t say that. They had been friends. “But that’s the point. We were friends, PJ. Buddies. We never even went out! You certainly didn’t love me then! And you can’t possibly love me now.”

“So? I like what I see. And a lot of marriages start with less.”

He made it sound eminently sensible and reasonable—as if it were perfectly logical for two people to go their separate ways for ten years and then suddenly, without warning, pick up where they left off.

Maybe to him it was. After all, he’d married her with no real forethought at all. It had been useful to her, so he had done it.

She shook her head. “That’s ridiculous.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Of course it is. We don’t live anywhere near each other. We have entirely different lives.”

“I’m adaptable.”

“Well, I’m not! I’ve got a life in Hawaii now. I’ve come home, settled down. I like it there. I’ve worked hard to get where I am, to do what I’m doing. It’s time to take the next step.”

“Which is?”

“Get a divorce!”

“No.”

“Yes! I’ve got to,” she said. “I … I’m getting a life!”

“Finally?” His tone was mocking.

She wrapped her arms across her chest. “I had other things to do first. You know that.”

“And now you’ve done them, so you want a divorce.” A brow lifted. “Why now?”

“Because I’ve found you, for one thing,” she said with a touch of annoyance. “And why wait? It’s not as if we’ve got a relationship. On the contrary, we have nothing.”

“We have memories.”

“Ten-year-old memories,” she scoffed.

“And one five-year-old one,” PJ reminded her.

Ally’s face burned. “I’ve apologized for that!”

“So you have. Thank you,” he said formally. “Anyway, it’s not my fault we didn’t keep in touch,” he pointed out. “You’re the one who didn’t leave a forwarding address.”

“Mea culpa,” Ally muttered. But then she added, “Maybe I should have kept in touch, but—”

But doing so would have been a temptation she didn’t want to have to deal with. Marrying PJ had been one thing—it had been a few words recited, a couple of signatures scrawled. It had been a legal document, but it hadn’t been personal. Not really.

That night, though—that one night with PJ—had destroyed all her notions of their marriage being no more than an impersonal business proposition. It had made her want things she knew she had no business wanting, things she was sure PJ definitely didn’t want. She knew he’d married her to help her out.

To change the rules after the fact wouldn’t have been fair.

She shook her head. “I just thought it was better if I didn’t.”

“No distractions,” PJ translated flatly.

“Yes,” Ally lied. “But times change. People change as you said.” She gave him the brightest smile she could manage under the circumstances, but she couldn’t quite meet his eyes.

“So what’s the real reason, Al?”

The question cut across the jumble of her thoughts exactly the way his suggestion that he marry her had cut across the morass of worries she’d wallowed in all those years ago.

She hadn’t counted on that, any more than she’d counted on this.

She’d assured herself that seeing PJ again would be a good thing. That it was the right thing to do—the polite thing to do—come and ask him face-to-face to sign the divorce papers rather than simply mail the papers to him.

She’d been convinced that seeing him again would bring closure.

She’d convinced herself that she would walk into PJ’s office and have changed enough to feel nothing more than gratitude to the man she had married ten years before.

And even if she’d still felt a twinge of regret, she’d been sure he would be delighted to comply with her request. After all, being married to her was holding up his life, too. With the papers signed, they would go their own ways and that would be that.

Now she watched as PJ took a sip of tea and cocked his head, waiting for her answer.

“I’m getting married,” she said at last.

PJ choked. “What?”

“I said, I’m getting married. Not everyone considers me a charity case,” she said sharply. His eyes narrowed, but she plunged on. “I’m … engaged. Sort of.”

“Isn’t that a little … precipitous? You already have one husband.”

“It’s not official,” she said. “It’s just … going to happen. After. Which is why I brought the divorce papers. So you could sign them. It’s a formality really. I could have sent them by mail. I just thought it was more polite to bring them in person.”

“Polite,” he echoed. His tone disputed her assertion.

“I am polite,” she defended herself. “I didn’t imagine you’d have any interest in … keeping things going. It’s not as if we’ve ever had a real marriage.”

“We did for one night.”

Her teeth came together with a snap. “That wasn’t … real.”

“Felt pretty real to me.”

“Stop it! You know what I mean!”

He sighed. “Tell me what you mean, Al.”

“I mean it’s time to move on. I should have done something sooner. Contacted you sooner. But I thought you would … and then five years ago, I was sure you would … and then I just … got busy. And after I came back to Honolulu, I wasn’t sure where you were and I didn’t think it mattered and then things got … serious. Jon … proposed and …”

“He didn’t know you were married?”

“He knew I was. I guess he thought it was in the past,” she added awkwardly. How did you tell someone you were seeing that you still had a husband, you just didn’t know where?

“And you didn’t bother to set him straight?”

“It never came up.”

PJ’s eyes widened. “Really?” Patent disbelief.

“We didn’t spend a lot of time talking about it!” she snapped. “What was there to say? He said he’d heard about my marriage from his brother and I said yes. There was nothing else. He, well, he assumed it was over. And I … said it was.”

PJ raised an eyebrow.

“Well, it has been—in everything but the formalities. It never even really got started!”

“Oh, I think you could say it got started, Al.” The look he gave her reminded her all too well of the night that had been anything but platonic.

“It was one night!”

But what a night. Especially for a wedding night that wasn’t supposed to have happened at all.

Making love with PJ hadn’t been part of the deal—the original deal. She’d never intended to consummate their marriage. And PJ had never mentioned it, either.

But after the ceremony, when she’d gone home to tell her father she was married, he had just stared at her and, after what seemed an eternity, he said, “You’re married?” Even longer pause. “Really?”

And long after he’d walked away from her, those two words had still echoed in her head.

Was it a marriage? Was saying words and scrawling signatures enough to make it a marriage? Or was there more to it than that?

Of course there was. Ally had always known that.

She’d seen the deep love of her parents. She’d witnessed the shattering pain her father had felt at her mother’s death. Her marriage to PJ, in that light, was a sham indeed.

And while she knew ultimately why they had married, she felt compelled by her father’s doubt and, even more, by her own convictions, to want a “real marriage” with PJ Antonides.

And so that night she had gone to PJ’s apartment.

She could still remember the incredulity on his face when he had opened the door and found her standing there. “Ally? What’s up?”

“I …” She’d swallowed hard. “I need another favor.”

“Yeah, sure, name it.” He’d shrugged, still looking at her strangely because, of course, he hadn’t expected to see her at all.

Her fingers had twisted together, strangled each other, as she looked up into his eyes. “Could you, um, please make love to me?”

He’d looked at her, stunned. And for so long, that she’d been tempted to turn tail and run. She’d tried to explain. “I know why you married me. I know you’re doing me a favor, putting your name on a piece of paper, But I … I just want it to be real!”

He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just stared.

“I know making love doesn’t make it ‘real’—not like other marriages,” she said hastily. “And I know it won’t happen again. I just thought—if you wanted …” Her voice trailed off. “Maybe you don’t find me attractive. I understand. I—”

“Don’t be stupid,” PJ said harshly. He grasped her hand and drew her in.

And Ally’s breath caught in her throat. “I don’t expect—”

“Shh,” PJ’s voice was a whisper, a breath—that began on his lips and ended on hers.

The touch of his mouth, warm and persuasive against hers, made Ally’s legs weak, made her mind spin, made her clutch his arms, then wrap hers around his back and hang on for dear life as he pushed the door shut behind her and steered her to his bed without ever breaking their kiss.

And then he made love to her.

Ally had expected it to be quick and uncomfortable and perfunctory—one coupling to make their marriage “real.” And, because she supposed that PJ would enjoy sex, she’d considered that to be the one small thing she could give him.

As far as she went, as a virgin, Ally had no real experience to draw on. And everything she’d heard had made “first times” sound something to be endured rather than enjoyed.

On the contrary, PJ had made it the most amazing night of her life.

Making love with PJ, sharing intimacies with PJ she’d never shared with anyone, had been such an incredible experience that she had never been able to forget it. She hadn’t wanted to.

There had been nothing quick or perfunctory about it. PJ had been gentle and thorough, touching and caressing her in ways that made her ache with longing for him. His gentleness had made her want to weep at the same time it had made her exult with the joy of finding out what her body was all about.

And if there had been a bit of discomfort the first time, it was nothing in the face of the concern PJ expressed, his determination to make it good for her, too. And he had. All night he had.

If she hadn’t been already half in love with PJ Antonides, she certainly would have been by the next morning. Not that she could tell him so. That, too, would have been changing the rules.

But it didn’t stop her thinking about him. Didn’t stop her loving him from afar. Didn’t stop her reliving those memories. They were memories she’d lived on for years.