Her First-Date Honeymoon

Below the cream polo-neck jumper she was now wearing a pair of skinny jeans and tan ankle boots. She’d tugged the neck of the jumper up until it reached her ears. The tears were gone, but despite the resolute set of her mouth she looked worn out.

Almost as worn out as he felt.

‘What can I get you to drink?’

‘A whisky, please.’

He poured her whisky and a brandy for himself into tumblers, trying to ignore how physically aware he was of her. Of her refined accent, her words clipped but softly spoken. Of her long limbs. Of the outline of the tantalising body her nightdress had done little to conceal earlier. Of her utter beauty.

He brought their drinks over to the sofas at the centre of the room and placed one on either side of the coffee table in between them. He sat with his back to the canal.

She perched on the side of the sofa and stared out through the terrace windows with an unseeing gaze, the hands on her lap curled like weapons ready to strike out. Eventually her eyes landed on his, and the sudden flare of vulnerability in them delivered a sucker punch to his gut.

Despite every fibre of his being telling him not to—she might start crying again—he found himself asking, ‘Do you want to talk about it?’

She took a sip of her whisky. Depositing the glass back on the table, she reached down to her left ankle and gave it a quick squeeze. Sitting up, she inhaled deeply, her chest rising and falling. A flash of heat coloured her cheeks. The result of the whisky or something else?

‘Not particularly.’ Her clipped tone was accompanied by a haughty rise of her chin.

‘In that case I’ll go and make some phone calls to arrange a hotel room for you.’

He was at the door before she spoke.

‘My fiancé...I mean my ex-fiancé...was arrested early yesterday morning—at four o’clock, to be precise—for embezzlement.’

She tugged at the neck of her jumper. He returned to his seat and she darted a quick glance in his direction. Pride in battle with pain.

‘He stole funds from the company he worked for; and also persuaded his family and friends to invest in a property scheme with him. There was no scheme. Instead he used the money to play the stock exchange. He lost it all.’

‘And you knew nothing about it?’

She stared at him aghast. ‘No!’ Then she winced, and the heat in her cheeks noticeably paled. ‘Although the police wouldn’t believe me at first...’ She glanced away. ‘I was arrested.’

‘Arrested?’

She reached for her glass but stopped halfway and instead edged further back into the sofa. ‘Yes, arrested. On what was supposed to be my wedding day.’ She gave a disbelieving laugh. ‘I was let go eventually, when they realised I was his victim rather than his partner in crime.’

Her eyes challenged his; she must be seeing the doubt in his expression.

‘By all means call Camden Police Station in London, if you don’t believe me; they will verify my story. I have the number of the investigating officer.’

His instinct told him she was telling the truth, but he wasn’t going to admit that. ‘It’s of no consequence to me.’

That earned him a hurt glance. Remorse prickled along his skin. But why was he feeling guilty? None of this was his doing. What on earth was she doing in Venice anyway?

‘Do you think it was wise, coming to Venice? Without a hotel booking? Wouldn’t you be better off at home?’

She crossed her legs with an exasperated frown that told him he wasn’t getting this. ‘I did have a hotel booking. Or so my ex told me. But he never transferred the funds so the booking fell through. He also cleared out our joint bank account. Anyway, I don’t have a home. Or a job. I moved out of my apartment and resigned from the college because my ex was being transferred to Sydney with his work and I was joining him.’

‘And your family?’

A flicker of pain crossed her face. But then she sat upright and eyed him coolly. ‘I don’t have one.’

Despite all the hurts and frustrations of the past, and the fact that he had far from perfect relationships with his emotional and unpredictable mother and grandmother, he could never imagine life without them. What must it be like to have no family? Had she no friends who could take their place?

‘Your friends...?’

With her legs crossed, she rotated her left ankle in the air. Agitated. Upset.

‘I appreciate your concern, but I’m not going back to London. I have no home to go to. I can’t go back...I can’t face everyone. I need some time away. After I was released from police custody I checked out of the hotel we’d been staying in...’ She paused and bit her lip, drank some whisky, grimaced. ‘I ran away.’

‘You’re a runaway bride?’

Her generous full mouth twisted unhappily. She refused to meet his eye.

‘I’m not putting my friends out by sleeping on their sofas. My closest friend Rachel has just had a baby; the last thing she needs right now is a lodger. This is my mess—it’s up to me to sort it out. My ex might have stolen everything from me, but he isn’t going to stop me from living my life. I’ve always wanted to see Venice during Carnival. And I fully intend doing so.’

Her mouth gave a little wobble.

‘We had organised our wedding for this week so that it coincided with Carnival.’

She was putting up one hell of a fight to keep her tears at bay. He felt completely out of his comfort zone.

‘I’ll pay for your hotel room by way of compensation for any inconvenience my grandmother’s actions may have caused.’

‘I don’t want your money.’

Old memories churned in his stomach at her resolve. He knew only too well that it masked vulnerability.

He remembered throwing guilt money from Stefano, one of his mother’s boyfriends, who had just shoved it into his hands, off the balcony of Stefano’s apartment. He had got momentary satisfaction seeing Stefano’s shame. It had been short-lived, though, when he and his mother had been forced to sleep in a homeless hostel that night.

He had stayed awake all night, unable to sleep, vowing he would never be in that position again. Vowing to drag his mother out of poverty and to protect her. Even if her behaviour had led them to sharing a room with eight strangers. He would be a success. Which meant he would no longer be held hostage by poverty, by the lack of choices, the motives of other people.

It was an ambition he was still chasing. He still needed to leave behind the spectre of hunger, the fear of not being in control, still needed to prove himself, still needed to make sure he protected his family...and now the tens of thousands who worked for him.

He looked at his watch and then back at her. She was blinking rapidly. Unexpected emotion gripped his throat. He forced it away with a deep swallow. ‘It’s late. We can talk about this in the morning.’

‘I can stay?’

The relief in her face hit him like a punch. This woman needed compassion and care. His grandmother should be here, finishing the task she’d started. Not dumping it on him. He was too busy. In truth, he didn’t know how to help her. He didn’t get tangled up in this type of situation. He kept others at arm’s length. No one got close. Even his mother and grandmother. And that was not going to change.

‘You can stay for tonight. Tomorrow I will organise alternative accommodation for you.’

* * *

Half an hour later Emma lay on cool sheets in the bed of another bedroom, her mind on fire, wondering if the past few hours had actually happened.

A knock sounded on the door. She sat up and stared at the door dubiously.

‘Emma—it’s Matteo.’

Her heart flipped in full operatic diva mode. Did he have to speak in a voice that sounded as if he was caressing her? And what did he want? Had he changed his mind about her staying?

She cautiously opened the door and drank in the sight of Matteo, freshly showered, his thick brown hair damp, wearing nothing but pyjama bottoms. The golden expanse of his hard sculptured torso instantly left her tongue-tied. And guilty. And cross. She should be on honeymoon right now. Not staring at a stranger’s body, trying to keep lustful thoughts at bay.

She folded her arms. ‘Can I help you?’

Her ice-cool tone did little to melt the amusement in his eyes.

An eyebrow—a beautiful, thick eyebrow—rose. Without a word he raised his hand and held out a toy polar bear, barely the size of his palm, grey and threadbare.

‘Snowy!’ She grabbed the bear and held it to her chest.

‘I found it under my pillow.’

‘I forgot about him...thank you.’

His head tilted to the side and for a tiny moment he looked at her with almost affection, but then he looked back at Snowy with an exasperated shake of his head. Probably questioning the wisdom of allowing a grown woman who slept with a diseased-looking toy polar bear to stay in his home.

He turned away.

She should close the door, to signal that his appearance was of little consequence, but instead she watched him walk back to his room—and almost swooned when he ran his hand through his hair, the movement of the powerful muscles in his back taunting her pledge to give men a wide berth.

He swung back to her. ‘I’m sorry about your wedding.’

A thick wedge of gratitude landed in her chest. She wanted to say thank you, but her throat was as tight as a twisted rag.

He nodded at her thank-you smile.

Her heart beat slow and hard in her chest.

They stood in silence for far too long.

He seemed as unable to turn away as she was.

Eventually he broke the tension and spoke in a low, rolling tone, ‘Buonanotte.’

Back inside the room, she climbed into bed and tucked Snowy against her. She was fully aware, of course, that the first thing she should do in her bid to toughen up was to banish Snowy from her bed. But when she had been a child, alone and petrified at boarding school, he had brought her comfort. And, rather sadly, over fifteen years on she needed him more than ever before.

So much for Operation Toughen Up. An hour in the company of Matteo Vieri and all her vows and pledges to be resilient and single-minded had melted into a puddle of embarrassing tears and ill-advised attraction.

But tomorrow was going to be different.

It had to be.

CHAPTER TWO

THE FOLLOWING DAY, mid-morning sunshine poured into Matteo’s office. He stood up from his desk and stretched his back, grimacing at the tightness at the bottom of his spine.

They said bad things came in threes. Well, he had just reached his quota. First, his exasperating but gifted designer had publicly insulted his most valued clients. Then his grandmother had invited a stranger into his home. And now his event co-ordinator for the Chinese clients’ trip had gone into early labour.

His designer was already in rehab.

He would have to put in extra hours to ensure the China trip ran perfectly...which meant even less sleep than usual.

And as for Signorina Fox... Well, he had news for her.

He walked down the corridor of the palazzo’s first floor, the piano nobile, his heels echoing on the heritage terrazzo flooring. He hadn’t seen or heard from Signorina Fox all morning. He had a sneaking suspicion that she was deliberately staying out of his way in the hope that he might let her stay.

The lounge balcony windows were open. Shouts of laughter and passionate calls tumbled into the room from outside. Stepping into the early springtime sunshine, he came to an abrupt halt.

Crouched over the balcony, her chin resting on her folded arms Emma was focused on the canal, oblivious to the fact that her short skirt had risen up to give him an uninterrupted view of her legs. Legs encased in thick woollen tights that shouldn’t look sexy. But her legs were so long, so toned, that for a brief moment the ludicrous idea of allowing her to stay and act as a distraction from all his worries flitted through his brain.

He coughed noisily.

She popped up and twisted around to look at him. A hand tugged at her red skirt. Over the skirt she was wearing another polo-necked jumper, today in a light-knit navy blue. Her chestnut hair hung over one shoulder in a thick plait.

‘I hope you found my note?’

‘Thank you—yes...it was a lovely breakfast.’

The exhaustion of last night was gone from beneath her eyes. She gave him a can we try to act normal? smile and then gestured to the canal.

‘There’s the most incredible flotilla sailing up the canal—you must come and see.’ Her smile was transformed into a broad beam, matching the excitement in her eyes. She beckoned him over.

He should get back to work. But it seemed churlish to refuse to look. The canal was teeming with boats, and onlookers were crowding the fondamente—the canal pathways.

‘It’s the opening parade of the Carnival,’ he explained.

For a few minutes he forgot everything that was wrong in his life as he joined her in watching the parade of gondolas and ceremonial boats sail past. Most of the occupants, in flamboyant seventeenth-and eighteenth-century costume, waved and shouted greetings in response to Emma’s enthusiastic waves.

Seeing the contrast between her upbeat mood now and the sobs that had emanated from his bathroom last night twisted his stomach, along with the memory of his grandmother’s words this morning. He had called her with the intention of lambasting her, only to be pulled up short when he’d learned that she had gone home because one of the homeless men she helped had been involved in an accident, and that she had helped Emma because she had found her in a desperate state in a café yesterday.

He pushed away the guilt starting to gnaw a hole in his gut. He had enough problems of his own. Anyway, he didn’t do cohabitation. He had never shared his home with anyone. And he wasn’t about to start with an emotional runaway bride.

Below them, the regatta started to trail off.

‘I have found alternative accommodation for you in the Hotel Leopolda.’

Her smile dropped from her face like a stone sinking in water. ‘Hotel Leopolda? The five-star hotel close to St Mark’s Square?’

‘Yes.’

She stared back at the canal, a small grimace pulling on her mouth. ‘I can’t afford to stay there.’

‘I’ll take care of it.’

She stepped away from him before meeting his eye. ‘I said it last night—I’m not taking your money.’

‘I can appreciate how you feel. If it makes you happier, you can repay me some time in the future.’

‘No.’ Those hazel eyes sucked him in, dumped a whole load of guilt on his soul and spat him back out again.

‘I’ll make some calls myself—check the internet again. I’ll find somewhere suitable,’ she said.

This woman was starting to drive him crazy. He had had to use all his influence to secure her a room. He doubted she would find anywhere by herself.

‘I want to resolve this now. My event co-ordinator for the Chinese trip has gone into early labour. I’ll be tied up with organising all the final details for the visit for the rest of the day.’

She stepped back towards him, her crossed arms dropping to her sides. Concern flooded her eyes. ‘I hope she’ll be okay. How many weeks pregnant is she?’

He had no idea. It had been a sizeable bump. Once he had even seen a tiny foot kick hard against the extended bump during a meeting. It had been one of the most incredible things he had ever seen.

That image had haunted him for days afterwards. Catching him unawares in meetings, distracting his concentration. Bringing a hollow sensation to his chest, a tightness to his belly, knowing he would never see the first miraculous stirrings of his own child. Knowing he would never be a father. Knowing he would choose the empty feeling that came with that knowledge over the certain pain of letting someone into his life, of risking his heart in a relationship.

‘I’m not sure...eight months?’

Did she have to look at him so critically? Suddenly he felt he had to defend himself. ‘I asked for flowers to be sent to her.’

‘I don’t think flowers are allowed in hospitals these days. Anyway, I reckon flowers are the last thing on her mind right now.’ She threw him another critical stare before adding, ‘I hope she and her baby will be okay.’

Why, all of a sudden, was he the villain in all of this? ‘Of course I do too. My employees’ welfare is of great importance to me. It’s why they all receive a comprehensive healthcare package.’

‘I’m glad to hear it.’ Her tone didn’t match her words. Her tone implied he was a close relative of Wall Street’s Gordon Gekko.

‘About your accommodation...’

‘How long are your clients here for?’

Hadn’t she heard him? This conversation was supposed to be about her leaving. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘Have you someone to take over from your event planner?’

A tight dart of pain prodded his lower back. He stretched with a quick movement, but it brought little relief. ‘No. My event management team are already stretched, co-ordinating the upcoming spring/summer shows. Most of the team are already in New York, getting ready for the shows there.’

She pulled her lips between her teeth as if in thought. When they popped back out they formed an even fuller pout, had turned a more sensual red than usual. Emphasising their cupid’s bow shape. She had a beautiful mouth...

A sudden urge to take her in his arms and taste those lips gripped him. Maybe he was more stressed than he’d realised?

* * *

Emma’s mind whirled. Could she drum up the courage to suggest she take over the event planner’s role? Work for Matteo Vieri? Without question it was what every ambitious marketing assistant dreamt of. She should be genuflecting right now in front of this business legend; this marketing genius, instead of deliberately trying to antagonise him. What was that about?

A niggling thought told her that not only was she trying in vain to ignore how attracted she was to him—especially when he openly stared at her with interest, as he was doing right now, with particular attention focused on her mouth—but that it would hurt to have another person reject her. Which, rationally, she knew was crazy. They barely knew each other. But even after so many rejections it still hurt when others turned her away.

Working for him would be the kick-start her career needed. Even a week of working with him would open doors for her.

But she was a mess.

She had come to Venice to heal and to get her game plan together. She felt hollow and abused. She was in no position to deliver the best performance of her career.

A mocking voice echoed in her head. You said you were going to toughen up. Time for action and a lot less talk.

And having a purpose, being busy, might stop the stream of guilt and sadness that was constantly threatening to break through her defences—defences of shock and numbness, of a determination to tough it out. Being in control, having a structure to her days, was what she needed.

She spoke before she had time to talk herself out of it. ‘I’ll do it.’

His gaze moved from her lips to her eyes. Very slowly. So slowly that time seemed to stand still while her cheeks spontaneously combusted.

‘You?’

Did he have to sound so appalled by her proposal?

‘In my role at the fashion college I often helped pull events together—from the graduation show to organising the visits of academics and sponsors. Last year I co-ordinated the visit of some members of a faculty from a Chinese fashion college. I’m in need of a place to stay...you need an event co-ordinator.’

‘But you’re on holiday.’

‘My career is more important. I’ll be frank: having the Vieri name on my CV will be priceless.’

He seemed to be considering her proposal. For a moment hope danced before her eyes. But then he cut that hope off at the legs with a single determined shake of that movie-star-meets-roman-emperor head.

‘It’s not a good idea.’

‘Why?’

‘This trip is of critical importance to my companies. The delegation is coming to negotiate contracts which would see the large-scale expansion of our product placements in China’s most prestigious department stores. Nothing can go wrong.’

For a moment she considered backing down, admitting that she was probably the wrong person for the job. But she had to believe in herself.

‘You can brief me on it this morning, and then I’ll liaise with the travel agents and hotels involved. I’ll also double-check that all the protocols involved with hosting Chinese guests are followed. If there are any issues I will notify you immediately.’

He leaned one hip against the balcony and folded his arms. ‘It’s not a nine-to-five position. You would need to attend all the scheduled events with me.’

‘That’s no problem.’

Those brown eyes darkened. ‘We will be working closely together.’

‘That’s fine.’

Liar! Why is your belly dancing with giddiness if that is the case?

‘Please understand I never mix business with pleasure.’

Why was he telling her that? Was her attraction to him so obvious?

‘Of course. Exactly my sentiments.’ She took a deep swallow and forced herself to ask, ‘So, can I have the job?’

‘Tell me why I should give it to you.’

This would be so much easier if he wasn’t so gorgeous—if he wasn’t so self-assured, so ice-cool.

‘I will work myself to the bone for you because I have so much to prove. To you—but especially to myself.’

He stared at her as though she was a discount store garment made of polyester. It looked as if she would be packing soon. A heavy sensation sat on her chest—embarrassment, disappointment.

‘As I’m stuck, I’ll let you take on the position—but any mishaps and you’re gone.’

His scowl told her he wasn’t joking. Her ankle and heart began to throb in unison.

He came a little closer. Studied her for far too long for her comfort.

‘You will need to stay here...’

For a moment he paused, and a heavy boom of attraction detonated between them. She fell into the brown sultry depths of his eyes. An empty ache coiled through her. Heat licked against her skin. She pulled the neck of her jumper down, suddenly overheating.

Matteo stepped back, tugged at his cuffs and cleared his throat. ‘I will require frequent briefings from you, so you will need to stay here. I’m hosting a reception in the ballroom on Thursday night, which I will want you to co-ordinate and host alongside me.’ He flicked his hand towards the palazzo. ‘If you come with me to my office I’ll brief you on the event schedule and then pass you the files.’

Emma walked alongside him, her enflamed skin welcoming the shade of the palazzo. But her mind continued to race, asking her what on earth she had just done.

Could she keep her promise that nothing would go wrong? What if she slipped up and he saw even a glimpse of how attracted she was to him? An attraction that was embarrassingly wrong. Humiliatingly wrong. Shamefully wrong. She had been about to marry another man yesterday. What was the matter with her?

They walked side by side into the deeper shadows of the palazzo, and she felt guilt and sadness closing over her heart.

* * *

Later that afternoon, his phone to his ear, Matteo walked into the temporary office Emma had set up for herself in the palazzo’s dining room.

Sheets of paper were scattered across the table. He tidied the paper into a bundle. A long navy silk crêpe de Chine scarf dotted with bright red gerbera daisy flowers was tossed across the back of a chair, the ends touching against the terrazzo flooring. A bright exclamation against the dark wood. He folded it quickly and hid it from view by placing it on the seat of the dining chair.

His call continued to ring unanswered.

Where was she?

He had told her to be back at the palazzo by four so that he could take her to see his stores on Calle Larga XXII Marzo. She needed to be familiar with his companies and their products before her interactions with the clients.