The Biancos were those picture-perfect Sicilian parents for whom family came first and foremost always. And it had been a shock when they had threatened to cut him off if he didn’t come back home after graduation.
And Stefan hadn’t cared about his inheritance. Only Serena had betrayed him when she realized he wouldn’t have the Bianco fortune behind him.
“Stefan, your parents…they forgave you, didn’t they? For trusting Serena?”
“I have not asked them for it, bella.”
Why? “Wait, you haven’t… I don’t understand.”
His gaze unblinking, he opened the door for her, his withdrawal sending the room into subzero temperatures. “They are not on the guest list because I didn’t invite them, cara. We don’t need to involve any more people in our deception, do we?”
“No,” Clio had replied, reeling from the frost in his words.
What had he meant by that? Had he not seen his parents all these years? How could he bear to keep them at a distance like that?
In that moment, Clio had realized what an utter stranger he was to her.
His distrust of her motives, his insistence that they do it per his rules, the cold front he presented if she asked anything personal—she finally understood he wasn’t just lost to her.
He had buried everything good and decent about him. But before she left his life, before he was through with her, she was determined to remind him what he had been once. And she had to begin with bringing his parents back into his life.
Hers would never forgive her, but Stefan…he could have his parents back.
“Clio?”
Coloring, Clio looked at Zayed. “Thank you so much for reminding me that I have friends, Zayed.” She blew a long breath out, remembering her mother’s unforgiving words, and their blatant refusal to come. Reminded herself that she had friends who would always stick by her. “And for agreeing to give me away.”
“You did me an honor when you asked me.” Still smiling, he cast a quick look ahead. “I can feel Stefan’s gaze drilling holes in my head. Not even my enemy country’s politics make me shudder so,” he said with a mock shiver. “Are you ready for him, Clio?”
Sucking in a deep breath, Clio turned toward her waiting bridegroom.
Dressed in a black evening suit, his thick hair combed back, he stood out so prominently amidst the rest of the men.
He had promised her he would help her. And that he kept his word—even though a wedding, even of the fake kind, clearly filled him with utter fury—she hugged it to herself.
Whatever else he claimed, Stefan Bianco was a man of honor.
“I’m ready, Zayed,” she whispered.
Her hold on the lilies in her hand shaky, she followed Zayed’s lead as the music began.
With both her parents and Stefan’s not in attendance, she had decided to do without a maid of honor, electing to stick to the traditions only by a bit. Somehow it felt as if it fit them—this wedding among friends who were their true family, in the city that had welcomed them with open arms a decade ago.
Everything about the wedding was perfection itself. Even the weather was a beautiful June day, gorgeous with the sun shining.
It wasn’t a real marriage, Clio reminded herself as they reached Stefan and Zayed handed her over. It was all a story they were creating for the media and Jackson.
Her heart zigzagged all over the place as Stefan clasped her fingers tight in his.
But as she met his gaze for the first time in a week and saw the dark, possessive fire flickering to life there, she shivered.
How was she supposed to resist him when the liquid lust in his eyes felt like the only real thing today? How was she supposed to resist him when despite his distrust of her, he made her feel as if she mattered?
CHAPTER EIGHT
HE HAD A WIFE.
One who was dressed in delicate white lace that displayed her alabaster skin in its glory. The row of buttons going all the way to her lower back was all he could think of.
Her flaming hair, combed back into a tight knot at the back, the long line of her jaw and neck were a temptation for his fingers.
Her dress, while lacy, was elegant, sophisticated, as it hugged her lithe frame and small breasts.
She looked as she always did—demure, stylish, perfectly put together. Only he knew what simmered beneath that calm exterior.
He had a wife and he couldn’t turn his gaze away from her.
The thought was so disconcerting and disturbing that Stefan kept turning the platinum band on his finger round and round, as if he could make it disappear, as if he could change reality by stubbornly refusing to accept it.
He not only had a wife but one he wanted to kiss more than he needed to drag in his next breath.
And the most shocking fact of them all was that his new wife had almost flinched when he had touched her lips with his.
He, Stefan Bianco, the man who had dated some of the most beautiful, accomplished women in the world, badly wanted to touch and kiss and seduce his wife, the one woman he should never touch or want in any way.
It was how he had felt when he had first eyed Clio across the campus lawn a decade ago—full of raging hormones, and an almost laughable naïveté about the world.
He still wanted her just as badly except now that naïveté was dead and in its place was a voice that kept whispering that he could have Clio if he wanted this time.
Like the rest of the women in the world, Clio Norwood had a price, too. And he had already paid the price.
It was such a disgusting line of thought that nausea filled his throat. And yet he couldn’t erase it.
Was this what he had become? Was there nothing honorable left in him?
For the first time in years, Stefan looked inward and cringed, wondered what else he had lost in the name of Serena.
“You’ll break the champagne flute if you don’t stop glaring at Zayed and Clio, fratello,” Rocco whispered from behind him.
He couldn’t blame his oldest friend for the continual jeering because what Stefan wanted to do was throw the champagne flute on the dance floor so that Clio would stop smiling at Zayed and look back at him.
“She’s always been a beautiful dancer, hasn’t she?” Christian chimed in, and now the vein in Stefan’s temple felt as if it would burst open.