A Sudden Engagement & the Sicilian's Surprise Wife(45)
Faced with that mocking scorn, Clio had had to fight against the instinct to rush out of there. “I have been going over the seating charts and I didn’t see your parents’ names,” she finally managed.
His expression shut down instantly, as if a light had gone out. “They’re not coming.”
A warning vibrated in his answer. But instead of heeding it, her mind thought back to them. The rest of the Columbia Four and her included, had all envied Stefan his parents’ unconditional love more than anything.
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.
He knew very well what his three friends were up to. He also knew very well that Rocco had eyes for no one but Olivia, and Christian for his pregnant wife, the beautiful Alessandra.
In the rational part of his mind, the increasingly small one, he was also aware that as much as Zayed seemed to be whispering little jokes in Clio’s ear and had been flirting with her outrageously for most of the evening, he had never had any interest in Clio.
Even if he hadn’t guessed that the fairy tale that Clio and he were projecting to the whole world was just that—a tale of epic proportions.
But knowing it and telling his body and his libido to behave accordingly was another thing.
Because the moment he had slid the gold band onto her trembling finger, the moment he had touched her lips with his own, the moment he saw the despondency in her eyes as she slid the ring onto his finger, Stefan had felt the most possessive, an almost Neanderthal, urge to drag Clio away from the celebration that followed and ravish her.
He wanted to drive the thought of another man from her mind, he wanted to kiss away the hurt from her mouth, he wanted to shred her control as she was so effortlessly shredding his.
He wanted her to smile at him as she did at the whole world, even though he had done everything to wipe it from her face.
He wanted to sink into her wet heat again and again, until the small fancy, which was now growing into a full-blown obsession, was gone from his blood.
He could seduce her, too. He had no doubt about it. Whatever poison that asshole Jackson had spewed into her mind, whatever she believed about her own nature—because there had been plenty of occasions over the past week to figure it out—there was an explosive energy every time they occupied the same space.
Something his all-too-clever and observant friends had remarked over the past week. But if there was one thing Stefan didn’t want, it was to see that betrayal in Clio’s eyes the next morning. She would never sleep with him and then walk away unscathed. And as fragile as she was right now, he didn’t want to be another bad decision she regretted.
He wanted her to be consumed by him as he was by her. Which seemed a far-out fantasy right then.
If he could forget the contract they had signed, he could have almost believed her to be the old Clio, having the time of her life, supremely happy with her life and the world.
Except when she looked at him. Then, the smile fell off her face as if she had eaten something that lived under those gold-lined slippers she was wearing.
Except when it had been their dance. She had been stiff like a board, her features frozen into a mask of icy politeness, so tightly withdrawn that he could break her with a hard grip.