The Billionaire's Bridal Bargain(14)

When he had last called Celine, he had grasped that he had a problem he had not foreseen. Aware that he was getting married, his French lover no longer wished to be seen in his company. Celine guarded her reputation because the clients who paid her a small fortune to advertise their exclusive perfume were conservative and Cesare had perfectly understood her determination to put her career first. It was, nonetheless, a challenge for him to work out how he was to cope for the next few months being married and not married at the same time.

He had not gone without sex for more than a couple of weeks since he was a teenager. Was he now supposed to sneak around seeking a discreet outlet? Without a doubt, he would have to avoid being seen consorting with any woman other than his wife or their marriage would appear dubious and, after going to such lengths to bring about the marriage, that was not a risk he was prepared to take. Whether he liked it or not and whether anything came of it or not, Lizzie was his only option for the foreseeable future, he acknowledged grudgingly.

‘You look terrific, cara,’ Cesare told Lizzie truthfully, politely tugging out a chair for her to use. The jasmine scent of her perfume flared his nostrils and before he could suppress the memory he recalled the wild, hot sweetness of her response. No man could easily forget that kind of passion, he reasoned, exasperated by his stubborn libido and the effect those turbulent hormones had on his usually cool intellect.

‘Thanks but it’s all fancy packaging, not really me,’ Lizzie parried uncomfortably, because he was towering over her and close enough that she could smell the citrusy cologne that overlaid the erotic undertones of clean, warm male. Her colour fluctuating, she sat very straight-backed in her seat.

‘Learn how to accept a compliment gracefully,’ Cesare advised softly. ‘You have a great figure, gorgeous hair and a beautiful face. Clothes merely provide an effective frame for the looks that nature gave you.’

Lizzie dealt him a pained half-smile. Unlike her, he was a master of the ready word and the right thing to say and had probably never been stuck for a quote in his entire gilded life. She evaded his shrewd gaze because she felt vulnerable, almost naked in his presence, stripped as she was of her usual working clothing and countryside assurance because his privileged world was so foreign to hers. She loved the way good clothes that fitted perfectly made her feel, but she wondered if he would still want her without that superficial gloss, a thought that made her feel inadequate and a little pathetic. In short, the spectacular luxury of his home, the costly garments and the preponderance of staff made Lizzie feel out of her depth and drowning. All she had required to crown her discomfiture was that ill-judged sexual episode that morning. ‘I want you to sign these documents.’ Evidently impervious to the unease afflicting Lizzie, Cesare extended a slim sheaf of papers. ‘I need your permission to make alterations to the villa on Lionos.’

Her brow furrowed in surprise. ‘Alterations? But you haven’t even seen the house yet.’

‘Because we won’t be married until Friday,’ Cesare pointed out drily. ‘While we’re on our honeymoon in Italy, my grandmother will be having her surgery and recuperating. As soon as she is strong enough we will fly out to Lionos and stay in the villa with her.’

‘I didn’t realise we were having a honeymoon.’

‘It will only be a honeymoon in the eyes of the outside world,’ Cesare qualified wryly.

‘And your grandmother falls into that category too?’ Lizzie checked.

‘I’ve already explained that,’ Cesare reminded her. ‘For all that Athene’s strong, she’s an old lady. I don’t want her to guess that our marriage is a fake. If she knew the truth she’d feel responsible and unhappy.’

‘I can understand that.’ Lizzie studied him uneasily. He emanated sleek, expensive elegance in a black business suit that outlined his broad shoulders, narrow hips and long, powerful legs to perfection but, unfortunately for Lizzie, she was still seeing him in his form-fitting boxers, an energising image of him half-naked and rampant with masculine potency. She chewed hard at the soft underside of her lower lip, fighting her awareness and her disobedient and thoroughly embarrassing thoughts.

‘Before we can stay at the villa, however, some improvements must be made to the accommodation and for that I require your permission as the property belongs to you and your sister.’

‘What sort of improvements?’ Lizzie prompted with a frown.

‘I want to send Primo out to the island immediately with a team of kitchen and bathroom specialists. The house needs to be brought up to date before we can live there and I want to ensure that Athene enjoys her stay.’

‘But won’t she be sentimental about changes being made to the house where she grew up?’ Lizzie asked in surprise.

‘That’s a fair point but times have changed since she was a girl and I believe she’ll recognise that. She’s a practical woman and she likes her comforts.’

‘From what my mother said, most of the soft furnishings will need to be replaced as well,’ Lizzie told him in wry warning. ‘Drapes, beds, sofas. I don’t think it’s possible to achieve so much within such a short time frame and if you don’t watch out...once you start removing fitments, the villa will quickly become uninhabitable.’

His supreme assurance untouched, Cesare dealt her an amused smile. ‘Believe me, if I’m prepared to throw enough money at the problem, someone will accept the challenge, cara.’

Lizzie shrugged because it was immaterial to her what he chose to have done to a house that she had never seen and would only briefly visit. But it was a painful reminder that Cesare only wanted her because she owned the island and could sell it to him if he married her and nobody, but nobody, could make a relationship out of that, she told herself wretchedly. None of her anxious feelings showing on her face, she dutifully scribbled her signature in the indicated places and provided her sister’s address for the documents to be couriered to her.

A wholehearted smile softened her taut mouth when Archie poked his head round the door and trotted across the polished wooden floor to greet his mistress.

Cesare watched the dog receive a warm welcome and decided it was educational. Archie looked pathetic with only three working legs and the fourth in a cast and the dog played his advantage for all he was worth, rolling his tummy up in the air to be petted and then struggling pitifully to get up off the floor again. Cesare bent down to lift the terrier and help him upright again. In reaction to his sudden proximity, Lizzie rammed her chair back out of the way, her nervous response setting Cesare’s teeth on edge as he straightened again.

Lizzie collided with stunning dark golden eyes fringed with black velvet lashes and forgot how to breathe, feverish tension snaking through her every muscle as she rose hurriedly from her chair again and moved towards the door, keen to be gone.

‘Your father and your sister will be attending the wedding?’ Cesare sought confirmation.

‘Yes...’ Lizzie coughed to clear her convulsed throat. ‘And I’ll ring Chrissie now to explain about the papers she has to sign.’

‘I doubt if I’ll see you again before we meet at the church on Friday,’ Cesare imparted softly. ‘Somehow try to practise not leaping away when I come close. It’s a dead giveaway that our relationship is a sham.’

Lizzie flushed with mortification. ‘Then practise keeping your distance,’ she advised.

Well, that was telling him, Cesare conceded grimly. She was angry with him. He had been less than diplomatic after that phone call that interrupted them earlier that day. He ground his even white teeth together. He had only told the truth. Did women always punish men for telling the truth? If their arrangement was to work, however, he would need to make more of an effort to sustain their relationship, he acknowledged grudgingly. Women were emotional creatures. Her anxious, uneasy attitude towards him had just underlined that unwelcome reality.

Furthermore, Lizzie might be a gold-digger who had chosen money over ethics when given the choice, but how could he blame her for that when she had lived in poverty for so many years? It was not a crime for her to seek to better herself. And how could he fault her avaricious streak when, without it, she would have sent him and his proposition packing? It was unjust of him to view her in the same unforgiving light as the many mercenary women who had shared his bed, he conceded wryly. Serafina, after all, had made a straight-up choice to ditch Cesare and marry a man who had been much wealthier, even though he was also much older. He had to be less judgemental and more generous to Lizzie. In any case, as his wife and potentially the future mother of his child, Lizzie was also the equivalent of a long-term project. Somehow he would have to make her happy and keep her happy, because if he didn’t all his plans could still come to nothing.



‘You look totally amazing!’ Chrissie exclaimed as Lizzie spun to show off her wedding gown, slender shoulders and arms sheathed in the finest see-through lace, her tiny waist accentuated by the fullness of her skirt.

‘My brother’s a closet romantic. He’s going to love that dress,’ Maurizia forecast as a knock sounded on the door and she and Sofia went to answer it.