On Her Terms. Cathryn FoxЧитать онлайн книгу.
lifts a gnarled, arthritic hand and shakes a finger at me. “I can’t wait forever, Brianna. I don’t have a lot of time left, you know.”
My stomach drops. Honestly, I wish I wasn’t so jaded. I wish I could fulfill a dying man’s wish, but I’m not about to enter into marriage only to go through the pain of divorce, just to please my grandfather.
“Granddad—”
“I worry about you, Brianna.” His once-syrupy voice cracks and he coughs into the crook of his arm. He hacks for a few seconds, and then he turns to me and adds, “It’s not natural to be alone.”
He would know. He had a slew of younger women over the years. But who am I to judge? After Grandma—his one and only true love—died, it was good to see him happy again, have someone help fill that void.
He frowns at me and my heart sinks into my stomach as I take in the deep lines bracketing troubled eyes. I’ve never seen him look so old or tied, completely worn out. The trip here must have been hard on him, but he insisted that Tate have his wedding at the resort and that he was well enough to travel. Looking at him now, I’m not so sure he’ll last the week. My heart squeezes. Granddad has always been good to me. He was there for me when Dad walked out on us, and again when I lost Mom a few years ago. He taught me the value of hard work and supported me when I moved across the pond to attend Oxford. He even visited me when I was lonely. Jeez, maybe I should tell a fib, pretend I have someone just to please him and ease his worries.
Should I?
I mean, what could it hurt, right? Let him think I have a man, give him peace of mind during the wedding. Like he said, he doesn’t have much time left, and I don’t want to see him spend the rest of his days needlessly worrying over me.
I place my napkin on my lap and take a big drink of wine after the server fills my glass. Here goes nothing. “Granddad, this isn’t the time or place to be talking about this, but you can put your worries to rest. I’m seeing someone, and it’s serious. In fact, we’re engaged.” What the hell? That was too far, Bri.
His cloudy blue eyes light up, and weathered lips curl up into a smile. “Tell me all about him,” he says and leans back in his chair.
I open my mouth, ready to spill more lies. Did I mention I hate lying as much as I hate being late? Yet here I am, batting two for two. I’m about to tell him some fabricated story about my Prince Charming when Tate stands and taps his crystal stemware with a spoon. All eyes turn to him, including Granddad’s.
Thank God!
“Now that we’re all here,” he begins, and heat moves into my cheeks as he winks playfully at me. “I’d like to do a round of introductions.”
He begins with his beautiful fiancée, who is beaming up at her soon-to-be husband. An invisible band tightens around my heart, and tears prick my eyes, but then I quickly remind myself I want no part of love or marriage. Nope, it’s just hit it and quit it for me, as crude as that sounds.
Tate goes around the table, talks about how he met those in his bridal party and adds a fun little story about each person. When he gets to me—the last bridesmaid—I nibble my lip with trepidation. The stories the man could tell about me would be humiliating at best. But instead of embarrassing me, he introduces me as his closest cousin, and goes on to let everyone know that I make a mean apple pie, which is a total lie. Then again the pie might have turned out just fine, if I hadn’t burnt the kitchen down baking it.
Granddad laughs at the inside joke as Tate knowingly grins at me. He continues the introductions, and I crane my neck to see around Uncle Bill, who’s seated to my right. Tate reaches the last man at the table, the one sitting on his left, and I pick up my glass to take a drink.
“This guy here is my right-hand man,” Tate says. “Most of you don’t know him. He joined my law firm just a couple of months ago, and not only did we hit it off the first time I met him here in the Alps, I don’t know what I’d do without him by my side in the office. He’s smart, meticulous and works long and hard into the night to get a job done. I’m happy to introduce Luca Marino, my best man.”
Luca Marino!
Wine sloshes over the edge of my crystal stemware as my hand shakes. I forcefully swallow the lump climbing into my throat and set my glass down before I drop it. I must be wrong. I have to be wrong. No way could the man seated to Tate’s left be the Luca Marino, the Italian jerk who rejected me in college. What are the odds Tate would even know him?
As my pulse beats double time against my neck, I slowly stand to see over my uncle’s head, but the bottom falls out of my world when my gaze settles on the most gorgeous man I’ve ever set eyes on—Mr. Arrogant-Stuffed-Shirt himself.
Luca
BRIANNA CARSON IS Tate’s cousin?
Brianna Carson is Tate’s cousin!
I try to wrap my brain around that, but I still can’t quite believe it. I never put it together before, and why would I? I haven’t seen her since our University of Oxford days, and after I walked her home from a party one night, she went out of her way to avoid me. I’m not sure what I did or said to piss her off, and while I would’ve liked to have talked to her to find out, there was never an opportunity. She made sure of that.
As I meet Brianna’s gaze from the other end of the table, my entire body grows tight. Raw energy arcs between us, and I suck in a fast breath as she wobbles slightly, like the sight of me has completely caught her off guard, too. I catch a flicker of recognition in her eyes, but then she offers up a polite, somewhat distant smile and turns away. Wait, maybe she doesn’t remember me. Could I have imagined that flash of familiarity? I’m not sure, but I sure as hell would never forget her. She might have lost a bit of weight and changed her hairstyle and hair color, but I’d know sexy Brianna Carson anywhere.
Oh, how I’d wanted to take her to her bed that night, put my hands and mouth all over her curvy body. Do all the dirty things that had been racing around my brain when I first set eyes on her in my senior year. The sight of her now is stirring up all of those hot images and urging me to do something about it. Why again did I walk away, leaving her alone in her dorm room? Oh right—she’d been drinking. I might be a lot of things, but I’d never take advantage of a girl who’d had one too many.
Tate nudges me. I’ve been so lost in thought, I missed what he was asking me. “What’s that?” I say.
Tate laughs. “Where were you?” he asks as a handful of servers begin setting our meals in front of us.
I look down at the roast beef dinner in front of me. “Work,” I fib. “Just thinking about some figures I’d like to go over.” Okay, not a total lie. I was thinking about Bri’s curvy figure and how I’d like to go over it—with my tongue. My dick swells and presses against my zipper.
Cazzo!
Get it together. This is not the time or place to be sporting a hard-on!
“You need to take this week off and relax, my friend. Put work behind you and have some fun. That’s an order.” Tate leans closer, his words for my ears only. “What you need is to get laid, buddy.”
I laugh. “You’re probably right.” I recently moved from St. Moritz to New York to help Tate get his law business off the ground. Then I buried myself in work, enjoying life outside my duties back in Italy for a little while longer.
I’ve been avoiding those for years now, ever since my dad and brother died in a car accident three years ago. Even before that, I hid my identity from the world for a long time. Not even Tate knows who I really am—a duke. People treat me differently once they know, and while I can probably trust my friend, past experiences have taught me every woman wants to be my duchess,