The Italian's Marriage Bargain. Carol MarinelliЧитать онлайн книгу.
now. ‘Felice, this is surely no way to live?’
His fury she could almost handle—contempt too, come to that. After all, it was nothing she didn’t feel about herself. But when his voice softened, the word Felice, almost an endearment, it brought her dangerously close to tears, dangerously close to breaking down. Her teeth were nearly breaking through her bottom lip in an attempt to hold it all in.
‘I have to go,’ she choked, utterly unable to meet his eyes. ‘I’m going to ring Housekeeping to get my dress, borrow your bathroom for two minutes and then I’ll be right out of here.’
Pushing the digit, she listened for the ring tone, ready to pounce when her call was answered and get her dress back so she could get the hell out of here, away from Luca and his endless questions. Her life was messy enough right now without this forced introspection.
But Luca hadn’t finished yet. Hovering over her like some avenging angel, he held out his hand. ‘Shouldn’t an engagement be something special?’ he asked as something that felt suspiciously like a tear slid down her cheek. ‘Shouldn’t the night a man proposes be a memory to treasure long into the future? Not some sordid affair, sullied with alcohol and regret?’
‘You don’t understand,’ Felicity said through gritted teeth, wishing he would just stop, just leave her alone!
‘I understand this much: if I had been about to propose to you then I would have been ensuring you were having a good time, treating you as a woman deserves to be treated, not sedating you with alcohol. Whatever the reason for last night, it cannot be a good one.’
His hand was on her shoulder now, but she didn’t look at him. Reception had picked up, a voice somewhere in the distance was asking how she could help, but the only words she could really hear were Luca’s. His words had reached her, and for a second so small it was barely there Felicity imagined herself in Luca’s life, imagined being the lucky woman in his arms, imagined the bliss of being made love to by a man like that—those arms around her, that beautiful, expressive mouth exploring hers, his hands caressing her, that husky voice embalming her. The image of perfection only made last night seem even more sullied. The image of such wonder exacerbated the vileness of last night’s potential union, and the truth she had chosen to ignore came to the fore as Luca spoke more eloquently than her own conscience.
‘I understand you might not be…’ He faltered for a second, trying to summon the right word, and Felicity sat rigid, her mind racing with indecision.
She knew she should get back, had to finish what she’d started, but there was something about Luca, something about the surprising gentleness in his voice, his insight, his abhorrence of Matthew’s motives that held her there.
‘…comfortable.’ Now he had found the right word he spoke rapidly, determined to finish, to give her another option—anything rather than see her scuttling back to the excuse of a man downstairs. ‘I can see that my presence is making you feel awkward, but that will soon be taken care off. I am due to catch a flight to Rome soon. I will ring Reception, tell them to collect your property and bring it here. They can tell this Matthew you have gone home—ill, perhaps, like you said before. This will give you some space, some time. Please Felice, I know I don’t understand what has gone on, but surely you should think carefully before you go back to this man? Last night you were not just upset, you were distraught, and though I do not approve of Matthew’s methods maybe he did you a favour.’
‘How on earth did you work that one out?’ She gave a low, cynical laugh, but it died on her lips as he carried on talking, as Luca once again summed up her innermost feelings in his own direct way.
‘Last night you spoke the truth. Matthew’s bed is not the place you want to be.’
And when he held out his hand again it only took a moment’s hesitation before Felicity handed him the receiver, which he replaced in the cradle.
No matter the hell that followed, no matter the consequences, Luca was right.
Going back to Matthew simply wasn’t an option.
A LOUD knocking at the door heralded breakfast, but, clearly used to staff, Luca carried on talking unfazed, while Felicity, in turn, sat huddled on the edge of the bed, scuffing the floor with her bare foot and burning with shame, appalled at what the waiter must surely be thinking and silently, fruitlessly wishing that Luca would put him right, tell him she wasn’t yet another of his conquests, that his latest guest absolutely did not deserve to be the talk of the staffroom this morning, because, quite simply, nothing had happened.
Nothing had happened!
Of course Luca did no such thing. Instead he chattered away to Felicity as the table was laid, oblivious to her discomfort. ‘Have something to eat,’ he offered, but Felicity shook her head, determined not to accept anything from him. ‘A coffee, at least? Or perhaps you would like a shower first?’
If he offered a shower again, if he really insisted, Felicity decided she’d accept; but when Luca merely cocked his head and awaited her reply she finally gave a small reluctant nod. Though it galled her to accept any crumbs from Luca Santanno, the chance of a shower was just too good to pass up.
He dismissed the waiter with a flick of his wrist.
True to form, Felicity thought bitterly; he was as dismissive as Matthew to his workers, but as the waiter left she blinked in surprise when Luca called out thanks in his thick accent, then turned the smile back to her.
‘How about I make that call?’ He gestured to the bathroom. ‘There are robes and toiletries in there. Just help yourself and let me know if there is anything else you need.’
‘I’ll be fine.’
More than fine, Felicity thought, wandering into the bathroom, glimpsing the rows and rows of glass bottles that heralded a luxury suite—a rather far cry from her own toiletry bag, sitting forlornly in Matthew’s room.
With a jolt she looked down at her watch, a mental alarm bell ringing to say that it was time to take her Pill. But with a flood of utter relief she knew at that moment her decision had been made; she didn’t need to take the wretched thing, didn’t need to worry about it any more.
Now she had finally acknowledged that she couldn’t, wouldn’t sleep with Matthew, the sense of relief was a revelation in itself—an affirmation of the strain she had been under, the turmoil behind the cool façade she’d so determinedly portrayed, the secret agony behind each and every smile.
Eyeing her reflection in the mirror—the wayward hair, the black panda eyes and swollen lids that just about summed up her life—she barely registered a soft knocking at the bathroom door.
‘Felice, I’m sorry to disturb you.’ Luca stood back as she pulled the door open an inch. ‘I just need your surname. Reception want it for the computer.’
‘Conlon.’ She watched his eyebrows furrow slightly, his eyes narrowing as her surname registered.
‘Conlon?’ he repeated. ‘Why do I know that name? It is familiar, yes?’
‘Well, it is to me.’ The thin smile didn’t reach her eyes, and for the first time since their strange meeting Luca Santanno didn’t look quite the confident man she was rapidly becoming used to.
Snapping his fingers as he raked his mind, it finally registered. ‘Richard Conlon?’ Another snap of the fingers, another snippet of information. ‘He owned the Peninsula Golf Resort.’
‘Before you bought it for a pittance.’ The acrimony in her voice made his frown deepen. ‘I’m Richard Conlon’s daughter,’ Felicity explained, angry, rebuking eyes finally meeting his. ‘I’m the one attempting to pick up the pieces after you destroyed him.’
Luca didn’t need to snap his fingers now, details were coming in unaided. The underpriced resort he’d bought a year or