The Millionaire's Marriage. Catherine SpencerЧитать онлайн книгу.

      Contents

      CHAPTER ONE

      CHAPTER TWO

      CHAPTER THREE

      CHAPTER FOUR

      CHAPTER FIVE

      CHAPTER SIX

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      CHAPTER EIGHT

      CHAPTER NINE

      CHAPTER TEN

      CHAPTER ELEVEN

      CHAPTER ONE

      “I’VE left word that you’re expected. If I’m not home when you arrive, the concierge will let you in.”

      The words themselves were chillingly neutral but, even after all this time and despite everything, Max’s husky baritone still had the power to make her break out in goose bumps. Holding the phone away from her mouth so that he couldn’t hear how ragged her breathing had become, Gabriella fought the urge to beg him to be there himself to greet her and, matching his tone the best way she knew how, said, “Is it still Howard?”

      “I’m surprised you remember, given the number of doormen who must have crossed your path in the last two years.”

      He made it sound as if she earned a living paying illicit visits to married men’s hotel rooms! “There are few things about my life with you that I’ve forgotten, Max,” she said stiffly. “Howard was one of the more pleasant aspects. It will be nice to see him again and know there’s at least one friendly face in the building—unless, of course, you’ve poisoned his mind against me.”

      “Hardly,” her estranged husband replied. “Your name rarely comes up in conversation, and then only in passing.”

      Though there was little doubt he was being his usual brutally direct self, even more regrettable was the fact that the truth should hurt so much. “Are you quite sure we can pull this off?” she said. “Two weeks of facing each other across the table at mealtimes might not be a long time in the cosmic scheme of things, but I suspect it’ll seem an eternity when it comes to living them second by second.”

      “I can manage it, if you can. And I have no doubt that you can. It will be, after all, a lot like your life—a charade. And let’s face it, Gabriella, you’ve always shown a talent for pretending. No doubt that explains your phenomenal latter-day success as a model. How else do all those glossy fashion magazines feature you as dewy virgin bride one day, sultry seductress the next, and beach bunny yet another?”

      She’d made up her mind she wouldn’t get drawn into the retaliation game, no matter how he might try to provoke her, but his scornful dismissal of the success she’d worked so hard to achieve spurred her to respond, “Why, Max, I had no idea you followed my career so closely!”

      “I don’t,” he said crushingly, “but I’d have to be brain dead not to recognize that, technically at least, I’m married to the most famous face in North America and possibly the world. Given your unquestionable versatility when it comes to make-believe, plus the fact that you’re an accomplished liar, I’m sure you can pull off the image of contented wife for a couple of weeks, especially since you have so much at stake and I plan to make myself as scarce as possible most of the time. All it’ll take is a little civility in public, a few harmless demonstrations of affection. We’ve been married over two years, Gabriella. Your parents aren’t going to expect us to act like besotted honeymooners.”

      “Which is just as well, since a honeymoon’s one thing I’ve never had the pleasure of experiencing.”

      But she knew about heartbreak, and loneliness, and rejection. She knew how it felt to be a bride standing beside a groom who, when he looked at her at all, did so with a blank indifference touched with loathing. She knew what it was like to lie alone in the big marriage bed while her husband slept in the guest room—a pain only slightly less unbearable than the few times when primitive need had driven him to come silently to her in the night then, when his hunger was appeased, just as silently leave her again.

      She knew what it was like to be married to a man who hated her all the more because, once in a very rare while, he couldn’t resist her.

      “Gabriella? Did you hear what I just said?”

      Startled by his unabashed impatience, she jerked her attention back to the present. “Um…not exactly.”

      “I asked what time they land in Vancouver.”

      They: her aged parents who thought their only surviving child was blissfully happy with the grandson of a man they revered more than God! What if they saw past the subterfuge so carefully constructed for their benefit? What if her world-famous smile cracked, and she couldn’t disguise the misery?

      Suddenly, when it was too late to change anything, she wondered why she’d ever encouraged them to leave their native Hungary and visit Canada, or why she thought she could pull off such a monumental deception. “Three o’clock tomorrow.”

      “And you’re in Los Angeles now?”

      “Yes. I stayed with a friend last night but I’m flying out at ten. I expect to be at the penthouse by early afternoon.”

      “That should leave you enough time to unpack and reacquaint yourself with the place. And while I think of it, you might want to pick up a few supplies. The stuff in the refrigerator’s pretty basic and unlikely to measure up to your gourmet standards.”

      Why did he do that? she wondered. Why imply that she was impossible to please and needlessly extravagant? Whatever else she’d contributed to the failure of their marriage, overspending his money was not on the list, for all that he’d been convinced his bank account was what had made her chase him to the altar.

      But taking issue with him now would lead only to more acrimony and she already had enough to handle. “Grocery shopping’s at the top of my list of things to do,” she said, then waited, hoping he’d volunteer the information she most needed to learn, and so spare her having to be the one to raise a topic he surely hadn’t overlooked.

      Once again, though, he disappointed her and with obvious relief said, “I guess that’s it, then. If I don’t see you today, I’ll