Married For His One-Night Heir. Jennifer HaywardЧитать онлайн книгу.
casual picture hook, line and sinker. That she hadn’t just completed the most important assignment of her life, with the decor she’d done for a series of private residences on Delilah’s flagship Bahamian resort that would sell for upward of 20 million dollars each. That she was as cool as a cucumber as she waited for the feedback from the initial round of prospective buyers Delilah had met with this morning. But inside, her heart was racing.
Delilah, however, knew better. Knew she was a master at hiding her emotions. “I have verbal expressions of intent for all but two of the villas,” she announced, a Cheshire-cat smile curving her lips. “Which will be snapped up in the second round, leaving them desperate for more. Due in large part,” she allowed, tipping her head at Gia, “to you. The interiors knocked their socks off, Gia. They were mad about them.”
Gia released a breath she hadn’t known she was holding on a quiet, even exhale. A warmth flooded through her, spreading from her fingertips to her toes, then sinking deep to wrap itself around the thrumming beat of her heart. She had worked day and night to make sure those villas were perfect. To position them as the irresistible showpiece that would launch the opening of this phase of Delilah’s development to critical acclaim. But it went much deeper than that.
The Private Residences at the Rothchild Bahamas had been her opportunity to give back to Delilah everything she’d given to her. To prove the bet the hotelier had made on her had been the right one. To prove to herself she could do this—that she could have the career she’d always dreamed of.
She closed her fingers tighter around the coffee cup she held, fighting back the rush of emotion that chased through her. “I’m so happy to hear that,” she said huskily. “I know how much this project means to you.”
Delilah fixed a laser-sharp, bright blue gaze on her. The woman was legendary for her ability to read a person in under a second flat. Her gaze was warm, however, as it rested on Gia, the bond they’d formed over the past two years undeniable. “You deserve every bit of the kudos. This wasn’t personal, Gia, it was business. You earned it with your talent.
“Which is also,” Delilah added, rolling to her feet and crossing to the bar, “a cause for celebration.” She poured herself a cup of coffee, then turned and leaned against the counter. “I’m having a barbecue tonight to celebrate Junkanoo. Not a big thing—just some friends and a few business acquaintances. A chance to kick back and have a glass of champagne. Put on a pretty dress and come.”
Gia shook her head in a refusal that had become customary. “I was looking forward to a night at home. A couple of hours with Leo, a good book and a glass of wine.”
Delilah pointed her cup at her. “You need a life, Gia. It’s been two years since Franco was killed. You are twenty-six years old. Working yourself to the bone, then spending all of your time with Leo, isn’t any kind of a life.”
She thought it was the perfect life. Her three-year-old son, Leo, meant everything to her. She had walked away from her family—one of the most powerful organized-crime syndicates in America—to protect him. He was happy and thriving and that was all that mattered.
“Besides,” Delilah added, a crafty smile curving her mouth, “there is someone I want you to meet. A friend of mine who does international financing. He is single for the first time in forever, he is nice and he is loaded. And,” she added on a low purr, “he is divine-looking. As in drop-dead gorgeous.”
As in the last thing she was looking for. Getting involved with another rich, powerful man after her life had been ruled by such men held no interest for her. Getting involved with any man wasn’t in her plans after her disastrous marriage to Franco. But she would never say that to Delilah, the woman who had given her sanctuary in the months following her husband’s targeted assassination. Who had been her lifeline ever since.
“I’m not interested in being set up,” she said firmly. “But maybe you are right about me needing to get out. Will I know anyone there?”
Delilah named a couple of women she worked with at the hotel. Gia thought about the hours after Leo went to bed, when there was no escape from the loneliness that had consumed her life. When she missed her mother so much it felt like her insides were being torn out. When what-ifs infiltrated her head, taunting her with what might have been.
Her stomach curled. She didn’t want to go there tonight. Her new life was wonderful—amazing—and everything she’d always dreamed of. She was moving forward, not backward. Delilah was right, it was time for her to start living again. Tonight would be the perfect opportunity to dip her toe back in.
She lifted an eyebrow. “What should I wear?”
Delilah’s eyes flashed in triumph. “Wear something summer fun. Sexy.”
Gia shook her head. “I am not letting you set me up, Delilah. This is about me getting out to have some fun. That’s all.”
“You should still wear something sexy.”
* * *
Gia settled for a dress that was neither sexy, nor conservative. A bright coral, with a wrap-front ruffle, it showed off the golden tan she’d acquired while living in the tropics, as well as the smooth length of her legs with its short, flirty skirt.
Anticipation nipped at her skin as she kissed Leo good-night, left him with his babysitter, then walked the short distance from the villa where she lived on Delilah’s exclusive Lyford Cay estate, up to the main house. To not have her bodyguard, Dante, tracing her every step was still a novelty she couldn’t quite fathom. To step out her front door and not wonder what was going to be on the other side was a peace she couldn’t articulate.
But there was also trepidation as she climbed the hill toward the sprawling colonial-style mansion, ablaze with light. She didn’t remember what it was like to go out for a carefree evening of fun. Had no idea how to even approach it. Maybe because her life had rarely, if ever, afforded her that luxury.
Tonight, however, she was Giovanna De Luca, not Giovanna Castiglione. She was free.
The barbecue, held on the beachside terrace of Delilah’s home to celebrate the popular Bahamian Junkanoo summer festival—a celebration of the arts on the island—was already in full swing when she arrived. A spectacular sunset stained the sky, a fiery pink-and-gold canvas for the festivities as the torchlight climbed high into the night. In the midst of that exotic atmosphere, the guests enjoyed fresh fried fish straight off the grill, rum-based refreshments and a steel band—the classic island experience.
Gia hesitated on the fringe of the group, an age-old apprehension slivering through her. Once upon a time she had been judged for who she was, the family that she came from, rather than the girl she’d been. It had broken her heart—that sense of always being an outsider no matter how hard she had tried. But Delilah quickly spotted her, drew her into the crowd and slid a drink into her hand.
The welcome cocktail, which was heavy on the rum, eased her nerves. As did the handsome financier Delilah introduced her to. He was charming and a gentleman to boot. She might have no intention of getting involved with him, but the clear attraction in his eyes was a boost to her ego, which had taken such a hit with Franco, she wasn’t sure the wounds were ever going to heal.
Relaxing into the vibe, the alcohol warming the blood in her veins, she cast an idle glance over the crowd, surveying the new arrivals. A tall, fair-haired male that Sophie, the hotel’s glamorous publicity director, was chatting up claimed her attention. Muscular and well-built, he was undeniably commanding in his white shirt and dark pants that showed off every rippling, well-honed inch of him. But it was when her gaze rose to his elegant profile that her breath caught in her throat.
It could not be. Not here. Not now.
But it was.
Her heart stuttered an erratic rhythm in her chest, its jagged beat reverberating in her head. Frozen to the spot, her companion’s words faded to the background as she absorbed Santo Di Fiore’s formidable, charismatic presence. Six foot two inches of lean, hard male, he had the perfectly