CHAPTER THREE
ITWASLIKEbeing in a dream, a dream from which she couldn’t wake. But wasn’t it better than the nightmare that had been life before this? At least some relief was on the horizon.
It had, however, been a mistake not to see him again before the ceremony itself. A mistake not to inure herself a little to the sight of Luca Giovanardi, dressed to the nines, in a black tuxedo with a grey tie, shiny black shoes, and hair slicked back from his face. She stood beside him in the unbelievably extravagant dress she’d been talked into buying at Harrods, after Luca’s assistant had called to explain that he’d organised an appointment with the bridal team there. She was aware of his every breath, the husky tone to his voice, the magnetism of the man, and felt as if she wanted to turn tail and bolt for the door.
A wedding ‘in name only’ had seemed like a simple idea at the time, but, now that they’d come to the actual commitment, the reality of what they were doing bore down on her like a ton of cement. She glanced across at Luca, his sombre profile making her breath snatch in her throat, so she looked away again, panic drumming through her. She wished, more than anything, for Sienna to be with her. It would have meant the world to be able to reach out and hold her sister’s hand, to see her smiling, kind eyes and know that this wasn’t sheer madness. Only Sienna would never have approved. She wouldn’t have smiled from the sidelines as Olivia committed herself to this farce—she’d have fought tooth and nail to get her to stop. Even if that meant losing their house. Even if that meant letting their father punish their mother one last, cruel, lasting time.
The priest said something, and Luca turned to face Olivia, dragging her back to this moment, in which it was just the two of them, and the lie they were weaving. He spoke his vows first, in English in deference to her, before slipping an enormous diamond ring onto her finger. The simple contact sent a thousand little lightning bolts through her; standing was almost impossible.
When it was Olivia’s turn to say the vows, the priest spoke slowly, his accent thick, and Olivia stumbled on a few words. Nerves were playing havoc with her focus. She offered the priest an apologetic glance, before retrieving a simple gold band and pressing it to Luca’s finger. Just like before, when he’d placed her ring on her finger, Olivia felt as though a marching band had started to run rampant through her veins. She pulled her hand away quickly, as though she’d been electrocuted, her eyes sliding to Luca’s nonna without her intent. The happiness there was blatantly obvious—she had obviously bought the lie, hook, line and sinker. Olivia looked away again immediately, right into Luca’s enormous dark eyes, their watchful intensity making her heart thunder.
‘And that is it,’ the priest said with a clap that completely undid the sombre nature of the ceremony. ‘You may now kiss your bride.’ He gestured to Olivia, and Olivia’s heart seemed to grind to a halt. Oh, crap. How had she forgotten about this part?
Was it too late to back out? She stared at the priest with a sinking feeling, aware of Luca’s nonna’s watchful gaze, then looked back up at the man who was now her husband.
Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God.
In name only. Except for right now.
Luca moved closer, one hand coming to rest on her hip, the other capturing her cheek, holding her face steady. His thumb padded over the flesh just beside her lip, low on her cheek, and goosebumps spread over her arms.
She wanted to tell him she couldn’t do this, that she’d never even been kissed before, that too many people were watching, that she had no idea what she was doing, but then he was dropping his head, his mouth seeking hers as though it were the most natural thing in the world, and all she could do was surrender to the necessity of this. And the wonder.
Luca swore internally. His body had ignited, a flame of passion bursting through him the second their lips met. What had started as a perfunctory ceremonial requirement had blown way out of his control the second her lips parted beneath his and she made that husky little moan, pushing the sound deep into his throat. Screw ceremony. The hand that was on her hip slid around to her back, drawing her body hard against his, angling her slightly for privacy from his grandmother—not that he was capable of that degree of rational thought. Instincts had taken over completely. His mouth moved, deepening the kiss, his tongue flicking hers, and with every soft little moan she made he felt his control snapping, so within seconds he was fantasising about stripping the damned dress away and making love to her—not slowly and languidly, either, but hard and fast, as this passion bursting between them demanded.
Hell. This was a nightmare.
They had a deal, and at no point was he supposed to be attracted to his wife, of all people. At no point were they supposed to want each other like this. He wouldn’t let this happen. Any other woman, fine. But not with his bride.
He wrenched his mouth from hers, and Olivia had to bite down on her lower lip to stop from crying out at the sudden withdrawal. Her eyes were heavy, drugged by desire, so that it took several seconds before she remembered where they were, and who they were surrounded by.
Mortification doused her sensual need. It had only been a kiss—albeit a passionate one—but in Olivia’s innocent mind, they’d just done the first act of a live porno for Luca’s grandmother and priest.
He was watching her in that intense way of his, eyes hooded and unreadable, his own face notably normal, not flushed and passion-filled, as she was sure hers must be. Of course he looked like normal. This was Luca Giovanardi. The man literally went through women as most men did underwear. Or bottles of milk, at least. She stifled a moan and blanked her face of emotions—but too late, she feared. He must have seen how affected she was by the kiss. He must know how completely he took her breath away. How easily.
She sucked in a deep breath, and another. It’s okay. It’s over now. You never need to kiss him or touch him ever again. The thought was supposed to be reassuring, but her heart did a strange, twisty reaction, painful and impossible to ignore.
The next moment, his hand reached down and linked with hers, fingers intertwined, so she jerked her gaze back to his face. He smiled at her, but the smile got nowhere near his eyes.
‘Come and meet my grandmother. Cara.’ He added the term of endearment as an afterthought. It brought a rush of warmth to her. She ignored it. This was all for show, for his grandmother’s benefit. That was part of their deal, and, given what he was sacrificing for her, he deserved her to play along to the best of her ability.
‘Yes, of course.’ Her voice sounded, blessedly, normal.
Pietra Giovanardi was past her eightieth birthday but she stood straight and proud, silver hair pulled over one shoulder, slender body wrapped in couture and diamonds, yet somehow she managed to look approachable and down to earth. Her lips were quick to smile, her face well lined by time, by life, and her eyes sparkled as the couple approached. There was no hint of the terminal illness Luca had mentioned, beyond a body that was painfully slim.
‘Ahh, Luca, Luca, Luca, this is the happiest day of my life,’ she exclaimed, lifting a shaking hand and patting her grandson’s cheek affectionately, tears dampening her eyes as she turned to look at Olivia. She smiled brightly, emulating a happy bride. That was, after all, their deal.
‘Signora Giovanardi,’ Olivia murmured, but the older woman batted a hand through the air then drew Olivia into a warm hug, enveloping her in a softly floral fragrance at the same time she dislodged her hand from Luca’s, leaving a cool feeling of absence that Olivia wished she hadn’t noticed. The older woman was painfully thin, her bones barely covered by fine, papery skin. Sympathy spread like wildfire through Olivia at this obvious indication of her illness.
‘You must call me Pietra,’ she insisted. ‘Or Nonna.’
‘Pietra,’ Olivia rushed, softening her haste with a softer smile. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you.’
‘Ah, no, the pleasure is mine. I thought this would never happen, after...’ Pietra’s voice briefly stalled but she covered quickly, moving on. She hadn’t needed to finish anyway; Olivia knew what the older woman had been going to say. After his first marriage. For the first time since they’d agreed to this sham, she wondered about his past, his ex, and why the marriage had left him so badly scarred. But Nonna was moving on, steering the conversation forward. ‘And here he’s been keeping you a secret all this time.’ Pietra made a tsking sound. ‘But it is no business of mine. I won’t ask the details. I’m just glad it has come to this. Now, shall we have some Prosecco?’
Olivia blinked up at Luca, expecting him to demur—the sooner they concluded their ‘wedding’, the sooner they could be free of the need to act like a pair of besotted newly-weds, and the sooner their thirty days of captivity could start.
‘Sì,I have arranged it.’