“But I’m—,”
“Perfect,” he said, his expression serious. “One of my biggest regrets in life will always be that I didn’t recognise that immediately. You are my perfect other half, but more than that, you will be the most perfect queen to the people of Al Medina. We are all very, very lucky to have you, Cora Xenakis.”
And she becamethe most perfect and beloved queen to the people of Al Medina, and a wonderful wife to Sheikh Samir al Qadi, an excellent, loving mother to their five children, and eventually, a wonderful, involved grandmother to their brood of twenty-eight grandchildren. But most importantly, Cora al Qadi was happy: happy in a way she’d never known possible, happy in a way that made her glow from the inside out, happy, happily ever after.
THE END
Don’t miss the exciting new Christmas romance from Clare Connelly: preorder The Billionaire’s Christmas Seduction now!
IF YOU LOVE passionate, fast-paced romance sagas like The Xenakis, then you’ll adore The Montebellos.
Book One is included below as a bonus book. Happy reading!
REGRET ME NOT
THE MONTEBELLOS I
PROLOGUE
Three years ago
SHE WAS SILK BENEATH his fingertips, soft and smooth and his body craved hers again now, despite the fact they’d spent the whole night wrapped together, limbs entwined, mouths seeking. He’d been hungry in a way he hadn’t felt for a long time – if ever – and he was hungry for her now.
He shifted carefully in the bed, angling his face towards hers so he could see her better, the soft light of dawn filtering in almost a sufficient amount to shape the features he knew so well by touch.
It was her eyes he’d noticed first. Almost too-large for her face, and so shimmering brown they were like liquid gold. They’d been both trusting and cynical and if there was one thing in life Fiero Montebello understood, it was contradictions. He understood happiness and pleasure, like this, in the midst of extreme pain and shock. A night out of time, a night to revel in his body’s instincts and strength, when the body of the man who had raised him, his beloved grandfather, was simultaneously close to death. This night had been a reprieve, a release, a way to exist on a purely sensual level, to close off his emotions and thoughts and simply enjoy bodily pleasures.
How long had it been since he’d done this?
Lips that were full and pouting without her notice were parted now, her soft breath sounds filled the room. Her nose had a lift at the end, like a little ski-jump and there was a cluster of tiny, faint freckles which danced across her cheekbones – he’d laid kisses there the night before, wanting to kiss her all over, taste all of her, thinking he could do so and be done.
But it had been years since he’d felt his body move with passion like this, years since he’d obeyed his body’s commands, and finally succumbing to temptation had driven him wild. He felt wild now, filled with needs and almost selfish enough to wake her, so that they might start answering them together.
But it was wrong.
Wrong to be here, wrong to have come, wrong to have gone to her bed, to have made love to her until she was crying his name – Fiero – as if the very flames of hell were at her back and he the only possible way to douse them.
He was a married man.
His lips stretched into a grimace as he thought of that – of his wife, and how little was left of their marriage. They’d agreed to separate. They’d both signed the divorce papers, in fact. But his grandfather’s illness made it impossible, for now. To pain the older man in the twilight years of his life meant they must – on the surface – continue to appear as a ‘married couple’, despite the fact she’d moved out of the home they’d shared, despite the fact their marriage was colder than a long-dead fish.
He suppressed a groan of frustration. Which meant what, exactly? That this wasn’t wrong?
It was a fine line. He could make his peace with it, but what of his young lover, who’d so willingly given her body over to pleasure, who’d opened herself up to him so trustingly? If she were to discover that he had a wife back in Italy, albeit in name only?
And the press? If they were to discover this, and Gianfelice awoke to yet another scandal in the papers?
No. He couldn’t risk it.
His body screamed at him in regret, but Fiero knew what he must do. Pushing back the covers, he stood, taking the time to commit her appearance, at least, to memory, in the hope it would be sufficient comfort in the days to come – when he would no doubt kick himself for having done something so foolish and walked away from her without one last time, one last kiss, one last everything.
He gathered his clothes and dressed quietly in the small lounge room of her flat. He took in the details on autopilot – the neatness and order, the books categorised by author surname on the shelves across the room, the fresh cut flowers on the kitchen bench, a glass bowl overflowing with fresh, fragrant fruits, a colourful rug on the floor.
The décor was just like she had been, when she’d walked into the restaurant unable to secure a table and he’d offered for her to join him. Eclectic, beautiful, serene, bright, fascinating…
He stifled a groan and reached for the notepad and pen she kept on the kitchen bench. The first page had a few items neatly penned, a grocery list that made him smile when he read the contents:olive oil, bread, tea bags, vegemite.The last brought her Australian accent to mind and his gut kicked in a strange sensual response.
He flipped the page and hovered the pen over it for a moment, balancing his words mentally before committing them to paper.