‘We’ll see how you fare after a few hours hunting for lost treasure.’ Then she turned to bend over an ancient moth-eaten chair, dismissing him.
Donato smiled. Perversely, he loved the fact Ella made a point of not kowtowing to him. For years, since his phenomenal burst of commercial success, people had fallen over themselves to agree with him. No one dismissed him.
He liked that Ella treated him like an ordinary man. Neither a commercially astute businessman whose every pronouncement was gold, nor a sinister outsider to polite society who could never be completely trusted because of his murky past.
And he liked knowing that no matter how pointedly she stood up to him, he just had to touch her and she went up in flames.
‘Treasure? Hunting through junk, don’t you mean?’
She shrugged. ‘If you can’t cope I’ll see you later.’
But Donato wasn’t going anywhere. He was fascinated, watching Ella’s assessing eye as she prowled the antiques centre. He’d developed an interest in antiques himself, drawn by the idea of a bygone world of grace and beauty that was everything his early life hadn’t been.
Ella moved through the place, her sharp eyes spotting the same mantel clock he did. It belonged not in a dusty bric-a-brac emporium, but in a collector’s home. Then she paused by a tiny damaged table. He hadn’t noticed it. Now he realised how finely it was made. With restoration it would be beautiful.
Ella had a good eye. It intrigued him to think they shared an interest in beautiful old things.
But what kept him at her side, helping her shift a lumpy chair to get to an old trunk, was more than an interest in antiques. She almost hummed with happiness as she explored. Her enthusiasm drew him.
She was appealing when she challenged him, standing so haughtily, refusing to cave in despite her father’s pushing. But when she was happy... Donato was surprised at the cliché that sprang to mind. But it was true. When Ella was happy she glowed.
He wanted to bask in that radiance. Her lips curved in an excited smile as she ran her hands over the trunk. Donato wanted to be part of what made her happy. He wanted to make her smile.
How long since he’d wanted to do that for anyone?
It was a relief to see her like this. Yesterday, with a few casual words, she’d unleashed a wave of bitter remembrance. More than that, she’d evoked guilt.
You don’t own me.
You haven’t bought me.
Even now his blood iced at the words. At the implication he was stripping away her control of her own life by agreeing to this sham engagement.
Did she really feel disempowered?
Acid swirled in his belly and rose, filling his mouth.
His fight wasn’t with Ella. It was with her father. He’d imagined Sanderson’s daughter would be as shallow and selfish as him, eager to triumph in the role of high-profile fiancée to a rich entrepreneur. Instead he’d found a woman whose idea of a good time was hunting for old wares.
You haven’t bought me.
Donato’s jaw clamped so hard pain radiated through his skull.
He knew, exactly, what it meant to buy someone. To own someone.
The words, so casual, so meaningless to most, were honed knives. They sliced into the darkness that was his past and his very essence. He felt the ice-hot slash, not to his face or his ribs this time, but to his heart. It heaved as the blackness of the past rose up.
‘Donato.’ A hand touched his and he looked down. Ella’s eyes met his. Stunned, he felt again that spark of connection he’d told himself he’d imagined. This time it was a welcome sizzle of heat, cracking the ice in his veins. ‘Come and look at this.’
Did she know? Had she seen the murky shadows engulf him?
Donato straightened. Of course she hadn’t. No one did. They were his to bear alone.
‘What have you found now? Jewellery?’ He forced a smile to his face and watched her blink. That was better. He preferred Ella distracted rather than questioning. ‘It has to be something glittery to make a woman so excited.’
‘Don’t pretend to be a sexist beast. We both know you’re not.’
‘Not sexist?’
Their gazes locked and, extraordinarily, Donato felt as if her assessing gaze saw too much. ‘Not either.’
Which showed how little Ella knew about him.
Because of his prison record most women viewed him with trepidation, even if mingled with a good dollop of excitement. They fantasised about the bad boy, especially one who had wealth to smooth his way. If they knew the full details of his past they’d shun him. That had never mattered. He didn’t care about the approval of pampered society women.