in a frown. ‘You think you can pay me to be your wife? You think I can be bought?’
The look he gave her was cynical. ‘One thing I have learned through business is that everyone has a price. I am sure you have one too.’
She glared back at him furiously. ‘You think you can afford me?’ she asked, not caring if she was goading him too far.
His top lip curled upwards with the same cynicism she saw reflected in his gaze. ‘Name your price,’ he said.
Bronte threw a figure at him, an astonishingly exorbitant sum that would have made most men flinch in response. Luca’s expression was mask-like. It showed no emotion. It was as if they were discussing a business transaction.
‘Fine,’ he said. ‘I will make sure the funds are deposited in your bank account as soon as possible. You will need to give me your banking details, unless you would like me to write you a cheque here and now.’
Bronte scribbled her details down on a piece of paper, a war going on inside her over what she had just done. She had sold herself. Her future was now in his hands. She handed him the note, her eyes not quite able to hold his. ‘I will need to give the parents of my students some notice,’ she said.
‘I am sure your business partner will be able to see to everything,’ he said. ‘I want us to be in Italy at the end of the month. I want our marriage to be conducted at the family hotel in Milan. That way, all of my relatives can be there. It is too far for my elderly grandfather to travel all the way to Australia.’
Bronte’s eyes flew back to his. ‘Are you out of your mind? I can’t possibly tie up everything here in less than three weeks!’
‘I am a busy man, Bronte,’ he said. ‘I have commitments here that will now have to be put on hold until we get back.’
She frowned again. ‘So you’re expecting me to follow you back and forth across the globe?’
His eyes challenged her to defy him. ‘That is what most loving wives would do, is it not?’
It took Bronte a moment to catch on. ‘You… you want me to pretend our marriage is normal?’
‘But of course,’ he said.
She folded her arms crossly. ‘That’s out of the question. I won’t do it.’
‘It is not negotiable, Bronte,’ he said. ‘I will not be made an object of ridicule the world over for having a wife who hates the sight of me. You will at all times and in all places maintain the guise of a devoted wife.’
Bronte fumed as she stood facing him. ‘Is this marriage going to be an exclusive arrangement or are you going to continue with your philandering ways?’
He held her gaze for an interminable pause. ‘That, cara, will depend entirely on you,’ he said. ‘Why would I stray if all my needs are being met at home?’
‘And what about my needs?’ she asked, giving him a glowering look.
He picked up his car keys and made his way to the door before he answered. ‘I think I showed you only a few minutes ago how effectively I can meet your needs.’ His dark eyes ran over her from head to foot, undressing her, caressing her, tempting her all over again. ‘As my wife, Bronte, you will want for nothing.’
He closed the door on his exit and Bronte finally let out the breath she hadn’t even realised she had been holding.
You will want for nothing, he had said. But what about what she wanted most of all? No amount of money was going to buy her the love she so desperately craved.
CHAPTER EIGHT
BRONTE decided to take Ella with her to Luca’s hotel the next day, not just so he could spend time with his daughter if he happened to be there, but more to protect herself from falling into his arms as she had done last night.
Her body was still quivering with aftershocks, her flesh still tender from where he had possessed her so thoroughly. She felt ashamed of how she had fallen into his arms so quickly. Her actions had cancelled out every word of protest she had made to him about resuming their relationship. It would give him all the more power over her. He had always had the advantage. Wasn’t it true that the person who had the most power in a relationship was the one who loved less? By loving Luca in the past, she had become the most at risk of being hurt, and that was exactly what had happened. But this time the risk was much higher because Ella was part of the equation.
As soon as Bronte got out of the car a swarm of paparazzi came towards her, seemingly from nowhere. ‘Miss Bennett?’ A journalist held a microphone in her face. ‘Is it true your daughter is the secret love-child of Luca Sabbatini, the hotel tycoon?’
Bronte tried to stop the cameras flashing in little Ella’s face. ‘Do you mind?’ she snapped. ‘Keep away from her.’
Several camera shutters went off like a round of air rifle bullets. Ella started to cry and Bronte opened the back door of the car and fished her out of her seat, holding her close against her chest as she walked into the hotel with the bag containing Ella’s baby DVDs and photos banging painfully against her hip.
The press followed like a pack of hungry dogs snapping at her heels. She bolted towards the reception counter and, trying to soothe Ella as well as ignore the camera flashes, she handed the bag over to the concierge. ‘Could you please put this aside for Luca Sabbatini?’ she asked. ‘He’s staying in the penthouse.’
The concierge smiled and placed a swipe key in front of her. ‘Signor Sabbatini asked for you to be given this. If you give me your keys, I will get the valet parking attendant to take care of your car for you. If there is anything we can do to be of assistance with the little one, please don’t hesitate to ask. We have cots and baby food and a babysitting service if you should require it.’
‘Er… I’m not staying here,’ Bronte said quickly. ‘I’m just dropping off the bag with… er… I’m just leaving this for him.’ She pointed to the bag perched on the counter.
The concierge gave her an urbane smile. ‘Signor Sabbatini expressly asked for you to be given full access to his suite. He is not here at the moment but should be back shortly. He would like for you to wait until he returns.’
Bronte ground her teeth. She had two choices: turn around and put Ella through the drama of facing the press again, or go up to Luca’s suite and kill some time until the paparazzi left, hopefully before Luca returned. She let out a breath of resignation and picked up the swipe card and the bag of DVDs and photos. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘We’ll wait for him.’
The suite was blessedly quiet and Bronte was finally able to settle Ella, who had come close to becoming hysterical over the fuss downstairs. Her little face was bright red and her eyes still streaming, and tiny heart-wrenching hiccups were rattling intermittently in her chest. ‘Don’t cry, darling,’ Bronte said softly, rocking her gently from side to side. ‘Shh, it’s all right. They’ve all gone away now.’
But for how long? she wondered. And how on earth had they found out about Ella being Luca’s child? Had Luca made some sort of announcement without telling her? It was a frightening thought that this was what she and Ella might have to live with: the constant intrusion of the press which Luca had described previously. How would she ever cope with
