curled her lip. ‘What term do you prefer to use? And for God’s sake stop calling me cara.’
‘The term I would use is charity.’
Frankie frowned so hard her forehead hurt. ‘Charity?’
His lazy smile set that sail in her stomach flapping again. ‘I am willing to gift you this house as well as the money to cover your father’s debts if you’ll agree to become my wife.’
Frankie shot out of her chair so fast it fell over with a thump. ‘Your...wife?’
‘Yes. My wife. But only for a year.’
Frankie opened and closed her mouth, unable to find her voice. For a shameful moment, unable to find a reason to refuse him when she thought of all that money. And her family home. Not to mention the hope of avoiding the public shame of millions of euros of debt.
No shame. No debt. No dirty little secrets let loose.
But she couldn’t accept his proposal...could she? It was against everything she believed in. ‘But I don’t understand... Why would you only want to be married for a year?’
He got off the desk and came over and righted the chair she had knocked over, turning to face her again. ‘You have something I need in the short term.’
Frankie swallowed, her legs suddenly feeling as if all her joints were only held together by pieces of string. She searched blindly for the desk behind her with her hands, gripping it to keep herself upright. His eyes were as dark as ebony, watchful, calculating, mesmerising. ‘W-what?’ It annoyed her to hear that crack in her voice. Annoyed and shamed her.
‘Respectability.’
She rapid blinked. ‘Respectability?’ She gave a humourless laugh. ‘Don’t you realise the appalling mess my father left me in? There is absolutely nothing respectable about owing millions of—’
‘No one needs to know anything about any of that if you marry me. I spoke to your father’s lawyer on the phone just before you arrived. I will cover the entire debt on the condition that you marry me this weekend.’
Frankie’s stomach dropped like an anchor. He was serious about this? He was prepared to marry her? To repay all that wretched money? ‘This weekend? But it’s Thursday now and—’
‘You are aware of my family’s reputation, sì?’ His mouth took on a twisted line.
‘Yes, but everyone knows you’re not—’
‘Everyone but the board of directors I am currently trying to stay on,’ Gabriel said. ‘Your father was the one who nominated me last year but now he’s gone, the other members are a little uneasy. But when I marry Marco’s only daughter—an English/Italian aristocrat with an impeccable pedigree and reputation—it’ll convince them I’m to be trusted.’
Frankie let go of her grip of the desk and clutched the neck of her silk blouse, worried her thumping heart was going to leap out and land on the carpet at Gabriel’s feet. ‘But I don’t understand why you would choose me. I mean, we’re not exactly friends. And you must know other aristocrats. Didn’t you date a member of European royalty a few years ago?’
Gabriel came to stand in front of her, every inch of his six-foot-four frame exuding male power and potency. With him this close, she had to remind herself to breathe. She had to remind herself not to stare at his mouth, not to dream about it crushing hers. Had to remind herself she was a woman of pride and would not resort to marrying a man for his convenience.
But what about your convenience?
The voice of her conscience tapped her on the shoulder like an unwelcome guest at a party. Gabriel’s plan was tempting. Seriously, ridiculously tempting. One year of her life and she would be free of the shame of her father’s gambling debts. She would have her family home back. It would remain in her possession. It would not be sold off to strangers or turned into a hotel or a grubby casino...
‘I need your answer, Francesca. Yes or no.’
Frankie removed her hand from the neck of her blouse and scooted away from him, going behind her father’s desk to keep a barrier between them. ‘I need some time to think about this...’ She disguised a gulping swallow, her thoughts in a messy fishing line tangle of fear.
Married for a year to Gabriel Salvetti? She had hoped to marry one day a man who loved her. Like her father had loved her mother. The mother she had never met since she’d died the day Frankie and her twin brother were born. Roberto had been stillborn and she had always wondered if she was responsible for both their deaths. Her father had never loved another woman since her mother’s death. He had never remarried. He’d had the occasional relationship but no one had taken her mother’s place.
That was the sort of love she wanted from a man.
Frankie gripped the back of her father’s leather chair. ‘What sort of marriage are you envisaging?’ Her voice betrayed her with its faint note of trepidation.
His gaze flicked briefly to her mouth. ‘That would be entirely up to you.’
She frowned, something in her stomach toppling from a high shelf. Something lower in her body flickering. Flaring. Flaming. ‘What do you mean?’
‘It can be a paper marriage or a normal one. Your choice.’ His expression gave her no clue as to which one he wanted her to choose. A screen had come down over his face. And yet the atmosphere subtly changed as if an invisible third party had entered the room—mutual desire. It throbbed in the air like a current, back and forth between his gaze and hers. She felt it in her body, deep in her body—a flickering pulse that drew molten heat to her core.
Frankie sent the tip of her tongue out over her lips. ‘And if I were to choose a paper one...would you get your...erm...needs met elsewhere?’
‘No.’
His answer surprised her. He was a full-blooded man of thirty-two. He was in the prime of his life. He had a new lover every few weeks. He was always being photographed with a glamorous woman on his arm. ‘You’d remain celibate for a whole year?’ She couldn’t keep the incredulity out of her voice.
‘If you agree to a paper marriage, then that’s the deal.’ His eyes contained a hint of sardonic amusement. ‘But of course, I would expect you, too, to remain celibate.’
Frankie wondered if he knew she was still a virgin. But how could he know? It wasn’t something she brandished about. She was pretty sure her father hadn’t known about her lack of a love life, especially since she’d been based in London the last four years, teaching in a special needs school. She had been unlucky with dating. A bad experience in her late teens had made her wary of dating men she didn’t know. And the ones she knew, she didn’t want to date. Like most young women her age, she dreamed of falling in love, but another part of her shied away from getting that close to someone.
To allow someone to see who she really was—the girl who had carried a curse since birth. Her birthday was her mother and brother’s death day. If that wasn’t a curse, she didn’t know what was.
Frankie tightened her hold on the chair and fashioned her features into her trademark icy hauteur. ‘I suppose
