‘I never drink spirits,’ she choked between sobs.
‘Then today seems a good day to start,’ he said drily.
Athena did not like to argue—especially when she glanced at Luca’s hard profile. She took a cautious sip of brandy and felt warmth seep through her veins.
‘You’re probably wondering why I’ve decided not to marry Charlie.’
‘Not particularly. Kadir asked me to make sure you were happy, and if not to stop the wedding. I’m not interested in the reason why you’ve changed your mind.’
‘Kadir asked you to stop the wedding?’
Luca glanced at her, and was relieved to see that the brandy had brought colour back to her cheeks. ‘Lexi was sure you were making a mistake, and Kadir would do anything to prevent his wife from worrying—especially when she’s about to go into labour.’
He had done what he had been asked to do, Luca brooded. But neither Kadir nor Athena seemed to have planned further than halting the wedding. He could not abandon her, but the only place he could think of taking her was back to his hotel. Perhaps she would get a grip on her emotions there and then take herself out of his life so that he could concentrate on his own pre-wedding problems with Giselle.
Athena took another sip of brandy and felt herself relax a little. She had a headache from crying and she closed her eyes, lulled by the motion of the car...
The strident blare of a horn woke her, and she was confused when she saw that they were in a traffic jam. A glance at her watch revealed that she had slept for forty minutes.
Her memory returned with a jolt. She had run away from her wedding—dubbed by society commentators as ‘the wedding of the year’. Luca De Rossi had helped her to escape in his sports car. For some reason the sight of his tanned hands on the steering wheel evoked a quiver in her belly. A picture flashed into her mind of those hands caressing her, his dark olive skin a stark contrast to her pale flesh.
She swallowed. ‘Where are we?’
‘London. Mayfair, to be exact. I’ve brought you to my hotel to give you time to decide what your plans are.’ Luca handed her another tissue. ‘You might want to clean yourself up before we go inside.’
Athena had recognised the name of the exclusive five-star hotel that overlooked Marble Arch and Hyde Park. Her heart sank when she pulled down the car’s sun visor to look in the vanity mirror and saw her face streaked with black mascara and red lipstick smudged across her chin like a garish Halloween mask.
She did her best with the tissue, and when Luca had parked in the underground car park and they’d taken the lift up to the hotel’s opulent reception area, she shot into the ladies’ cloakroom to avoid the curious stares of the other guests, who were clearly intrigued to see a tearful bride.
In one of the private cubicles she ran a sink of hot water and scrubbed the make-up off her face. Her elaborate bun had slipped to one side of her head, and she began the task of removing the dozens of hairpins before brushing her hair to get rid of the coating of hairspray. She gave a start when her phone rang from the depths of her bag, and the sight of her mother’s name on the caller display caused her stomach to knot with tension.
Out in the hotel lobby, Luca tapped his foot on the marble-tiled floor and tried to contain his impatience as he waited for Athena to emerge from the cloakroom. Long experience of women warned him that she might be in there for hours while she reapplied her make-up. While he was waiting he reread the latest text message he had received from Giselle.
I have decided to ask my four young nieces to be bridesmaids at our wedding and I’ve seen the most adorable dresses for them to wear.
The message included a photo of a sickly-sweet child dressed in a shepherdess costume. Luca ground his teeth. Bridesmaids! Giselle was pushing his patience to its limit. And another text revealed that she knew she had the upper hand.
I hope you will be amenable, chéri, because I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that you will be thirty-five in two short weeks.
The warning in Giselle’s second text was clear. Do what I want, or... Or what? Luca thought grimly. It was unlikely that his bimbo bride would give up a million pounds over an argument about bridesmaids, but he dared not risk upsetting her when he was so close to his goal.
His phone rang and he frowned when he saw that the caller was the other thorn in his side: his grandmother’s brother, Executive Vice President of De Rossi Enterprises, Emilio Nervetti.
‘This continued uncertainty about who will head the company is affecting profits.’ Emilio went straight for the jugular. ‘I intend to ask the board to support a vote of no confidence in your leadership. Under the terms of my dear sister Violetta’s will, two weeks from now you stand to lose your position as chairman unless you marry before your birthday—which you show no signs of doing.’
‘On the contrary,’ Luca said curtly. ‘My wedding is arranged for next week—before I turn thirty-five. My marriage will allow me to continue in my role as chairman of De Rossi Enterprises, and after I have been married for one year I will not only secure the chairmanship permanently, but also the deeds to Villa De Rossi, and the right to use the De Rossi name for the fashion label I created.’
For a few seconds an angry silence hummed down the line, before Emilio said coldly, ‘I am sure the board members will be relieved to know that you intend to give up your playboy lifestyle for a life of decency and sobriety. But I’m afraid I cannot be so confident. You inherited your mother’s alley-cat morals, Luca. And God knows what genes you inherited from your father—whoever he was.’
Luca cut the call and swore savagely beneath his breath. His great-uncle’s dig about his parentage was expected, but it still made him seethe. Emilio had only been given a position on the board of De Rossi Enterprises because his sister—Luca’s grandmother—had married Luca’s grandfather. He was the rightful De Rossi heir, Luca thought grimly, even though his grandparents had disapproved of him.
Luca’s grandfather, Aberto De Rossi, had lacked the vision of his father, founder of De Rossi Enterprises, Raimondo De Rossi. But at least Aberto had been a steady figure at the head of the company. With no son to succeed him Aberto had given his daughter Beatriz a prominent position on the board—with disastrous results.
Beatriz had been too busy with her party lifestyle to take an interest in running the company, and her scandalous private life had brought disrepute to the De Rossi brand name and resulted in falling profits.
Eventually Aberto had run out of patience with his daughter and had named his illegitimate grandson as his heir—with the stipulation that Luca could only inherit with his grandmother’s agreement, and only after her death. Aberto had also voiced his reservations about Luca’s decision to study fashion design alongside a business degree.
However, at the age of twenty Luca had presented his first collection at New York Fashion Week and received critical acclaim. The launch of his fashion label, DRD, had restored the De Rossi brand to the prestige it had known under the legendary Raimondo. But, according to the terms of Luca’s grandmother’s will, he faced losing everything. All his hard work and achievements had meant nothing to Nonna Violetta—and he knew why.
He was a bastardo—the product of a brief union between his mother and a croupier she had met in a casino—and in his
