do you want me to do it?’ she asked.
‘You’re good at what you do,’ he said.
Her mouth thinned in cynicism. ‘And you want a carrot to dangle in front of me in case I happen to find a last-minute escape route?’
‘You won’t find an escape route,’ he said. ‘If you’re a good girl I might even consider using your linen exclusively in all of my hotels. But only if you behave yourself.’
The look she gave him glittered with hatred. ‘You’ve certainly got blackmail down to a science,’ she said. ‘I didn’t realise you were this ruthless five years ago.’
‘I wasn’t,’ he said, taking another leisurely sip of his drink.
She tightened her mouth. ‘I’ll have to think about it,’ she said. ‘I have a lot of work on just now.’
‘How capable is your assistant?’ Angelo asked.
‘Very capable,’ she said. ‘I’m thinking of promoting her. I need someone to handle the international end of things.’
‘It must be quite limiting, not being able to do the travelling yourself,’ he said.
She lifted a shoulder in a dismissive manner. ‘I manage.’
Angelo picked up a small photo frame from an intricately carved drum table next to where he was standing. ‘Is this Lachlan as a toddler?’ he asked.
Her deep blue gaze flickered with something as she glanced at the photo. ‘No,’ she said. ‘It’s not.’
Angelo put the frame back on the table and, pushing back his sleeve, glanced at his watch. ‘We should get going,’ he said. ‘I’ve booked the restaurant for eight.’
‘I told you I’m not having dinner with you,’ she said.
‘And I told you to behave yourself,’ he tossed back. ‘You will join me for dinner and you will look happy about it. I don’t care how you act in private, but in public you will at all times act like a young woman who is deeply in love. If you put even one toe of one foot out of line your brother will pay the price.’
She glared at him, her whole body bristling with anger. ‘I’ve never been in love before, so how am I going to pull that act off with any authenticity?’ she asked.
Angelo gave her a steely look. ‘Make it up as you go along,’ he said, and put his glass down with a dull thud next to the photo frame. ‘I’ll be waiting outside in the car.’
Natalie waited until he had left the room before she picked up his glass. She mopped up the circle of condensation left on the leather top of the table with the heel of her hand and then wiped her hand against her churning stomach.
Her eyes went to the photo of Liam. He was standing on the beach with a bucket and spade in his dimpled hands, his cherubic face smiling for the camera. It had been taken just hours before he died. She remembered how excited he had been about the shells he had found. She remembered the sandcastle they had built together. She remembered how they had come back to the pool with their parents to rinse off. She remembered how her mother had gone inside for a rest and her father had left her with Liam while he made an important phone call …
She gently straightened the photo frame with fingers that were not quite steady. And then, with a sigh that burned like a serrated knife inside her chest, she went to get ready for dinner.
The restaurant Angelo had booked was a popular one that attracted the rich and the famous. Natalie had been a couple of times before, but no one had taken much notice of her. This time everyone looked and pointed as she came into the restaurant under Angelo’s escort. A couple of people even took photos with their phones.
She tried to ignore the feel of his hand at her back. It was barely touching her but it felt like a brand. She could feel the tensile strength of him in that feather-light touch. It was a heady reminder of the sensual power he had over her.
Still had over her.
The maître d’ led them to a table and then bustled off to fetch drinks after he had handed them both menus.
She buried her head in the menu even though she had no appetite. The words were just a blur in front of her. She blinked and tried to focus. A week ago she wouldn’t have dreamed it possible for her to be sitting with Angelo in a restaurant. Ever since their break-up she had kept her distance both physically and mentally. But now she was back in his world and she wasn’t sure how she was going to get out of it. How long would their marriage last, given the irreconcilable differences between them? He had loved her once, but he certainly wasn’t motivated by love now. Revenge was his goal.
It had taken five years for the planets to align in his favour, but Lachlan had provided the perfect set-up for him to make her pay for leaving him. A man as proud and powerful as he was would not be satisfied until he had settled the score. How long would he insist on her staying with him? He surely wouldn’t tie himself indefinitely to a loveless marriage. He was an only child. He was thirty-three years old—almost thirty-four. He would want children in the not too distant future. He would hardly want her to be the mother of his heirs. He would want someone biddable and obedient. Someone who would grace his many homes with poise and grace. Someone who wouldn’t argue with him or question his opinions. Someone who would love him without reservation.
‘Are you still a strict vegetarian?’ Angelo asked.
Natalie looked at him over the top of the menu. ‘I occasionally eat chicken and fish,’ she confessed a little sheepishly.
His dark brows lifted. ‘You were so passionate back then.’
She lowered her gaze to the menu again. ‘Yes, well, I was young and full of ideals back then. I’ve realised since that life is not so black and white.’
‘What else have you changed your mind about?’ he asked.
She put the menu to one side. ‘I haven’t changed that much,’ she said.
‘Meaning you still don’t want children?’
Natalie felt the all too familiar pain seize her. She thought of Isabel’s little newborn daughter Imogen, of how it had felt to hold her in her arms just a couple of weeks ago—the soft sweet smell, the tiny little starfish hands that had gripped hers so firmly. It had brought guilt down on her like a guillotine.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I haven’t changed my mind about that.’
‘So you’re still the high-powered career girl?’ he said.
She picked up her glass and raised it in a salute. ‘That’s me.’
His dark brown eyes kept holding hers. ‘What about when you’re older?’ he asked. ‘You’re young now, but what about when your biological clock starts to ramp up its ticking?’
‘Not every woman is cut out to be a mother,’ she said. ‘I’m not good with kids. I think I must have missed out on the maternal gene.’
‘I don’t believe that,’ he said. ‘I accept that there are some women who genuinely don’t want to have children, but you’re
