CAROL MARINELLI - The Italian's Marriage Bargain

A LOUD knocking at the door heralded breakfast, but, clearly used to staff, Luca carried on talking unfazed, while Felicity, in turn, sat huddled on the edge of the bed, scuffing the floor with her bare foot and burning with shame, appalled at what the waiter must surely be thinking and silently, fruitlessly wishing that Luca would put him right, tell him she wasn’t yet another of his conquests, that his latest guest absolutely did not deserve to be the talk of the staffroom this morning, because, quite simply, nothing had happened.

Nothing had happened!

Of course Luca did no such thing. Instead he chattered away to Felicity as the table was laid, oblivious to her discomfort. ‘Have something to eat,’ he offered, but Felicity shook her head, determined not to accept anything from him. ‘A coffee, at least? Or perhaps you would like a shower first?’

If he offered a shower again, if he really insisted, Felicity decided she’d accept; but when Luca merely cocked his head and awaited her reply she finally gave a small reluctant nod. Though it galled her to accept any crumbs from Luca Santanno, the chance of a shower was just too good to pass up.

He dismissed the waiter with a flick of his wrist.

True to form, Felicity thought bitterly; he was as dismissive as Matthew to his workers, but as the waiter left she blinked in surprise when Luca called out thanks in his thick accent, then turned the smile back to her.

‘How about I make that call?’ He gestured to the bathroom. ‘There are robes and toiletries in there. Just help yourself and let me know if there is anything else you need.’

‘I’ll be fine.’

More than fine, Felicity thought, wandering into the bathroom, glimpsing the rows and rows of glass bottles that heralded a luxury suite—a rather far cry from her own toiletry bag, sitting forlornly in Matthew’s room.

With a jolt she looked down at her watch, a mental alarm bell ringing to say that it was time to take her Pill. But with a flood of utter relief she knew at that moment her decision had been made; she didn’t need to take the wretched thing, didn’t need to worry about it any more.

Now she had finally acknowledged that she couldn’t, wouldn’t sleep with Matthew, the sense of relief was a revelation in itself—an affirmation of the strain she had been under, the turmoil behind the cool façade she’d so determinedly portrayed, the secret agony behind each and every smile.

Eyeing her reflection in the mirror—the wayward hair, the black panda eyes and swollen lids that just about summed up her life—she barely registered a soft knocking at the bathroom door.

‘Felice, I’m sorry to disturb you.’ Luca stood back as she pulled the door open an inch. ‘I just need your surname. Reception want it for the computer.’

‘Conlon.’ She watched his eyebrows furrow slightly, his eyes narrowing as her surname registered.

‘Conlon?’ he repeated. ‘Why do I know that name? It is familiar, yes?’

‘Well, it is to me.’ The thin smile didn’t reach her eyes, and for the first time since their strange meeting Luca Santanno didn’t look quite the confident man she was rapidly becoming used to.

Snapping his fingers as he raked his mind, it finally registered. ‘Richard Conlon?’ Another snap of the fingers, another snippet of information. ‘He owned the Peninsula Golf Resort.’

‘Before you bought it for a pittance.’ The acrimony in her voice made his frown deepen. ‘I’m Richard Conlon’s daughter,’ Felicity explained, angry, rebuking eyes finally meeting his. ‘I’m the one attempting to pick up the pieces after you destroyed him.’

Luca didn’t need to snap his fingers now, details were coming in unaided. The underpriced resort he’d bought a year or so ago, the niggling guilt he’d chosen to ignore at kicking a man when he was down. Okay, Richard Conlon had brought it on himself, though he couldn’t remember all the details his new manager Matthew had given him. Gambling, or drinking, or a combination of both? But whatever had caused his hellish debts, whatever had forced his ruin, it had never sat quite right with Luca, and now, as he looked into the face of his predecessor’s daughter, the niggling guilt suddenly multiplied.

‘It was a business deal,’ Luca said, but his voice wasn’t quite so assured.

‘Sure,’ Felicity snapped.

‘I’m sorry for what happened, but it’s hardly my fault. Your father was a poor businessman. He got himself—’

‘My father,’ Felicity flared, unbridled anger making her voice tremble as she met her enemy. ‘My father was a wonderful businessman. He still is, come to that. The only reason the dump that the resort now is still survives is thanks to the hours my father puts in.’

‘He still works there?’ Luca answered his own question. ‘That’s right; I kept him on as a manager.’

‘Assistant manager,’ Felicity sneered. ‘Second in charge to the wonderful Matthew. A man who runs the resort by fear. A man who pumps the profits into his own pockets instead of maintaining the place. A man living off the good will my father nurtured when he was the owner.’

‘So why were you about to get engaged to him if he is so awful?’ Luca demanded. ‘Why did you walk in on his arm last night, half dressed and half drunk?’

His scorching words would under any other circumstances have hurt, would have lacerated her with shame, but in Felicity’s present mood they barely touched the surface. Months of unvented fury finally came to the fore, her words so laced with venom she could barely get them out. ‘Because your partner made it very clear that unless I slept with him, unless I came up with the goods, my father would be out of a job!’

‘He is blackmailing you?’

‘Yes.’ Her word was sharp, definite—such a contrast to the question in his voice. ‘Your partner is blackmailing me.’

‘Partner? Matthew is not my partner.’ An incredulous laugh was followed by a bewildered shake of his head, but it didn’t last for long. Luca Santanno was obviously far more on the ball than Felicity had realized. His expression darkened, those blue eyes narrowing as he let out a long hiss. ‘Is that what he has been saying?’ When Felicity didn’t answer immediately his voice became more demanding. ‘Is that how this Matthew operates? How he exerts his authority? By letting the staff think he is the owner?’

‘Co-owner,’ Felicity corrected.

‘Co-owner?’ he blasted the word out of his mouth, like two pistol shots, and Felicity flinched with each one. ‘He is not a co-owner. I am the owner! All the managers of my minor resorts have a five per cent holding; it is good for morale,’ Luca explained his voice still angry. ‘It ensures profit.’

‘Ah, yes, profit.’ Felicity found her voice, her hazel eyes flashing with distaste, meeting Luca’s full on. ‘There it is again! We’re all very familiar with your love for that particular word.’

‘Scusi?’ For the first time Luca’s English slipped, but he quickly corrected himself. ‘What is that supposed to mean?’

‘Profit,’ Felicity sneered. There was no point holding back now, she was already in it up to her neck, but at least she could let this jumped-up, haughty, control freak know exactly what she thought of him and his methods—pay him back for the agony he had inflicted on her family. At least the final word in this whole sorry saga would be hers. ‘That’s the bottom line for you—and the top one, and the bit in the middle. Profit’s why you pay your staff a pittance, why they have to stay behind night after night for no extra pay, why a beautiful resort is barely a shadow of what it used to be.’

‘Barely a shadow?’

‘Don’t pretend you don’t understand!’ Felicity retorted. ‘The resort is on its last legs—finished, kaput, finito. Now do you get it? Oh, I’m sure it’s still returning a healthy profit. I’m sure on paper everything looks just fine. But the staff are leaving in droves and it’s only a matter of time before the clients follow.’