Margaret Mayo - His Virgin Bride

‘What do you intend to do with your share of the villa at the end of our marriage?’ he asked.

She set her glass back down and met his eyes. ‘I’m not sure…I haven’t thought that far ahead…’

‘Would you consider selling it to me?’

She nibbled at her bottom lip for a moment. ‘That seems a bit unfair, making you pay for something that really should have been yours in the first place,’ she said.

His expression was unreadable. ‘You are at perfect liberty to do what you like,’ he said. ‘We are now joint owners. But if you wish to sell at the end of the time I would like to make the first and final offer.’

‘It’s a beautiful property,’ Emma said. ‘It would make a fabulous family home. I wish I could afford to buy you out at the end of the time, but I can’t. I would never be able to afford the maintenance costs, for one thing.’

‘My half is not going to be for sale,’ he said with an implacable edge to his tone.

Emma’s forehead wrinkled in a frown. ‘It seems rather a large place for a bachelor.’

‘Perhaps, but I want to retain ownership regardless.’

‘So will you live here permanently?’ she asked.

‘For some of the year perhaps,’ he said. ‘I am thinking of appointing a manager to keep the place running while I am away.’

‘That sounds like a good idea,’ Emma said. ‘It would be a shame for it to be empty for long periods.’

He went silent for several moments, his gaze focussed on the contents of his wineglass. ‘I have missed the place,’ he said almost wistfully. ‘I am not quite ready to let it go. There are some ghosts to lay to rest first.’

Emma was starting to see there was more to Rafaele Fiorenza than she had originally thought. It was no wonder he liked to hold the balance of control in all of his relationships. After his experiences as a child he would abhor being vulnerable in any context. He would never allow himself to love anyone in case they turned against him or deserted him.

He reminded her of a wounded wolf who would only attend to his pain in private. She felt her animosity towards him soften, the anger she had felt from the first moment of meeting him melting away to be replaced by compassion and an acute, almost painful desire to understand.

What had put those lines of strain about his mouth or those dark shadows that came and went in the black-brown depths of his gaze? What made his smile teasing and playful one minute and bitter and cynical the next? What would it take to crack open the hard nut of his heart she wondered. What dark secrets were locked away in there?

CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN CHAPTER TWELVE CHAPTER THIRTEEN Bought: For His Convenience or Pleasure? About the Author Dedication CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN CHAPTER TWELVE EPILOGUE A Night With Consequences About the Author CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN CHAPTER TWELVE Copyright

AFTER the waiter had brought their meals to the table, Emma concentrated on the delicious seafood risotto set before her, in an attempt to get her emotions in check. What sort of romantic fool would she be to fancy herself in love with Rafaele? She barely knew him and, besides, anyone could see he wasn’t a for ever type of guy. She could sense the restlessness in him, the way he worked so hard and played harder, to escape whatever demons drove him.

Emma put her fork down and reached for her wineglass to find his dark, contemplative gaze resting on her. Her heart suddenly felt as if a silk ribbon were being pulled right through the middle of it, making her breath catch in her throat.

‘You mentioned the other day you have a sister,’ he said. ‘What happened to your parents?’

Emma put her glass back down with a little clatter against her dinner plate. ‘I would have thought your private investigator contact would have told you when you had him dig up the dirt on my background.’

Rafaele let out a rusty breath. ‘I am sorry, Emma, but if you had been in my position you would have done the same.’

She held his gaze for a beat or two, but dropped it to say, ‘I haven’t seen either of my parents since I was twelve years old when my sister and I were taken into foster care. Our parents were both heroin addicts. The prolonged drug use fried their brains. They died within months of each other, my father from a stab wound from a drug deal gone wrong, my mother from an overdose.’

Rafaele frowned as her quietly spoken words sank in. No wonder she had been so upset about him looking into her background. It also explained why she was so keen to have financial security to make up for what she had missed out on as a child. His own childhood had been painful enough, but to have such incompetent and potentially dangerous parents would have been soul-destroying. He could see now why she had hooked up with his father, to find an older father-figure who would indulge her every whim. Rafaele wouldn’t go as far as excusing her for prostituting herself in such a way, but at least he understood her motive for doing so.

‘I am sorry you had such a rough time of it,’ he said. ‘I have always thought it is a pity one cannot choose one’s own parents. It would certainly make life easier for many children growing up.’

Her eyes came back to his. ‘I guess so…but it’s a parent’s responsibility to be the adult in the relationship once children come along. Children don’t ask to be born. They deserve to be loved no matter what.’

‘That is one of the reasons I do not want to have children,’ he said. ‘It is too risky. How can I guarantee I will even like the child, let alone love it?’

Emma felt an inexplicable pang deep inside at his words. ‘I’m sure you would love your own flesh and blood,’ she said. ‘One of the few benefits of coming from a difficult background is recognising the pitfalls to avoid when you become a parent yourself. You wouldn’t make the same mistakes your father made, I’m sure of it.’

His smile was a little crooked. ‘No, but I would probably make new ones,’ he said. ‘Then in thirty-odd years I would have a son or daughter who hated my guts. No way am I going to put my head in that particular noose. I am staying out of the parent trap.’

‘But what if it were to happen?’ Emma asked, still frowning slightly. ‘What if one of your mistresses got pregnant by accident?’

The line of his mouth tightened a fraction. ‘Firstly I would find it a little hard to believe it was an accident,’ he said. ‘I always take precautions and so do my sexual partners. In fact I insist on it.’

‘Precautions can fail,’ she pointed out. ‘My sister Simone fell pregnant while on the pill. She was only nineteen at the time. If that happened to one of your partners would you expect her to have a termination?’

‘I realise that is a decision best left to the woman concerned,’ he said. ‘An unwanted pregnancy is devastating to many women. I would not insist on her going through with it unless she was convinced it was the only option for her.’

‘Wouldn’t you want to be involved in its upbringing?’ Emma asked.

He drew in a breath and reached for his glass once more. ‘I am not sure a child should be in regular contact with a reluctant father. Children are not stupid. They work out pretty quickly who is genuine and who is not.’

Emma frowned at him. ‘But don’t all children deserve to have contact with both of their parents if at all possible?’ she asked.

‘In an ideal world, yes,’ he said. ‘But it is hard for men these days. It seems to me we are damned if we do and damned if we do not. We are called selfish for not wanting to procreate, and then if we do agree to father a child we are the worst in the world for not contributing enough in terms of housework or child care, even though we might be working every hour God sends to keep food on the table.’