Melanie Milburne - Penniless Virgin To Sicilian's Bride

The decision to marry Frankie was a calculated move on Gabriel’s part. Calculated because he was not going to stand by and watch her father’s good name be sullied by an unfortunate set of circumstances during the last months of Marco Mancini’s life.

But there was more to his offer than a simple favour to a dead man.

Gabriel wanted Frankie. He’d wanted her ever since she had rejected him, because deep down, he knew she wanted him too, but she refused to acknowledge it. She was a challenge he couldn’t resist. He wasn’t an egotist. He was a man who set goals and did all he could possibly do, within reason and moral boundaries, to achieve them.

Even if—and it was a big if—she didn’t want their marriage to be consummated, once he had his ring on her finger he would have won.

Getting her to marry him would be a victory in itself.

Frankie spun away from him, her wildly curly dark brown hair pulled back into a ponytail swinging from side to side as if even her hair was annoyed with him. She had her English aristocrat mother’s colouring—creamy white skin and those beautiful eyes with their fringe of thick lashes and black eyebrows. She had curves in all the right places, curves he longed to explore in real time instead of dream time.

‘I’m afraid there isn’t time for a church wedding,’ Gabriel said.

She turned to face him, her expression so icy he could have shivered. ‘If you think I would stand in front of a priest and make promises I have no intention of keeping, then you’d better think again.’

‘People will understand given it’s only been a few weeks since your father’s death.’ He paused for a beat before adding, ‘I can only imagine how much you miss him.’

Something flickered through her gaze like a zephyr across the surface of a lake. But then she shifted her gaze and straightened one of the books on the shelves nearby. ‘Sometimes I find it hard to accept he’s no longer here...’ She glanced at him again. ‘When I came in just before and heard you in here, I thought it was him. That he wasn’t dead and this horrible nightmare of his squandered wealth was just a bad dream.’ Her mouth twisted. ‘If only, huh?’

Gabriel was no stranger to grief. His mother had died when he was nine and it had taken him years to stop missing her. For a decade he’d secretly kept one of her jumpers so he could still smell her. The fallout from her death had not just affected him but his two younger brothers Ricci and Lorenzo and most especially his baby sister Carli, who had only been two years old.

Gabriel had tried to fill in the gaps, to be a parent figure, but his younger brothers idolised their father and nothing Gabriel did or said could influence them. He’d had more of a chance with Carli. As a small child, she had hero-worshipped him and was mostly frightened of their father and his violent outbursts, not to mention the shady characters who came and went from the house. Gabriel hoped and prayed he still had a chance with his little sister, but Carli had been struggling on and off with an eating disorder since her teens.

Even now, when Gabriel saw a family group with two parents and small children, smiling, loving, belonging, razorblades would twist and churn in his gut. He hadn’t yet saved his baby sister from her inner demons but he wasn’t giving up. Not yet. Not ever.

Gabriel came to stand in front of her near the bookshelves. ‘He was a good man, Francesca. One of the best. And he loved you and only wanted what was best for you.’

The fleeting shadow was back in her gaze, making them appear more grey than blue, like troubled clouds. ‘I suppose compared to your father, mine must have seemed Father of the Year material.’

You don’t know the half of it. Gabriel kept his expression blank. He had taught himself not to reveal too much of how he felt about his father. The term ‘father’ was too nice a term to use in reference to the man who had sired him and his siblings. ‘There is no comparison.’ He glanced at his watch in an effort to change the subject. ‘It’s time for a drink to celebrate our upcoming marriage, which reminds me...’ He fished in his pocket and took out the engagement ring he’d bought for her. He took her left hand and slipped the diamond cluster over her ring finger.

Frankie glanced up at him and then back at the ring, her small white teeth chewing at her lower lip. ‘It’s beautiful...but it looks ridiculously expensive. I mean, you’ve already spent so much money and—’

He held her hand in both of his, squeezing it gently. ‘Stop worrying about money. We’re helping each other, remember?’

Her shimmering eyes met his and something moved in his chest, like a small creature scrabbling through one of the chambers of his heart. He released her hand and stepped back, trying to ignore the tingle in his fingers. Trying to ignore the urge to kiss her. ‘What were your plans this evening?’ He was proud of the neutral tone of his voice.

‘I was just going to go back to my hotel and have dinner.’

‘Why have you been staying in a hotel?’ Gabriel asked. ‘I was surprised when the agent told me you hadn’t been here since the funeral.’

‘I thought it would be easier to keep away while the real estate agent showed potential buyers through.’ She fiddled with the ring on her finger, avoiding his gaze. ‘And since Papa died here...it felt too empty and lonely... I had to lay off the staff to keep the running costs down.’

‘Would you consider staying here if I stayed with you?’

Indecision flicked through her gaze. ‘Is that wise?’

Probably not . But he would get his self-control in hand. ‘We will be married in a matter of forty-eight hours. People will expect us to live together.’

Frankie slipped out of his hold and hugged her arms around her middle. She suddenly looked much younger than her twenty-five years. Young and vulnerable. It was rare for her to show vulnerability and he had yet to see her shed tears. Her default position was anger—or at least in her dealings with him. He didn’t know too much about her dealings with other men. She somehow kept her private life private—rare for someone of her social standing. But that was another reason she was perfect wife material—no salacious scandals in her past.

‘You’ll be safe with me, Francesca. I will honour your decision to keep our relationship platonic.’ It nearly killed him to make that promise but he would see it through if she didn’t change her mind. He was not the sort of man to cajole or manipulate a woman into having sex. He didn’t need to.

‘Thank you.’ If she was relieved by his promise, she didn’t show it. Her beautiful face was as still as frost on a lawn but behind her grey-blue eyes he sensed a storm was brewing.

* * *

Within an hour, Gabriel had organised Frankie’s things to be packed and sent over from her hotel back to Villa Mancini. And now they were seated at an exclusive restaurant a short drive from the villa overlooking Lake Como, the third largest lake in Italy. The mountains beyond rose majestically, creating a stunning backdrop to the deep waters of the lake. Frankie never tired of looking at the view and even though she had been based in London for the last four years, she considered the lake and its surrounds as one of the most beautiful places in the world.

And it was the place where for a brief space of time she had been held her in her mother’s arms. Of course, she had no conscious memory of her mother, but sometimes she wondered if her infant brain had registered the loss of her mother and twin brother. Wouldn’t that explain the terrible emptiness she felt when she saw mothers with their infant children?

Frankie was so caught up in her thoughts she hadn’t noticed Gabriel’s steady gaze. ‘Sorry, I was miles away.’ She picked up her glass with the top shelf French champagne he had selected and took a sip. ‘Mmm, lovely. You have good taste.’