Jennie Lucas - Italian Prince, Wedlocked Wife

But worth that price? The bags weren’t big enough to live in, nor did they magically mop her floor, cook her dinner or wash her clothes. Three thousand dollars for a handbag? That was insane!

But Maximo seemed to be waiting for a response, and it seemed rude to criticize the company he would soon own. She cleared her throat, struggling to be polite. “Ferrazzi. Yes.”

His large hand tightened around his delicate champagne flute. “What do you know about it?”

“Um.” She bit her lip—literally—then finally said with a sigh, “I once worked in the accessories department at Neiman Marcus. Of course I know Ferrazzi handbags. That’s like asking me if I’ve ever heard of Chanel or Prada. You’re buying the company?”

“ Sì .”

“But it must cost millions!”

He gave her a cold smile. “Hundreds of millions.”

She gaped at him, then snapped her mouth closed, muttering, “You obviously have more money than sense.”

“And you obviously have greater regard for truth than tact. Here.” At a discreet knock on the door, he pushed the flute into her hand. Swiftly downing his own champagne, Maximo answered the door. A slender man in a suit handed him a folder.

“What is it?” she asked, taking a tentative sip of champagne. Not bad , she thought in surprise. It was a bit sweet and fizzy like soda.

Closing the door behind him, Maximo opened the folder and glanced over the papers. He handed her the folder. “This if for you to sign.”

Setting the champagne flute down on a glass table, she opened it with a puzzled frown. “What is it?”

“A prenuptial agreement.”

“But—who’s getting married?”

“You are. To me.”

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