Page 1 of Cinderella's Fling with the Off-Limits Billionaire

One

LEANDRO BRACED HIS PALMS against the cool marble of the kitchen counter, his eyes lingering on the panoramic views revealed by the penthouse’s expansive wall of windows. In every direction, high rises seemed to lift from the ground, glistening all over with a mix of lights and reflections, the sky of Manhattan a deep, inky black.

A depth of darkness that matched his mood.

With a grimace that had been in place for almost a week, with the exception of when he’d been forced to don a tight smile for his brother’s official wedding photos, he lifted the scotch to his lips, closing his eyes as the sharp, spiced flavour hit him hard.

Which was just what Leandro Valentino wanted.

To be hit, hard.

To feel.

To feel something other than shock and anger and betrayal, to be shaken out of this nightmare and brought back into something resembling reality.

“Is it true? Mother? Father? I don’t even know what to call you.”

“We’re still your parents,” Patrizia had sobbed.

“Like hell you are. I’m adopted. And no one thought to tell me?”

Patrizia flinched. “You are our son, in every way that matters?—,”

“Except I’m not. I was not born to you, I am not a part of you. God,” he dragged a hand through his hair. “I don’t know who you are anymore. I don’t know who I am.”

Would he ever know who he was?

All of the features that had been so familiar to him before the discovery were now utterly foreign. Where once he’d seen a hint of his mother’s nose in his own or the crinkle of his father’s eyes in his own face, he now realised he’d been chasing ghosts. Imagining things. Believing himself to be something he was not.

His siblings were not his own.

Nothing about his life made sense anymore.

He drained his scotch then reached for the bottle. Empty. That’s right. He’d made a fair go of it the night before, choosing to get drunk in his hotel room and watch sport on TV rather than spend the night with the remainder of the wedding guests, who were all intent on celebrating Andie and Max’s incredible love.

Sure, Leandro was happy for Max.

They might not be related by blood, but he’d thought of the guy as his brother for almost three decades. Obviously, he wanted the best for him.

Which was why he’d pushed aside the emotional shitshow that was his life and forced himself to go to the wedding without making a fuss. He interacted with people as required, posed for the damned photos, but that was where he drew the line. He didn’t talk to his parents more than was absolutely necessary, and as soon as the cake had been cut, he slipped out of the party and went to his room, preferring to be alone rather than under the spotlight of so many guests.

He set the scotch bottle down on the counter and moved to the fully stocked bar.

Valentino hotels were renowned for their luxury and the penthouses were next level.

He removed a red wine from Napa, uncorked it and poured a glass. It was excellent—robust and full of flavour—he drank more quickly than he should have.

Prior to this week, Leandro had not been a man to drink alone. Not more than the occasional glass of scotch, anyway, at the end of a long day. This week had changed him.

It had changed everything.

He placed the glass of wine down on top of the bar, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling. His insides were spinning, his organs in a strange, wonky state of discombobulation. He wanted to go back in time to when things had been simple, to when he’d known where, when and with whom he belonged. But he couldn’t. There was no rewinding time, no disputing facts.

At first, when he’d seen the reference to his adoption in a huge pile of documents he’d requested from the family law firm, he thought there’d been a mistake. He’d actually laughed. Because he was a Valentino through and through. He had the same strength, height, symmetrical features, dark eyes. He was one of them. He’d asked his parents almost as a way of bringing them in on the humorous error, but one look at his mother’s pale face and his father’s shaking hands had sent a blade of lightning through his gut.

It was no mistake.

He was not a Valentino.

---