Page 7 of Fiancée for the Cameras

And then, in that feverish haze, it dawned on her that even Francesco abandoning her had less weight in the face of her boss’s continued single state. Pressing her hand to her forehead, Monica shivered anew.

Had she been so shaken by Mrs. Rossi’s threat that she’d soon cut Monica out of Andrea’s life that she had thrown herself into seeking security with Francesco? For nearly three years, her boss had been the locus of her life, the sole foundation to the kind of security she’d always craved. Andrea’s needs and demands and requirements of her had become her sole focus, her reason to get through the day.

Had she so feared losing what little she had of Andrea that she had taken such a reckless, uncharacteristic move and thrown her lot in with Francesco? Had she made him into something he’d never been because she’d worried she was losing her place in Andrea’s life?

How bad was her fixation with Andrea Valentini? How had she not seen it?

She was shaking over this new realization when Andrea reached her and opened his palm to reveal two painkillers. “I’ve spoken to Mama’s doctor. He will visit you before nightfall. In the meantime, he suggested these for that fever. He will do blood tests to make sure no lasting damage was done.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t,” she said, wanting not to discuss this with him anymore. Needing this torment to be over. “It’s not late. You could just send Pascale to drop me off at the doctor’s. That way—”

“And then have Mama castigate me that she didn’t raise me to be such a thoughtless, uncaring brute? Save me from a lecture, an extra trip and the headache of an argument with you now, Ms. D’Souza.”

CHAPTER THREE

APPARENTLY,ABUNDANCEWASthe name of the game today when it came to Mr. Valentini’s choice words for her.

Monica tried to take the pills out of his hand without touching him unnecessarily, resulting in the two red pills dancing off his palm onto the bed. With a curse, he flushed them out, picked up the glass of water and said, “Open.”

Feeling like a child who’d gotten in more trouble while actively trying to avoid it—the story of her life—Monica swallowed the protest at his manner and opened her mouth. The faster she could get him out of here, the better she could wallow in her misery.

But it was impossible to follow her head’s warnings when his fingers gripped her chin in a firm grasp and her nostrils were full of that dark clove-and-pine scent of his, and the corded column of his throat and his angular chin and that thin slash of his mouth filled her hazy gaze. And then there was the scar that ran from his temple to the side of his mouth, somehow adding to his appeal as a grumpy beast of a man.

Monica shivered again and it had nothing to do with whatever fever the chemicals from the dress had induced in her.

He noticed that, too. “The doctor said the aloe was a good idea until he can give you a stronger steroid. He recommended we air out your skin as much as possible. So, lie down so that I can—”

“That’s not necessary at all,” Monica said, trembling from head to toe now at the thought of his fingers on her bare flesh.

And there was the second part of the thing she’d missed.

There was a reason she’d always avoided anything even remotely nearing forced intimacy with Mr. Valentini—not evenrisking a nightcap in the confines of his office after thirteen hours of constant negotiations resulting in a deal last year; not a ride in his car after a long day to the apartment she shared with four other women—and she was becoming aware of the why of it only now.

Shame burned through her chest, adding to all the other burns currently attacking her tender flesh and battered heart. Had she convinced herself that Francesco was it for her because of how out of control her life felt with her boss’s alleged upcoming engagement? How long had she been attracted to him without even being aware of it?

It took Mr. Valentini’s hand on her wrist to realize she’d started crawling away from him, the sheets now tangled around her legs. The frost of his gray eyes should have been enough to cool down her burning flesh in an instant. “There’s no one else to tend to you here and I would rather not move you tonight. If you prefer Romeo to me, I can call him. Only then he’ll insist on missing his physiotherapy session and remain here with you. Your choice.”

“That’s not a choice at all,” Monica whispered in a small voice, knowing that she was making it worse by stretching this out. For both of them.

“Lie down,” he said in that firm voice, and her body automatically began to obey him. “It’s nothing I’ve not seen before, Ms. D’Souza. And maybe this will teach you to not act so prideful when Mama offers you a present once in a while.”

Halfway through her turn, Monica straightened and glared at him. “I can’t accept monetary gifts from Flora any more than I can accept them from you.”

“I’ve not offered you any,” he said, something flickering in his gaze.

Monica wondered how she wasn’t going up in smoke at all the embarrassment she was causing herself. “I know that. And Iwasn’t hinting that you should,” she said, feeling more and more flustered by the second. “I’m just saying it would be the—”

“Please, continue...enlightening me about how your mind works.”

“I know what you think of Romeo’s friends who come to him for his clout and his wealth. I know what you think of your cousins who are forever asking you or Flora for handouts. I know how easily people fall in your esteem and how ruthlessly you cut them out of—”

“I did not realize you held my opinion in such esteem,” he said, frowning. “Dio mio, why would I count you as one of those leeches if you accept a frivolous dress or a handbag from Mama? What’s the big risk if you accept it?” His frown morphed into a thunderous scowl. “You’re afraid I will take your job away? You should trust in—”

“What? Of course not. You would never do anything so unethical. I just...” She hesitated, feeling as if she was baring herself to him on more than one level. “Please, just forget it.”

She was about to turn around when he arrested her once again. This time, his fingers spanned more of her flesh, her shoulder to be specific. Her bare shoulder.

Monica could feel the ridged abrasions of each of his fingers like a divot on her flesh. As if the mere touch was stamping herProperty of Andrea Valentini.And the worst thing was that she didn’t even mind the feverish jumps her imagination was taking. What the hell was wrong with her?

---