Page 2 of Burn for Me

'No problem,' I said as I took my water and my envelope and headed for the stairs in the large, open foyer.

'There's avocado and prawn salad in the refrigerator. You don't need to order anything in.' Her voice wafted after me, and I rolled my eyes. As if I was going to waste a night-in on my own on a fridge salad.

The crunch of mother's tires on the gravel driveway rose from outside as the evening sun cast luscious streaks of golden light through my windows. With spring newly abound, it felt like my life was unfurling like a new flower. The sweet scent of almond shampoo lingered inmy freshly washed hair as I laid back on my bed, tearing into Massimo's letter.

My fingers trembled lightly while my eager eyes danced over the page. Biting my lip, I tried to savour the moment. I'd received a letter for each of the three months of our engagement, and with each one, my desire for my soon-to-be husband grew. After Daddy proposed the idea, it took weeks for me to agree to marry him. Dads didn't pick their daughters’ partners in England, at least not since the Victorian era. I'd thought he'd gone bananas at the idea.

Until I met Massimo.

He towered over me, his dark hair sweeping over his tanned forehead. His words tinged with a deeply attractive Italian twang, and I'd practically wet my knickers on the spot. When he'd swept my hand up in his warm fingers and pressed a kiss to it, I'd made an illegible peep as my eyes bugged. Like my very own fairytale prince, he rescued me from my parents' overbearing tower.

It would have been perfect had I only got to spend more time with him ahead of the wedding itself. I hoped he wouldn't work as hard once we married. We had two weeks booked in paradise to get to know one another after the wedding, on his multi-million-pound yacht. Daddy had been on it once for a business meeting and told me all about it. The yacht had a chef and staff on call, and it had been decorated to the nines. I couldn't wait.

Finally, giving in, I read the letter. It was shorter than the others, but still left me squirming on the bed.

Sweetest Laura,

How I countdown the minutes until I can see you again. The last few weeks have felt like an eternity without another glimpse of your beautiful smile. My heart aches to hold you close, to run my fingers through your hair and feel your warmth against me. Night after night, I drift off to sleep with your gorgeous face filling my dreams and your name lingering on my lips. I long for the moment we can finally be together again, just you and me. How I suffer, my darling. Do you suffer as I do?

I cannot wait to wake up to the sweet melody of your voice every day, my love. To wrap you up against my chest and drink from your lips like a man desperate for the smallest taste of your divinity.

I count down the minutes, Laura.

Your love,

Massimo

My duvet squished beneath my bare feet as I wriggled on the bed, clutching the letter to my chest. Massimo was like something from my storybooks. A billionaire with dashing good looks and so utterly devoted to me already. I grinned up at my ceiling and pushed down the quiet whispers of doubt that crept up into my head.

You don't even know him.

Why would he want you?

It's a business deal.

Squeezing my eyes closed, I banished the niggles from my mind. No-one had demanded he send me letters. No-one hadasked him to be so charming when we'd met. He'd been the perfect gentleman, engaged and interested. There were no red flags, so my brain needed to knock it off already. Not every guy was all Tinder dates and booty calls. He could be good without being too good to be true.

We could be happy.

We would be happy.

Together.

A note slipped from the envelope, a hardness in the middle of its folded centre. I opened it and stared. The golden credit card held my name on the front. Running my fingers over the raised lettering, I read through the briefer note.

A gift for you.

Buy yourself whatever your heart desires. Clothing for our trip. Jewellery. Anything that makes you smile.

There's no limit.

M x

I squealed as I sat up and read the note twice more. While my parents were wealthy, they kept Elijah and me on small stipends compared to our friends. To foster independence, so they said. But my fiance apparently had no such reservations. With absolute glee, I pulled up my phone's browser and immediately set to doing a bit of shopping therapy. My engagement ring sparkled in the last streaks of the evening light, sending dancing reflections across my thighs.

It reminded me that soon I'd no longer be the woman living at home under my parents' rule. No, thewoman I was shopping for would be a wife to a very wealthy and adoring man. I needed clothing that said sophisticated and poise. Less English rose and far more European chic.

I had some research to do.

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