Page 11 of 2 Books in One Bundle

Which was why...

Which is why there is a kind of weird logic in his thinking that a female like me is preferable. Because I would never, ever get any ideas whatsoever that he might want more than he’d stated.

And what Dante Cavelli stated was very straightforward. He wanted a wife in name only, who had absolutely nothing to do with his life other than the barest minimum, ideally living in another country. They would stay married for at least eighteen months, after which a clean break divorce with a pre-agreed settlement—he’d named a sum which had made her eyes widen—would terminate their association.

But it had not been that sum which had made her breath catch; it had been something far more immediate. Far more precious to her.

‘On the day of our marriage you will receive the deeds to this cottage—I will ensure its purchase...you may leave that to me—and for the duration of the marriage you will receive the monthly sum of six thousand pounds. In the event of your grandmother requiring medical treatment, or end-of-life care, this will be paid for privately, by me. I will provide a car for you, and travelling expenses, and I will also pay for a professional carer or nurse for those times when you will be required to be in my company for short periods, in order to comply with the legalities of the marriage.’

He’d gone on, and there had been a twist in his voice as he’d spoken.

‘In exchange I, simply by being married, will inherit all that my grandfather has conditionally left me. I suggest that you ascertain for yourself, via the financial press, just what that entails,’he had added, his voice dry.

Well, she had checked out the financial press, and it had spelt out in black and white how very large an enterprise Cavelli Finance was, and just how very profitable it was. And how excruciatingly rich Dante Cavelli would become.

Just by getting married.

Married—as he had said that morning, sitting on her grandmother’s sofa, in her grandmother’s home, his tone impersonal, his expression impassive, his voice brisk and businesslike—toher...

She stared up at the ceiling. She could feel her heart starting to pound.

Could I do it? Could I really do it?

Oh, she might be the most unlikely woman on earth that a man like Dante Cavelli would ever marry, but so what? All that mattered were those magic words he’d said to her.

‘You will receive the deeds to this cottage...’

She felt emotion strike through her—the most wonderful emotion in the world. Relief...sheer relief.

She felt tears prick her eyes. Tears of abject gratitude. Yes, of course what Dante Cavelli had proposed was bonkers—but she didn’t care. Not when it would give her what she had longed for with all her being: security for her grandmother in her fading final years. That was worth anything—anything at all! Even a marriage so bizarre that no one could ever have believed it.

I’m doing it for you, Gran—all for you.

And for the first time since she had heard that a new owner had acquired the little row of cottages, and what that change of ownership would portend for her, she slept a sound and peaceful sleep. All anxiety, worry and fear vanished.

Dante stood in the waiting room at the county register office, his tension mounting. He’d sent a car to collect the woman he was about to enter into legal marriage with and it should have delivered her here by now. He’d allowed plenty of time, and yet she still wasn’t here.

A dark thought possessed him. Was she going to cry off?

It was unlikely.

He glanced at the briefcase on the chair beside him. As well as the documents necessary for him to marry in the UK, it contained the deeds to the cottage—he’d bought it simply by offering the new owner a ludicrous sum for it. His hand had been all but bitten off. Just as his bride-to-be had all but bitten his hand off at his proposal.

His expression changed. But of course she had—had he expected anything else?

If you offer people what they want, they say yes.

There was the sound of someone arriving and he turned his head to the door. His bride-to-be—arriving to get what she wanted.

Just as I am getting what I want.

His rightful inheritance.

Resentment spiked in him again. To have to go to such lengths as he was doing now in order to get that rightful inheritance was galling indeed. Marrying a complete stranger...

His eyes rested on her, studiedly impassive, as she hurriedly walked in. He should be used to her by now. They’d met, of necessity, a few times now, though each time only briefly. Once for him to receive her highly predictable answer on his return from Milan the week after he’d first put his proposition to her, and thereafter so he could brief her more fully as to how their marriage was going to play out. Then there had been the question of the pre-wedding paperwork, from birth certificates and passports to her signing the essential prenup which set out what she would get financially in their divorce.

He’d been generous, given that she was key to claiming his inheritance, but obviously he’d had to carefully limit what she could claim, given the extent of his wealth. As to his actually claiming that inheritance—immediately after the wedding they were flying to Italy, to meet with his grandfather’s lawyers, to prove his married status and present his bride to them.

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