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“What, that he was secretly in love with me?” I moan.
Francesca laughs. “That would make it easier to believe, but knowing the both of you, it’s doubtful. The man is a playboy, two weeks ago, he left a party in Monaco with a model on his arm. There must be another reason, not that you wouldn’t be a catch to marry,” she adds quickly. “It’s the journalist in me to think of all angles.”
“You think he did it on purpose?”
Francesca falls silent.
Oh, she does.
“Men can be ruthless when it comes to business. The two of you are enemies. If it’s not love then it must be something else,” she explains.
My stomach sinks at the thought of being used like that.
“I’m sorry,” she states.
“There’s nothing to be sorry for. I put myself in this situation,” I tell her.
“Look, I know Alessandro, and he’s a good guy but he is also ruthless. Yes, he dates models, what rich guy doesn’t? But there have been no real scandals when it comes to him. Unlike his brother,” Francesca explains.
“Romeo?” I ask.
“No. Dario,” she says, which makes me gasp. “I know you shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but the family paid a lot of money over the years to make things concerning him disappear.”
Oh. I had no idea.
“He wasn’t the golden boy he portrayed himself to be,” she adds.
Wow.
“Guessing you know everyone’s secrets.”
“Sure do, but lucky I like you.” She chuckles.
I’m so thankful she likes me, too, otherwise, I’d be waking up to my indiscretion all over the news.
“Thanks again. I’ll be in touch,” I tell her.
“Enjoy Vegas.” She laughs before hanging up.
Yeah.
That’s not going to happen now.
Looks like I’m going to have to pay my husband a visit and get this sham of a marriage annulled before anyone finds out.
3
ALESSANDRO
What the hell happened last night?
I fall back against my bed after my shower. How the hell did Natalia Fiorenzo get into my bed? And why does my dick want to do it again?
Then a memory tugs at my consciousness.
“This is going to be epic,” Romeo says as we enter the club to celebrate his thirtieth birthday. I should be focused on celebrating with our friends, but I’m still reeling from the phone call I had with our father. The one where he told me I would never be as good as Dario, that I’m a disappointment, and that he should never have given me a chance on this deal. A deal that has taken me months of hard work coaxing the hotel owner to let The Conti Company be the one to take over the brand. My father wants this deal desperately—it would be a jewel in our empire—he also knows the Fiorenzos want it, which makes him want it even more.
“You assured me that they were on board,” my father berated me.
