The Medici Mistress: Nothing and no one would stop him from having her. (15 page)

Annie, so utterly beautiful, that he choked on the beer he was drinking. His eyes were drawn to her, and he couldn’t look away. Nor could anyone else.

Her dress was an emerald green, cut straight across the bodice, it clung to her narrow waist and then flared to the floor. In style, it was almost like a streamlined wedding gown. Her skin glowed against the color; her hair, long and black, she wore with a slight wave through it, and brushed to one side, like a starlet from the twenties. Her lips, those perfect, beautiful lips, were painted red.

He stood, scraping his chair back noisily in his haste. “
Bella,
” he whispered, once she’d reached him. “You are… exquisite.”

She simpered up at him from beneath her long lashes, and he felt his groin tighten.

“Why do I get the feeling you know you are putting me through agony?” He murmured, his eyes holding hers.

“And enjoying it,” she agreed, linking her hand into his elbow.

“Careful,
bellissima
. I am playing the part of a meek suitor, but remember who you are dealing with.”

“Oh, I do,” she promised, reaching up and squeezing his chin. “You’re the man who wants to marry me.”

“No,
cara
. I’m the man who’s
going
to marry you.”

Her pulse was racing frantically in an effort to regulate her blood flow. “We’ll see.”

After all, she couldn’t let him know that he’d already won her. Hook, line and sinker, she was his. Where would the fun be in that?

In the end, she kept him in a state of miserable doubt for three more months. She figured a month for each year was a fair penalty. Though really, she simply enjoyed the way Giac Medici was bending over backwards at every opportunity to convince her that he was perfect husband material.

Finally, as the short British summer gave way to Autumn, and Annie and Giac were walking down a small bricked ally way near his penthouse, she looked up at him earnestly. “Where would we live, anyway?”

His walk slowed imperceptibly, before he recovered himself. “When?”

“If we get married.”

He stopped walking and turned to face her. His face was a mix of victorious relief and bemusement. “Are you saying you’ll marry me?”

She smiled up at him. “I think I might. Yes.”

He wrapped his arms around her middle and lifted her high in the air, then slid her down his body, so that he could kiss her lips with all his passion and love. “You just had to make me wait, didn’t you?”

“You don’t want to marry a pushover,” she pointed out, her lips against his.

“I want to marry
you
, Annie, just as soon as we can arrange it.”

“What’s your rush?” She asked, though she didn’t want to wait either.

“My rush, dear, lovely Miss Carlton, is that I want the honor of being your husband, and I want that honor to begin as soon as possible. You are mine, and I want the world to know it.”

“Ah!” She nodded shrewdly. “And are you mine, Giac?” Though any doubts on that score had been thoroughly eroded, she still asked the question.

“Always and forever.”

EPILOGUE

Two years later.

The dress was perfect.

White, crisp, with the kind of beading and detail that almost justified the exorbitant price tag.

Annie ran her fingers over the fabric, her lips parted in awe. Her life had changed so much in a relatively short time. As she stood there in the middle of the Tuscan chapel, overlooking rolling hills and vibrant vineyards, she had to take a deep breath to compose herself. Never, in a million years, would she have hoped to be so lucky in life.

“Annie? They’re ready.” Annie looked up into Carrie’s smiling eyes, and felt another wave of gratitude. Becoming good friends with one’s husband’s ex-wife was unorthodox to say the least. But from the first moment she’d properly spent time with Carrie and Giac, she’d seen the complete lack of chemistry for herself. There were no sparks there to envy. While their formidable history made her feel left out at times, Annie had never been left in any doubt as to where she stood in Giac’s affections.

“Okay.” She stood, cradling her eleven month old daughter to her chest in a tight, head-popping squeeze. The love she felt for the sweet little cherubic angel was too much to bear sometimes. With Giac’s direct stare, and Annie’s quick smile, baby Amelia was a dream come true. Apart from her aversion to sleep, which Annie consoled herself would pass, eventually.

Together, Annie and Carrie slipped through a side door of the chapel, into the main body. Giac had suggested they keep it small and intimate. His mother had decided very differently, and Annie’s own mother had been no less excessive in extending invitations. Half of the small village had arrived, jubilant and joyous, waiting patiently outside the venue. Inside, guests were packed into pews and aisles.

Amelia, on cue, let out a loud, boisterous laugh, as she pointed at a woman’s particularly bright hat.

Annie smiled apologetically, and shifted her little girl to her hip.

She turned, looking for the priest who was to perform the christening, only for her eyes to land on Giac instead. His smile was slow and lazy; the effect a predictable but no less heart-stopping unfurling of desire deep within her.

“Hi,” she mouthed.

His smile widened, and she thought her heart would burst.

The ceremony was perfect, if slightly too long. Towards the end, Amelia began to grizzle and complain. It had been impossible to maintain her usual nap schedules over the past week. Every time Annie put her down in her cot, Giac’s mother found an excuse to pick her up. It would have been infuriating were it not for how completely she adored her little granddaughter.

“So, I’m a Godmother,” Carrie said, putting her hands in the air in a sign of happiness, as she came to join Annie on the edge of the celebrations.

Annie smiled. They’d had so much to celebrate in the past month. Carrie had finally been given the all-clear, she’d met a lovely man, and Stu and Chloe had welcomed their own little bundle of limbs into the world, in the form of a bouncing boy named Harry.

“Hello, Mrs. Medici.”

Annie turned at her husband’s deep growl, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears.

“Happy tears,” she promised, seeing the concern that immediately clouded his face. She looked at Carrie, then out towards the assembled guests, busy sipping
prosecco
and eating fancy canapés that the caterers had insisted on serving. “I’m just so happy.”

“Excuse me, I’m just going to go and see if Amelia needs any God motherly advice. Cuddles, at least.” Carrie moved away, amazed at how immediately she’d felt like an outsider in Giac’s new relationship. Though he made it clear he continued to value her friendship, and she’d been lucky enough to gain Annie into the bargain, Carrie could see that what Annie and Giac shared was singularly unique. A completely personal, one-off connection, impervious to other people; they were each all the other needed.

“Have you given any more thought to our living situation?” Giac whispered, wrapping his arms around his wife and holding her close to him.

She picked an imaginary piece of lint from his suit, and lifted her eyes to his. They were rapidly outgrowing Giac’s penthouse. As Amelia grew, it became patently obvious that she was not a laid back child. When she had room to crawl, she found a way to bounce off the walls. She was happy, but noisy, and so full of energy!

“I truly don’t care,” she said with a simple shrug. “As long as I’m with you…”

He nodded. “We can stay in London,” he conceded, though Annie knew it wasn’t his first preference.

She stood on tiptoes and kissed his lips.

“We have time,” he promised, squeezing her around her waist, thinking he would move heaven and earth to keep his wife happy. How he adored her! His total devotion to her, at times, terrified him.

“Not as much time as you might think,” she remarked cryptically, breaking off to receive yet another congratulations from a guest. A woman she’d met a handful of times, who worked for Giac.

Giac stood impatiently beside her, listening to the inane civilities that went hand in hand with events such as this, before he could bear it no longer. “Excuse us,” he said with a curt nod to his British chief of operations.

He linked his fingers through hers and pulled her further from the assembled crowd. Giac’s property in Tuscany was, without a doubt, the most beautiful place Annie had ever seen. Perched high on a hill, it was near enough to a town to still feel part of a community, but miles from a city. They visited often, and each time, Annie felt it was more and more of a wrench to leave.

“What did you mean, about time?” He prompted, his face business like, his manner brusque.

Annie had, over the years, learned to navigate Giac’s various personas. Most of the time, he was an adoring husband and very attentive lover. Occasionally, he slipped into Tycoon Entrepreneur mode, demanding rather than asking, solving rather than discussing.

She intentionally prevaricated. “You’re so lucky to have grown up here.”

He pulled a face. “My home was nothing like this,
cara
.”

She nodded. “I mean the countryside. It’s so beautiful.” She put her hands on her hips, looking down over the village.

“What did you mean, Annie Medici?”

Slowly, she turned to face him. “I mean that time is a factor, after all.”

His frown was thick with confusion. “Amelia is not the first child to spend her toddler years in an apartment.”

“No, that’s true.” Annie nodded slowly. “But you don’t like London, not really.”

“I like it if you like it,” he contradicted, kissing the tip of her nose.

“That seems silly, when we have this beautiful villa at our disposal.”

His eyes narrowed. “Are you suggesting we move here?”

“
Si
.” She grinned. It was just about the extent of her Italian language, so she said it again. “
Si.”

He shook his head. “You’d hate it.”

“I’d love it,” she promised earnestly. “Amelia loves it here. The house is big enough that we could have my folks, or Stu and Chloe and Harry, come stay often enough that I wouldn’t miss them. Besides,” she put a hand on his forearm. “We’ll need a new nursery soon enough.”

Giac, always sharp as a tack, took some time to process her remark. Finally, his eyes searching her face, he said, “Are you saying… do you mean…?” He lowered his gaze to her still-flat stomach.

Annie nodded, unable to contain her excitement. “I know it’s soon. Do you mind?”

“Do I mind?” His laugh was thick with pride. “I would have a dozen children if you would oblige me.”

Annie shuddered in mock revulsion. “Not going to happen.”

He laughed, pulling her to him. “I’m thrilled. But what about you,
cara
? You were looking forward to going back to work.”

She shrugged. “I’ll still work. I’m sure I can find something to do, somehow fitting it around the children. But my focus, for now, is on making mini-Medicis.”

His kiss began as chaste, but progressed to something deeper almost instantly. “Oh, Annie. I don’t understand how this happened.” He moaned against her mouth.

Annie pulled away and arched a perfectly shaped brow. “Oh? I can give you a lesson in biology, if you’d like, Giac.”

He smiled. “Touché. I mean that we most certainly were not trying.”

“No.” She nodded. “I suppose it’s just meant to be.”

Giac nodded, looking beyond his wife to the land he’d grown up in. He couldn’t think of a better place to bring his family to live.

“Ah.” He ran a hand over her tumble of dark locks. “That makes sense. Everything about us is meant to be, Annie. I was born to love you, and you to love me.”

“Yes.” She pressed her lips to his. “Forever and ever and evermore.”

THE END.

Following are the first three chapters from THE BILLIONAIRE’S CHRISTMAS REVENGE by Clare Connelly. To purchase, please visit
Clare Connelly’s Author Page.

CHAPTER ONE

He’d watched the video enough times to be certain, but still he hit the play button once more.

A strange lurching feeling clenched in his gut as he watched his wife, his beloved wife, check into a hotel with another man. He knew every curve of her body. Her hair was so pale, like silver, that it almost glowed in the grainy monochromatic footage.

He’d tried to imagine a justification. Some reasonable explanation as to why, at two o’clock in the afternoon, when she was supposed to be working, his wife would instead be with a strange man, at the concierge of Claridge’s.

At least she looked guilty. That was some consolation, though it did nothing to ease his strong sense of betrayal. Her beautiful face jerked towards the door once more, as though she was terrified she might get caught. And though the quality was poor, and the video grainy, he was a world expert in Bianca Casacelli and he knew she was scared out of her mind.