.
Lara had been in a fog for days. Lost. Alone. And all the time she was being reminded by her uncle that if she didn’t comply he would hurt Ciro.
It had been on their wedding night that Lara had returned to this apartment with her new and very drunk husband and reality had finally broken through the numbing shell in which she’d encased herself.
To this day she had no real memory of the wedding, or saying her vows. It was all a blur. But on that night she’d heard her husband thrashing about the apartment, shouting at the staff to get him drinks. She’d hidden in the bedroom, telling herself that she would leave, escape...send a warning to Ciro somehow... Anything had to be better than this.
And then Henry had come into her room. Crashed through the door.
Lara had tried to get away, but he’d caught her and tried to rip her nightdress. He’d shoved her down on the bed and instinctively Lara had lifted her legs to kick him off. His bulk and his inebriated state had made him fall backwards, and he’d hit his head on the side of a dresser.
The fall and his general bad health had resulted in him being put into a wheelchair. The shock of the accident, and Lara’s uncle’s persistent reminders of his threats, had stopped her initial thoughts of trying to escape.
That was when she’d started to see pictures of Ciro, out and about, getting on with his life. The beautiful women on his arm didn’t seem to be put off by the livid scar. It only enhanced his charismatic appeal. And seeing Ciro like that... It had broken something inside Lara. Broken any will to try and escape her situation. Any sense of optimism that perhaps she’d been wrong about him not loving her dissipated.
All hope had gone.
With the threat of physical violence from her husband negated, Lara had sunk into a routine of sorts. Days had passed into weeks, and then months, and before she’d known it a year had gone by. Henry Winterborne had got rid of his staff by then, had begun using Lara as an unpaid housekeeper and carer.
When her uncle had died, three months ago, Lara’s will to leave her husband had been revived. The threat hanging over Ciro was finally gone. But without any funds of her own she’d been in no position to take legal action.
Before she’d had a chance to assess her options Henry Winterborne had had a stroke, and he’d spent the last two months of his life in hospital. For the first time in two years Lara had had a sense of autonomy again. Albeit within her gilded prison.
She caught sight of her reflection in a mirror on the wall opposite her. She took in her pale and wan features. Why on earth would a man as vital as Ciro Sant’Angelo still be remotely interested in marrying her?
An inner voice answered her: For revenge.
And because he had her right where he wanted her. Vulnerable and desperate. Or so he thought.
Lara might have qualms about navigating the world on her own after a lifetime of not being prepared for it, but she’d do it. She’d longed for months just to walk out of this apartment and not look back. To take her chances. But the blackmail her uncle had subjected her to and the guilt of Henry Winterborne’s accident had kept her a prisoner.
And there was still guilt. Because the threat to Ciro might be gone, but it had been her involvement with him that had led to his kidnap in the first place. If she hadn’t ever met Ciro he would never have come to her uncle’s attention and would never have been put in danger.
She’d known that her uncle had plans for her to marry someone ‘suitable’. He’d spoken of little else since she’d left school and gone to university—which he hadn’t approved of at all. But Lara had never taken him seriously. It had sounded so medieval in this day and age, and at one time she’d told him so.
He’d reminded her of how much she owed him. Asked her where she would have ended up if he hadn’t been there to take her in after his dear brother’s tragic death. He’d reminded her of how he’d put his life on hold to make sure she was educated and looked after. He’d reminded her that his brother’s death had been a devastating shock for him too, and yet he’d had no time to grieve—he’d been too busy making sure Lara was all right.
Little had she realised how deadly serious he was about marrying her off, and by the time she’d met Ciro, Thomas Templeton had been in dire straits—which had turned Lara into an invaluable commodity. And even though Ciro was a wealthy man, it hadn’t been enough for Lara’s uncle. He’d needed her to marry a man of his choosing, from the right side of society.
Lara willed down the nausea that threatened to rise. She needed to focus on the present. Not on the painful past.
She stood up from the bed, immediately agitated. Ciro. Back and looking for revenge. And could she even blame him? No. She couldn’t. She’d single-handedly brought terror into his life. Forced him to live under the shadow of personal protection. Because he’d been shown to be vulnerable. Something she knew he must hate.
She also owed him for the resurgence in the rumours about his family’s links to the Mafia, who people believed had been responsible for his kidnapping. Not to mention the humiliation of walking out on him days before they were due to be married under the spotlight of the world’s media.
One of the many headlines had read Sicilian Millionaire to Wed English Society Fiancée! The article underneath had been less flattering, snidely suggesting that Ciro had been trying to marry far above his station.
The fact that Ciro had managed to ride out the storm of headlines and speculation to thrive and survive only demonstrated the scale of his ambition. But clearly that wasn’t enough for him.
Her guts twisted. She’d loved him so desperately once. She would have done anything for him. And she had. Could she sacrifice herself again just to allow him to feel some measure of closure? To allow him the access he craved to a level of society that would bring him even more success and acceptance?
‘A year of marriage...review it in six months.’
Ciro’s cold proposal was daunting. Could she possibly even contemplate such a thing? Subject herself to Ciro’s bid for revenge?
Lara stopped pacing and caught her reflection in the mirror again. Her cheeks were flushed now. Eyes over-bright.
Would it really be a sacrifice when he still stirs up so many powerful emotions and desires? questioned a snide inner voice.
She saw the buildings and the skyline of London behind her, reflected in the mirror through the window. There was a back way out of the apartment. She knew she could leave if she wanted to. Slip away into the millions of anonymous people thronging London’s streets. Get on with her life. Try to put all this behind her.
But Ciro would come after her. Just as he’d pursued her once before. Relentlessly. Seductively.
She’d kept refusing his advances at first, intimidated by his charismatic masculinity and his playboy reputation. But in the end he’d won her over, when he’d taken her to that gallery after hours.
She shook her head to dislodge the disturbing memory. All it had been was an elaborate seduction ruse. She’d been different from his other women. Naive, wide-eyed. Except now he thought it had all been an act.
Lara had already been through worse than a marriage of convenience to one of the world’s most notorious playboys. Far worse. She’d lost her entire beloved family overnight. She’d been heinously betrayed and exploited by her uncle, her last remaining family member. She’d been belittled and bullied by her husband. And she’d had her heart broken already by Ciro Sant’Angelo, so she had no heart left to break.
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