The Princes' Brides. Sandra Marton
argument wasn’t over. The second she opened the door and saw him, she’d lift her chin in that way she had and tell him what he could do with his marriage proposal.
He’d let her rant for a few seconds and then he’d say, There is no proposal, cara. I have decided I would sooner live with a scorpion than with you.
The door opened.
Everything he’d anticipated was wrong.
Aimee didn’t lift her chin. She didn’t rant. And, even though he’d shown up more than an hour early, he could see that she had been waiting for him.
She wore a simple yellow sundress and white sandals with little heels. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail, her face was bare of makeup and her eyes were suspiciously bright as if she’d been crying.
She looked painfully young, heartbreakingly vulnerable—and incredibly beautiful.
For one wild moment, Nicolo imagined taking her in his arms, telling her she had nothing to be afraid of. That he would be good to her, that he would take care of her…
He frowned, then cleared his throat.
“Aimee. I have come to tell you—”
“What? More threats?” Her chin rose now, just as he’d expected. “Let me save you the trouble.” She took a shaky breath. “I thought it through.” She gave an unsteady laugh. “Actually, it’s all I thought about since you left yesterday. And—and you’re right, Nicolo. I have no choice but to marry you.”
He stared at her in disbelief. Say something, he told himself, tell her you’ve changed your mind!
“You were right. About my grandfather. I want to hate him but I can’t. He raised me. He gave me all the things he believed I needed and if I needed more, his love, his respect…”
Aimee stopped the rush of words. Why bare her soul? She was going to marry Nicolo Barbieri. That was enough.
“He’s old,” she continued, her voice low. “And growing frail. I don’t want to look back after he’s gone and know I denied him the only things he ever asked of me, the bank in your hands, and—” color rose in her cheeks “—and your child.”
Nicolo said nothing. After a few seconds, Aimee cleared her throat. “So, I’ll marry you.”
“But?” His smile was thin. “Don’t look so surprised, cara. One would have to be deaf not to have heard that unspoken word.”
“This marriage—it will be in name only. A legal convenience that will end on my grandfather’s death.”
Aimee waited, trying to read Nicolo’s expression, but it told her nothing.
“No sex,” he finally said, his voice silken.
She nodded. “None.”
“And tell me, cara. What am I to do when I want sex?”
The seemingly subservient woman of the last few moments disappeared. Aimee’s eyes flashed with her old defiance.
“You’ll do whatever you must but you’ll be discreet about it.”
Nicolo burst out laughing. She felt her hands ball. How she wanted to slap that laugh from his face!
“Let me be sure I understand this. I marry you. I give you my name. My title. And at some point in the future, we divorce and I end up with alimony payments and child support. In return for all this, you will not complain when I keep a mistress. Is that right?”
He didn’t wait for an answer. Instead he swept her into his arms and drew her against him.
“Here is how it will be,” he growled. “You will be my wife. You will be available to me whenever I wish. Night. Day. Anywhere, anytime. If I also want a mistress, I will have one.”
“I won’t marry you under those conditions!”
“Si. You will. And if there is a divorce, it will be because I have wearied of you.” She tried to wrench free; his hold on her tightened. “And before you say, ‘no, Nicolo, I won’t marry you under those conditions,’ consider this.” He leaned toward her, eyes glittering. “I can take this child from you the day it’s born. Do not shake your head! I am Prince Nicolo Antonius Barbieri. No court would deny me the right to my own flesh and blood. Is that clear?”
“You no good, evil, vicious bastard,” she hissed, “you son of a—”
Nicolo captured her mouth with his, kissed her again and again until she trembled in his arms.
Then he picked up the small suitcase near her feet and jerked his head toward the door.
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