The Millionaire's Marriage Read online

  “Dear heart,” he sneered, “it’s already under the pub lic microscope. You show up after months away and there’s no loving husband at the airport to meet your flight. Instead, you’re caught on camera looking as grim as if you’ve just been handed a life sentence behind bars. Then you’re seen hitting all the high spots around town in the company of two elderly guests, but still no sign of the errant husband in tow. Face it, Gabriella, the situation calls for a little damage control.”

  She recognized from the take-charge tone in his voice that he already had a plan in mind. “And how do you propose we go about it?”

  “Lunch,” he said. “You, me, and the parents, at my club. This morning’s columnist’s always hanging around the place looking for gossip, so we might as well hand him his daily quota up front and save him the trouble of having to do any more speculating. I’ll send a car to col lect you at eleven-thirty.”

  The car, as she might have expected, was not a plain taxi as she’d been using, but a long, black limousine with a uniformed driver at the wheel. Except for his raised eyebrows, which might have indicated approval or criti

  cism of such extravagance, her father made no comment. Her mother, though, was charmedi

  “So lovely,” she breathed, sinking into the luxurious leather upholstery, her air of appreciation for fine things harking back to happier days when being a member of the Hungarian aristocracy had gone hand in hand with wealth. “Elegant and dignified, the way life used to be for us, before.”

  She didn’t need to elaborate. Gabriella had heard that same qualification from the time she’d been born. Everything about today was compared to the way things had been before the troubles. Some people had adjusted to the changes they brought; her parents, especially her mother, had not. They had lost too much, including a son.

  Max was waiting outside when the car drew up under the canopied entrance to his club. Before the driver had a chance to do the honors, he opened the door and taking Gabriella by the hand, ushered her out. Not about to be thrown into confusion by another of his phony displays of affection, she gave him a hurried peck on the cheek, then ininiediately stepped a safe distance away before in quiring, “Have we kept you waiting long?”

  “Not at all, my love.” It was another sunny day and he was wearing dark glasses, so she couldn’t see the ex pression in his eyes, but the thread of amusement in his voice and that ironic endearment told her he’d noticed how she’d fairly bolted away from him. “I got here only a couple of minutes ago myself.”

  He’d reserved a table overlooking the harbor and preor-. dered from the club’s excellent wine cellar. But neither the vintage Pinot Gris nor the cold prawns vInaigrette quite managed to dim Gabriella’s awareness of his knee pressed too close to hers under the table, or the way he’d ever so casually manage to nudge her shoulder or brush

  his fingers against hers under one pretext alter another. Pass me the rolls, will you, Gabriella? Here, my love, have a little more dressing. What do you think, sweet heart, shall we order strawberries for dessert?

  It was all for show, she knew, and she supposed she ought to be grateful that he was working so hard to main tain the myth of husbandly devotion. But his proximity, close enough that she could feel his heat, see the new beard growth already stippling his jaw, and inhale the scent of his aftershave, was driving her to distraction.

  Stop touching me! she wanted to scream. Stop stealing the air from my lungs and making my heart flop around like a landed fish!

  Of course, she did no such thing. Even if the society columnist seated two tables away hadn’t been mentally photographing every nuance and gesture so avidly that it was a wonder he didn’t fall off his chair, her parents’ unalloyed relief at such an exhibition of marital bliss made it worth what it cost her to suffer in silence. Only later, after Max had insisted on taking the afternoon off to spend a little more time with them, did she realize she hadn’t begun to pay nearly dearly enough.

  They’d come out of the art gallery and were headed back to where the limousine waited when her mother paused to admire a display of diamond rings in the shop window of a well-known jeweler. “Such lovely things,” she sighed, “but not, I think, as beautiful as your wedding band which I notice you are not wearing, Gabriella.”

  At a loss—for how could she say, I left it behind when 1 walked away from my marriage and don’t know what my husband did with it?—Gabriella turned helplessly to Max. “When Gabriella’s traveling, we keep it in the safe at home,” he said. “That way, there’s less chance of it being lost or stolen.”

  “But she is not traveling now,” her father said point edly. “And it seems to me that a wife should always wear the symbol of her marriage, especially when she is away from her husband, as a reminder of what is most important in her life.”

  As if the mere idea that Gabriella could easily forget him was too funny for words, Max laughed and pressed a bell set discreetly beside the outer door of the shop. “Since you’re taken with the things in the window, Maria, come inside and meet the man who created them. Gb Salvatore’s an old acquaintance of mine and I’m sure he’ll be delighted to show you other examples of his work.”

  The atmosphere inside the shop, so hushed it was al most reverent, reminded Gabriella of a church. The sleek glass display cases, lined with opulent black velvet and made all the more dramatic with artfully concealed spot lights, provided a perfect setting for the finely crafted work on show.

  Like the decor, Gio Salvatore himself was a man of tasteful restraint. Immaculately turned out in a navy three- piece suit, his platinum-silver hair rivaling that of some of his creations, he emerged from a back room when in formed of his visitors, and greeted Max with obvious plea sure.

  “I’m honored,” he said, gesturing expansively to Gabriella and her parents after the introductions were made. “Please, if there’s a piece you would like to ex amine more closely, you have only to ask.”

  Max, all benign smiles and easy authority, saw her mother’s reluctance and urged her closer to the showcases “Don’t be shy, Maria. If something takes your fancy, try it on.”

  “No,” she said. “I would like to look, that’s all.”

  But her gaze lingered on the lovely pieces and Gabriella

  knew she was remembering the things they’d been forced to sell in order to effect basic repairs to their home and country estate. “The reason,” her father had explained, when Gabriella at ten had asked why her mama never wore the diamond necklace and pendant earrings shown. in the portrait of her hanging over the mantel in the main salon, “is that they are luxuries we can no longer afford. Although we are members of the old aristocracy and the property we lost for so long has finally been returned to us, we are, like many of our friends, penniless.”

  Since she’d found success, Gabriella had tried many times to make their lives easier, but her parents had stead fastly refused to let her give them money. It had taken all her considerable powers of persuasion to make them ac cept the gift of airline tickets so that they could visit her in Canada—and only then, she suspected, because they believed their traveling years were coming to an end and they couldn’t bear to pass up the chance to see how she lived in her adopted country.

  “Mama,” she whispered now, “it would make me very happy if you would please choose something and let me buy it for you as a souvenir of your visit.”

  “What do such fine things matter?” her mother replied, stroking her hand. “To know that you and Max are so much in love is worth more to me than all the jewels in the world.”

  Had old age left the mother more susceptible to being hoodwinked, or was it that the daughter had become so adept at deceit that she could fool even her own parent? The question shamed Gabriella and left her eyes so hot with unshed tears that she had to turn away.

  Like a watchful bodyguard, Max materialized at her side. “Sweetheart,” he said with uncommon gentleness, bracing her with an arm around her shoulders and forcibly

  remov
ing her from her mother’s shrewd observation, “there’s a piece over here that you have to see. If it weren’t that the gold work is a little too much for a’neck as slender as yours, it might almost have been made es pecially for you.”

  Shielding her with his body, he steered her to the other side of the shop and pointed out an emerald-cut aqua marine pendant set in a gold filigree chain studded with small but exquisite diamonds.

  He meant to be kind; to divert attention away from her distress and give her the chance to recover herself. But tenderness and compassion were not his habit with her and she was in too fragile a state to accept them with equanimity. The aquamarine flared with light, its edges fractured into prisms of brilliant fire by the tears seeping from her eyes.

  “This won’t do,” he murmured, producing a handker chief and passing it to her. “You’re going to give the game away if you keep on like this.”

  “My mother thinks we’re in love, Max!” she snuffled. “How can I let her remain in ignorance?”

  “Perhaps you can’t. Perhaps this is too great a decep tiori, even for you. But before you decide to lay out the truth, consider what hearing it will cost her. Are you really prepared to make her pay that high a price, Gabriella?”.

  She drew in a shuddering breath. “No. Whether that might have been the right thing to do at the beginning is beside the point. We’ve set out along this path, and it’s too late to turn back now. I just didn’t know I’d find it

  Painful being near you. Knowing we’re going throtigh the motions only when what I most wish is that the feel ings between us were real instead of make-believe.

  “Difficult?” he suggested, noticing her hesitation.

  “My goodness, Gabriella, can it be that your high-profile success has forced you to develop a conscience? Or is all this breast-beating just another attempt to make a fool of me?”

  Thanks to his thoughtfulness, she’d almost managed to bring her emotions under control, but the sudden about- face to his usual self unraveled her so thoroughly that she wanted to slap him. Hard!

  She refrained, not because it would have laid bare their mockery of a marriage but because, regardless of what ever mistakes she’d made in the past, she was a Sikiossy by blood, and she refused to let him reduce her to behav ing like a savage. “Oh!” she muttered instead, flexing her fingers convulsively. “Just when I begin to find my self almost liking the man I married, you remind me what a wasted effort it is!”

  Surprisingly, he didn’t come back with an equally sear ing reply. If anything, lie looked almost subdued. “I guess 1 asked for that,” he said quietly. “My remark was ün called for and I apologize. It looks as if we’re both finding this more of a strain than we bargained for. Why don’t I go keep your parents entertained while you compose your self? When you feel ready to face them, I’ll phone for the car to pick you up here and take you home.”

  “You’re not coming with us?”

  Don’t be foolish, Gabriella! It’s better that he doesn’t.

  “No.” He glanced at his watch. “I need to get back to the office. And before I forget, I won’t be home for dinner tonight.”

  “Oh, Max, why not? I was counting on you to be there!”

  “Because,” he informed her severely, “to accommo date you, I canceled a previous lunch engagement and have had to reschedule it for this evening.”

  Unreasonably disappointed, she said, “Oh, really? And I suppose the next thing you’re going to tell me is that it’s business?”

  He stared at her and waited a heartbeat before replying coldly, “It’s certainly not your business, Gabriella.”

  Something about the way he turned aside hcr.question reminded her of her first night back at the penthouse...

  Have you been with another woman, Max? 1 want to know the truth.

  I doubt you could handle it in this instance...

  “Why not?” she flared with sudden disquieting fury. “Because you’re meeting the woman you as good as ad-

  - mitted you’ve been seeing while I was away?”

  She could no more miss the grimace of distaste that crossed his face at her outburst, than she could suppress the demons of jealousy which she’d allowed to goad her into asking such a question in the first place. “Well, nat- orally!” he said, his voice and eyes chilly as a midwin ter’s day. “Our assignations always take place in my of fice. I usually have my wicked way with her on my desk once everyone else has vacated the premises. Of course, we have to be careful we don’t get caught by the night cleaning staff, but that just adds a bit of extra spice to the whole business. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

  “No,” she said, so mortified she couldn’t look at him. “Go to her with my blessing. Stay Out all night; if you

  wish.” -

  He’d be doing her a favor if he did! She’d already come too close to having him break her heart all over again, and they’d been together only a few days. The more rea son he gave her to mistrust and despise him, the easier it would be, at the end of their two weeks, to say goodbye to him and walk away whole.

  “I doubt I’ll go quite that far,” he said, barely man-

  aging to smother a grin, “but it could be late when I get back so don’t wait up for me.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it. And please don’t let me delay you any further. Thank you for a very nice lunch. I hope your...dirnier is everything you’d like it to be.”

  “You’re welcome, and thank you. I expect it will.”

  Rather than endure another farcical display of affection, she turned away from him and, pretending an interest in a sapphire-and-platinum starburst brooch pinned behind the glass of a wall display, glared miserably at his reflec tion as he stopped to say a few words to her parents, then strode to the door.

  Like Gio Salvatore, he wore a beautifully tailored suit, but where the jeweler looked dapper in navy, her husband exuded raw power in charcoal-gray. He was cut out for the ruthless world of business, not domestic bliss, and in all fairness, he’d never led her to believe otherwise.

  When she learned that she wasn’t pregnant, he hadn’t for a moment pretended regret. That he’d even proposed to her in the first place was because he was a man of honor, of ethics. He believed in being held accountable for his mistakes, and he did not willingly renege on a deal—not even one as flimsy as their marriage had turned out to be. How else to explain that he’d done nothing to end it?

  That, she acknowledged sadly, would be up to her, and the sooner she went about it, the better, after all. Because leaving herself open to the kind of sordid, gnawing un certainty currently plaguing her was too undignified to be countenanced.

  Rather than face the evening knowing she’d be listening all the while for his key at the door, she took her parents

  out for an early dinner to a pretty little French restaurant a few blocks away.

  Afterward, they strolled along the seawall and got back to the penthouse just alter nine. To Gabriella’s surprise, Max was already there, sprawled on the sofa in the living room. He’d exchanged his suit for a pair of blue jeans, and his dress shirt for a sports shirt.

  Because there were lipstick stains on his collar, per haps?

  His hair wore the rumpled look that comes of having fingers raked through it.

  His own—or his dinner date’s?

  “Hey,” he said, springing up and offering his seat to her mother, “I was beginning to wonder if I should be organizing a search party. What happened, did the limo driver take the long way ‘round when he brought you home?”

  The words were uttered lightly, but his smile seemed forced and if the idea hadn’t been completely preposter ous, Gabriella would have thought he’d been worried by their absence. “We went out for dinner,” she said, drop ping her bag on a side table. “I didn’t feel like cooking.”

  “Well, try leaving a note the next time, my love. If I’d known where you were, I’d have joined you.”

  “You said you were dining out and wouldn�
��t be home until much later,” she reminded him sweetly.

  “I changed my mind.” He came to where she stood and stroked his knuckles along her jaw. “Where’d you go?”

  “Pierre ‘s.

  “That’s some distance away. How’d you get there and back?”

  “We walked,” she said. “For heaven’s sake, Max, if

  .1 were to .quiz you like this, you’d waste no time telling me to mind my own business!”.

  “It’s a husband’s prerogative to be concerned when his wife goes missing and she’s as well known as you are,” he said sharply. “The streets aren’t as safe at night as they once were, you.know.”

  Concerned? Suspicious was more like it—and a tiny, mean-spirited part of her rejoiced in the fact. What was sauce for the goose, . after all, was sauce for the gander, too!

  Her tone equally astringent, she said, “I was hardly missing, nor was I alone. And you seem to forget I’m used to taking care of myself.”

  As if he realized their exchange had strayed from nat ural curiosity to barely veiled hostility, Max kissed her lightly on the lips and said, “You’re right, and 1 apolo gize. You had no way of knowing my plans l changed.”

  “As a matter of interest, why did they?”

  “The person I’d hoped to meet couldn’t make it.”

  The person? How about “the other woman”, Max? she thought bitterly, irked at the ease with which he tumè the tables on her small victory.

  Masking her rancor behind a smile so dripping with saccharine sweetness that she almost gagged, she said, “What a shame! Were you terribly disappointed?”

  “Not really. Rather pleased, in fact. You and I spend few enough evenings together as it is, and I was partiô ularly looking forward to tonight because I have some- thing for you.”

  He left the room and she heard him cross the hail and enter his study. Shortly after, he returned with a bottle of cognac and two leather jewelry boxes, the smaller of which he presented to her mother. “These are for yoti,