Claiming My Bride Of Convenience

Looking at him now, I saw a new hardness in his eyes, felt the unrelenting iron in his soul, and I wondered what had caused him to be so ruthlessly unyielding. It reminded me that I knew nothing about this man beyond what I’d read in the tabloids and what he’d chosen to tell me when we’d first met.

I’d been at my lowest point then: six months in the city, out of cash and—in the last few seconds before we met—out of a job for slapping a man’s hand away when he tried to grope me. But more than that, I’d been out of hope—and that was what had led me to consider Matteo’s outrageous offer even for a second and then to accept it.

‘I have a deal for you.’

Those were his first words to me. I was standing on the street in the lashing rain, hugging my bag to my chest and waiting for the bus, when he came out of the diner from where I’d just been fired and walked straight towards me.

I glanced at him uncertainly, because he wasn’t the sort of customer the rundown diner catered to. He was a dark beacon of privilege there on the grimy street, standing tall and proud and determined. I had no idea what he was doing there, much less what he wanted with me.

‘A deal?’ I eyed him warily, pretty sure that any deal he offered would be one I’d want to refuse.

‘Yes, a deal. I saw what happened back in the diner. You were fired for doing nothing but defending yourself. That was wrong.’

The quietly spoken statement, the certainty of it, reached me in a way nothing else had. Ever since I’d arrived in New York I’d been fending off people who wanted something for nothing, who were far too quick to swindle or lie or cheat. Or attack…

A simply spoken truth delivered by a stranger meant a lot…more than it should have.

‘Thank you,’ I managed, with as much as dignity as I could muster. ‘Unfortunately it doesn’t change anything.’

I had enough money for my bus fare and not much else, and I was already a month behind on my rent. I had no family, no friends, nowhere to go—and, worst of all, I wasn’t sure I had the capacity to care about any of it any more.

‘Actually, it could,’ Matteo said quietly, his voice carrying a subtle, silky power. ‘I could. If you will but give me a few moments of your time.’

I eyed him suspiciously. I’d arrived in this city full of wide-eyed optimism, ready and even eager to believe the best of everyone, but I’d wised up since then. At least I’d been trying to.

‘I don’t think so, mister.’ I hunched my shoulder against the rain and peered down the street in the vain hope that a bus would lumber by soon.

Matteo gave a little reassuring smile. ‘It’s not that kind of deal, trust me.’

The way he said it made me flush, because of course it wasn’t that kind of deal. He was way, way out of my league and we both knew it.

‘This is perfectly respectable and legal—entirely above board.’

I eyed him warily. ‘What, then?’

‘I want you to marry me.’

I gaped. I couldn’t process those six words; they bounced off my brain, refusing to make sense. Then, when the shock wore off, I looked around for the spectators, the punchline. Surely he was making fun of me?

Matteo must have seen something of that in my eyes, for he said quietly, ‘No joke. I’m completely serious.’

He nodded towards a café a few doors down from the diner—a far nicer establishment than the one of my previous employment.

‘Why don’t we get out of the rain and talk through it for a few minutes?’

I hesitated, because my instinct was to say absolutely not. Only a few weeks ago I’d believed what a man had said and I’d paid for it—sorely. Surely I wasn’t going to do it again? Especially when this man’s so-called deal was obviously nonsensical?

‘At least have a coffee on me,’ he said.

And that was what sealed it. I was hungry and tired and wet, and I didn’t even have the money for a cup of coffee.

‘All right,’ I said. ‘One coffee.’

A few minutes later we were seated at a quiet table in the back of the café, and I had my hands around the comforting warmth of a large latte—an extravagance I hadn’t had in for ever.

Matteo sat opposite me, sipping a double espresso, the shoulders of his suit coat damp from the rain. When I breathed in, I caught the cedar-scented aroma of his aftershave.

‘So what is this deal, really?’ I asked.

‘What I said. I need to be married.’ He gave me the flicker of a smile. ‘Need being the operative word. I’m not looking for a wife.’

I couldn’t keep my mouth from curling up in cynical bemusement. ‘What do you require, then?’

‘Just a legal document saying I’m married.’ He took another sip of his espresso before resuming. ‘I’ll pay you a million euros up front and then two hundred and fifty thousand euros for every year we remain married. Your housing and all expenses will be provided, and we will never have to lay eyes on each other again.’

I shook my head slowly, unable to take it in. To take him in. Because he was so overwhelming, with his dark hair and steely eyes, his body made up of hard, powerful lines, each one emanating an authority I recognised even if I couldn’t begin to imagine it.

One million euros.

It was crazy. He was crazy. And yet he didn’t look crazy. He looked remarkably and alarmingly sane.

‘Why do you need to get married so badly?’ I asked in a shaky voice.

‘Because my grandfather requires it before I take control of his company—which is something I very much wish to do.’

The words were terse, but I saw the way his jaw clenched and his hands briefly curled into fists, and I knew there was a great deal more to that complicated relationship than I could ever know or guess.

Still, I wondered, why me?

‘Surely you have someone more suitable to ask.’

‘I don’t want someone “suitable”.’

He smiled at me rather grimly before draining his espresso.

‘I want someone unremarkable who will be glad for what I give her, not ask any awkward questions, and most of all stay out of my life, as well as out of the public eye.’

‘So you want a wife who doesn’t act like a wife?’

His smile gleamed white as he nodded his approval. ‘Exactly.’

‘I’m sure there are plenty of women who would accept the money you’re offering. You hardly needed to approach a stranger like me.’

I shook my head, still sensing a catch. Matteo was way out of my league. Why not ask some grasping socialite? Someone with status and privilege and beauty? Most people, I’d found, would do a lot for money.

Matteo leaned back in his chair, crossing one long, powerful leg over the other as he eyed me in consideration.

‘Possibly, but I’m in a rush, and I don’t want any complications with someone who might not view my offer with the gratitude I’d prefer.’ He gave me a quick, cool smile. ‘I’d like to keep my marriage quiet. I don’t want it to…hamper…any of my activities.’