The Reluctant Husband Read online

  ‘So don’t look at me with those big green eyes and tell me I’m joking when I say I intend to have what I paid for!’ Santino continued fiercely as he swung in beside her. ‘One more argument out of you and I pull the rug out from under Finlay Travel and ruin both you and your lover! And then I take Della to court for all the fake bills that have been submitted on your behalf while I was still under the impression that you were a student. By the time I’m finished with you, the sight of a Vitale bank draft with my signature on it will make you feel sick. I’m going to treat you to aversion therapy!’

  Frankie was fighting to reason again, but she was in so much shock it was extraordinarily difficult. Somehow she couldn’t get past that very first devastatingly painful assurance that he had had to pay her mother to give her a home. ‘You’ve...you’ve actually met Della?’ she heard herself question weakly but incredulously as he fired the engine of the powerful car.

  ‘What sort of stupid question is that?’ Santino shot her a glinting glance of enquiry. A sardonic frown line divided his ebony brows as he absorbed her stark pallor. ‘Of course you know I’ve met her! Don’t tell me that while the two of you were cheerfully ripping me off all these years she somehow neglected to mention where all the money was coming from!’

  ‘Mum received a very generous divorce settlement from her second husband,’ Frankie mumbled tremulously, her throat convulsing as she tried to steady herself. ‘That’s where the money was coming from, and as for my share in Finlay—’

  ‘Your mother dumped Giles Jensen when his nightclub went bust. He didn’t have the means to make any kind of settlement. When you went back home to Mum, she was in major debt. I was the sucker who pulled Mum out of it and put a roof over your heads!’

  ‘I don’t—’

  A plastic folder landed squarely on her lap. ‘I own your mother’s home. I had no objection to maintaining my mother-in-law when it meant that you shared her comfortable lifestyle. I’m angry now because it’s obvious that you were in on the whole scam from the beginning!’

  There was a thick legal deed inside the folder. It bore the address of her mother’s smart house in Kensington and Santino’s name as the current owner. It was the kind of irrefutable proof that stole the very breath from her lungs. It made argument on that count impossible. Her stomach succumbed to nauseous cramps.

  ‘If there hadn’t been a recent query about the lease, I wouldn’t even have had that here to show you!’ Santino gritted. ‘But I have a stack of receipted bills a foot thick in my office in Rome. Fakes! Tell me, did you ever actually go to that fancy boarding school I paid for?’

  ‘I went to the local tech for a while, took a few classes...’ Frankie told him numbly as the horror of what he was telling her and the source of his very real anger began slowly and inexorably to sink in.

  ‘Per meraviglia...no riding, music and skiing lessons? No language tutoring? No finishing school? No educational trips or vacations abroad? You haven’t spent a single term at university, have you?’

  Dully, Frankie shook her head. Piece by awful piece, it was falling into place. Della was the fraudster Santino had been talking about. Not someone on his side of the fence, but someone a great deal closer to Frankie than a solicitor she had only once met. Her mother, her own mother. She felt sick. Della enjoyed an entirely hedonistic existence of shopping and socialising. She didn’t work. She had an exquisitely furnished house, a fabulous designer wardrobe and took frequent long-haul holidays abroad. The realisation that Santino must have been paying for that lifestyle devastated Frankie.

  ‘I didn’t know...you’ve got to believe that!’ she burst out.

  ‘Fine. Then you can sit back and relax while I prosecute your mother for misuse of funds intended to be spent solely for your benefit.’

  Frankie went white.

  ‘And I eagerly await your explanation for the thousands you put into Finlay Travel—’

  ‘That definitely wasn’t your money!’ she protested feverishly. “That came from an insurance policy that Dad took out for Mum and I when I was still a baby—’

  ‘Marco, the compulsive gambler, took out insurance?’ Santino murmured very drily. ‘Money burned a hole in his pocket. If your father had taken out a policy like that, he would have been trying to cash it in again within months. He certainly wouldn’t have kept up the payments.’

  Frankie was concentrating hard now. She had never seen any proof that that money had come from an insurance pay-out. She had been only eighteen, had had no reason to question her mother’s story or the welcome feeling of security created by that most unexpected windfall. Della had simply paid the money into her account. And by the passing on of that one very substantial payment, Frankie registered painfully, Della had ensured that her daughter was bound up in her dishonesty. Had that been her mother’s intention all along? A safeguard so that if Santino ever found out what was really happening to his money he would believe that Frankie had been involved in the deception? Her stomach gave another horrible twist.

  ‘You see, at first I did believe that you were telling me the truth. I believed that you had been blissfully unaware of my financial backing until I found out about your stake in Finlay Travel. I was annoyed that you didn’t appear to have enjoyed the material and educational benefits that I had believed I was paying for, but I could have lived with that. What I will not accept with good grace is that you are as big a cheat and a thief as your mother!’

  ‘Stop the car...I feel sick!’ Frankie suddenly gasped in desperation.

  She almost fell out of the four-wheel drive in her haste to vacate it. As she gulped in fresh air and swayed, she hung onto the car door.

  ‘You do look rough,’ Santino acknowledged grudgingly as he strode round the bonnet. ‘I thought it was a ruse.’

  Frankie couldn’t even bring herself to look at him. As the nervous cramps began to settle in her stomach, she was wondering sickly just how much cash Della had contrived to run through in five long years. Given an inch, Della would have taken a mile. Indeed, she wondered if her mother’s demands had grown so excessive that Santino had finally become suspicious.

  ‘Sit down...’ Lean, surprisingly gentle hands detached her from the death-grip she had on the door and settled her very carefully back into the passenger seat. ‘Put your head down if you still feel dizzy,’ he urged, retaining a firm grip on her trembling hands when she tried to pull away.

  She focused on his hand-stitched Italian loafers and slowly breathed in again.

  ‘Better?’ Santino prompted flatly, releasing her from his hold.

  Dully, she nodded, glancing up unwarily to collide with brilliant dark eyes fringed by luxuriant spiky black lashes. Close up, those eyes had the most extraordinary effect on her. They made her feel all weak... and sort of quivery deep down inside. Without even realising it, she was staring like a mesmerised rabbit, and then Santino vaulted lithely upright again, leaving her looking dazedly into space.

  Had the shock of her mother’s deceit deranged her wits? she asked herself angrily. What was the matter with her? If there had ever been a time she needed to concentrate, this was it. So Santino was still possessed of spectacular good looks; surely she was mature enough to handle that without behaving in the midst of a crisis like an adolescent with an embarrassing crush?

  He owned Della’s house, she reminded herself in desperation, so most probably all the rest of it was true as well. Then by rights her share in Finlay Travel belonged to Santino. She could sign it over to him, but it would still only be a tenth of what was owed. And wasn’t she in many ways responsible for what her mother had done?

  If she hadn’t been so willing to believe her mother’s assurance that the annulment had been a mere technicality, if she hadn’t been too ridiculously sensitive to even want to discuss or be forced to think about her marriage, Della wouldn’t have found it so easy to fool her. They would have got that annulment years ago, Santino would have had his freedom back and he would have stopped suppor
ting her mother and herself. But had Frankie asked him to support them? Resentment stirred in her. She had wanted nothing from Santino!

  ‘You seem to think you own me, and now I know why.’ A jagged little laugh fell from her lips as Santino drove on. ‘Well, I’m sorry, but you can’t buy people—I

  ‘No, it’s love you can’t buy. Buying people is surprisingly easy,’ Santino drawled. ‘You only need to know what they want to hook them.’

  Frankie shivered and shot a helpless glance at his lean, dark profile, the hardness of his jawline. ‘And what do I want?’

  ‘Most?’ Santino queried softly, reflectively. ‘To be loved. I saw that in you when you were no age at all. You had a desperate need to be loved. But you were so stubborn you looked for it in the wrong places and couldn’t recognise it when you did find it.’

  Frankie lost colour. He had answered her ironic question seriously, cutting her to the heart by reminding her of the all too many disappointments and rejections of her growing-up years.

  ‘That’s one reason why I certainly wasn’t expecting to meet an angel yesterday. A lot of people in your life have let you down. I knew that I, too, had lost your trust, but somehow I still expected you to be the extremely honest girl you used to be. I should have known that Della would mess you up—’

  ‘Don’t talk about my mother like that!’ Frankie bit out defensively.

  ‘I think it’s time someone did. You moved in with Finlay when you were...what...only eighteen years old?’

  ‘Where did you get that information from?’ Her voice shook.

  ‘It wasn’t difficult. Finlay...’ he murmured again. ‘Tell me, when you sank that money into his business, were you trying to buy his affection?’

  Frankie went rigid. ‘How dare—?’

  ‘I’ve never believed in avoiding the issue. It’s a reasonable question. Most teenagers with a large sum of money in their possession could think of a hundred things to do with it, but not one of those hundred exciting possibilities would entail investment.’

  Frankie pinned her lips together tightly, reluctant to reply. She had wanted to do something secure with that windfall. Until she had married Santino, every person she had ever depended on had lived on a frightening financial seesaw. Her parents had had violent arguments about money. One day it had been treats all round, the next bitter dispute over an unpaid bill. She had gone from that to the very real poverty of her grandfather’s home, where there had been absolutely nothing to spare for extras. And those ‘extras’ had been everyday necessities which she had taken for granted in London.

  ‘So you were buying him—’

  ‘No, I blasted well wasn’t!’ Frankie flared. ‘I even took some advice before I did it.’

  ‘Finlay’s advice? I ask because that investment is anything but safe right now. You’re in a crowded market and the travel agency is financially over-extended.’

  ‘I’m quite content with the returns I’ve received—’

  ‘A place in his bed that isn’t exclusively yours? I know you’re not the only woman in his life...’

  Frankie was becoming angrier and angrier with every second that passed. ‘Well, maybe he’s not the only man in mine.’

  ‘Few women settle for an open relationship at your age. Are you that much in love with him?’

  Frankie abruptly spread both hands in a gesture of furious frustration. ‘I am not in love with Matt. We’re friends and I’m the junior partner—’

  ‘Why live together, then?’

  ‘I have as much right to live in that apartment as he has, or didn’t your snoop tell you that? Finlay Travel owns the building!’

  ‘Correction... the bank owns it.’

  ‘So now you have a share of what the bank owns!’

  ‘Smart move, Francesca. I quite understand why your lover has suddenly become your platonic friend. But if you think I intend to move in and refinance your boyfriend you’re insane,’ Santino asserted very drily. ‘That is one ship which will sink without any help from me!’

  ‘Do whatever you like. If it was your money to begin with, it’s your investment now! But don’t make Matt pay for something that has nothing to do with him,’ Frankie argued vehemently. ‘The agency needs those villas. He’d have no trouble keeping them fully booked right through the season. We badly need more quality properties.’

  Santino vented a distinctly chilling laugh. ‘You’re unbelievable. You rip me off and then you expect me to come to your assistance?’

  ‘I didn’t rip you off... I honestly didn’t know about the money... And I don’t think it’s my fault anyway,’ she reasoned with steadily mounting resentment. ‘You went behind my back to make some stupid arrangement with Della which I didn’t know about, so how can you now blame me for it going wrong?’

  ‘Santo cielo...the rats are jumping ship fast,’ Santino murmured sardonically. ‘It would appear that it’s every woman for herself now. Don’t worry about it. I’m very even-handed when I deal out rough justice. I assure you that Della’s getting her share of grief today too.’

  Frankie tensed. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘She will be served with an eviction notice by the end of the day.’

  Frankie surveyed him in horror. Santino indolently drew the car to a slow halt and climbed out. Frankie leapt out at speed. ‘You can’t do that to her!’

  ‘Give me one good reason why not.’

  Frankie hovered on the edge of the dusty road, thinking hard, but her mind was a complete blank. Sheer shock was resounding through her in dizzy waves.

  Santino slung her a grimly amused look from veiled golden eyes and calmly removed a basket and a rug from the back of the car. ‘It’s a challenge, isn’t it?’ he agreed.

  ‘It’s not that... I just can’t believe you could be that cruel!’ Frankie admitted helplessly.

  ‘But then you’ve never met with this side of me before. Only with you was I ever a pussycat and, sadly for you, those days are past,’ Santino delivered with hard dark eyes that glittered like golden ice in the sunlight. ‘I’m lethally unforgiving in business, Francesca...and I’m sorry to say that both you and your unlovely mother fall very much into the category of business now.’

  The tip of her tongue snaked out to moisten her dry lower lip in a flicking motion. She just couldn’t believe that this was Santino. He was correct about that all right. She didn’t recognise the warm, teasing, tolerant male she remembered in this tall dark man with his savagely hard and unfeeling eyes. Her attention fell on the basket he held and total bewilderment seized her. ‘What are you doing with that?’

  ‘It’s for our picnic,’ Santino divulged gently.

  Her generous mouth opened and shut. As yet it hadn’t even occurred to her to wonder why he had stopped the car and got out.

  ‘Our... picnic?’ she questioned unevenly. ‘Let me get this straight... Just after you announce that you’re having my mother served with an eviction notice, you expect me to join you for a picnic?’

  ‘And the thought of that eviction notice has whetted my appetite,’ Santino confided without remorse as he swung fluidly on his heel.

  In stunned disbelief Frankie watched him stride down the grassy, rutted track on the far side of the car. It led down the sloping ground into the thick cover of trees. Within a minute, that dark, imperious head was out of sight. Gritting her teeth, Frankie abandoned her pride and chased after him. She passed by the tumbledown shell of a little stone house, long since given over to the weeds and the undergrowth, and just beyond it, beneath the dappled shade of an ancient gnarled tree, she saw that the rug and the basket had been abandoned.

  Santino was poised on the brow of the sun-drenched hillside, looking down at the village which straggled untidily over the slopes below them. As she drew level with him, he turned his head.

  ‘Santino,’ she began tautly, ‘my—’

  ‘That’s La Rocca down there,’ he cut in informatively. ‘My grandmother was born in the bar where we met yesterd
ay. It was called a hotel in those days too. Her father had aspirations which were never fulfilled.’

  Frankie frowned uncertainly. ‘I—’

  ‘Keep quiet and listen.’ Brilliant dark eyes lanced into hers, his sensual mouth hardening. ‘What else can you see from here?’

  She swallowed hard and looked around herself with blank, uncomprehending eyes, wondering what on earth he was driving at.

  ‘My grandfather was born in that ruin,’ he supplied with studied patience. ‘One of eleven children, only six of whom survived to adulthood. He brought me here when I was eight years old and he told me that this is where the Vitale family has its roots. Humble beginnings but, believe it or not, I’m very proud of them.’

  ‘Yes, I can see that,’ Frankie muttered abstractedly. ‘But—’

  ‘No, you do not see at all!’ Santino grated with driving derision, and strode away from her.

  Frankie just couldn’t concentrate; she was too shaken up by all that had burst upon her. Her temples were pounding with tension. But she seemed to be suffering alone, for Santino was uncorking a bottle of wine, his hands deft and sure, stray arrows of light skimming over his chiselled golden profile and the lean, fluid sweep of his lithe masculine body as he knelt on the rug.

  ‘She’s got visitors staying right now...Mum, I mean,’ she began helplessly, unable even to organise her thoughts, never mind her speech. ‘And I’m not trying to excuse what’s been done, but she hasn’t had it easy—’

  ‘Until I came along—’

  Frankie flushed and stepped off one foot onto the other. ‘She could have been a top model if she hadn’t been saddled with me. And then Dad took me and she couldn’t find me, and she ended up marrying Giles and he—’

  ‘Was bankrupted by her extravagance.’

  Frankie stiffened. ‘That’s not the way I heard it.’

  ‘I don’t suppose she would have told it that way. You’re wasting your breath,’ Santino informed her drily as he slid upright. ‘Della’s the very soul of avarice. I tied her into a strict legal agreement—even then I had few illusions about her character—and, believe me, she exercised considerable criminal talent in all the fraudulent claims for cash that were made... You can’t expect me to listen to sob-stories on her behalf when you took your cut too.’