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“You stole it first, Marcos. Or have you forgotten?”
“You have no idea what you are talking about, Francesca,” he bit out. “That gem was stolen from my family. It was never yours to begin with.”
She clenched her fists at her side. “If you’re saying that my father stole it—”
“No, my uncle did. And he used it to entice your father into business with him. But it wasn’t his to give.”
She stared at him, momentarily at a loss for words. She’d never heard this much of the story before. She’d only known that the Corazón del Diablo had once been in the Navarre family. She’d thought her father had bought it, like he’d bought so many other things he’d wanted. And when she’d married a Navarre, she’d thought he would be happy if she placed the necklace in his hands, if it became a symbol of their union. She hadn’t expected him to take the jewel and discard her. The memory of her naiveté still stung.
“Why should I believe you?”
“I don’t care if you believe me or not. This is the truth, and the jewel is mine. By right, by birth, by longstanding tradition. It is not and never has been yours.”
She didn’t want to believe him—and yet she remembered that her father had refused to use the courts to try and recover the necklace. She hadn’t understood at the time. Nor had her mother, who’d raged and cried and blamed Francesca for their misfortune.
And then …
“My father shot himself over it,” she said numbly. “His business interests were tangled with Navarre Industries, and when your uncle went down, he did too. Without the necklace, there was no way to save the business.”
His expression changed. “I know, and I’m sorry for that, Francesca.”
She dashed away a tear. “Yes, well, that helps so much.” He couldn’t miss the sarcasm in her voice—and she didn’t care. Let him know what his selfishness had cost. What it still cost. She’d never been particularly close to her mother, but at least she’d had a mother. Now, she no longer had that relationship. Nor did she have one with her sister, who followed their mother’s lead in everything.
Francesca had been alone since the moment her dad had pulled the trigger. Which he never would have done had she not been so blinded by love that she’d given the Corazón del Diablo to this man. This devil.
“It was an unfortunate tragedy,” he said, “but the jewel would not have saved him. He would not have been able to sell it, Francesca. Legally, he had no right.”
She hated thinking about that time, hated thinking about the desperation and despair her father must have felt in those moments before he’d pulled the trigger. How different would it have been if she’d never married Marcos? But, if he was right, when the business went sour, her father still would have been broke. The Corazón del Diablo would have been about as useful as a paperweight.
“Then why didn’t you just take us to court over it? If your claim was so great, why didn’t you get a lawyer and sue?”
“Because I couldn’t afford it,” he said. “I hoped your father would do the right thing and return it to me. Instead, he gave it to you and told me the only way to get it was to marry you.”
She couldn’t help the bubble of hysterical laughter that erupted from her throat. Her poor, misguided father. Always trying to make her happy, to even out the inequality between her and Livia. “Oh yes, and you had no trouble doing that, did you? Marry the ugly duckling and seduce the necklace away. Except you forgot the seduction part.”
“You weren’t ugly,” he said, his voice low and hard. “And you know it. Eight years later, and still you try to use that act on me. It does you no credit, Francesca, not now. You are a beautiful woman, not an awkward girl.”
She gaped at him, her heart thudding for an entirely different reason now. But she would not fall for his smooth words, not ever again. He would say anything to make this process as smooth as possible for himself.
“Don’t you dare say those things to me, not when you don’t mean them. I’m here, and you have the stone. I’ve also agreed to marry you so you can rest easy at night that a collection of damn rocks is all yours. So save the sweet talk for your mistresses.”
Marcos gave a snort of disgust as he picked up a briefcase from a chair. “Dios, why bother? I have work to do. I’ll send someone for you when the contract arrives.”
Francesca wanted to throw something at his departing back, but the only thing i
n her hand was the calendar. And that simply floated to the floor with an impotent sigh.
The contract was every bit as humiliating a document as she’d supposed it would be. It was thick, typed on expensive paper, and bound in a slim leather cover. Francesca read it carefully while Marcos’s lawyers explained the clauses in detail.
They were in his office, a surprisingly bright room with a mahogany desk, built-in bookshelves, and sleek contemporary furniture. She sat on one of the low couches, a lawyer beside her, while Marcos leaned against the wall, hands shoved in his pockets, resembling nothing so much as a dark cloud as he frowned over the procedure.
It was all spelled out in excruciating detail, as she’d known it would be. Marcos had not reached the pinnacle of success he currently enjoyed by leaving anything to chance. They would marry for a period of at least three months, possibly more. She would relinquish, on behalf of her family, all further claims on the Corazón del Diablo forever.
And good riddance, she thought. The fiery stone at the heart of the necklace truly was the devil’s heart. It had caused her nothing but trouble from the moment she’d possessed it. She had no wish to do so ever again.
Money. Her heart stammered over the clause about money. She had to work to keep her eyes on the page instead of looking up at Marcos. Did he expect her to be grateful? Or perhaps he expected a protest that it wasn’t enough.
At the conclusion of their marriage, he would endow her with ten million dollars. It was a small sum to him, she knew, and yet it was enough to keep Jacques comfortable for the rest of his life. No doubt Marcos did it to keep her from making larger claims on his fortune, but to her it was an incredible sum after these last several years.
