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The tightness in his chest was unbearable. ‘What? No. My mother is a saint. She’s the sweetest person on earth.’
‘I thought so.’
Her eyes hadn’t left his face, and now there was something unsettling in her steady, stinging gaze.
‘That’s why we’re going to get married,’ she said.
He stared at her in confusion. Get married? She still wanted to marry him? Surely she was joking?
As though she could read his mind, she gave a humourless laugh. ‘What’s the matter, Vicè? Have you had a change of heart?’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Oh, sorry, I forgot—you don’t have a heart.’
* * *
Imma swallowed past the lump in her throat. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to speak. It hurt to look into his eyes and see nothing but hatred and hostility where only hours earlier she had thought she’d seen love.
She was such a fool. Had she really believed that this beautiful angry man could see past her defensiveness and gauche manner to what was inside? To value and desire what he saw there?
Their night together had been perfect, unrepeatable, miraculous—so that even when he had pulled her closer, or she had reached out for him, it had felt illusory...like an all too vivid dream.
And now she was living in a nightmare of her own making, and no amount of daylight was ever going to wake her up.
If only she could go back in time—back to before Claudia had called her, back to that moment when she had been held in the muscular warmth of his arms. When her heart, her pride, had still been intact.
But it was too late for regrets. All that mattered now was making him pay. And she was going to keep telling herself that until it felt true.
His face darkened. ‘And you, like the rest of your rotten, corrupted family, have no soul.’
Her eyes blazed into his. ‘You are nothing to me now—just as I was nothing to you.’
She’d f
elt something—something real—but for him it had all been a trick, a con, a hoax.
The pain made her want to throw up.
He took a step forward. ‘Great reason to get married.’
‘It’s about on a par with yours.’ Pushing past the pain, she filled her voice with contempt. ‘You slept with me under false pretences, Vicè. You faked your way into my bed. At least now we both know what’s real and what isn’t.’
He shook his head. ‘What happened last night in your bed was real. You wanted me as much as I wanted you.’
Oh, he was good. He was so convincing—so plausible. Even now, when they both knew the truth, he made it sound as if he really believed what he was saying.
She shook her head. ‘Actually, you wanted my father’s business.’
Breathing out raggedly, she watched his face darken.
‘No, I wanted my father’s business.’
‘Then you should have approached me with an offer.’
‘I’m not going to pay for what was stolen from me.’
The hardness in his voice pressed against the bruise on her heart. The pain of trying to pretend spread out inside her like a rain cloud. Tears pricked behind her eyes and she blinked them away furiously, determined not to show any weakness in front of him.
‘No, I paid. With my virginity.’
She felt a rush of shame and misery, remembering how her body had softened and melted from the heat of him.
