Claiming His Out-of-Bounds Bride
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Annie West
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HarlequinCHAPTER ONE
‘IT’S COMING TOGETHER.’ Sonia surveyed the fall of Olivia’s full-length dress while another seamstress knelt between them, adjusting the hem. ‘We’re almost there.’
Olivia suppressed a sigh of relief. This was the last fitting and it seemed like she’d stood for hours being prodded, pinned and examined.
But the dress had to be perfect.
Next week Olivia would be here in Venice at the centre of a celebration that would spark worldwide attention. Her gown had to be one of a kind. It was expected by the public, the press and, above all, her family.
More importantly, if all went as she hoped, this dress would be visible proof to her conservative family and a risk-averse company board that she, and her proposals, had merit. Public interest in this gown would spearhead the new venture she’d put so much effort into planning.
She’d done everything her family required of her and more. Soon she’d have the opportunity to prove herself and fulfil her dreams. She’d actually have a say in running the company she’d worked so hard to be accepted into.
Olivia glimpsed her reflection in the enormous gilt-framed mirror that caught the light from the Grand Canal spilling into the palazzo’s salon.
The woman in the antique mirror didn’t look like Olivia Jennings. Even the Olivia Jennings who’d learned, eventually, how to hold her own amongst Europe’s wealthy elite. To look stylish and poised.
This dress turned her into someone else.
At a distance the chiffon and silk looked cream, but they held a warmth that came from the fact they were actually a pale blush colour. Fitted at the bodice and falling in soft folds to her feet, the dress was decorated with a multitude of tiny appliquéd chiffon flowers, each studded at the centre with a crystal. The bodice was encrusted with them and a few were sprinkled across the top of her skirt and sheer chiffon sleeves. When she moved miniature petals stirred and crystals caught the light from the windows and the antique Venetian chandelier.
‘It’s beautiful,’ the seamstress said as she sat back on her heels, beaming. ‘You look like you’ve stepped out of a fairy tale.’
‘Which is exactly the effect we want.’ Sonia nodded. ‘Every woman wants to look like a fairy-tale princess at least once in her life.’
Not every woman.
It was a long time since Olivia had believed in fairy tales.
Early tragedy had robbed her of a comfortable belief in happy endings. Then, in her eighteenth year, any lingering romantic fantasies had been snuffed out for good.
But just because her hopes and dreams weren’t the traditional fantasies didn’t mean others didn’t have them.
She looked in the mirror again, saw the delicate flowers rise and flutter with her deep breath and felt a strange tug of yearning.
There’d been a man. Just one man in the last nine years, who’d made her wonder for a few scant moments about instant attraction and soulmates.
It had been a crazy aberration. A moment that had felt like recognition, like a lightning bolt soldering her feet to the floor and making her heart dance to a strange, wonderful new harmony.
Of course it had led nowhere.
He didn’t even like her.
And she...well, she’d done what she’d learned to do so well. Olivia had buried her disappointment and moved on. Her grandparents were right. She was better off without fantasies of romance.
The flowers on her dress danced as she dragged in a fortifying breath.
Olivia smiled at both women. ‘You’ve done a fabulous job. The dress is gorgeous and we’ll have customers beating down the doors.’
‘If you can persuade the board,’ Sonia added, the hint of a frown at odds with the excitement in her eyes.
Olivia nodded. ‘Leave that to me. I have my strategy worked out.’ In a couple of weeks, when she finally took her promotion and her promised place on the board, she’d have the chance she’d worked for all these years. She was fully prepared.
‘Twirl for me,’ the junior seamstress said, scrutinising the hem.
Olivia pivoted on her handmade, crystal-trimmed high heels. Silk swished around her legs like a whisper. Hopefully there’d be lots of whispers from women eager to buy their own unique gown from the same source.
The seamstress got up. ‘Perfect. You’re going to steal the groom’s breath when you walk down the aisle.’
Olivia curved her lips into the expected smile. ‘Thank you.’ No point explaining how unlikely that was. She and Carlo were friends, not lovers. Theirs would be a marriage of convenience.
It mightn’t be every woman’s dream, but, from what she knew of romance, Olivia was happy to avoid that trap. Mutual respect and friendship made a solid foundation for a good marriage.
It had worked for her grandparents.
It would work for her and Carlo.
Sonia leaned close to examine Olivia’s sleeve as a knock sounded on the door.
‘Would you mind seeing who it is?’ Olivia asked the seamstress. ‘I’m not expecting anyone.’
Her grandparents weren’t even in Venice. Olivia had come ahead to check the arrangements for next week’s wedding.
‘Stand still a moment longer,’ Sonia said, frowning at a flower that wasn’t sitting right.
‘There’s a man here.’ The younger woman scurried back, her eyes round, her hand smoothing her already smooth hair. ‘It’s il signor Sartori. He wants to talk with you.’
Carlo, here? He wasn’t due till next week.
Sophia spoke. ‘Can he wait five minutes? Tell him it’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride’s dress before the ceremony.’
‘I’m afraid it can’t wait.’ A deep voice spoke from the doorway and all three women froze.
Olivia knew that voice. As usual it was clipped to the point of brusqueness, yet it held something more than impatience. Something that sent a trickle of heat spilling through her.
She closed her eyes for a second, regrouping.
She should be used to him by now. There was no reason for this unwanted response. They were politely distant, she and her soon-to-be brother-in-law.
That was exactly how she wanted to stay—distant.
Opening her eyes, she saw Sonia’s wide stare and her assistant surreptitiously straighten her top.
Alessandro Sartori had that effect on women.
Carlo did too. But half her fiancé’s attraction was in his smiling good humour. His older brother was more the strong, silent type. Except in his case it was distant and disapproving.
Olivia sucked in a breath and turned.
His straight shoulders filled the doorway. His lean frame was elegant yet powerful, as if his urbane air concealed a man far grittier and dangerous than his suave tailoring suggested.
As usual he wore a perfectly fitted suit. She’d never seen him in anything else. He was a walking advertisement for Sartori, the firm whose exclusive menswear was renowned and coveted the world over.
Olivia wondered why the advertising gurus at Sartori hadn’t suggested capitalising on their CEO’s aura of leashed sexual power as a marketing tool.
His hair was like ebony, short around the back and sides and longer on top. It shone, glossy in the light from the chandelier. That same light revealed strong, even features, hooded dark eyes, a sculpted jaw and a sensual mouth that right now was set tight.
No surprise there. Alessandro Sartori always looked like that when she was around.
She wondered what she, or Carlo, had done now to annoy him. Surely with the wedding next week everything was going precisely as he wanted.
A spark of annoyance flared. Annoyance that her marriage had been concocted as part of a deal to combine the Sartori and Dell’Orto commercial empires. Concocted by her grandparents and this man.
Olivia released her breath in a calming flow.
It wasn’t as if she hankered after a love match. The marriage and the merger would give her and Carlo the opportunities they’d worked so hard for.
No, it was a shadow of residual annoyance at having her life managed. Again.
From now on she’d be the one making decisions, taking control of her life.
‘Alessandro. This is a surprise.’ She’d hoped not to see him until the ceremony and have as little to do with him then as possible, though he’d be best man. ‘I’m afraid none of the family are here and, as you know, Carlo is away.’
He must be looking for her grandparents. Alessandro Sartori’s discussions with Olivia had been limited to passing pleasantries. As if she didn’t have the brains or experience to understand business. The inference that she wasn’t worth engaging in meaningful conversation rankled, especially as, soon, they’d be on the same management team.
‘It’s you I came to see.’
Just that. No explanation. No smile. Just that unwavering gaze.
Surprise held Olivia silent for a moment. He wanted to speak to her? It couldn’t be about the wedding. He had no role in the preparations. It couldn’t be business. Alessandro didn’t discuss commercial matters outside the office, except with company executives. She didn’t qualify...yet.
Her grandparents? Fear bubbled at the idea that something had happened to one of them. Except, if that were the case, it wouldn’t be Alessandro Sartori passing on the news.
‘We need to speak. Now.’
Typical of the man to expect her to drop everything the moment he arrived.
Olivia wanted to refuse, to suggest he make an appointment, since her schedule was fully booked.
She’d love to see his face if she did. He’d probably never had anyone refuse him anything. According to Carlo he’d always been the family favourite, the one who did no wrong, held up as a model to his younger brother.
A pity he hadn’t learned a little humility along the way.
Yet she found herself turning to Sonia. ‘I apologise for the interruption. But could you give us ten minutes?’
Sonia nodded. ‘Of course. We’ll go to the kitchen and grab a coffee. Call when you’re ready.’
The two women left the room. Only then did Alessandro snick the door closed and cross the inlaid marble floor.
Strange how different the room felt without the other women here. Despite the salon’s lofty ceilings, gilded antique furniture and vast space, it had seemed almost cosy as they chatted and worked on her wedding dress. Now the atmosphere chilled.
Maybe it was because of Alessandro’s continuing silence, or his purposeful stride. As if some weighty matter brought him here.
Despite her high heels Olivia had to tip her chin up to meet his stare. He stood so near she saw tiny grooves at the corners of his mouth. They seemed to carve deeper as she watched.
‘What can I do for you, Alessandro?’
It struck her suddenly that this was the first time they’d been alone together.
Olivia’s heartbeat throbbed faster, banging against her ribcage.
‘I have some news.’ He looked past her towards a priceless but uncomfortable sofa. ‘You might like to sit.’
Without thought she reached out and grabbed his sleeve. Her fingers clutched fine wool over reassuringly solid muscle and bone.
‘Is it my grandparents? Has something happened to them?’ They weren’t a close family and the old couple weren’t demonstrative in their affections, but they loved her in their own way. The thought of losing them made something inside her dip and heave.
‘No, no. Nothing like that. Everyone is well.’
He lifted his other hand, as if to cover hers, then dropped it to his side.
Instantly Olivia let him go. She felt the keep off vibes as clearly as if he’d held up a sign. She looked away, feeling foolish.
‘Come, you might as well be comfortable.’
‘I can’t. Not in this dress.’ A sweeping gesture encompassed the beautiful concoction. ‘I don’t dare wrinkle it.’
‘It can be ironed.’
Olivia didn’t bother to answer. The comment showed his complete lack of appreciation of the delicate materials and exquisite, handmade details. Or an absence of sympathy for the poor seamstress who’d have the onerous task of making it pristine again without damaging it.
‘I can stand and listen. What’s this news?’
For a beat of her pulse he said nothing. ‘Have you heard from Carlo lately?’
Olivia frowned. ‘Of course. We’re in regular contact.’ Not as regular as if they were lovers, counting the hours till their reunion, but they kept in touch. He was in the States, wrapping up some business for his brother and catching up with friends.
‘Today?’
Icy fingers gripped the back of her neck. ‘Is he okay? Has something happened to him?’
‘As far as I can tell he’s physically fine. But I’d suggest you check your messages.’ The glitter in Alessandro’s eyes and the way he spoke, as if through gritted teeth, amplified her disquiet.
There had been a message from Carlo earlier. It had gone to voicemail when she had her phone on silent during a meeting with the caterer. Since then there’d been one thing after another. She hadn’t had a chance to listen to it.
Olivia whirled away, the dress swishing around her. But her phone wasn’t here. It was in the next room with her clothes. She swung back, nerves stretching as she saw a pulse throb in Alessandro’s throat. A sense of urgency gripped her. Something momentous had happened.
‘Just tell me! What’s wrong?’
For an instant he hesitated, then Alessandro nodded.
‘Carlo has jilted you. He’s run off with another woman.’
