Modern Romance April 2019 Books 5-8. Chantelle Shaw

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       CHAPTER SEVEN

      ‘TWICE IN ONE WEEK—lucky me,’ he murmured, crossing the marble floor of the foyer, his eyes fixed on Amelia diSalvo. As with the last time she’d come to his office in Madrid, she’d dressed to impress, this time in a pair of white trousers and a simple silk camisole top, pale blue in colour. Gold bangles covered one wrist, so many that they ran towards her elbows. Her skin had the hint of a tan and her face was sparingly made-up. He took his time studying her appearance, not least because he sensed her impatience and enjoyed provoking that reaction in her.

      ‘Antonio—’ her voice was clipped, her eyes cold with a silent warning ‘—can we speak?’

      He tilted his head in silent agreement and gestured with his hand towards his office. She shot him one last look, a wary appraisal and a warning all wrapped into one, and then she walked ahead of him, just like the last time she’d been here.

      As he passed his secretary he said, ‘Hold my calls. No interruptions.’

      ‘Yes, sir.’

      Yes, sir. That was the response he was accustomed to. He spoke and people listened. His suggestions were universally obeyed because his suggestions made sense. Because he knew what he was doing. Because he was Antonio Herrera.

      That seemed to hold little sway with Amelia, however. She didn’t wait on the threshold of his office this time. She pushed the door open and walked inside, so that when he joined her she was pouring two glasses of water.

      ‘I take it you’ve reconsidered my proposal,’ he murmured and she jerked her face towards his, her eyes zipping with resentment and anger.

      ‘I’ve reconsidered it and reconsidered it again a thousand times,’ she muttered. ‘In fact, right now I’m wondering what the hell I’m doing here.’

      He waited. There were times for arguing and convincing, and there were times for simply being silent and letting a person explain their mindset. This was a time for the latter.

      ‘If we were to get married...’ she said

      Something in his chest heaved with relief. No—not relief. It was a sense of victory that flared in his gut, because she was going to agree with his suggestion after all. This was her own version of Yes, sir.

      ‘I would have some rules.’

      ‘I see,’ he murmured, unconcerned. The war was about to be won—so what if there were final skirmishes? ‘Go on.’

      She nodded, but there was anxiety in her features. ‘This wouldn’t be a normal marriage,’ she said, a small frown creasing her brow. ‘We don’t like each other. We don’t even know each other. But if the whole purpose of it is to give our child a family, we’d have to...redress that.’

      He was silent.

      ‘I mean, we would need to get to know one another—make an effort to be civil.’

      That was simple enough. He nodded his agreement.

      Her eyes narrowed, and he saw something beyond her anxiety. A steeliness that he hadn’t expected.

      ‘And, to that end, you’d need to give up whatever you’re doing with Carlo’s business interests.’

      His eyes narrowed imperceptibly and danger whipped through the air. ‘I will not do that.’

      ‘Then I can’t marry you,’ she said firmly, crossing her arms over her chest in a classic gesture of rejection. ‘So we might as well start talking about custody.’

      He held a hand up, his nostrils flaring. ‘You would honestly be happy to give up without even trying?’

      He noticed the way his accusation landed; she winced, her face scrunching up, and she looked away from him. ‘I’m here, aren’t I?’

      A familiar rush of victory throbbed inside Antonio. ‘Yes.’

      ‘But I can’t marry a man who hates my brother and my father. They’re—’ her voice cracked unexpectedly ‘—they’re important to me.’

      He couldn’t help the snort of derision. ‘So much so you change your name and hide from them in England?’

      ‘I’m not hiding from them!’ she retorted swiftly. ‘I’m...living my own life. And is it any wonder? With men like you waiting for me as part of the diSalvo legacy?’

      He ground his teeth together, refusing to analyse why her words bothered him. ‘Fine. You love them. I hate them. That doesn’t matter.’ He slashed his hand through the air. ‘Our baby is separate to that.’

      Her expression was pure exasperation. ‘Our baby is separate to that? You can’t seriously—’

      ‘What?’ he demanded, waiting for her to finish her sentence.

      ‘You’re like a child,’ she snapped, lifting her fingertips to her temple and rubbing.

      He might have laughed were it not for how ludicrous her statement СКАЧАТЬ