Scandal and the Runaway Bride Read online

  But she also reminded herself that Will had his own agenda, which was about what was good for Aurora, Inc. She forgot that at her peril.

  “All right.” She sat up straighter, encouraged when William grabbed a nearby chair and pulled it over closer to her. At least he wasn’t going to stand over her in a very obvious position of power. Power which, of course, he had. She’d lost her only bargaining chip to save her family.

  A maid approached, carrying a tray with wineglasses and a chilled bottle. With a small smile she set the tray on the little table. William nodded and smiled at her. “Thank you, Angeline. I can pour for us.”

  Gabi had no doubt the wine would be excellent, and she was of two minds about the motivation behind it. William might be trying to broach his topic in a convivial manner. Or he might be lulling her into thinking that, using it to his advantage. Either way, she was on her guard.

  He handed her the glass, touched the rim with his own and said a quiet, “Cheers.”

  She sipped, enjoying the taste of the liquid on her tongue. “Grazie,” she said softly. “It’s very good.”

  “You don’t speak Italian much.”

  She smiled. “I do when I’m angry. And with family. But business...that’s mostly in English.”

  “You’ve been working for the family business for some time now.”

  She sipped again, and then casually responded, “As have you.”

  “Did you always want to?”

  How could she answer that? Truthfully, no. She hadn’t grown up with this burning desire to take over her father’s business. In fact, the agreement with Stephen had benefited her as well as her father. With Baresi under the Aurora, Inc., umbrella, she would have been free to move on once their marriage ended, if she wanted to. Now she was going to be responsible for the company whether she liked it or not.

  She shifted uncomfortably.

  “It’s a big world,” she finally answered. “But I also love my family and it’s a good job.”

  “But not your calling.”

  She sighed. “You’re talking about something different, a vocation, yes? A higher purpose?” A frown tipped her lips downward. “I don’t know. Running the company has never been a driving force for me.”

  “If you could do anything, what would it be?”

  She met his gaze. “I don’t know. I figured that if I found it, I’d know.”

  He nodded, his brows pulling together. “I think we might be more similar than we thought,” he murmured. “Both of us love our families. We’re in the family business. And yet we wonder if there’s something more.”

  “There’s not for me, not right now, and that’s okay.” She figured she might as well be honest, just in case Stephen hadn’t given him all the particulars. “My papa...he’s very ill. The doctors say the survival rate is promising, but the treatments...without him, Baresi can’t survive. He is Baresi. Now that I’ve messed everything up, I’m going to have to go home once this PR nightmare is over and do my best to keep it alive until he returns.” She swallowed against the lump in her throat. She refused to think the words if he returns.

  William’s keen gaze locked on her face. “Maybe that’s a way to ease out of the engagement publicly. Say that you’ve returned home to care for the family business while your father is ill.”

  “It would tie it up neatly, but no. I’m not using my papa as a...what’s the word? A scapegoat.”

  His eyes glowed. “Damn, Gabi. That made me like you a little bit.”

  She laughed in response, because it was so unexpected. “You didn’t like me before?”

  “I didn’t know you. I just had impressions and what Stephen told me. But I’m forming my own opinion. As much as you’ve landed us in this mess, I cannot argue with your principles.” His lips turned up in a smile. “Just your timing.”

  “I’m so glad my principles measure up,” she replied. And took a healthy sip of wine, because the twinkle in William’s eyes made her think they had somehow made the switch to flirting. How could she be doing that a mere twenty-four hours after fleeing the Chatsworth chapel? And when they didn’t trust each other?

  His phone buzzed and she watched as he leaned forward and removed it from his pocket, then swiped his finger over the screen to unlock it. His smile turned to a frown and he sighed. “I asked my assistant to keep me updated on what’s happening online.”

  He handed her the phone so she could see. His assistant, whoever she was, had included links. So many that Gabi had to scroll with her finger—twice—to see them all.

  “So many,” she whispered.

  “It’ll go from here to some of the tabloids by tomorrow, I think. And within a week or so it’ll quiet. We have to outlast the news cycle, and not create a new one.”

  “It’s a lot. But I’m a nobody. Why is anyone interested?”

  “Because Stephen is an earl and because our mother is Aurora Germain. She’s known all over the world.”

  “She must hate me right now.”

  “Not hate. My mother doesn’t hate people. But I can guarantee she’s not happy.”

  “Should I talk to her?” It was the last thing she wanted to do, but she’d been the one to make the mess. She should be the one to reach out. Even if the thought made her the teensiest bit sick to her stomach.

  “Not now.” He took the phone back and tucked it away. “Listen, look at this week as a vacation. The château is lovely and you have the run of it and the gardens. The library is packed with books. There’s a theater room with a huge movie selection. This’ll be over before you know it.”

  And she’d be bored to tears. But as consequences went, she couldn’t complain. There were so many worse things than boredom.

  So why did she feel like crying all of a sudden?

  She looked away and sniffed, tried to keep her lower lip from wobbling. She wasn’t a crier and she definitely didn’t want to lose her grip in front of William, especially since she’d broken down briefly yesterday. And yet somehow the urge would not go away. A tear trembled on her lashes and snuck down her cheek.

  “Gabi?” His voice was hesitant, surprised. “What’s wrong?”

  How could she explain? There were so many emotions roiling around inside her she didn’t know where to start.

  She sniffed again, but it was no use. Now that she’d started, she had the feeling she was going to have to cry it out and get it out of her system.

  “What is it?” he said gently, and he put his hand over hers on the wicker armrest.

  His fingers were warm and strong as they enveloped hers, and another emotion bloomed in her chest, adding on to the complicated feelings she was already battling. Oh, he shouldn’t be nice to her. This wouldn’t do at all. She had to keep the wall between them standing strong.

  “I’m fine,” she tried, and sniffed again. Why wouldn’t her nose stop running?

  He took his hand away, much to her relief, but it was short-lived as a moment later he held out a handkerchief.

  She dabbed her eyes and nose and laughed a little. “Seriously? I didn’t think men carried these anymore.”

  “Maman always insisted we have one for emergencies. It stuck. Comes in handy for damsels in distress, too.”

  She dabbed again and met his gaze. Her eyes must be red now and the tip of her nose, too, but she didn’t care. “Despite all appearances to the contrary, I do not need to be rescued.”

  “Good. I’m glad.” He put his hands on his knees. “It means you’re made of strong stuff. Stiff upper lip and all that.”

  She chuckled. He sounded so perfectly English in that moment.

  “Here,” he suggested, and topped up her glass. “Take an hour and let yourself feel what you need to. Drink wine. Soak in the garden. I’m sure you’ve got some thinking to do. And when you’re ready, come find me. We can talk about what comes next.”


  He got up from the chair and prepared to leave.

  “William?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Why are you being so nice to me?”

  His hazel gaze locked with hers, and that strange feeling came over her again. Ugh! If only she could have felt like this when Stephen looked at her, she wouldn’t be in this predicament!

  “Because being a jerk rarely accomplishes anything. And because you nearly went through with a fake marriage to save your family. That’s brave. So was walking away from it. Don’t get me wrong, I was furious yesterday. It’s a hell of a mess to try to control, but I don’t think you did it maliciously. You’ve got a strong character, Gabi, and I respect that a lot.”

  She was pretty sure her mouth was hanging open at this point. “I...thank you. I don’t really know how to respond to that. Except that I’m so glad you understand why I did what I did. I’m so sorry I’ve caused so much trouble.”

  “Stephen bears some of the blame, too,” William replied. “And I’ve told him so. He didn’t like it.”

  She laughed again despite herself. “No, he wouldn’t. He’s stubborn.” She sighed. “I’ve probably ruined any friendship we had. I regret that. Your brother is a very good man. There just weren’t any—”

  She stopped abruptly. There was no way she was going to talk about sexual attraction with William. Not considering the way her pulse leaped every time he appeared.

  “Sparks? Fireworks?” he filled in for her.

  Her cheeks, which she imagined were already pink from crying, heated.

  William laughed, presumably at her discomfiture. “No need to be shy now. And to be honest, I’m kind of glad to hear it.” He stepped away. “Enjoy your afternoon, Gabi.”

  He turned and walked back on the cobbles, his shoes echoing through the peaceful afternoon. She watched him go, let out a breath that she hoped would calm the beating of her heart. What had he meant just now, that he was glad to hear it?

  Why would he be happy there’d never been any chemistry between her and his brother?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  BY WEDNESDAY, GABI was going crazy. She’d read three books, watched two movies, wandered the gardens, slept, ate delicious food and drank excellent wine. For the first day, it was lovely—as William had said, it was a vacation of sorts. And who didn’t want that? But on Tuesday she’d found herself restless. And by Wednesday afternoon, she was ready for a change of scenery. Not that the château staff wasn’t lovely; they were. But she’d hardly seen William, either. Once a day they had a meal together, but he spent a lot of time in a downstairs office, working remotely.

  While she had no purpose at all beyond staying out of sight. And presumably out of mind, too.

  This morning she’d popped down to the kitchens to ask a favor, since she wasn’t allowed to go into the nearby town. She’d given a simple shopping list to the cook and now she was heading downstairs to whip up her own dinner. She needed to do something with her hands and to keep her mind occupied, and cooking was just the thing. She needed a taste of...home.

  She was homesick. She missed her apartment in Perugia, family meals at the villa, even the Baresi offices where she did most of her work. But most of all she missed Mama and Papa, and their ready smiles and hugs. Right now her papa was preparing for surgery followed by chemotherapy. And she was stuck here, unable to go to him or even tell him what was happening. She was lying. And if anything happened to him and the lie stood between them...

  The kitchen was quiet when she entered, and she found the ingredients she’d asked for in the massive refrigerator. Before she began, she opened the bottle of wine that she’d placed in the fridge earlier. Since William had said she could have full run of the château, she’d made a trip to the wine cellar and had been delighted to find an Orvieto that looked to do the trick. A little taste of home.

  The first thing she did was put an apron on over her jeans and top. Even though she’d dressed casually, her first job had the potential to be a messy one. She rinsed the cherries and put them in a bowl, and then went to work pitting and slicing them in half. Juice stained her fingers and now and then one of the cherries would squirt as she removed the pit. She popped one in her mouth at the end, then put red wine, sugar and orange zest in a pan to heat. Poached cherries was one of her favorite desserts growing up, and so very simple to make.

  Once that was on the go and set aside, she turned to her vegetables.

  Vignole was something she remembered from childhood, particularly when spring came and everything was fresh and new. The tension started to unwind in Gabi’s body as she prepared the artichokes, leeks, peas and fava beans. Garlic and onion went into the pot, and broth, and then the artichokes.

  There would be far more than she would be able to eat, but she didn’t care. This felt right. And it felt, in some small way, like something she could control when everything else was out of control. She raised her glass in a toast to herself and took a long, revivifying drink.

  As everything bubbled and aromas rose in the air around her, she drizzled honey into a bowl of mascarpone, to go on top of the cherries. Her mouth watered just thinking about it.

  “Hullo! Madame Gosselin...” Gabi turned as William entered the kitchen, releasing a torrent of French that she didn’t understand.

  “Oh,” he said, breaking off midsentence and staring. “I didn’t know you were in here. I was looking for Madame Gosselin.”

  “She gave me use of her kitchen,” Gabi said softly.

  “I see that. You cook.”

  “Of course. If I didn’t cook, I’d starve.” She laughed a little. “I needed something to do, and I was missing home and my mama’s cooking. So here I am.”

  He relaxed and came farther into the kitchen. “What are you making? It smells amazing.”

  “Vignole—it’s a vegetable stew. Nothing heavy. Lots of vegetables and broth and a little pancetta. There’s fresh bread from this morning.”

  He leaned over the pot and inhaled the steam. “Mmm. And what’s in here?”

  She reached for the copper pot and took it off the burner. “Poached cherries to serve with a bowl of mascarpone cream for dessert.”

  “A feast,” he said, and smiled at her.

  Oh, no. Not the smile again. This was why it was good he’d hidden away in the office for the past few days. Every time he smiled at her she forgot who she was for a brief second, and who he was, and why this was so very inadvisable. If a runaway bride was a mess, this situation would be catastrophic.

  So it made absolutely no sense that she smiled in return and said, “There’s plenty for both of us, if you’d like dinner.”

  “I’d like that. Don’t tell Madame Gosselin, but my tastes are a little more simple than what she puts together.”

  “Surely you had your share of French food growing up.” She waved a hand, gesturing to nothing in particular in the kitchen. “Between here and Paris.”

  “Yes, but I also lived in England a good part of the year. And the family has properties all over.”

  She stirred the stew and he came up behind her and looked over her shoulder into the pot. She was startled at having him so near; she could smell his cologne and the lighter fragrance in his hair from his shampoo. Unsettled, she moved away so she could slice the bread.

  “So what’s your favorite meal in the world?” he asked. “If you could have absolutely anything?”

  She thought for a moment, her hand paused on the bread loaf. “There’s a restaurant in Perugia that I adore. My parents took me there for my eighteenth birthday and now I go every year. They make the most amazing pasta with a butter truffle sauce. Every time I go I swear I’m going to have something different, but then... I always go back to it.”

  “Mmm...sounds delicious.”

  “What’s yours?”

  “When I was in uni, there was a c
urry takeaway just around the corner from our flat. I’d eat anything from there any day of the week.” He frowned. “I don’t even know if it’s still there.”

  “You should go back and find out.” She grinned at him and put down the knife. “And you surprise me. I expected something elaborate and fancy.”

  “Not me. If I can’t have that, I’ll take a traditional English breakfast all the way. I get that from my father.”

  “You miss him.” She’d been reaching for the olive oil, but she hesitated and met his gaze evenly. “I really am sorry.”

  “None of us expected it. He was only in his early sixties, you know? He should have had more time.”

  She swallowed thickly. At twenty-eight, she was the oldest. Giulia was only twenty-one. Her father was only fifty-four. What if he didn’t make it? She bit down on her lip and remained silent.

  “You said your father’s prognosis is good. You need to hold on to that.”

  It surprised her that he’d guessed the path of her thoughts. “I know, but there’s always that other number that sneaks up and reminds you that not everyone is lucky. The business aside, I don’t know what we’d do without him.”

  William came around the table where she was working and took her hands. “When is his surgery?”

  “Next week. Stephen and I were going to stop for a few days on our way home from Malta, but now...” She tried not to think about him touching her, but her fingers tingled from the contact. Oh, this would not do at all...

  A strong finger tilted up her chin. “Now you’re not in Malta. But I’ll do what I can to get you home so you can be there, for him and for your family. Will you let me arrange it?”