Catherine Spencer - The Millionaire's Marriage.pdf - Catherine Spencer - SilverWitch

The MillionaireÔs Marriage

Catherine Spencer

CHAPTER ONE

ÑIÔVE left word that youÔre expected, if IÔm not home when you arrive, the concierge will let

you in.Ò

The words themselves were chillingly neutral but, even alter all this time and despite

everything, MaxÔs husky baritone still had the power to make her break out in goose bumps.

Holding the phone away from her mouth so that he couldnÔt hear how ragged her breathing

had become, Gabriella fought the urge to beg him to be there himself to greet her and,

matching his tone the best way she knew how, said, ÑIs it still Howard?Ò

ÑIÔm surprised you remember, given the number of doormen who must have crossed your path

in the last two years.Ò

He made it sound as if she earned a living paying illicit visits to married menÔs hotel rooms!

ÑThere are few things about my life with you that IÔve forgotten, Max,Ò she said stiffly.

ÑHoward was one of the more pleasant aspects. It will be nice to see him again and know

thereÔs at least one friendly face in the building unless, of course, youÔve poisoned his mind

against me.Ò

ÑHardly,Ò her estranged husband replied. ÑYour name rarely comes up in conversation, and then

only in passing.Ò

Though there was little doubt he was being his usual brutally direct self, even more

regrettable was the fact that the truth should hurt so much. ÑAre you quite sure we can pull

this off?Ò she said. ÑTwo weeks of facing each other across the table at meal times might not

be a long time in the cosmic scheme of things, but I suspect itÔll seem an eternity when it

comes to living them second by second.Ò

ÑI can manage it, if you can. And I have no doubt that you can. It will be, after all, a lot like

your life a charade. And letÔs face it, Gabriella, youÔve always shown a talent for pretending.

No doubt that explains your phenomenal latter day success as a model. How else do all those

glossy fashion magazines feature you as dewy virgin bride one day, sultry seductress the next,

and beach bunny yet another?Ò

SheÔd made up her mind she wouldnÔt get drawn into the retaliation game, no matter how he

might try to provoke her, but his scornful dismissal of the success sheÔd worked so hard to

achieve spurred her to respond, ÑWhy, Max, I had no idea you followed my career so closely!Ò

ÑI donÔt,Ò he said crushingly, Ñbut IÔd have to be brain dead not to recognize that, technically

at least, IÔm married to the most famous face in North America and possibly the world. Given

your unquestionable versatility when it comes to make-believe, plus the fact that youÔre an

accomplished liar, IÔm sure you can pull off the image of contented wife for a couple of weeks,

especially since you have so much at stake and I plan to make myself as scarce Óas possible

most of the time. All itÔll take is a little civility in public, a few harmless demonstrations of

affection. WeÔve been married over two years, Gabriella. Your parents arenÔt going to expect

us to act like besotted honeymooners.Ò

ÑWhich is just as well, since a honeymoonÔs one thing IÔve never had the pleasure of

experiencing.Ò

But she knew about heartbreak, and loneliness, and rejection. She knew how it felt to be a

bride standing beside a groom who, when he looked at her at all, did so with a blank

indifference touched with loathing. She knew what it was like to lie alone in the big marriage

bed while her husband slept in the guest room a pain only slightly less unbearable than the few

times when primitive need had driven him to come silently to her in the night then, when his

hunger was appeased, just as silently leave her again.

She knew what it was like to be married to a man who hated her all the more because, once in

a very rare while, he couldnÔt resist her.

ÑGabriella? Did you hear what I just said?Ò

Startled by his unabashed impatience, she jerked her attention back to the present. ÑUrn...

not exactly.Ò

ÑI asked what time they land in Vancouver.Ò

They her aged parents who thought their only surviving child was blissfully happy with the

grandson of a man they revered more than God! What if they saw past the subterfuge so

carefully constructed for their benefit? What if her world-famous smile cracked, and she

couldnÔt disguise the misery?

Suddenly, when it was too late to change anything, she wondered why sheÔd ever encouraged

them to leave their native Hungary and visit Canada or why she thought she could pull off such

a monumental deception. ÑThree oÔclock tomorrow.Ò

ÑAnd youÔre in Los Angeles now?Ò

ÑYes. I stayed with a friend last night but IÔm flying out at ten. I expect to be at the

penthouse by early after noon.Ò

ÑThat should leave you enough time to unpack and reacquaint yourself with the place. And

while I think of it, you might want to pick up a few supplies. The stuff in the refrigeratorÔs

pretty basic and unlikely to measure up to your gourmet standards.Ò

Why did he do that? she wondered. Why imply that she was impossible to please and

needlessly extravagant? Whatever else sheÔd contributed to the failure of their marriage,

overspending his money was not on the list, for all that heÔd been convinced his bank account

was what had made her chase him to the altar.

But taking issue with him now would lead only to more acrimony and she already had enough to

handle. ÑGrocery shoppingÔs at the top of my list of things to do,Ò she said, then waited, hoping

heÔd volunteer the information she most needed to learn, and so spare her having to be the

one to raise a topic he surely hadnÔt overlooked.

Once again, though, he disappointed her and with obvious relief said, ÑI guess thatÔs it, then.

If I donÔt see you today, IÔll catch up with you tomorrow at breakfast.Ò

ÑBefore you go, Max...Ò

ÑNow what?Ò There it was again, the weary impatience she so easily inspired in him.

ÑWhere am I? I mean.. .um, which room is mine?Ò So clearly taken aback by the question that

she could practically feel his incredulous stare zinging down the phone line, he let a full thirty

seconds of silence elapse before replying, ÑI thought the whole idea here is to convince your

parents weÔre still happily married, despite what the tabloids say.Ò

ÑIt is.Ò

ÑThen which room do you suppose, Gabriella?Ò

Feeling like a none-too-bright child being asked to put two and two together and come up with

four, she muttered, ÑThe master Suite?Ò

ÑBingo! And since all my stuff fits easily into one closet, I hope youÔre bringing enough clothes

to fill the other, unless you want it to be patently obvious that, like your parents, youÔre

merely visiting. I donÔt imagine, given your extensive wardrobe, thatÔs a problem?Ò

ÑNone at Óall,Ò she said, recovering a trace of the haughty composure that had made her an

overnight sensation as a model. ÑI have three large suitcases packed and waiting.Ò

ÑIÔm delighted to hear it. Any more questions?Ò

Indeed yes! But nothing would persuade her to come right out and ask, Will we be sharing the

same bed?

SheÔd find out the answer to that soon enough!

SheÔd grown up in a palace a small one, to be sure and rather shabby around the edges, but a

palace nonetheless. The Tokyo apartment sheÔd bought eighteen months ago, when she left

Max, was small but exquisite. Her most recent acquisition, a house with a lovely little walled

gar den on the outskirts of Rome, was a gem of seventeenth century elegance.

Still, as she stepped out of the private elevator on the twenty-first floor and stood under the

hand-painted dome in the vestibule, the magnificence of MaxÔs two-story penthouse took her

breath away, just as it had the first time sheÔd set foot on its hand-set marble floor.

Leaving her luggage and the sacks of groceries in the foyer, she crossed the vast living room

to the right of the winding staircase and slid back the glass doors to the terrace. Tubs of

bougainvillea, hibiscus and tibouchina in full flower lent splashes of exotic color to the

sprawling rooftop garden. Yellow roses climbed up the south wall. Miniature clematis with

flowers the size of bumblebees rambled along the deep eaves. The raised swimming pool and

hot tub shimmered in the drowsy heat of the late June afternoon. People who didnÔt know her

real reason for taking up residence here again could be forgiven for thinking sheÔd entered

paradise.

Beyond the parapet, the Vancouver skyline showed itself off in all its summer glory. Sunlight

bounced off the glass walls of newly built office towers. Sailboats drifted on the calm waters

of Georgia Strait. The graceful arc of the LionÔs Gate Bridge rose from the green expanse of

Stanley Park to span the First Narrows as far as the North Shore where snow-kissed

mountain tips reared up against the deep blue sky.

It had been just such a day that sheÔd come here as a bride, with the air so hot and still that

the tears she couldnÔt keep in check had dried on her cheeks almost as fast as theyÔd fallen.

SheÔd been married all of forty-eight hours, and already knew how deeply her husband

resented her. SheÔd stood in this very spot, long after sunset, and prayed for the hundredth

time that she could make him love her. Or, if that was asking too much, that she could stop

loving him.

Her prayers had gone unanswered on both counts, and remembering the weeks which had

followed left her misty-eyed all over again.

Annoyed to find herself so soon falling back into old, bad habits, she gave herself a mental

shake and returned to the cool, high-ceilinged living room. Like the city, it, too, had undergone

some change, not by new additions but by the complete removal of anything that might have

reminded Max of her.

ÑDo what you like with it. I donÔt care,Ò heÔd flung at her when, as a bride, sheÔd suggested

softening the austerity of the decor with various wedding gifts and dowry items sheÔd

brought with her from Hungary lovely things like the antique tulip lamp, hunting prints and

painted wall clock handed down from her grandparents, and the brass trivets and finely

stitched linens from her godmother, all of which sheÔd left behind when she fled the marriage.

Now, the cherry wood accent pieces Max had chosen before be met her provided the only

contrast to the oyster white couches, carpets, walls and deep, carved moldings. Even the

classic fireplace, swept scrupulously clean of ashes, looked incapable of warmth. He had

erased every trace of her from his home as thoroughly as heÔd erased her from his life and,

while some might admire the severe elegance of the room, without the reminders of her child

hood home and family, Gabriella found it cold and hostile.

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