‘I Do’ for Revenge, page 1
Irish author ABBY GREEN ended a very glamorous career in film and TV—which really consisted of a lot of standing in the rain outside actors’ trailers—to pursue her love of romance. After she’d bombarded Harlequin with manuscripts, they kindly accepted one, and an author was born. She lives in Dublin, Ireland, and loves any excuse for distraction. Visit abby-green.com or email abbygreenauthor@gmail.com.
Books by Abby Green
A Ring for the Spaniard’s Revenge
His Housekeeper’s Twin Baby Confession
Heir for His Empire
Jet-Set Billionaires
Their One-Night Rio Reunion
Passionately Ever After...
The Kiss She Claimed from the Greek
Princess Brides for Royal Brothers
Mistaken as His Royal Bride
Hot Winter Escapes
Claimed by the Crown Prince
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.
‘I Do’ for Revenge
Abby Green
www.millsandboon.co.uk
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ISBN: 978-0-008-93599-3
‘I DO’ FOR REVENGE
© 2024 by Abby Green
Published in Great Britain 2024
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Enterprises ULC.
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As soon as he’d laid eyes on Flora Gavia again, something had pulsed back to life inside him.
A desire to engage again. Desire for a woman. Hunger.
The fact that it was her of all people was not entirely welcome, but Vittorio assured himself that even if she was up to something, he would be prepared.
A little voice reminded him that he’d felt something for her on the wedding day, when she’d appeared in that dress. He’d noticed her then. She’d made a mark, a mark that hadn’t been made before. Because he hadn’t noticed her previously. Or had deliberately chosen not to. Not wanting the distraction.
But now he was distracted. And he was going to do whatever it took to persuade her that he at least owed her sanctuary. As for anything more than that... He’d seen the way she blushed whenever he looked at her. They were both adults. If she was prepared to admit she felt the same chemistry as him, then perhaps this offer of sanctuary could become something much more mutually satisfying.
This is for Susan Drennan McGrath, aka Susie Q. She was right by my side during my quest for publication, encouraging and supporting me every step of the way, opening a bottle of bubbles to celebrate a rejection letter because it came with “notes”!
She never doubted I could succeed and 60+ books later, I still can’t quite believe that I have. But she was right. Friends like this are rare and I’m incredibly lucky. Thank you, Susie Q. <3
Contents
Cover
About the Author
Booklist
Title Page
Copyright
Note to Readers
Introduction
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Extract
About the Publisher
CHAPTER ONE
VITTORIO VITALE POURED himself a generous measure of whiskey. Irish. The best. He raised the glass to the view of Rome, bathed in early-afternoon golden sunlight. His domain. Finally. He took a sip of the golden drink and the liquid burnt a trail down his throat before settling in his belly, sending out a glow.
A glow of intense satisfaction. Today was the culmination of all of his—
He frowned when the buzzer on his desk sounded. He’d asked not to be disturbed under any circumstances.
Irritation needled over his skin. He pressed a button. ‘Tommaso, I specifically requested—’
‘Sorry, sir, I know. But...um...your—Wait a second! You can’t just—’
The door to Vito’s office swung open and a woman appeared on the threshold. His eyes widened. A woman in full wedding regalia. The white dress looked complicated and fussy, with a high neckline and long sleeves. Lace over lace. Stiff. Formal. The voluminous skirt filled the doorway.
Her face was bright pink. Hair sleek and pulled back. A veil was trailing from the top of her head. She clutched an extravagant bouquet in one hand; the flowers looked stiff. Even from here, Vito could see the whites of her knuckles.
His assistant appeared behind the woman. Vito sent him a look and said, ‘It’s fine, Tommaso.’
Vito put down his glass. He’d have to delay his celebration for a moment. He thought of the woman he’d arranged to meet later, one of Italy’s most beautiful models. Tall, willowy, long dark hair like silk. Stunning body. He really didn’t want this interruption to affect his plans.
But evidently he would have to deal with the woman he’d been due to marry, about two hours ago.
He flicked a glance at his watch and put out a hand. ‘Miss Gavia. Please, come in.’
Flora Gavia was so angry she could barely see straight. Had Vittorio Vitale just looked at his watch? As if she was inconveniencing him? The man who she’d waited for in the vestibule of the church for an hour? Before realising with sickening inevitability that he wasn’t coming?
The anger of her uncle was still palpable, his face mottled with rage—even more so after an aide had whispered something in his ear. He’d turned to Flora and screamed at her that it was all her fault, that everything was ruined. And just before he’d stormed off with his wife, her aunt, in tow, he’d said, ‘What little use you were to me is now gone. You’ve been nothing but a burden and a drain for fourteen years. You’re dead to me.’
In that moment, Flora had gone numb, putting her emotions on ice. It had been too huge to absorb that the people who had taken her in at just eight years old were effectively walking away from her, leaving her on her own.
But then something had broken through as the guests had filed out of the church whispering and staring at her—anger, at the man who’d done this to her. Vittorio Vitale.
And now she was here facing him and she was momentarily blinded by his sheer masculine beauty. Tall and broad. Powerfully muscular. He more resembled a prize athlete than a titan of industry. A billionaire.
Short, thick dark hair. Swept back from a high forehead. Bone structure that would make anyone weep with envy. Sharp blade of a nose. A hard jaw. And that mouth. When she’d first seen him she hadn’t been able to take her eyes off his mouth. Lush and tauntingly sexual.
Much to her shock—because she was extremely sexually inexperienced—she’d imagined him doing things to her with that mouth. And that had been so unsettling because no other man had ever made her think of such things, and the marriage between them wasn’t remotely based on romance. It was to be s
Flora blinked. The anger surged back and it was disconcerting. She didn’t get angry. She was generally well disposed to most people and situations, believing in good outcomes. And that people had good intentions. But in the case of Vittorio Vitale, it was blindingly obvious his intentions had been nefarious all along.
He didn’t even look guilty or remotely contrite. He looked almost...bored. Dressed in plain dark trousers and a white shirt. Top button open, sleeves rolled up.
Flora shook her bouquet at him, scattering petals on the floor. ‘You’re not even dressed for a wedding. You never intended on marrying me, did you?’ That fact was becoming painfully obvious.
He came around his desk and perched on the edge, crossing his feet at the ankles and putting his hands in his pockets. He couldn’t have looked more louche.
He said, ‘Truthfully? No. It wasn’t cold feet.’
She looked around the office, taking it in for the first time. It was at the top of a sleek modern building right in the historical centre of Rome, which was saying something about the influence of the person who’d built something like this here.
Floor-to-ceiling windows on two sides framed amazing views of the ancient city. The iconic shape of the Colosseum was just visible in the distance.
Flora dragged in a ragged breath. Her head was spinning. She looked at him again and this time tried not to notice how gorgeous he was. Feeling bewildered now, more than anything, she asked, ‘Why?’
Vittorio’s jaw clenched. He looked as if he wasn’t going to say a word. She bit out, ‘I think I have a right to know.’
Vittorio took his hands out of his pockets and folded his arms. ‘That’s fair enough. What did your uncle tell you?’
Flora swallowed and remembered the tirade he’d subjected her to. ‘Not much.’ He’d never told her anything really.
Vittorio frowned. ‘Are you aware that your uncle’s business is disintegrating as we speak?’
Flora’s gut clenched. Her uncle had seemed more preoccupied than usual lately. Her aunt even less civil. They’d stop talking as soon as she walked into a room and rudely ask her if she wanted anything. The fact that she’d agreed to a marriage of convenience at her uncle’s behest seemed to have been forgotten pretty quickly.
‘No, I wasn’t aware. I’m not privy to his business dealings.’
‘You were privy to this marriage arrangement, weren’t you? You were under no illusions. You knew you had a way out in six months if you wanted it. You had nothing to lose.’
She’d agreed to the marriage for lots of reason but also because there’d been the get-out clause after six months. She’d always felt indebted to her uncle for taking over her guardianship after her parents and younger brother had died, tragically. He’d put a roof over her head.
It hadn’t been perfect by any means, but she’d been able to stay with family, and in one of the most beautiful cities in the world.
Her uncle could have left her to an institution, or boarding schools.
But then he wouldn’t have had access to your trust fund, pointed out a little voice.
Flora reminded herself that he’d needed that money for her education and maintenance. To pay for the house staff to stay behind on holidays to watch her while they’d travelled around the world.
The fact that there was nothing left of her inheritance, according to her uncle, just showed how expensive it had been to take care of her. As he’d pointed out to her, this marriage was to be as much about protecting her future as for his benefit. He’d told her that he couldn’t live with himself if anything happened and he couldn’t provide for her or give her an inheritance. This marriage would protect them both.
She’d owed her uncle, for everything he’d done for her. But today that debt had ended in spectacular fashion.
‘You asked for the six-month get-out clause,’ Flora pointed out.
‘My insurance in case things didn’t go as planned, so I wouldn’t be caught out. Your uncle didn’t like it, but he didn’t have much choice.’
In case things didn’t go as planned.
Flora wasn’t sure what that meant. The acute embarrassment hit her again. The anger resurfaced.
‘How could you?’ she demanded emotionally. ‘How could you do something so heartless and cruel? Do you have any idea how it felt to stand there and wait? How humiliating?’
Vito looked at the woman before him. Something twisted a little in his gut. His conscience. So he did have one after all.
But then he felt something more disturbing. An awareness. Up to this point, because he’d known what he had planned, he hadn’t engaged much with Flora Gavia, seeing no point in acting out a charade of courtship. And she’d seemed happy that he’d kept his distance. The engagement had been short in any case, only a month from announcement to today.
So, he hadn’t really noticed her much, aided by the fact that she’d always seemed to hover on the edge of the room, or on the edge of a group, never planting herself in front of him, as most women did.
They’d had dinner together with her uncle and aunt, but her uncle had dominated the conversation. All Vito had had was an impression of Flora that she was quiet and a little mousy. Brownish hair. Brownish eyes. Pretty...but unremarkable.
But suddenly, here in his office, she was transformed. Maybe it was the dress, fussy as it was. Maybe it was make-up. Her hair was pulled back and sleek, showing off her face. She had high cheekbones. And her eyes were much bigger than he remembered and not a dull brownish at all, but a startling shade of gold and brown. Long lashes.
Her mouth was far more lush than he recalled. Lush enough to make him stare. To wonder how on earth he’d missed this before. An electric charge sizzled in his blood.
His gaze drifted down over the dress, where her breasts moved up and down with her agitated breath. They were high and full. Small waist. Shapely hips. A classic feminine figure and one she’d kept hidden under shapeless clothes before now.
Basically she’d never made an impression. He’d never wanted to look twice. But now he was looking. Twice.
She shook the bouquet at him again. ‘Well? Don’t you have anything to say?’
Vito dragged his gaze back up. Petals were strewn all over his floor. Her veil was askew, and then, as if realising that, she made a face and pulled it from her head, throwing it down. Her sleek chignon was coming loose and Vito had the absurd urge to go over and loosen it completely so that her hair fell down over her shoulders.
He’d never seen it down and the fact that he noticed, and, worse, had a desire to see it down, was very irritating.
She said, ‘Answer me. Please.’
Vito looked at her. There was a catch in her voice this time. His insides curdled. Was she going to cry? He went clammy at the thought, his head filled with unwelcome memories of his mother’s grief-ravaged face. Unwelcome memories of not being able to fix her pain.
But Flora didn’t look as if she was going to cry. She looked...confused.
Vito said, ‘You really didn’t know?’ He didn’t trust her as far as he could throw her. Clearly she was up to something, perhaps trying to salvage what she could out of the debacle unfolding for her uncle. He would play along for now.
She held up her hands, the bouquet beginning to look very frayed. ‘Know what?’
The sense of triumph Vito had been feeling only a short time before was still palpable. ‘As of today, coinciding with the wedding—’
‘You mean non-wedding,’ Flora pointed out.
Vito inclined his head. ‘However you’d like to describe it. As of today, your uncle’s business is in free fall and I now own most of his shares, enough to take control. He thought we were doing a deal. We weren’t. I was. To crush him.’
Flora looked even more confused. She started to pace, trampling the veil under her feet, the bouquet an extension of one hand as she gesticulated. ‘So what...? You’re saying it was just a corporate takeover? Then why would you need a convenient marriage and why the theatrics?’ She stopped and looked at him.
