Falling for Her Convenient Groom Read online

  “Carla, are you all right?” Gianna stared at her with worry reflected in her eyes. “You suddenly look pale.”

  “I, uh—” She struggled to string two words together. “I just need some water. It’s a bit warm in here.”

  Gianna hesitated as though she were going to press the point, but then she kindly moved away to retrieve a glass of water.

  Carla knew she had to get a grip on her nerves. This marriage was in the best interests of everyone, including her stubborn father—most especially her father. If it wasn’t for him and his risky behavior, she wouldn’t even be considering getting married at this stage in her life.

  She told herself that everything was going to be all right. She just had to get through today and then life would return to normal. With the marriage behind them, she’d be able to focus on business instead of constantly worrying that her father was overdoing it.

  Yes, that’s what she’d focus on as she looked through the selection of wedding dresses. This was just a job. Nothing more. She just had to stay focused on the end result—her father would be able to retire and feel reassured that his beloved company was in her safe hands.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  IT WASN’T TOO LATE.

  There was still time to escape.

  Franco wore a crisp white shirt and black tie with his tux as he stood by the lakeside, waiting for his bride. His bride. The words echoed in his mind as his palms grew damp and his stomach churned. His gaze strayed to the car sitting off to the side of the villa. All he had to do was jump inside and head for freedom. But his feet felt as though they’d been cast in cement.

  Part of his mind said that this was the price he’d have to pay to prove to his grandfather and everyone else at the company that he was capable and willing to fully step into the CEO role. He couldn’t let a marriage certificate chase him away from fulfilling his dream because he had heard his grandfather mutter something about selling the company.

  Running Marchello Spices had been all he could think of since he was young. Perhaps it was a goal that distracted him from the fact that he rarely saw his mother, who was always off with a new husband spending time at the beach in some far-flung country. Or the fact that his father was never around. It was so much easier to focus on something that was more in his control.

  And so as a child he’d accompanied his grandfather to the office as often as he would allow him. Franco recalled what it was like being able to go into the CEO’s office. And then when he’d been able to sit in his grandfather’s seat, he thought he was such big stuff.

  He’d wanted to be just like his grandfather when he grew up. He wanted to run the family business and make his grandfather proud of him. And now it was all at his fingertips.

  He just had to get through these next few minutes. He’d swear his knees were shaking. He’d glance down and check, but he was frozen in place. He’d never been more nervous in his life. He couldn’t imagine what he’d be like if this was a real wedding with real expectations of abiding love for now and forever.

  Cold fingertips of apprehension worked their way down his spine. His heart began to beat wildly. His breathing came in one shallow gasp after the other. Was he having a heart attack? Yes, that must be it. He tugged at his too-tight shirt collar. He was certain of it.

  He shouldn’t do this.

  He couldn’t do this.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, gather round,” Dario said. “You’ve all been invited here for a surprise wedding.”

  There was a round of oohs and aahs.

  And then the wedding music began to play. This was his last moment to escape a marriage that would cause nothing but pain to both of them. Or stand here and solidify his company. His mind told him to leave—quickly. There had to be another way—a better way—to keep the business intact and not to lose his seat as CEO.

  And then Carla stepped onto the patio. In slow, measured steps, she headed toward him. Her steady gaze met and held his. The longer he stared into her eyes, the calmer he felt. His breathing slowed, and his heartbeat resumed its normal rhythm.

  Carlo Falco stepped in front of his daughter, impeding her progress. Oh boy, what was going to happen next? The breath stilled in Franco’s lungs as he watched.

  “You aren’t going to marry him.” Carlo gave the word him an offensive sound.

  “I am.” Carla’s voice was firm.

  Franco inwardly cheered her on.

  Still, Carlo didn’t move as father and daughter continued to glare at each other.

  Franco loudly cleared his throat, hoping to distract them from the inevitable argument. It appeared to work when Carla stepped around her father.

  Her gaze reconnected with Franco’s as she approached him. He wanted to tell her how proud he was of her for standing up to her father. He knew it couldn’t have been easy for her.

  Franco sent her a reassuring smile, because suddenly this wasn’t all about him and what he was risking. It was about helping Carla break free of the hold her father appeared to have over her.

  And as long as Carla was by his side, he could get through this—they’d do it together. Finally, he was able to think clearly. He took a moment to really look at his bride. She stole his breath. She wore a long lacy gown that gave a peek at her crystal-studded heels. The gown gathered around her slender waist.

  The fitted bodice was decorated with crystals that sparkled in the sunlight. It was held up by two thin straps. Her hair had been pulled up and studded with little white flowers.

  But it was the smile on her beautiful face that pulled it all together. She was smiling directly at him. It filled his chest with warmth and a feeling he’d never experienced before.

  * * *

  She couldn’t believe she was still walking.

  Her knees felt like gelatin, and her ankles were wobbly.

  Carla’s heart had launched into her throat when her father had stepped in front of her. Anger had flashed in his eyes. She’d thought for sure he was going to make a scene, but then someone had cleared their throat as though reminding them that they had an avid audience. Her father may have refrained from making a public scene, but she knew it wasn’t over.

  She pushed thoughts of her father to the back of her mind as she continued marching toward her destiny. This really felt like a genuine wedding. It definitely wasn’t the simple legal arrangement she’d envisioned. Franco had arranged for a truly authentic wedding including a white lace wedding gown. Oh, and let’s not forget the flowers. They were gorgeous plum and blush peonies with greenery to accent the bouquet.

  With all the attention to detail that had been put into the day, she was beginning to think there was a whole other side to her soon-to-be husband than she’d originally imagined. The next several months might not be the utter drudgery she’d been imagining.

  When she neared her intended groom, she noticed that he cleaned up quite well. He wore a black tux with a black necktie and a crisp white shirt. It looked very sharp on him. He’d shaved, and his hair was still damp from a shower.

  She could scarcely believe this was really happening—a wedding born out of desperation for the two things she loved most—her beloved father and the restaurants where she’d spent so much of her childhood. Because if she didn’t make this big sacrifice today, there was a great possibility she’d lose both of them. And that couldn’t happen—she wouldn’t let it happen.

  The longer she stared into Franco’s dark, mesmerizing eyes, the more solid her steps became. This was going to work out. She’d picked the right partner. Franco wanted this business deal to succeed as much as she did.

  As for that rap-a-tapping of her heart, well, that was just nerves. Pure and simple. Because there was no way the best man from her cousin’s wedding had gotten past the carefully laid wall around her tattered heart.

  She’d already let one man get close, only to find that she coul
dn’t trust him, and he’d shattered more than just her heart—he’d stolen away her trust, not only in men but in her own judgment. But she wouldn’t have that problem with Franco. Her heart wouldn’t be on the line.

  She continued toward him. She was almost there. She could feel his unease with this whole arrangement. She could totally sympathize.

  Just a little longer. Soon it will be over.

  And then she stopped in front of him. Could he hear the pounding of her heart?

  “Join hands,” the minister said.

  Before she could utter a word, Franco took her hands in his own. It was only once his steady grip held her fingers that she noticed the slight tremor in her hands. Okay, so she was a little more nervous than she’d been willing to admit.

  And then the minister started a traditional service. There was way too much reference to love going on—way too much. She felt like a total fraud. She needed to do something—say something. If the minister kept talking about how their lives would forever be intertwined, she was never going to make it through the wedding.

  Before she could utter a word, Franco leaned over and whispered to the minister, “Could we just skip to the important part?”

  The minister sent him a knowing smile, as though this wasn’t the first time a couple had been anxious to rush to vows. Only Carla was certain the other couples’ haste hadn’t been because the mention of love and forever while marrying someone they weren’t romantically linked with made them uncomfortable.

  “Do you, Franco Giuseppe Marchello, take Carla Elana Falco to be your wife?”

  There was a pause. Carla’s gaze rose to meet his. She immediately saw his indecision. No. No. We’ve come too far for you to back out now.

  “Franco,” prompted the minister.

  Her gaze flickered to the minister, whose attention was fully focused on her intended. She turned back to Franco. His gaze was downcast. What was he doing? Wasn’t it too late to reconsider this marriage?

  She squeezed his hand, hoping to jar him back to reality. His head immediately lifted. When his gaze met hers, she looked at him expectedly.

  “I do.” His response was faint.

  The minister smiled and nodded. He turned to her. In a calm, steady voice, the minister said, “Do you, Carla Elana Falco, take Franco Giuseppe Marchello to be your husband?”

  Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. This was it. This was the final part. All she had to do was utter two little words. It’d seemed so simple when Franco had to do it. But now that it was her turn and all eyes were on her, she suddenly realized the enormity of saying I do and how it would have an enormous impact on her life—every single aspect of her life was about to change.

  Franco squeezed her hand just as she had done for him. Her eyes rose to meet his. And in his intent gaze was the expectation that she would follow his lead and seal the deal. After all, this had been her idea in the first place.

  She swallowed hard and couldn’t help but wonder if this was going to be the biggest mistake of her life. And then she uttered in a strangled voice, “I do.”

  Relief reflected in Franco’s dark eyes. Apparently he didn’t want to be left standing at the altar. They turned to the minister, who said a few words and then declared them husband and wife.

  “You may kiss the bride.” The minister beamed at them.

  Oh no! How could she have forgotten about this part? Because there was no way that they were going to seal this business deal with a kiss. That was simply above and beyond their agreement. Surely Franco would agree. After all, it wasn’t like he was into her.

  She turned to Franco to tell him that they could skip this part. Her gaze flickered to his. She could read the look in his eyes. It was one of desire. He was going to kiss her. Her pulse raced with anticipation. This shouldn’t happen, but there was a part of her that had always wondered what it’d be like to be kissed by him.

  His hands spanned her waist. As he drew her nearer, it was only natural for her to reach out to him, placing her hands on his broad shoulders to maintain her balance. Because there was no way she would voluntarily reach out to him—wanting to feel his powerful muscles beneath her fingertips.

  And then, as though there was a magnetic force drawing them together, she felt her body lean toward his. She felt helpless to resist the attraction. Her heart pitter-pattered faster, harder. It echoed in her ears.

  As though time were suspended, everything moved in slow motion. Her husband was about to kiss her. She was married. Married. The word echoed in her mind.

  In the next millisecond, she pressed against his hard, muscular chest. Oh my! The air stilled in her lungs. The initial protest evaporated.

  The touch of his lips to hers settled her frantic thoughts, allowing her to focus on him and her—on this dizzying, delicious kiss. His touch was warm and firm. His lips moved slowly over hers. A moan swelled in her throat. No first kiss was supposed to be this good—this addictive.

  She gave herself up to the moment. She leaned fully into his embrace, giving herself to him. Her lips began to move beneath his. Because she wasn’t going to turn away from this most amazing experience. She never wanted this wondrous sensation to end—

  Someone cleared their throat.

  Carla was immediately jerked out of the trancelike state she’d been in. Her feet came crashing back down to earth. She jumped back. Heat rushed up her neck and set her cheeks aflame. Well, if she’d wanted to convince her father that this marriage was real, that should have done it.

  She didn’t dare look at her new husband. She didn’t want him to see how his kiss had warmed her cheeks and shaken her to the core. Because none of this was real. The marriage wasn’t real. This wedding wasn’t real. And that kiss hadn’t been real.

  Sure, it had all happened, but it was all a show. She just couldn’t get caught up in their playacting. And it was all her father’s fault. If he wasn’t such a stubborn man. If he wasn’t willing to risk his life to keep working—keep making sure their company was ever expanding at an alarming pace—she wouldn’t officially be Mrs. Franco Marchello. That acknowledgment made her heart leap into her throat.

  Mrs. Franco Marchello. Oh my!

  Wedding guests rushed forward to congratulate them, but she couldn’t focus on anything but this insurmountable mistake she’d made. She went through the motions as her mind struggled with the reality of what they’d just done.

  The one thing she knew was that there would be no more kissing Franco. No way. Because it was dangerous. She couldn’t think straight when he was so close to her. And when his lips were touching hers, all she could think was how much she wanted more of him—so much more.

  * * *

  That had gone totally wrong.

  He’d only meant to give her a brief, passive kiss.

  Franco inwardly groaned as he realized the kiss had been anything but brief or passive. There had been sparks that he hadn’t seen coming. Those sparks had ignited a flame. And now he couldn’t get Carla out of his system.

  And that shouldn’t have happened. It was a total miscalculation on his part. Because Carla was the last person on the planet he should be kissing. It wasn’t that he didn’t find her attractive. He thought Carla was the most beautiful woman he’d ever known. Any man with an active pulse couldn’t deny her beauty.

  The problem was the fact that she was Carlo Falco’s daughter. And he had been duly warned by his grandfather not to trust a Falco. That’s why Franco had had his team of attorneys go over the marriage contract twice. It was ironclad. This knowledge still didn’t help him breathe easier.

  “You really outdid yourself.” Carla smiled at him, as they stood off to the side of the party. She lowered her voice so as not to be overheard. “I thought it would just be a small, forgettable exchange of vows, but you made this whole experience a lot more enjoyable and less businesslike. Not that I’ve fo
rgotten this is all business, but still it was nice. Thank you.”

  Her words shocked him—in a good way. He swallowed hard. “You’re welcome. I’m glad you liked it.”

  “I did.” And then she leaned in close. “I almost believed it was real.”

  “But it was real. And now we have a show to put on for our guests.” As the music played in the background, he held his hand out to her. “Shall we, Mrs. Marchello?”

  She placed her hand in his and they started toward the dance floor—

  “Not so fast.” Carlo Falco stepped in front of them. His face was full of color as his brows were drawn together in a formidable line. “We need to talk.”

  Franco gave Carla’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “Let’s step over there.”

  “Not you.” Her father’s deep voice rumbled with barely restrained anger.

  Franco wasn’t going to let Carla take the brunt of her father’s anger alone. They’d agreed to this plan together, and they’d see it through together. “We’re married now. If you have something to say about that, you can say it to both of us.”

  Carlo’s gaze moved to his daughter. “Is that how it’s going to be from now on? A Marchello is going to do all the talking for you?”

  “Papa, calm down. There’s no need to get so worked up.”

  Her father’s gaze narrowed. “So does he speak for you?”

  “No. I can speak for myself. But in this case, I agree with my husband—”

  “Husband, ha! This sham of a marriage is never going to last. You only agreed to marry him to spite me. When you’re ready to admit this was a mistake, you know where to find me.”

  “But Papa, wait—”

  Carlo stormed off. His pace didn’t so much as slow down as she continued to call out to him. Nor did he give her a backward glance. Franco supposed that was something else Carlo had in common with his grandfather—a short temper and the feeling that they knew what was best for those around them. It was a quite an assumption on their parts. Franco’s muscles tensed with anger. Carla wiggled her fingers, letting him know he was squeezing her hand too tightly.