Chapter 2 - A Wedding Without LoveFour days later, Claire Bennett stood beneath two thousand white roses and wondered how a person could feel completely alone while surrounded by three hundred guests.
Someone had spent a fortune transforming the gardens of Villa Moretti.
Crystal chandeliers hung from temporary arches beneath the trees. Musicians played near an ancient fountain. Long tables glittered with silver, candles, and champagne.
Claire had never seen anything so beautiful.
She hated almost every second of it.
Her wedding gown had been delivered from Milan with two seamstresses and a woman named Sofia who apparently considered smiling optional.
Claire had protested the price.
Vittorio had only said, “The photographers will see everything.”
That sentence reminded her why she was there.
Not romance.
Optics.
Moretti family trustees were among the guests. Business partners were present. Society magazines had been allowed limited access.
Everyone needed to believe Vittorio Moretti had finally married.
Claire simply needed to survive it.
“You look stunning.”
She turned.
Her father stood near the doorway of the bridal suite.
For the first time since arriving in Italy, Thomas was wearing clothes that actually fit. Vittorio’s staff had provided the suit.
Claire hated that too.
“You don’t get to be sentimental today,” she said.
Thomas lowered his eyes.
“I know.”
“No. I don’t think you do.”
He moved closer.
“I never wanted this for you.”
“And yet here we are.”
“I’m sorry.”
Claire looked into the mirror.
Her dark hair fell in loose waves beneath a veil. The lace gown looked like something dreamed up for another woman’s fairy tale.
“I don’t know how to forgive you yet.”
Thomas nodded.
“I don’t expect you to.”
That answer hurt more than excuses would have.
A knock sounded.
Sofia entered.
“It is time.”
Claire’s heart began pounding.
The ceremony took place at sunset.
Vittorio waited beneath an arch covered in flowers.
When Claire saw him, something irritating happened.
He looked extraordinary.
His dark tuxedo emphasized the silver in his hair and the sharp lines of his face. The tattoo near his neck was covered tonight. His expression was unreadable until she reached him.
Then he leaned slightly closer.
“You can still leave.”
Claire blinked.
“What?”
“I told you the agreement must be voluntary.”
Three hundred people waited.
Her father stood behind her.
Cameras captured everything from beyond the garden perimeter.
Claire stared into Vittorio’s eyes.
“You would let me walk away now?”
“Yes.”
“And prosecute my father tomorrow?”
His jaw tightened.
“That is separate.”
She almost laughed.
“Then don’t pretend this is a choice.”
Something cold entered his face.
“I have never pretended this situation is kind.”
At least he admitted it.
Claire turned toward the officiant.
“Start.”
Their vows were brief.
Civil.
Carefully written.
The moment came for rings.
Vittorio slid a platinum band onto Claire’s finger.
His hand was warm.
Hers was freezing.
When the officiant declared them husband and wife, applause exploded around the garden.
Then came the part Claire had been dreading.
The kiss.
Vittorio leaned toward her and stopped.
His mouth hovered inches from hers.
“May I?” he whispered.
Claire remembered the contract.
Permission.
It mattered that he had asked.
She nodded once.
His lips touched hers.
Barely two seconds.
Gentle.
Controlled.
But when he pulled away, Claire’s heart was beating faster than before.
She blamed the crowd.
The reception became a blur of strangers.
Bankers.
Politicians.
Designers.
Industrialists.
Women in couture dresses kissed Claire on both cheeks and welcomed her into a world she had never asked to join.
A beautiful blonde named Bianca Rossetti did not bother pretending to be pleased.
“So you are the American.”
Claire looked at her.
“I’ve been called worse.”
Bianca smiled thinly.
“I knew Vittorio would eventually marry. I simply assumed he would choose someone who understood his world.”
Claire sipped champagne.
“And I assumed wealthy Europeans were more subtle when insulting strangers.”
Bianca’s smile vanished.
Across the ballroom, Vittorio watched them.
Claire noticed.
So did Bianca.
“You should know something,” Bianca said quietly. “Vittorio does not love women. He collects loyalty.”
“That’s convenient because I’m not offering either.”
“You think this is temporary?”
Claire stiffened.
Bianca’s eyes dropped deliberately toward the wedding ring.
“Nothing involving Vittorio is temporary once he decides it belongs to him.”
Before Claire could answer, Vittorio appeared.
“Bianca.”
One word.
Enough to change her expression.
“Congratulations,” Bianca said.
She walked away.
Claire faced him.
“Old girlfriend?”
“No.”
“Current girlfriend?”
“No.”
“Woman who buried three husbands under her rose garden?”
Vittorio almost smiled.
“Business associate.”
“She seems delightful.”
“She dislikes surprises.”
“Then she must hate me.”
“She does.”
Claire took another drink.
Vittorio looked toward the glass.
“You have had three.”
“Are you counting?”
“Yes.”
“Stop.”
“You have barely eaten.”
“That sounds like my problem.”
“It becomes mine if my bride passes out during our first dance.”
Claire stared.
“Our what?”
The orchestra changed songs.
Guests began turning toward them.
Vittorio extended his hand.
“No.”
“Claire.”
“I don’t dance.”
“You signed an agreement requiring reasonable public appearances.”
“A dance is not an appearance.”
“In Italy, at a wedding, it may be considered evidence of life.”
She hated that she laughed.
Vittorio used the moment to take her hand.
The crowd applauded.
He led her onto the floor.
“I really don’t know how,” she murmured.
“I do.”
“Of course you do.”
“Follow me.”
His hand settled lightly at her waist.
Claire rested one hand against his shoulder.
They moved slowly.
She expected stiffness.
Instead, Vittorio guided her effortlessly.
“You’ve done this before.”
“Danced?”
“Married.”
His expression changed.
“No.”
“Engaged?”
“No.”
“Loved somebody?”
His gaze met hers.
The answer took too long.
Claire stopped teasing.
“Never mind.”
They continued.
For several moments, there was only music.
Then a flash exploded outside.
Photographers.
Claire instinctively turned.
Vittorio moved closer.
“Smile.”
“Why?”
“Because tomorrow every financial paper in Europe will publish photographs from tonight.”
Claire looked at him.
“This really is business.”
“Yes.”
It should have relieved her.
Instead, something inside her sank.
Later that night, the last guests disappeared.
Claire escaped upstairs.
Her new bedroom was larger than her entire apartment in Richmond.
Her suitcases had been unpacked.
Fresh flowers sat by the bed.
She removed her earrings and noticed a small envelope.
CLAIRE.
Inside was a handwritten note.
The east wing is yours. Staff have been instructed not to enter without permission except for housekeeping after noon. The library, gardens, pool, and grounds are unrestricted. A car and driver are available whenever requested.
There was another line.
No obligation exists tonight beyond sleep.
—V
Claire read it twice.
Her emotions confused her.
She had expected arrogance.
Possession.
Perhaps even pressure.
Instead, he had given her boundaries.
A soft knock sounded.
She opened the door.
Vittorio stood there without his jacket.
Claire’s muscles tightened automatically.
He noticed.
“I am not coming in.”
She said nothing.
He held out a slim velvet box.
“What is that?”
“A wedding gift.”
“We already have rings.”
“This is different.”
Claire opened it.
Inside was a key.
Not jewelry.
A plain brass key.
She looked at him.
“To what?”
“The gate.”
Her brows knitted.
Vittorio leaned against the doorframe.
“The electronic system sometimes locks after midnight. That opens the old pedestrian entrance manually.”
“Why give it to me?”
“So you understand something.”
“What?”
His voice softened.
“You are not a prisoner here.”
Claire stared at the key.
She wanted desperately to believe him.
Then she remembered her father’s debt.
“You didn’t need a locked gate to trap me.”
The words hit harder than she intended.
Vittorio went still.
For a moment she saw something raw beneath the controlled exterior.
Then it vanished.
“No,” he said. “I suppose I didn’t.”
He walked away.
Claire closed the door.
She should have felt victorious.
May you like
Instead, she stood alone in a wedding dress worth more than her annual salary, holding a key to freedom she could not use.
And for the first time she wondered whether Vittorio Moretti might be trapped in their arrangement too.
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