A Marriage Fit for a Sinner Read online

  ‘I don’t want a damn hen party! What I want is five minutes of your time.’

  ‘Are you dying of some life-threatening disease?’

  ‘What? Of course not!’

  ‘Are you afraid I won’t be a good husband?’ he asked, noting the raw edge to his voice, but realising how much her answer meant to him.

  ‘Zaccheo, this is about me, not you.’

  He let her non-answer slide. ‘You’ll be a good wife. And despite your less than auspicious upbringing, you’ll be a good mother.’

  He heard her soft gasp. ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘Because you’re passionate when you care. You just need to channel that passion from your undeserving family to the one we will create.’

  ‘I can’t just switch my feelings towards my family off. Everyone deserves someone who cares about them, no matter what.’

  His heart kicked hard and his grip tightened around the phone as bitterness washed through him. ‘Not everyone gets it, though.’

  Silence thrummed. ‘I’m sorry about your parents. Is...your mother still alive?’ Her voice bled the compassion he’d begun to associate with her.

  It warmed a place inside him even as he answered. ‘That depends on who you ask. Since she relocated to the other side of the world to get away from me, I presume she won’t mind if I think her dead to me.’

  ‘But she’s alive, Zaccheo. Which means there’s hope. Do you really want to waste that?’ Her pain-filled voice drew him up short, reminding him that she’d lost her mother.

  When had this conversation turned messy and emotional?

  ‘You were close to your mother?’ he asked.

  ‘When she wasn’t busy playing up to being a Pennington, or using me to get back at my father, she was a brilliant mother. I wish... I wish she’d been a mother to both Sophie and me.’ She laughed without humour. ‘Hell, I used to wish I’d been born into another family, that my last name wasn’t Pennington—’ She stopped and a tense silence reigned.

  Zaccheo frowned. Things weren’t adding up with Eva. He’d believed her surname was one she would do just about anything for, including help cover up fraud. But in his boardroom on Monday, she’d seemed genuinely shocked and hurt by the extent of her father’s duplicity. And there was also the matter of her chosen profession and the untouched money in her bank account.

  A less cynical man would believe she was the exception to the abhorrent aristocratic rule...

  ‘At least you had one parent who cared for you. You were lucky,’ he said, his mind whirling with the possibility that he could be wrong.

  ‘But that parent is gone, and I feel as if I have no one now,’ she replied quietly.

  The need to tell her she had him flared through his mind. He barely managed to stay silent. After a few seconds, she cleared her throat. Her next words made him wish he’d hung up.

  ‘I haven’t signed the prenup,’ she blurted out. ‘I’m not going to.’

  Because of the last clause.

  For a brief moment, Zaccheo wanted to tell her why he wanted children. That the bleak loneliness that had dogged him through his childhood and almost drowned him in prison had nearly broken him. That he’d fallen into a pit of despair when he’d realised no one would miss him should the worst happen.

  His mother had emigrated to Australia with her husband rather than stay in the same city as him once Zaccheo had fully established himself in London. That had cut deeper than any rejection he’d suffered from her in the past. And although the news of his trial and sentencing had been worldwide news, Zaccheo had never once heard from the woman who’d given him life.

  He could’ve died in prison for all his mother cared. That thought had haunted him day and night until he’d decided to do something about it.

  Until he’d vowed to alter his reality, ensure he had someone who would be proud to bear his name. Someone to whom he could pass on his legacy.

  He hadn’t planned for that person to be Eva Pennington until he’d read about her engagement in the file. But once he had, the decision had become iron cast.

  Although this course was very much a sweeter, more lasting experience, Zaccheo couldn’t help but wonder if it was all worth the ground shifting so much beneath his feet.

  Eva was getting beneath his skin. And badly.

  Dio mio. Why were the feelings he’d bottled up for over two decades choosing now to bubble up? He exhaled harshly.

  Rough and ruthless was his motto. It was what had made him the man he was today. ‘You’ll be in your wedding dress at noon tomorrow, ready to walk down the aisle where our six hundred guests will be—’

  ‘Six hundred? You’ve invited six hundred people to the wedding?’ Her husky disbelief made his teeth grind.

  ‘You thought I intended to have a hole-in-the-wall ceremony?’ A fresh wave of bitterness rolled over him. ‘Or did you think my PA was spouting gibberish when she informed you of all this on Tuesday?’

  ‘Sorry, I must’ve tuned out because, contrary to what you think, I don’t like my life arranged for me,’ she retorted. ‘That doesn’t change anything. I can’t do this...’

  Zaccheo frowned at the naked distress in her voice.

  Eva was genuinely torn up about the prospect of giving herself to him, a common man only worthy of a few kisses but nothing as substantial as the permanent state of matrimony.

  Something very much like pain gripped his chest. ‘Is that your final decision? Are you backing out of our agreement?’

  She remained silent for so long, he thought the line was dead. ‘Unless you’re willing to change the last clause, yes.’

  Zaccheo detested the sudden clenching of his stomach, as if the blow he’d convinced himself would never come had been landed. The voice taunting him for feeling more than a little stunned was ruthlessly smashed away.

  He assured himself he had another way to claim the justice he sought. ‘Very well. Ciao.’

  He ended the phone call. And fought the urge to hurl his phone out of the window.

  * * *

  Eva dropped the phone onto the coffee-shop table. She’d arrived at work only to discover she’d been taken off the roster due to her impending wedding. Since she had holiday due to her anyway, Eva hadn’t fought too hard at suddenly finding herself with free time.

  Her session with Ziggy yesterday had gone well, despite her head being all over the place. If nothing else came of it, she could add that to her CV.

  Curbing a hysterical snort, she stared at her phone.

  She’d done the right thing and ended this farce before it went too far. Before the longings she’d harboured in the last three days got any more out of control.

  Deep in her heart, she knew Zaccheo would react the same way to her secret as Scott and George had. He wouldn’t want to marry half a woman, especially when he’d stated his expectations in black and white in a formal agreement drafted by a team of lawyers, and then confounded her with his genuine desire to become a father.

  So why hadn’t she just told him over the phone?

  Because she was a glutton for punishment?

  Because some part of her had hoped telling him face-to-face would help her gauge whether there was a chance he would accept her the way she was?

  Fat chance.

  It was better this way. Clean. Painless.

  She jumped as her phone pinged. Heart lurching, she accessed the message, but it was only the manageress from Siren, wishing her a lovely wedding and sinfully blissful honeymoon.

  Eva curled her hand around her fast-cooling mug. Once the news got out that she’d broken her third engagement in two years, her chances of marrying anyone, let alone a man who would accept her just as she was, would shrink from nil to no chance in hell.

  Pain spiked again at the reminder of he
r condition. Exhaling, she wrenched her mind to more tangible things.

  Like finding a place to live.

  She weighed her options, despair clutching her insides when, two hours later, she faced the only avenue open to her. Going back home to Pennington Manor.

  Reluctantly, she picked up her phone, then nearly dropped it when it blared to life. The name of the caller made her frown.

  ‘Sophie?’

  ‘Eva, what’s going on?’ The fear in her voice shredded Eva’s heart.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I’ve just had to call the doctor because Father’s had another episode!’

  Eva jerked to her feet, sending her coffee cup bouncing across the table. ‘What?’

  ‘We got a call from Zaccheo Giordano an hour ago to say the wedding was off. Father’s been frantic. He was about to call you when he collapsed. The doctor says if he’s subjected to any more stress he could have a heart attack or a stroke. Is it true? Did you call off the wedding?’ The strain in her sister’s voice was unmistakeable.

  ‘Yes,’ Eva replied. She grabbed her bag and hurried out of the coffee shop when she began to attract peculiar looks. Outside, she shrugged into her coat and pulled up her hoodie to avoid the light drizzle.

  ‘Oh, God. Why?’ her sister demanded.

  ‘Zaccheo wanted me to sign a prenuptial agreement.’

  ‘So? Everyone does that these days.’

  ‘One of the terms...he wants children.’

  Her sister sighed. ‘So he backed out when you told him?’

  ‘No, he doesn’t know.’

  ‘But... I’m confused,’ Sophie replied.

  ‘I tried to tell him but he wouldn’t listen.’

  ‘You tried. Isn’t that enough?’

  Eva ducked into a quiet alley and leaned against a wall. ‘No, it’s not enough. We’ve caused enough harm where he’s concerned. I won’t go into this based on a lie.’

  ‘Father’s terrified, Eva.’

  ‘Can I talk to him?’

  ‘He’s sleeping now. I’ll let him know you called when he wakes up.’ Sophie paused. ‘Eva, I’ve been thinking...what you said on Saturday, about you not being out to replace me... I shouldn’t have bitten your head off. It’s just... Father isn’t an easy man to please. He was relying on me to see us through this rough patch...’

  ‘I didn’t mean to step on your toes, Sophie.’

  Her sister inhaled deeply. ‘I know. But everything seems so effortless for you, Eva. It always has. I envied you because Mother chose you—’

  ‘Parents shouldn’t choose which child to love and which to keep at arm’s length!’

  ‘But that was our reality. He wanted a son. And I was determined to be that son. After Mother died, I was scared Father would think I wasn’t worth his attention.’

  ‘You were. You still are.’

  ‘Only because I’ve gone along with whatever he’s asked of me without complaint, even when I knew I shouldn’t. This thing with Zaccheo... Father’s not proud of it. Nor am I. I don’t know where we go from here, but once we’re through this, can we get together?’ Sophie asked, her voice husky with the plea.

  Eva didn’t realise her legs had given way until her bottom touched the cold, hard ground.

  ‘Yes, if you want,’ she murmured. Her hands shook as she hung up.

  The last time she’d seen Sophie’s rigid composure crumble had been in the few weeks after they’d buried their mother. For a while she’d had her sister back. They’d been united in their grief, supporting each other when their loss overwhelmed them.

  As much as Eva missed that Sophie, she couldn’t stomach having her back under similar circumstances. Nor could she bear the danger that her father faced.

  She wasn’t sure how long she sat there.

  Cold seeped into her clothes. Into her bones. Into her heart.

  Feeling numb, she dug into her bag and extracted the prenup and read through it one more time.

  She couldn’t honour Zaccheo’s last clause, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t use it to buy herself, and her father, time until they met and she explained. Despite his own past, he wanted a family. Maybe he would understand why she was trying to salvage hers.

  Slowly, she dialled. After endless rings, the line clicked through.

  ‘Eva.’ His voice was pure cold steel.

  ‘I...’ She attempted to say the words but her teeth still chattered. Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried again. ‘I’ll sign the agreement. I’ll marry you tomorrow.’

  Silence.

  ‘Zaccheo? Are you there?’

  ‘Where are you?’

  She shivered at his impersonal tone. ‘I’m...’ She looked up at the street sign in the alley and told him.

  ‘Romeo will be there in fifteen minutes. He’ll witness the agreement and bring it to me. You’ll return to the penthouse and resume preparations for the wedding.’ He paused, as if waiting for her to disagree.

  ‘Will I see you today?’ She hated how weak her voice sounded.

  ‘No.’

  Eva exhaled. ‘Okay, I’ll wait for Romeo.’

  ‘Bene.’ The line went dead.

  * * *

  The grey mizzle outside aptly reflected Eva’s mood as she sat, hands clasped in her lap, as the hairdresser finished putting up her hair. Behind her, Sophie smiled nervously.

  Eva smiled back, knowing her sister’s nervousness stemmed from the fear that Eva would change her mind again.

  But this time there was no going back. She meant to come clean to Zaccheo at the first opportunity and open herself up to whatever consequences he sought.

  Just how she would manage that was a puzzle she hadn’t untangled yet, but since Zaccheo was hell-bent on this marriage, and she was giving him what he wanted, technically she was fulfilling her side of the bargain.

  God, when had she resorted to seeing things in shades of grey instead of black and white, truth and lie? Was Zaccheo right? Did her Pennington blood mean she was destined to do whatever it took, even if it meant compromising her integrity, for the sake of her family and pedigree?

  No. She wouldn’t care if she woke up tomorrow as ordinary Eva Penn instead of Lady Pennington. And she would come clean to Zaccheo, no matter what.

  Except that was looking less likely to happen before the wedding. Zaccheo hadn’t returned to the penthouse last night. She hadn’t deluded herself that he was observing the quaint marriage custom. If anything, he was probably making another billion, or actively sowing his last wild oats. She jerked at the jagged pain that shot through her.

  Sophie stood up. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing. How’s Father?’

  Sophie’s face clouded. ‘He insists he’s well enough to walk you down the aisle.’ Her sister’s eyes darted to the hairdresser who had finished and was walking out to get Margaret. ‘He’s desperate that everything goes according to plan today.’

  Eva managed to stop her smile from slipping. ‘It will.’

  Sophie met her gaze in the mirror. ‘Do you think I should talk to Zaccheo...explain?’

  Eva thought about the conversation she’d had with Zaccheo yesterday, the merciless tone, the ruthless man on a mission who’d been released from prison a mere week ago. ‘Maybe not just yet.’

  Sophie nodded, then flashed a smile that didn’t quite make it before she left Eva alone as Margaret entered.

  Any hopes of talking to Zaccheo evaporated when she found herself at the doors of the chapel an hour later.

  Catching sight of him for the first time since Monday, she felt her heart slam around her chest.

  Romeo stood in the best-man position and Eva wondered again at the connection between the two men. Did Zaccheo have any friends? Or had he lost
all of them when her family’s actions had altered his fate?

  The thought flitted out of her head as her gaze returned almost magnetically to Zaccheo.

  He’d eschewed a morning coat in favour of a bespoke three-piece suit in the softest dove-grey silk. Against the snowy white shirt and white tie completing the ensemble, his long hair was at once dangerously primitive and yet so utterly captivating, her mouth dried as her pulse danced with a dark, decadent delight. His beard had been trimmed considerably and a part of her mourned its loss. Perhaps it was that altered look that made his eyes so overwhelmingly electrifying, or it was the fact that his face was set in almost brutal lines, but the effect was like lightning to her system the moment her eyes connected with his.

  The music in the great hall of the cathedral he’d astonishingly managed to secure on such short notice disappeared, along with the chatter of the goggle-eyed guests who did nothing to hide their avid curiosity.

  All she could see was him, the man who would be her husband in less than fifteen minutes.

  She stumbled, then stopped. A murmur rose in the crowd. Eva felt her father’s concerned stare, but she couldn’t look away from Zaccheo.

  His nostrils flared, his eyes narrowing in warning as fear clutched her, freezing her feet.

  ‘Eva?’ Her father’s ragged whisper caught her consciousness.

  ‘Why did you insist on walking me down the aisle?’ she asked him, wanting in some way to know that she wasn’t doing all of this to save a man who had very little regard for her.

  ‘What? Because you’re my daughter,’ her father replied with a puzzled frown.

  ‘So you’re not doing it just to keep up appearances?’

  His face creased with a trace of the vulnerability she’d glimpsed only once before, when her mother died, and her heart lurched. ‘Eva, I haven’t handled things well. I know that. I was brought up to put the family name above all else, and I took that responsibility a little too far. Despite our less than perfect marriage, your mother was the one who would pull me back to my senses when I went a little too far. Without her...’ His voice roughened and his hand gripped hers. ‘We might lose Penningtons, but I don’t want to lose you and Sophie.’