The Italian's Virgin Bride. Trish Morey

was looking at him strangely, as if she was expecting something, and he smiled to himself, knowing there was no way she’d be expecting him to make a complete turn-around. Why would she, when it was a surprise to even himself?

      ‘Maybe there’s a way we can work this out,’ he said at last.

      She looked confused and tugged nervously at the hem of her Chanel jacket as he continued to sit. ‘I don’t see how, if you’re not prepared to accept less than one hundred per cent control.’

      ‘Maybe there’s a chance I will accept your conditions then,’ he said.

      ‘You will?’ She sat down again.

      ‘But only on one proviso,’ he added.

      He followed the bump in her neck as it moved, the gentle rise and fall of her throat, as she swallowed back her nervousness.

      ‘And that proviso is…?’

      ‘It’s quite simple,’ he started, ‘and no doubt something we can both benefit from. You’ll get the white knight you need to bail out your business and I’ll get an interest in a six-star hotel chain that has much to offer.’

      She looked lost for a while, her features searching for the answer. ‘But…how is this different from the offer I made you before?’

      ‘Quite simply, I will pay what you require and accept a forty-nine per cent share of the business. Something, I must point out, a Silvagni has never done. You only have to agree to do one thing.’

      ‘And…and what would that be?’

      He looked her squarely in the eyes. ‘Marry me, Opal Clemenger. I will invest in your hotel chain, on your terms, if you will agree to become my wife.’