Bride, Bought and Paid For. HELEN BIANCHIN

hope this won’t take long,’ Romy began, and saw his eyes narrow.

      ‘We settle the legal issues,’ Xavier reiterated as he ushered her through the foyer to the security-controlled entry. ‘Then we share dinner.’

      They exited the building, and he indicated a sleek Mercedes Maybach resting in a nearby reserved-parking bay.

      ‘I don’t want to have dinner with you.’ Romy waited as he disengaged the locking mechanism and opened the front passenger door.

      ‘Tough,’ he dismissed coolly as she moved past him and slid into the seat.

      The door closed with a refined clunk, and she delayed her response until he slipped into the adjoining seat.

      ‘I get the need for a pre-nup,’ she managed with deliberate calm as her eyes speared his. ‘As to the marriage…when do you envisage the ceremony will take place?’

      Xavier engaged the engine and spared her a cool glance. ‘This weekend.’

      Her stomach did a slow somersault as he eased the car out onto the street and headed towards the city.

      ‘Why so soon?’ Her life was moving so fast it felt as if she’d boarded a runaway train!

      ‘You need me to spell it out?’

      It was simple maths: Andre needed a large sum of money fast; Romy represented the surety…and Xavier didn’t negotiate an unsecured deal.

      Dear God, the enormity of what she’d agreed to do acquired momentous proportion!

      ‘You’ve informed Andre?’

      Romy closed her eyes, then opened them again. ‘Yes.’ Only that she’d succeeded in clearing his debts…not the price she had to pay. Although no matter what spin she put on it, her father was unlikely to be fooled. Nor would he approve her decision. The reason she had elected to relay the details to him in person.

      Two weeks ago she’d been looking forward to returning home, reconnecting with her father, and had viewed the challenge of a different school, new students with enthusiasm.

      Her life, as she’d envisaged it to be, had quickly taken a dramatic about-turn…irrevocably, she reflected pensively. At least, for a while.

      Marriage. What young woman didn’t dream of meeting the man of her dreams, falling in love, and living the happy ever after?

      Once, more than three years ago, she’d imagined she was living the dream, only to discover the man she loved wasn’t on the same page…let alone reading the same book!

      Now, through circumstance, she was soon to be legally linked to him in a loveless union based on thinly disguised blackmail.

      What on earth was she getting herself into?

      A faintly hysterical laugh rose and died in her throat. Emotional insanity…nothing more, or less.

      The question had to be…could she survive with dignity and some of her emotions intact?

      A few years tops, she reminded herself. Then she’d file for divorce. Irreconcilable differences, a sufficiently ambiguous blanket covering a multitude of sins.

      The image of a baby filled her mind, and her heart plummeted along with her resolve. A child…how could she give up a child? Share custody, time, not be there every day, every night, only when designated by a court of law?

      But what if there wasn’t a child? What if she took steps to ensure she didn’t conceive?

      Would Xavier choose divorce in order to select any one of several women who would bear him a child?

      ‘Your silence is telling.’

      The faintly accented drawl interrupted her introspection, and she turned her head to offer him a cool look.

      ‘Really?’

      Xavier checked the rear-vision mirror, indicated and drew the car into the kerb, killed the engine, then he turned towards her.

      ‘If you’re having second thoughts, now’s the time to say so.’

      Deadly calm words which ricocheted inside her brain and succeeded in freezing the blood in her veins.

      Oh dear Lord. What was she doing?

      She couldn’t afford to lose control…or change the goal posts in this diabolical game.

      Any self-indulgent time-out was merely a whiplash reaction. So…get over it.

      ‘Your call, Romy.’

      When thrust between a rock and a hard place…what did you choose?

      There was only one answer she could give. ‘I imagine your lawyer is waiting for us,’ she managed quietly.

      ‘That’s it?’

      She gathered the tenuous threads of her emotions together and gave an affirmative. ‘Yes.’

      Money, in excess, opened doors and provided services not usually offered outside normal business hours, Romy perceived a short while later as she preceded Xavier into a sumptuous office suite, where, introductions complete, she sank into a cushioned leather chair, listened carefully to the lawyer’s explanation of relevant documents, aware every possible contingency was covered in watertight legalese.

      She almost baulked when the moment came to attach her signature. The enormity of her commitment seemed overwhelming, and for a wild moment she considered standing to her feet and walking out.

      Except the ramification of such an action would be prohibitive and would destroy everything she’d strived to achieve.

      So…pick up the offered pen and sign, a tiny voice prompted, and without further thought she did just that. Then she carefully replaced the pen on the desk.

      The following minutes became a blur as both men conversed with an easy familiarity that spoke of friendship, and she rose to her feet automatically when Xavier indicated the session was at an end. She even smiled and offered a few polite words as the lawyer escorted them to the lift.

      There wasn’t a word she could say as the lift took them down to ground level, and she bore Xavier’s unwavering scrutiny with equanimity.

      ‘I’ll take a cab back to my apartment.’

      ‘No,’ he refuted quietly. ‘We’ll eat, then visit your father.’

      ‘I’m not hungry.’

      ‘Opposing me just for the hell of it?’ Xavier’s voice held a touch of cynical humour, and she sent him a cursory look that spoke volumes.

      He chose a restaurant at Southbank where the food was excellent and surpassed only by the dedicated service.

      ‘Shall I order for you?’

      Romy offered him a speaking glance and pretended intense interest in the menu. Food of any kind held little appeal, although there was a need to select something, and she chose bruschetta, declined wine and settled for a nonalcoholic spritzer.

      Lunch had comprised a slice of toast with honey, followed by a banana…all she’d felt her stomach could digest at the time.

      There was, she perceived, nothing wrong with his appetite as he ordered a starter and followed it with a main. A dish she’d favoured during the brief time they’d been together.

      Coincidence? Or was it a deliberate choice?

      Like she cared!

      Yet something tightened inside her stomach that he might have remembered a time when they’d shared food, forking a tempting morsel for sampling, delighting in knowing they’d share so much more at evening’s end.

      Then she had been relaxed and in tune with him, just living to please and be pleasured.

      A delicious tremor