The Fiancé by Stefanie London
CHAPTER TWO
Daniel
I’MTHEKIND of guy who’s always got a plan, who’s prepared for anything. Yet when it comes to my family... I’m stumped. It never ceases to amaze me how quickly they can make my day go from bad to shitstorm. Or, in this case, whatever the hell comes after shitstorm.
I white-knuckle a tumbler containing two fingers of Scotch, resisting the urge to hurl it at my brother as he storms away.
But we grew up in the spotlight and I know better. Every moment, including this one, is a chance for the public to feast. I’ve seen too many people felled by pointless Twitter arguments and unflattering Instagram rants. Too many promising careers dashed because people didn’t have the discipline to hold themselves in check.
I won’t give the masses any ammunition. Well...any more ammunition.
Around me, the party swells with sounds of conversation, laughter and clinking glasses as if reminding me that I’m not alone. Two women in sparkling cocktail dresses brush past, eyes lingering before they sweep into the bar. I should be enjoying myself—top-shelf drinks, beautiful women, the glittering skyline of Melbourne stretched out like a gift from heaven.
My company, Moretti Enterprises, has officially opened the tallest tower in the Southern Hemisphere. The Cielo is a 394-metre high, 108-storey luxury apartment building—a massive accomplishment for my family’s property development company. And for me as the newly minted CEO.
I should be floating on a cloud.
Instead, I’m seething with anger at being accused of the one thing I would never do.
“Did you hear that?” I suck a breath in between my teeth, gripping on to my composure though it feels like water sliding through my fingers. “Tell me I’ve entered a parallel dimension.”
Leo sips his champagne. He’s my head of operations and is the buffer between my brother’s fiery temper and my icy resolve.
“You can hardly blame him for being pissed off with the gossip,” Leo points out. “And maybe it wasn’t a smart move to fire your own flesh and blood in the middle of launch night.”
Marc has made it across the room, drawing curious glances and whispers as he’s stopped by his wife, Lily. She attempts to calm him down, but there’s no mistaking Marc’s furious expression and clenched jaw. Beneath his bespoke suit, my brother is tightly coiled like a tiger.
And just as bad-tempered as one.
This morning I’d awoken to my phone exploding with messages. Photos from a gossip site proclaimed that we, the Moretti brothers, are “at war” over Australia’s top model—a.k.a. Marc’s wife.
The headline doesn’t hold even a grain of truth—not a microscopic speck. But the media can’t get enough of a love triangle, even if it’s a complete fabrication.
“I didn’t fire him,” I say through gritted teeth. “I simply asked him why he was letting himself be manipulated.”
“You told him to let it go,” Leo corrects. “You know that’s a red flag to a bull, right?”
“It shouldn’t be difficult for him to let it go, I’m his fucking brother.” I stalk over to a window. We have a phenomenal view. The inky sky is a perfect contrast to the lights, making it look like someone has draped Melbourne in a blanket of diamonds. “I have not and will not ever have an affair with a married woman. Especially not my brother’s wife.”
The fact that Marc is entertaining this fictitious piece of bullshit is a blow. Not just any blow, the ultimate blow. Our father liked to change mistresses more often than he changed his jocks, and it ruined our family. I’m not like him. And Marc is an idiot for accosting me, “demanding answers” in the middle of our most important company event ever. With the press in the vicinity.
While drunk.
Sometimes he’s not the brightest crayon in the box.
But I stood my ground with stoic denial. With unemotional logic. We’re opposites like that—ice and fire. I turn to stone when angry and Marc is a volcano. So telling Marc that he was an idiot for believing the media went down like a lead balloon. And unfortunately, he’d taken the argument as a recommendation to resign from the family company.
Hence his storming off.
Now a pink-cheeked Lily heads toward us, the length of her strapless emerald gown gathered in one hand so she doesn’t trip as she hurries across the room. She’s like the little sister I never had, and we’ve only ever been friends. But the media doesn’t care about any of that. They love the idea of some sordid affair because it sells advertising.
Notbecause there’s a shred of truth to it.
“He’s furious,” Lily says, shaking her head. She wraps her hand around my arm and her nails dig into my biceps. “He’s refusing to talk to me. I’ve told him nothing is going on... But he says he’s seen proof.”
I place a hand on her shoulder, doing my best to comfort her but without giving anyone around us more to speculate on. “There can’t be proof of something that doesn’t exist.”
“That’s what I told him.” She sucks in a shaky breath. “But he won’t even hear me out.”
“That’s his issue, Lily.”
“I love him and it’s affecting our marriage, so it’s my issue.” Her voice wavers. “And he’s your brother, which makes it your issue, too. We have to do something.”
“Like what?” My head pounds with the beginnings of a headache. Of all the bloody nights for Marc to lose it, why tonight? “We’ve both told the truth. That should be enough.”
We’re in the middle of an acquisition at the moment. An acquisition Marc set up using a personal connection, which will be on shaky grounds without him. I might be stubborn, but I can see how the fallout of this will affect the company.
“Clearly it’s not enough. He told me not to come after him tonight. He’s...never pushed me away like that before.”
“We need a plan,” Leo agrees, frowning. “Now.”
People are talking. The gossip is taking away from what should be a triumphant evening for my whole family anda chance to reward our staff for all the hard work and long hours they’ve put in.
Everything has been carefully designed for tonight’s event. The champagne is flowing. The glamorous “viewing space” holds a replica of one of the lounge rooms of our penthouse suites. People sit and stand as though sketching themselves into their perfect home. It’s the culmination of hours and hours of blood, sweat and tears.
But clusters of reporters and photographers have been gathered outside our HQ all day. We’ve been bombarded with phone calls and emails, requesting comments on a claim made by an “anonymous source” that Lily and I have been sleeping together since before her wedding to Marc. Sure. Like one of those morally defunct tabloid columnists didn’t make it all up and then claim they had a “source” for their information.
“I’m not making a public statement.” I scrub a hand over my face. “It’ll only add fuel to the fire.”
“The longer we let this fester, the more damage it will do,” Leo counters. “You need to convince Marc by any means necessary that nothing is going on.”
If I had my way, I’d let my hotheaded brother stew in his misery. If he doesn’t believe me, that’s his issue. How he could even think I would do such a thing...
My knuckles tighten around my glass again.
But Leo has a point. And we need Marc. Not only for this deal, but because he has the best head for numbers of anyone I’ve ever met. The company is better with him in the CFO role. Fact. Not to mention that I can’t stand to see Lily hurting, either.
But I have to say, I’m not entirely surprised that their marriage has problems—I’d warned Marc before the wedding that marriage wasn’t something to treat lightly. As much as I love Lily and was thrilled to have her officially join our family, my thoughts on marriage are grim. If our parents taught me anything at all, it’s that passionate love is a lit match hovering over a pool of petrol.
It will consume everything and leave you with nothing.
I’m not going to fall on my sword and beg forgiveness for something I didn’t do. But I still need a solution—something to convince Marc that I’m not a philanderer like our dad. Something to convince my brother to come back to work and make sure we get this deal over the line.
“Also, your mum is on her way,” Leo says.
Shit. My eyes dart across the room to where my mother is striding toward us. Despite not even reaching five feet, she has the presence of a person three times her height, and the crowd parts like the Red Sea to let her through. Her black dress shimmers as if in warning, and her thunderous expression makes my spine automatically straighten.
“I don’t have the energy to deal with her right now,” I say, letting out a frustrated groan. “I’ve got to deliver this speech in five minutes and I need to look like I haven’t watched my life crumble to pieces.”
“I’ll run interference.” Leo holds his hand up. “Go.”
I ditch my drink and head in the opposite direction, leaving my friend and sister-in-law to deal with the Moretti matriarch. I need a moment to pull myself together. With all the hurt and frustration swirling in my head—things I’ll never let the public see—I can’t stand in front of a room of important investors, industry titans and press unless I’ve got my head screwed on properly.
This is a critical moment.
The launch of the Cielo is a new direction for Moretti Enterprises. It’s a symbol of everything I stand for as a leader. Progress. Evolution. Innovation.
I will not have this moment overshadowed by people making up stories about my sex life.
Ducking past a group of waiters coming out of the bar area, I spot a staff hallway across the room. A closet marked Supplies is exactly what I need. It’s the last place anyone will look.
Five minutes. That’s all I need.
I yank the door back and slip inside, looking over my shoulder to see if anyone has followed me. For a fleeting moment I have some reprieve. But that’s shattered the second I find myself staring at a woman covered in streaks of red. Her eyes widen in shock, and she scrambles to close a ruined shirt across her chest. But not before I get a good glimpse of her curvy body, skin generously dusted with freckles and a set of breasts so perfect I have to resist the urge to drop to my knees.
A lace bra in a shade of pale, flesh-toned pink peeks out from between the red-streaked shirt, and the dusky hint of her nipples creates a tantalising shadow.
The ponytail and conservative black pants give her away as one of the waitstaff, but even with history’s most boring outfit, there’s no denying the sensuality radiating from her. Her eyes are the most unusual mix of warm brown and coppery-gold. And her body...wow. She’s curvy, with full thighs and a dip at the waist that’s the exact thing that drives me wild.
If I was hoping to find solitude and calm in this cupboard, then that idea has officially been shot to hell.