Page 1 of Seduced by Her Fake Husband (The Martinelli Wedding #2)

Chapter One

M ost male adolescents had to grow into being men, in looks, physique and maturity. Not Luisa Rossellini’s husband. Luisa had known Gennaro Martinelli her whole life and couldn’t remember him being anything other than the towering, intimidating figure he was today.

His parents were her godparents. Over the years, the Rossellinis and Martinellis had enjoyed plenty of holidays and weekends away together on top of the regular visits to each other’s homes, and there had always been an aloof, other-worldly quantity to Gennaro that had set him apart from everyone else.

At least there had been in Luisa’s eyes.

The ten-year age gap between them might have had something to do with that perception, but his brother was eight years older than her, a massive gap when you’re a child, and she’d felt nothing but ease in his company.

When Niccolo looked at her, Luisa’s insides didn’t quail with fright.

Two years of marriage and Gennaro still made her quail.

Two years of marriage and silence was still their preferred means of communication .

Their journey to Accardiano, an exclusive town on the Amalfi Coast, was spent without the exchange of a single word.

Not one. Gennaro spent the two-hour flight and fifteen-minute car ride on business calls.

His phone was stuck to his ear when they drove through The Bianchi Hotel’s gates, and he was still talking in that terse, clipped way he had when he got out of the car and strode through the lobby doors, leaving Luisa to trail behind him like a forgotten spare part.

She’d long ago learned not to care that she was essentially invisible to her husband.

The only part of her that had ever cared was her pride, and it was her pride that straightened her spine, elongated her neck, lifted her chin and fixed a smile to her face.

It didn’t matter that their wedding contract stipulated she must always act like a happy, loving wife in public, Luisa’s pride would never let anyone see what an ordeal just sharing the same air as her husband was to her.

The Bianchi’s lobby, like the rest of the famous hotel, was traditionally Italian in its style and décor but with a vibe that made you feel like you’d walked into a world of Hollywood starlets oozing busty sex appeal and where the casting couch saw more action than any movie produced.

A world of sex and power. Much like the world Luisa currently inhabited, except her personal world had zero sex.

In exactly one week, she would be leaving this world. In exactly one week, Gennaro’s lawyers would file the separation papers and Luisa would walk away with half her contracted settlement. The remaining half would be hers when the divorce was finalised.

In exactly one week, Luisa would be able to breathe properly again.

Conscious of her heels clacking over the sprawling blue and gold tiled floor filled with people checking in for the pre-wedding celebrations of what the Italian press had dubbed The Wedding of the Century, she took a moment to soak in the towering circular staircase before joining Gennaro at the reception desk.

Only when Leonardo appeared from behind the horseshoe desk did Gennaro end his call and stick his phone in his back pocket so he could embrace his maternal cousin.

Leonardo Bianchi, owner of the magnificent hotel Luisa and practically everyone she knew would be spending the next six nights at, was one of only two people in the world Luisa had ever seen Gennaro crack a smile for.

The other was Niccolo’s best friend Dante Coscarelli, but everyone smiled when Dante was around.

He had that knack for putting people at ease and making the world seem a little less dark.

Luisa had adored him since she’d gone to one of the Martinellis summer parties as a child and he’d carried her on his shoulders so she could join in a game of water polo.

Gennaro had been the opposing goalkeeper, she remembered, remembering too how he’d glowered his way through the game.

Leonardo had also played, although she couldn’t remember which side he’d been on, and now, two decades on from that carefree summer’s day when the big boys had let her play with them, Leonardo embraced her with loud smacking kisses to her cheeks.

“Luisa, you are looking incredible,” he said with a wide, appreciative smile.

Leonardo had a terrible reputation with women, but with Luisa, he never crossed the line.

Before, she’d been too young, and now she was his cousin’s wife and so off-limits for anything except the light flirting their countrymen excelled at.

Indeed, the only man in Luisa’s circle who didn’t flirt with her was her husband, but then, Gennaro didn’t flirt with anyone.

She smiled her thanks at a compliment that had no doubt been given to every woman who’d already checked in that morning. “Is my sister here yet?” She’d sent Marisa numerous messages that morning, all of which had been read but none of which had been answered.

“Let me check for you,” Leonardo called one of his staff over, and while Luisa asked again about her sister, she noticed Leonardo draw Gennaro away. Whatever Leonardo said, Gennaro reacted in his usual poker-faced manner.

Having established that neither Marisa nor their parents had yet arrived, Luisa caught Gennaro’s eye. As usual, he was only looking at her so he could give one of his silent commands, this one a subtle jerk of his head, which translated as, ‘Come to heel.’

Resisting the urge to bark like the nodding dog he treated her as and masking the stronger urge to throw one of the priceless pieces of art carefully displayed throughout the lobby at Gennaro’s face, she gave a sweet smile and obeyed like the good little wife she was.

Leonardo took Luisa’s arm and led them outside. A porter followed them, effortlessly managing their copious suitcases and clothes carriers.

As Accardiano was a town built on towering cliffs like its near neighbour Positano, The Bianchi was designed to accommodate its landscape, being as high in places as it was wide, and comfortably accommodating five hundred guests in the utmost luxury.

“This is the main communal pool,” Leonardo explained as they traversed a large rectangular swimming pool and sunbathing area surrounded by immaculate accommodation blocks.

Guests were already soaking up the mid-morning sun, and Luisa waved at a few of the faces she recognised.

Soon, they reached a staggered three-storey, salmon-pink block, its white balconies covered in climbing flowers.

Leading them through an arched opening, Leonardo introduced them to their butler and then said his goodbyes with a slap to Gennaro’s back and an agreement to meet for drinks in a few hours. It was an invitation Luisa sensed did not include her.

Luisa’s first impression of their top-floor suite was of space and light.

Covering the entire floor, its rooms interconnected through wide arches, giving a defined lounging area, dining area, sleeping area and dressing area.

Only the bathroom had a door for privacy.

Everything was clean and luxurious, a suite a princess could happily spend six nights in.

There was just one little – major – problem, and she glanced at Gennaro to see if he’d noticed too.

His gaze was already on her, his set stare telling her in no uncertain terms to keep her mouth shut.

The knots that had lived permanently in her stomach since she’d accepted she had no choice but to marry the man she found so physically and intellectually intimidating tightened.

She had to wait until the butler finally left them alone before she could point out the obvious. “There’s only one bed.”

Muscular arms flexed and folded over a broad, muscular chest. “Yes.”

“We’re supposed to have a bed each.” A statement of the obvious.

It was in their contract. They had separate rooms. Whenever they travelled, they slept separately.

Even their sham of a honeymoon had been spent in separate beds.

In the whole of their marriage, they had exchanged one kiss on the lips, and that had been in the church to cement their vows.

Luisa had had to hold her breath to do it.

Cold black eyes drilled into hers. His strong throat and prominent Adam’s apple moved. “Yes.”

It was like talking to an immovable plank of wood, except planks of wood generally didn’t come in an undeniably sexy package.

That was another thing that had always unnerved her about him: how effortlessly sexy he was.

Gennaro Martinelli was six foot plus of muscle and sinew.

His was a body the Roman Gods of old would have revelled in and came with a face the Roman Gods of old would have killed to have.

Short hair a shade darker than his seemingly permanently narrowed black eyes was matched with thick eyebrows and a trimmed beard.

His jaw was chiselled perfection. Even his lips were perfect, not too wide and not too narrow, not too full and not too thin.

The only imperfection was a slight bump on his nose that had often made her wonder who in his life had had the nerve to punch him and then wonder if she could track them down to shake their hand.

As imperfections went, Gennaro’s only increased his sexiness, but it was a sexiness that repelled rather than attracted, at least for Luisa.

“I assume we’ll be moving to a different suite?” But even as she spoke, the knots in her chest tightened further, a sense of dread rising inside her.

There was the slightest tightening of his jaw. “There are no other suites available.”

“But…” She couldn’t continue.