Marrying the Italian: The Marcolini Blackmail Marriage / The Valtieri Marriage Deal / The Italian Doctor's Bride

Melanie Milburne

MELANIE MILBURNE says: “One of the greatest joys of being a writer is the process of falling in love with the characters and then watching as they fall in love with each other. I am an absolutely hopeless romantic. I fell in love with my husband on our second date, and we even had a secret engagement—so you see it must have been destined for me to be a Mills & Boon^>® author! The other great joy of being a romance writer is hearing from readers. You can hear all about the other things I do when I’m not writing and even drop me a line at: www.melaniemilburne.com.au.”

Melanie Milburne writes for Modern^>™ and Medical^>™ romance!

To Pauline Samson for all the work she does for

swimming in Tasmania and nationally. She has sat on

various pool decks tirelessly timing both mine and

other people’s swims for the National Aerobic Trophy.

Winning it in 2007 was a great achievement for such a

small but dedicated club, but really all the credit must

go to Pauline for there is only one thing worse than

swimming eight hundred metres of butterfly and

that is sitting there timing it!

IT WAS the very last thing Claire was expecting. She stared at the lawyer for several seconds, her brain whirling, her heart suddenly beating too fast and too hard. ‘What do you mean, he wouldn’t agree to it?’ she said.

The lawyer gave her a grim look. ‘Your husband flatly refused to sign or even to accept the papers for a divorce,’ she said. ‘He was absolutely adamant. He insists on a meeting with you first.’

Claire gnawed at her lip for a moment. She had hoped to avoid all contact with Antonio Marcolini during his lecture tour of Sydney. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. Five years had passed; a divorce after such a long separation was surely just a matter of a bit of paperwork? Leaving it in the lawyer’s hands was meant to make it easier for her to move on.

She had to move on.

‘Unless you have specific reasons not to meet with him, I suggest you get it over with—and soon,’ Angela Reed advised. ‘It may well be he wants to end things on a more personal note, rather than formally through the legal system. Ultimately he will not be able to prevent a divorce, of course, but he could make things drag on—which would incur even more legal fees for you.’

Claire felt a familiar twist of panic deep inside at the thought of more bills to pay. She was sailing far too close to the wind as it was; a long drawn-out legal process would just about sink her. But why on earth would Antonio want to see her after all this time? The circumstances under which their relationship had ended were hardly conducive to a friendly cup of coffee and a chat about old times.

She took a deep breath and met the lawyer’s speculative gaze. ‘I guess one face to face meeting won’t hurt,’ she said, with a sinking feeling deep in the pit of her stomach.

‘Think of it as closure,’ Angela said, as she pushed back her chair and rose to her feet, signalling the consultation was at an end.

Closure, Claire thought wryly as she made her way out to the street a short time later. That was why she had activated the divorce proceedings in the first place. It was well and truly time to put the past behind her. She owed it to herself to embrace life once more.

The phone was ringing as she unlocked the door of her flat and, dropping her bag and keys on the lumpy sofa, she picked up the receiver. ‘Hello?’

‘Claire.’

Claire gripped the phone in her suddenly damp hand, trying to suppress the groundswell of emotion that assailed her as soon as she heard the smooth, even tones of Antonio’s accented voice. Oh, God, if this was how she was going to be just listening to him, how on earth was she going to cope with seeing him? Tiny beads of perspiration broke out on her upper lip; her heart was hammering and her breathing becoming shallow and uneven.

‘Claire.’ He repeated her name, the velvet stroke of his deep tone making every pore of her skin lift beneath the layers of her winter-weight clothes, and the blood to kick start in her veins.

She swallowed tightly and, closing her eyes, released his name on a stuttering breath. ‘Antonio…I was…er…just about to call you…’

‘I take it you have spoken with your lawyer?’ he asked.

‘Yes, but—’

‘Then you will know I will not take no for an answer,’ he said, as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘No meeting, no divorce.’

Claire felt her back come up at his arrogance. ‘You think you can order me about like some sort of puppet?’ she asked. ‘Well, damn you, Antonio. I am not—’

‘Face to face, Claire,’ he said, in the same indomitable tone. ‘I believe there is no better way to do business.’