The Sheikh’s Pregnant Bride
Summer Romance with the Italian Tycoon
Mediterranean Fling to Wedding Ring
Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.
For Jess, Amelia, Mike and Kaia.
Praise for
Jessica Gilmore
“Totally loved every page. I was hooked right into the story, reading every single word. This book has to be my new favorite. Honestly this book is most entertaining.”
—Goodreads on Honeymooning with
Her Brazilian Boss
CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
CHAPTER ONE
‘WHO WAS IT, CHARLIE?’
‘Just the postman.’ Charlotte Samuels looked down at the heavy manila envelope she’d just signed for and hoped the wobble in her voice wasn’t too obvious.
‘Oh, is that my new dress? I didn’t think it was going to get here in time.’ Phoebe skidded into the hallway and stopped, throwing Charlie a concerned look. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘Everything’s fine.’ Charlie was aware her voice was too bright, too loud, too high, and she forced a smile as she turned to look at her cousin, best friend and housemate, a three-in-one petite but forceful package. ‘It’s just the papers.’
‘Papers?’
‘The divorce papers.’ She was trying for nonchalant and failing badly.
Phoebe shot a quick glance at the envelope. ‘Already? It’s only a few weeks since you and Matteo…’ She tailed off and Charlie rushed to fill the awkward silence. If she kept talking, maybe she could convince herself as well as Phoebe that everything was completely fine. Never look back, that was her motto. Now more than ever.
‘Yes, well, you know Matteo. There’s nothing he can’t achieve when he sets his mind to it!’ Including, it seemed, helping her achieve a quick divorce. Almost as quick as their marriage.
‘That’s good though. Right? You can head off on your travels a free woman.’ Now it was time for Phoebe to offer an unconvincing smile, worry clouding her grey eyes.
‘Ye-es.’ She could and she would. Maybe these very official papers would convince her stupid heart to catch up with her head and accept her brief, foolish marriage was well and truly over. ‘Yes. At least, I’m on the way to being free. This is the notification that the judge is happy for us to divorce. Matteo has accepted the unreasonable behaviour cited so I—or my lawyer—need to go back in six weeks to take care of the rest. But if the lawyers act as quickly as they did with this…’ she held up the envelope ‘…by the time I get back it will be as if my marriage never was.’
And then she could really move on. Because although she was a no regrets kind of girl, walking away from a marriage after less than a year was pretty monumental even by her standards. But she also knew that, no matter what anyone else might think, divorcing Matteo wasn’t one of her crazy, impulsive moves; it was the best, the only thing she could have done.
Phoebe took another swift glance at the envelope. ‘I’ve got a good idea. Let’s make your leaving party a divorce party!’
‘A divorce party?’ Charlie wrinkled her nose. ‘Isn’t that a little bit tacky?’ To say nothing of the fact that for once in her life she didn’t want to party. She wanted to slink out of the country and hope that by the time she returned her failed marriage would no longer be the number one item on the village grapevine and she could go to the village shop without everyone staring at her as if she were some latter-day Miss Havisham, wandering the aisles in her wedding dress.
‘Not at all,’ Phoebe said staunchly. ‘You deserve to get something out of this marriage after all, even if it’s only a party. I still think you should have taken the settlement.’
Charlie sighed. She knew Phoebe wasn’t alone in thinking she was an idiot to walk out of her marriage with nothing but the handful of things she had taken into it. After all, Matteo had more than enough money to keep numerous ex-wives, just as his father had—and did. But she hadn’t married Matteo for money; she had married him for love. Maybe in the end love hadn’t been enough but that didn’t mean she wanted to profit from her shattered dreams.
‘I couldn’t, Pheebs. It would have felt like I’d been bought off. I want him to know that some things and some people are not for sale.’
‘I hope your principles keep you warm at night,’ Phoebe said and Charlie laughed at her cousin’s disapproving tone.
‘It’s not like I’m destitute and starving. Thanks to Gran I have a home…’ even if still living with her grandmother at twenty-eight might seem a little pathetic ‘…and there’s always supply teaching if I can’t find something permanent for the start of term. I don’t need millions. I never did. I didn’t really feel like me in that lavish life. I guess that was part of the problem.’
Not the whole problem. Matteo’s continual absences, his workaholic tendencies, his habit of throwing money at each and every bump in the road had in the end been too much for her. But Charlie was self-aware enough to admit that her own discomfort in his gilded world hadn’t helped. Too many people she’d met had seemed superior and superficial; she’d never settled in Matteo’s expensively and sparsely designed Kensington mansion, never been comfortable spending the equivalent of a week’s salary on clothes. Reverse snobbery, Matteo had called it. Maybe he’d been right.
‘Just a small party,’ Phoebe wheedled. ‘A few friends and some drinks and nibbles to see you on your way and celebrate the start of your new life.’
‘I don’t know.’ A divorce party was probably the kind of response most people would expect from her, but Charlie had always preferred the unexpected. ‘Let me think about it.’ She scooped up the rest of the post and took it through to the bright, welcoming kitchen which ran across the back of the cottage. She’d always loved this sunshiny room with its bright yellow walls, the
