Beautifully Broken
Clare Connelly
Contents
About the Author
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Beautifully Broken
Other Books in THE MONTEBELLOS
The Sheikh’s Baby Bargain
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Books By Clare Connelly
About the Author
Clare Connelly grew up in a small country town in Australia. Surrounded by rainforests, and rickety old timber houses, magic was thick in the air, and stories and storytelling were a huge part of her childhood.
From early on in life, Clare realised her favourite books were romance stories, and read voraciously. Anything from Jane Austen to Georgette Heyer, to Mills & Boon and (more recently) 50 Shades, Clare is a romance devotee. She first turned her hand to penning a novel at fifteen (if memory serves, it was something about a glamorous fashion model who fell foul of a high-end designer. Sparks flew, clothes flew faster, and love was born.)
Clare has a small family and a bungalow near the sea. When she isn't chasing after energetic little toddlers, or wiping fingerprints off furniture, she's writing, thinking about writing, or wishing she were writing.
Clare loves connecting with her readers. Head to www.clareconnelly.co.uk to sign up to her newsletter, or join her official facebook page.
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All the characters in this book are fictitious and have no existence outside the author’s imagination. They have no relation to anyone bearing the same name or names and are pure invention.
All rights reserved. The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reprinted by any means without permission of the Author.
The illustration on the cover of this book features model/s and bears no relation to the characters described within.
First published 2020
(c) Clare Connelly
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Beautifully Broken
Prologue
THE SNOW WAS FALLING hard and fast, swirling beyond the floor to ceiling windows, and Gabe was glad. Glad he was here, alone. Glad the snow was creating an impenetrable barrier to the outside world. Glad because it might mean he could remain here forever.
Forse, not forever.
But at least for Christmas.
Alone.
Away from the well-meaning questions his family always asked, the concern in their eyes, their kindness and understanding. Cristo, how he hated that. As though he deserved any of it after what he did.
Grinding his teeth together, he lifted the scotch glass to his lips, tasting a hint of the liquid before throwing it all back, his Adam’s apple shifting in his stubble-covered throat as the alcoholic heat burned him all the way down.
In the distance, he could just make out the pale yellow glow of car lights cutting into the whiteness of the landscape. It had to be I carabinieri or similar. No one else would be mad enough – or have the necessary equipment – to drive on these perilous roads on a night like this.
He turned his back on the sight – an unwelcome reminder that light has a way of finding a path through even the darkest of voids – striding across the room to the well-stocked bar in the corner.
When Gabe wasn’t at Il Nido, he had domestic staff move in and take care of it. But when he returned, the instructions were simple: leave food, alcohol, and get out.
The house had been immaculate when he’d walked through the doors two weeks earlier, but now it bore all the hallmarks of a man living on his own, who didn’t give a crap about what the state of his house was. It wasn’t as though he had any intention of being joined here in his sanctuary. Or hell-hole.
Here, on the edge of the earth, he could replay the incidents of that long-ago night over and over, reminding himself what he’d done, what he’d taken, what he’d destroyed.
Here, on the edge of the earth, he could remind himself that he had no right to happiness when he’d destroyed hers.
He poured another scotch, knowing it wouldn’t dull the pain, but that it would hasten sleep and oblivion.
1
“OH, NO, NO, NO!” Isabella gripped the steering wheel, avoiding the brake – she knew enough about hazardous driving to realise that if she slammed on the brakes she’d spin out on these icy roads. Already going at a snail’s pace, she lifted her foot off the accelerator, but it didn’t make much difference. The car was moving seemingly of its own free will toward a thick bank of snow to her right. She resisted the temptation to squeeze her eyes shut, doing her best to steer the car away from the snowbank while simultaneously realising that ‘away from the snowbank’ meant towards the god-knows-how-deep ravine just beyond the road’s edge.
She squealed into the confines of the rental car as it picked up speed, careening down a small hill. Suddenly the snowbank looked like the most appealing option. It all happened in a few quick seconds. Indecision, doubt, fear, and then she nudged back towards the side of the road, bracing as the car juddered against the wall of thick white snow, the noise impossibly loud. It dragged on as the car tried to move past the snow, before finally thudding to a stop. Silence, before a deafening thud as a heap of snow crashed down on the car.
Another curse dropped from her lips as survival instincts kicked into gear. She had to move quickly, or she’d risk being consumed by the snow completely. On a night like this, it wouldn’t take long for the car to be completely iced over and she’d have no hope of staving off hypothermia. She pushed the door open so a large chunk of snow
