Page 31 of The Tycoon's Shock Heir

Matteo walked through the sea of white-linen-covered chairs and cotton-draped tables to where the local media were setting up their shots. Huge gold ribbons encased each area, along with banners of golden silk. Bouquets of white roses were draped artistically across the tables and around the arches. Under one of these, the first guests to arrive had gathered—the kids who had sailed in the Medaille d’Argent that morning and were already toasting their own bravado.

He envied them their carefree youth. He’d been that naïve once, imagining his life could be built on his passions instead of being the pure, hard slog it had become.

‘Looks like it’s shaping up, David,’ he said as he took a beer from his assistant and turned to walk with him. ‘Everything going to plan?’

‘So far so good. Arturo and Marie-Isabelle will arrive in half an hour. I’ll hold back all the other guests until they’re safely inside. Couple of pictures and then you can take them onto the west terrace. The sunset will be beautiful. You’ll be irresistible, I’m sure.’

‘And Claudio?’ he said. ‘Do you think he’ll try and pull off any more dirty tricks?’

‘Well, the montage of your exes on The Finance Report last night wasn’t exactly helpful, but what else has he got?’

Matteo paused. What else did he have? Someone was drip-feeding the media with stories of his former girlfriends, trying to raise questions about his ability to lead the bank, never mind his morality.

‘Nothing that I’m aware of, but that doesn’t mean he won’t try. He might claim he’s got bigger fish to fry and we still need to cover every angle. I don’t want a single drop of his poison to land on this.’

‘I’ve analysed it from every single angle and back again. I can’t see anything coming at you now that we’re not prepared for. We’ve lived through Faye-gate, after all. Could it get any worse? Nothing came of those pictures of you with that dancer at the ballet premiere, despite how they tried to paint it.’

‘That’s true,’ he said.

They’d reached the edge of the lake. Matteo stared across the dark green water, his mind filling with images of a beautiful woman with fear in her eyes.

He thought he knew women, but that morning he’d come to realise he knew nothing. He’d been all set to make a commitment as far as a second date, when—bam!

‘You’re not my type.’

He might not know women, but he knew a lie when he heard one.

He shook his head, shook her image out of his mind, and turned to look back up at the château. It was already aflame with stars of the media and finance, locals and internationals. People came here to have a really good time and then go on to have an even better time somewhere else.

Well, not he. He had traded in those chips. That night with Ruby had unsettled something in him and he hadn’t chased anything since, no matter how hard his friends had pressed him.

He pulled out his phone, checked the time—less than ten minutes until curtain-up. Time to get back in the zone.

It was all hanging on him tonight. His mother had pulled back even further from the daily grind of the bank. It was as if the closer he got the further away she went. But it was good that she was feeling fulfilled, working with her kids in Africa. He’d never heard her happier since Dad died.

God, he missed him. He missed him so much.

He touched his wrist with his right hand, wrapped his fingers around his father’s watch—the one thing that had survived the crash. He ran his thumb over the ridges of the dial, feeling the imprint of every etched line, remembering the times he’d cursed that watch because it had survived, ticking on while his father perished.

They would never be able to prove that Claudio had caused the accident. No one could accuse him of opening that bottle of whisky and pouring it down his father’s throat. But he was the one man who had known about his alcoholism—the one man who’d been there with him when he’d battled it and won.

He’d been the man to drive him back there, too. He and his father had had a fight and the next thing they’d known he’d stolen his clients, started his own bank and then walked back into their lives goading them and gloating over his victory.

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