‘He just needs time to process the fact he has a sister,’ she reminded her gently, smothering her instinct to tell Orla it would be better if Dante remained only a name in her life. The last thing Orla needed was to pin her hopes on a relationship with a brother who didn’t want to be a brother. Aislin would not see Orla hurt again. ‘He didn’t know you existed until a day ago. Give him time.’
When the call was done with, Aislin released an enormous breath of relief.
Whatever her doubts about Dante and his future relationship with their shared sister, the money had cleared.
That money was safe. It was Orla’s.
This was no hoax or game. If they failed to convince Riccardo, that two hundred thousand would still be Orla’s. When you added the DNA-dependent hundred thousand to the mix, Orla’s and Finn’s lives would be changed for the better, regardless of what happened at the wedding and regardless of whether Dante wanted to be a part of their lives.
Dante had done this for them.
It suddenly occurred to her that she needed to thank him.
Not giving herself time to change her mind, she hurried off in search of the room he’d shut himself away in.
Dante was in the middle of writing an email when a knock on his office door distracted him.
His heart thumped.
It could only be Aislin.
‘Come in,’ he called.
She burst through the door, her beautiful face shining with a radiance the old Masters would have struggled to capture in oil.
His every sinew tightened.
Damn it, he’d finally got himself back under control, and now that control was shattered in the time it took for her to walk into his office.
He hid his discomfort. ‘I’m nearly finished.’
The most captivating smile broke out on her face. ‘I’m not trying to chivvy you. I just wanted to thank you.’
‘For what?’
‘The money has credited Orla’s account. I cannot begin to tell you how happy you’ve made her.’ She put her hands on his desk and stared at him with such force it was as if her pupils had invisible lasers pouring out of them. ‘Now that I know you’re a man of your word, I want you to know that I am a woman of my word, and that I intend to be the best fake fiancée money can buy. I will follow your lead in however you want to play things at the wedding and make darn sure that the old fool believes you and I are madly in love.’
His blood heated to imagine all the ways he could take advantage of that declaration, starting right here and now by spreading her over the table...
He pushed the heady image away with all the force he could muster and gritted his teeth. ‘My only expectation is that you be you. Obviously, we will need to buy you some appropriate clothing.’
Alarm flashed in her eyes. ‘What do you mean by “appropriate”?’
‘Clothes appropriate for a society weekend and wedding that you feel comfortable in.’
‘I don’t know what would be appropriate.’
‘There are stores with personal shoppers who will help and guide you. I will take you to them tomorrow.’
‘Erm...’ Her brow furrowed with an uncertainty he found strangely endearing. ‘Are you okay to loan me the money for it? It’s just that I’m skint.’
Used to women assuming he would always pick up the tab for them, it took Dante a moment to realise she was serious.
‘While you are under my employ I pay for everything.’ It was imperative he re-establish that this was a business arrangement and not a personal one. Imperative as a reminder to himself and the thickening in his blood and loins.
She stilled, eyes narrowing. ‘So you’re my boss?’
‘If I’m paying you to provide a service then, yes, that makes me your boss.’