24 Hours of Trouble

CHAPTER 1 I KNEW SOMETHING was wrong the instant I opened the door to our hotel suite. The air crackled with energy, the kind that shouldn’t have been there if Antonio was on his own. A faint giggle drifted from the direction of our bedroom. As I tiptoed through the lounge, resplendent in plush velvet and bawdy gold fittings, I felt as though even the furniture was mocking me. Because every throw pillow, every polished candlestick, and every hand-carved table belonged there, while I didn’t. They’d been designed for a luxurious lifestyle, whereas I was just an impostor. The closer I crept to the closed door, the louder the sounds got. A man’s voice instructed, “Raise your hips,” followed by a feminine sigh. I hesitated with my hand on the doorknob. Did I really want to know what was going on inside? The answer was no, but all the same, I felt compelled to look. I couldn’t back away. In my heart, I knew Antonio had a woman in there, but a part of me, the part that had once fallen in love with the sly son of a b***h, tried to convince myself he could be watching pay-per-view television. I twisted my hand, and the door swung open on silent hinges. A busty brunette lay on our bed, legs spread, hair flowing over my pillow as her eyes screwed up in ecstasy. She clutched at the thousand-thread-count sheets while Antonio pounded into her like a jackhammer on acid and attacked her neck in the manner of a rabid goat. Her eyes popped open, and her expression of delight turned to sheer horror when she saw me standing there, arms folded. She tapped Antonio furiously on the back. “Mon cheri, il y a une femme!” He lazily swivelled his head until his gaze met mine. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to because his eyes said it all: What are you going to do about it? Good question. I had no idea. When I didn’t speak, he turned back to her and finished. He bloody finished. There was no mistaking the harsh grunt he always gave as he came. The woman, whoever she was (Party girl? Stripper? Prostitute?) tried to get up, but he put his hands on her shoulders and pinned her down. Just because he could. Her eyes widened in fear as she turned back to me. In an odd way, I felt sorry for her. When she met him, she, like I, couldn’t have realised what a monster he was. My eyes may have been green, but I didn’t feel a shred of jealousy. Rather than focusing on his naked backside, I concentrated on the trivialities. Had he mentioned me to her? I was betting not. My make-up was missing from the dressing table, and he’d even closed my suitcase and shoved it up against the wall. No, I didn’t exist. Satisfied with his performance, Antonio rolled to the side, dripping with sweat and bodily fluids. Vomit swirled in my throat. The girl tried to rise again, but he pushed her back to the mattress and knelt in front of her. With two fingers, he peeled off the now-limp condom, dropped it on the floor then thrust his hips forwards. “Clean it.” She licked her lips nervously, and her eyes met mine in a cry for help. But with Antonio, there was nothing I could do. Nothing but look away and allow her to preserve some shred of dignity. Time stopped, then I heard the squeak of the bedsprings as she scrambled away from him. A few seconds later, she shot past me through the open door, clutching her clothes. I turned to face my boyfriend. I might have loved him once, but that feeling had ridden away on the breeze of the second summer we spent together. All my heart held now was hatred. A hatred that threatened to consume me if I let it. So I turned it to ice. He looked me up and down, his gaze condescending. His eyes stopped at my chest, and I knew he was comparing me to her and finding me lacking. Chicken fillets, push-up bras, even wadded up tissue—I’d tried it all to avoid his taunts, but none of it worked. Finally, he stood up and stalked towards me. “I wasn’t expecting you back. I told you I’d pick you up when I was ready.” I braced myself, waiting for the sting of his palm on my cheek. Tempting though it was, I didn’t shut my eyes. Like all the other times, he’d only make me open them again. “I’m sorry. One of the other teams offered me a lift.” Antonio stood close, toe-to-toe with me, but the slap never came. “Next time, you should get back earlier. You can join in.” Bile rose in my throat. Surely, he couldn’t be serious? Mind you, I’d thought that when he suggested bringing my riding crop into the bedroom, but I’d ended up wearing the welts from it for weeks afterwards. He stepped back and looked at his watch. “I’d take you now, while the bed’s still warm, but we’ll be late for lunch. I know how long it takes you to get ready.” Just had to get that one last barb in, didn’t he? The asshole sauntered off to his bathroom and slammed the door, leaving me standing in the bedroom, barely able to process what had just happened. Was it a surprise? No, not really. In my heart of hearts, I knew he had other women. I just didn’t think he’d be so brazen as to bring one back to our bed like that. But then, he’d done so many nasty things to me over the years, what was one more? One more on top of… I’d lost count now. My life was one long series of humiliations. Why don’t you leave him? I hear you cry. Oh, if only it were that simple. Some women daydreamed about meeting their prince and being swept off their feet. Others fantasised about hot, sweaty s*x with some tattooed love-god. I dreamed of being free. The problem was, I had nowhere to go. No home other than his palace of ice, and no family to turn to. And it wasn’t just me. I had my two four-legged best friends to worry about as well. They were the main reason I’d stuck it out. Harley and Murphy, the two loveable oafs I’d cared for since they were foals. They lived at the di Stefano family’s country spread, and Antonio had told me over and over that if I tried to leave, he’d have them shot. And once he’d disposed of the bodies, he’d find me and drag me back where I belonged, anyway. I had no doubt that he meant every word of it. Back in England, living in our elegant home on the estate with the staff around, he toned his actions down so he didn’t come across as a complete bastard. Life was bearable—just. And while Antonio and his father came out of the same mould, his mother wasn’t too bad, and his teenage sister was a sweetheart. It was when we headed out on the road that my significant other became utterly unbearable. But for the horses’ sake, I sucked it up, and every day I died a little more inside. In public, I was Amelia Stanbrook, one of show jumping’s global success stories and girlfriend to a successful businessman. At functions, we certainly looked the part. Antonio charmed the world in his made-to-measure suits, his brown eyes twinkling. Women worshipped him. With dark hair, perfect teeth, and a chiselled jaw, he only had to flash his adorably crooked smile at them and they were ready to drop their knickers, as he’d just proven. Once, I’d been one of them. I had no idea why he chose me over the bevvy of beauties he left in his wake. Maybe he sensed my weakness? Whatever the reason, I’d cursed his decision every waking hour for years. With the fancy grandfather clock ticking in the background, I rifled through the wardrobe for something suitable to wear. Elegant. Classy. Demure yet sexy. I picked out a knee-length black cocktail dress and held it up in front of me. The girl in the mirror looked pale and gaunt, and the dress was perfect for a funeral. Appropriate, as lunch would be about as enjoyable as a wake. In my own bathroom, I found my make-up case where Antonio had tossed it into the sink and used Yves Saint Laurent’s finest to add colour to my cheeks. I’d become an expert at that over the years. My dark red hair was flat from being under a riding hat, so I spritzed it with water and reached for the curling tongs to give it a bit of volume. I’d just finished pinning the last strands into place when Antonio knocked on the door. He only gave a light rap with his knuckles, but I jumped all the same. “Are you ready? The car’s outside.” I pulled my shoulders back and stood up straight. Antonio always lectured me about my posture. “I just need to get my shoes.” He was waiting there when I scurried out, tapping his watch. “Well, hurry up. Tick tock.” I dug a pair of kitten heels out of my suitcase. Antonio was only two inches taller than me and had a complex about his height, which meant no shoes that put my head above his. Up-dos were out too, as was standing on a slope above him. We’d almost reached the door when his hand closed around my wrist. Close, so close. I turned, swallowing the lump in my throat, and found him staring at my ass. “I’ve changed my mind,” he said, reaching for his zipper. Today’s lunch was a publicity event for riders on show jumping’s European Championship Tour, a series of glitzy competitions taking place from Spain to Bulgaria to Ireland and another twelve cities in between. As my boyfriend and sponsor, Antonio was attending with me. I was expected to be on my best behaviour, and I couldn’t even hide quietly in a corner because he’d invited a group of his clients along as well. Wonderful. His family’s import and export business traded all over Europe, and as he never stopped reminding me, paid for my “bloody nags.” He was the main face of the company while his father ran the di Stefano’s property portfolio plus the hotel and casino in London. I stared out of the limousine’s tinted window while Antonio talked on the phone, something about shipments and merchandise. The sky had clouded over to match my mood, casting a grey pallor over La Croisette as we drove through Cannes. My most recent penthouse suite hell played in my mind over and over on repeat. I’d always known Antonio had no respect for me, but now he was rubbing my face in it. I kept seeing that girl’s expression, the way her rapture turned to fear. Still, I envied her. She’d got away. Then afterwards... Afterwards. He hadn’t even let me clean up. His mess dribbled down my inner thigh as I tried not to squirm on the leather seat, leaving me as disgusted with myself as I was with him. How had I let myself get into this situation? All too soon, the car drew to a smooth halt outside the Marriott hotel. Photographers lined the red carpet, and Antonio put on his public persona for the world. Hidden was the demon lurking within as he opened my door, smiling sweetly at me. Once upon a time, when he gave me that look, my heart had melted. Now, it was frozen solid. With my fans and the media watching, I had little choice but to link my arm through his when he offered his elbow, the same elbow he’d used to pin me against the wall less than an hour before. Thank goodness for the flimsy layer of material that kept his flesh from touching me. “Smile for the cameras,” he murmured. I plastered on a practised grin and faced the press. Could they see through me? Did they know how broken I was inside? “Are you looking forward to the competition, Amelia?” someone shouted. I turned in the direction of their voice. “Of course. Riding two horses in one of the most prestigious events on the show jumping calendar is a dream come true for anyone.” “What do you think your chances are?” What did I think? Well, Harley would try her heart out, just like her full name: Harlequin’s Heart. Murphy, well, he was another story. On a good day, he was unbeatable. On a bad day? Well, I might as well go around on foot. “My chances are as good as anyone’s, but the competition will be tough. Some of the best riders in the world are here.” “They haven’t all had your form over the last few months, though.” “I’ve been lucky.” “I’ll say,” a female reporter piped up. “You’ve got one hell of a hot man on your arm.” If only she knew. Beside me, Antonio preened in the spotlight. “Today is Amelia’s day. I’m just here to support her.” The reporter practically swooned as Antonio bathed her in his aura. How looks could be deceiving. I’d once thought Antonio was my dream man. I’d been nineteen when we met, scrimping and saving every penny to pay for my show entry fees and working every job I could find to pay for my horses’ keep. Antonio had offered me every budding show jumper’s dream: sponsorship. Only I soon found I’d sold my soul to Satan. Years ago, my costs had far outweighed my winnings, but now I was bringing in the prize money, every penny went into Antonio’s pocket. He said I owed him. My bank balance was a big, fat zero, leaving me and my horses totally dependent on a man who made my skin crawl. The photographers turned to the next rider to arrive, and Antonio gave me a tug, snapping me out of my thoughts. I narrowly avoided stumbling and followed him inside. The hotel ballroom was a spectacle of overstated elegance. Gilt fittings sparkled so brightly my eyes hurt, and a blurred reflection of my face stared back at me from the polished wooden floor. And the ceiling… Flipping heck—the artist who’d done the ceiling could have given Michelangelo a run for his money. It seemed like every rider on the tour had turned up to the event, which hardly surprised me. Most of the horsey set grabbed any chance to dress up. There was nothing glamorous about mucking out, and we spent so long in jodhpurs, our legs rarely saw the light of day. Fake tan was definitely in order, even in the South of France. In the days when I was single, I’d shared their enthusiasm. Those had been happier times, when I’d giggled with my flatmate, Holly, as we sorted out each other’s hair and make-up before heading off in eBay’s finest to whichever party had free booze. The fun had lasted until one fateful evening at the local polo club when Antonio arrived to present the trophy to the winning team. Six years on, I barely saw Holly anymore. According to Antonio, she was badly bred and talked too much, leaving our friendship reduced to the odd coffee and a few snatched phone calls. Yet another thing I missed about my pre-Antonio days. More than once as I lay awake at night, I’d wondered if I’d ever again get the opportunity for real friendship. Back then, I’d never appreciated the importance of an impromptu movie night or a late-night run to pick up fish and chips. Funny how the small things mattered so much more when I was no longer able to do them. Sure, there were other riders on the tour, and we did talk, but Antonio saw to it that I never got the chance to form any bonds. Either he or Jerry, the thug he’d hired to drive the horsebox, constantly eavesdropped on my chats and interrupted if I discussed anything remotely personal. As we meandered around the party, Antonio led the conversation while I nodded politely at my competition. Every time I saw a large-chested brunette, my nerves, already so close to snapping, stretched a little tauter. “Aren’t you going to eat anything?” Antonio asked, waving at a buffet table stacked with everything from caviar to foie gras. “I’m not hungry.” “Suit yourself.” Wine was out as well, as I was competing later, so I just sipped a glass of orange juice and counted down the seconds until we could leave. The tour director had no such problem with alcohol. He tripped up the steps to a small dais and waved his glass as he spoke, champagne slopping over the edges. “Thank you for coming, yadda, yadda, yadda...” I tuned him out. I didn’t want to be there. I didn’t want to be with Antonio. I barely even wanted to exist anymore.