The Fiance - Stefanie London Page 0,3

discipline to hold themselves in check.

I won’t give the masses any ammunition. Well...any more ammunition.

Around me, the party swells with sounds of conversation, laughter and clinking glasses as if reminding me that I’m not alone. Two women in sparkling cocktail dresses brush past, eyes lingering before they sweep into the bar. I should be enjoying myself—top-shelf drinks, beautiful women, the glittering skyline of Melbourne stretched out like a gift from heaven.

My company, Moretti Enterprises, has officially opened the tallest tower in the Southern Hemisphere. The Cielo is a 394-metre high, 108-storey luxury apartment building—a massive accomplishment for my family’s property development company. And for me as the newly minted CEO.

I should be floating on a cloud.

Instead, I’m seething with anger at being accused of the one thing I would never do.

“Did you hear that?” I suck a breath in between my teeth, gripping on to my composure though it feels like water sliding through my fingers. “Tell me I’ve entered a parallel dimension.”

Leo sips his champagne. He’s my head of operations and is the buffer between my brother’s fiery temper and my icy resolve.

“You can hardly blame him for being pissed off with the gossip,” Leo points out. “And maybe it wasn’t a smart move to fire your own flesh and blood in the middle of launch night.”

Marc has made it across the room, drawing curious glances and whispers as he’s stopped by his wife, Lily. She attempts to calm him down, but there’s no mistaking Marc’s furious expression and clenched jaw. Beneath his bespoke suit, my brother is tightly coiled like a tiger.

And just as bad-tempered as one.

This morning I’d awoken to my phone exploding with messages. Photos from a gossip site proclaimed that we, the Moretti brothers, are “at war” over Australia’s top model—a.k.a. Marc’s wife.

The headline doesn’t hold even a grain of truth—not a microscopic speck. But the media can’t get enough of a love triangle, even if it’s a complete fabrication.

“I didn’t fire him,” I say through gritted teeth. “I simply asked him why he was letting himself be manipulated.”

“You told him to let it go,” Leo corrects. “You know that’s a red flag to a bull, right?”

“It shouldn’t be difficult for him to let it go, I’m his fucking brother.” I stalk over to a window. We have a phenomenal view. The inky sky is a perfect contrast to the lights, making it look like someone has draped Melbourne in a blanket of diamonds. “I have not and will not ever have an affair with a married woman. Especially not my brother’s wife.”

The fact that Marc is entertaining this fictitious piece of bullshit is a blow. Not just any blow, the ultimate blow. Our father liked to change mistresses more often than he changed his jocks, and it ruined our family. I’m not like him. And Marc is an idiot for accosting me, “demanding answers” in the middle of our most important company event ever. With the press in the vicinity.

While drunk.

Sometimes he’s not the brightest crayon in the box.

But I stood my ground with stoic denial. With unemotional logic. We’re opposites like that—ice and fire. I turn to stone when angry and Marc is a volcano. So telling Marc that he was an idiot for believing the media went down like a lead balloon. And unfortunately, he’d taken the argument as a recommendation to resign from the family company.

Hence his storming off.

Now a pink-cheeked Lily heads toward us, the length of her strapless emerald gown gathered in one hand so she doesn’t trip as she hurries across the room. She’s like the little sister I never had, and we’ve only ever been friends. But the media doesn’t care about any of that. They love the idea of some sordid affair because it sells advertising.

Not because there’s a shred of truth to it.

“He’s furious,” Lily says, shaking her head. She wraps her hand around my arm and her nails dig into my biceps. “He’s refusing to talk to me. I’ve told him nothing is going on... But he says he’s seen proof.”

I place a hand on her shoulder, doing my best to comfort her but without giving anyone around us more to speculate on. “There can’t be proof of something that doesn’t exist.”

“That’s what I told him.” She sucks in a shaky breath. “But he won’t even hear me out.”

“That’s his issue, Lily.”

“I love him and it’s affecting our marriage, so it’s my issue.” Her voice wavers. “And he’s your brother, which makes it your