The Billionaire's Gemini Bride

GWEN

"Thomas, where did you get all of these?" I exclaim at the glass cases containing all kinds of jewelry made up of every gemstone in the world!

I even look out the window, wondering if we're being watched.

"I called a major supplier," Thomas replies.

As much as I'm too dazed to respond, I begin calculating the profits in my head until I reach one conclusion.

Millions.

"Absolutely not!" I blurt in disbelief.

Tom's mouth folds down; he looks disappointed and slightly confused.

"I beg your pardon?"

"What is your angle, Tom?" I demand, "No one in their right mind would offer this kind of asset for free. Tell me, are the gems conflict-free? Or are you trying to set me up?!"

Tom breaks into a slow, almost cruel smile. "I like you, Gwen, because you're smart enough to see through me," he admits. "Yes, there's a catch, nothing too serious. Nobody wants to hear that a Ciccotelli wife is just an ordinary sales assistant. She will be the sole owner of her business."

I take a deep breath. I've always dreamed about the day when I wouldn't rely on commissions, and now an opportunity is being presented on a platter.

"My mother was against giving this building to you." He steps closer to me; his cologne envelopes my senses. "But I insisted. So, a controlling share will go to the family's trust, but you can name the store whatever you want."

Like Eve reaching for the forbidden fruit, I agree to the offer.

The risk doesn't matter; I'll be getting more money after the divorce, and I'll use it to find Gennie before that bloody private investigator does.

Two weeks later, Gemini Jewelers officially opened to the public.

"That is a lot of zeroes," I whisper in excitement as I read the sales report on my tablet.

It feels strange being wealthy overnight. I wonder how Tom walks freely without looking over his shoulder.

Speaking of which, I notice a man glancing at me while checking the earrings section. All my assistants are too busy attending to customers, so I approach him.

"Is there a problem, sir?" I ask.

He eyes me curiously. "What's it like to be Tom Ciccotelli's wife?"

I wonder if Tom sent him to test me.

Ah, he'll never get the best of me.

I flash him my best customer service smile. "Absolutely wonderful."

Before I can walk away, the man utters. "Don't let him fool you."

My heart races. "What?"

"Tom's nothing but a crook." The man remarks lightly with a dark stare that sends a chill down my spine.

"Who are you, and how dare you talk about Tom in that way? Leave before I call security." I threaten, pointing at the door behind him.

"Adam Richardson," he introduces, while handing me a card. "How do you think Ciccotelli got so rich and famous?"

"I heard they come from a long line of Italian royalty."

Adam's eyes lift upward and back at me, this time with a sharp look. "He and his wretched mother stole all of my designs."

The atmosphere becomes still, and I place my hand over my chest to relieve my beating heart.

"Where's your proof?" I lift my head, but Adam is already moving out of the store. I sprint after him, but he's climbing into a black Camaro. "Mr. Richardson?"

He flashes a thumb and little finger to his ear. "Call me."

Then the car disappears down the road. I look at the card again, and there's a number on it.

"Terrific."

That evening, Tom and I sit at dinner alone, as Diana is currently out of the country.

When I look up from my meal, I discover Tom watching me.

"What?" I shrug.

"Nothing," he says. "I gave you a business start-up, yet you look miserable."

"It's not that," I reply. "The CEO of Aspen Designs dropped by the store today."

Tom, in the middle of chewing, begins to cough profusely, and his eyes grow wide.

Could Adam Richardson be telling the truth?

"What did Adam say?" Tom asks after recovering.

"Nothing," I lie. "He was just window-shopping."

Tom's instant look of relief doesn't restore comfort to my legs shaking under the table.

"Listen, if Adam comes back, don't sell him anything," Tom warns.

"Why?"

"Because I said so."

"You can't earn your profit if I chase clients away."

Tom drops his fork with a clatter and gives me a serious look. "How do I explain this gently? He's psychotic. Adam's been on trial for attempted murder."

My heart drops into my stomach, and I sit straight with my mouth open. "Who-"

"Gwen, for God's sake, don't you watch the news?"

"No, Tom. I've been too busy raising your child."

A few moments later, we move to Tom's office, where, on his computer, he shows me news articles about Adam standing trial for the murder of his ex-wife, McKenna.

"Somehow, the court ruled the case a suicide, and Adam suddenly became a hero. He even wrote a New York Times bestseller on it." Tom tells me. "I doubt he's innocent."

"Why?"

Before Tom can answer, a loud wail echoes from the baby monitor in my pocket.

We hurry into the nursery, and I pick Mikey up in my arms.

"Shh, it's okay, little bugger," I whisper.

Tom frowns. "Where's the nanny?"

"Probably in the bathroom or something," I guess. I pull back Mikey's nappy. "He's dry. Can you hold him while I get his bottle?"

"No, wait-"

Before Tom could finish speaking, I gently pushed Mikey into his arms.

"I don't like holding crying children," Tom hisses, looking terrified.

"He's your son. You need to carry him one of these days."

After I get Mikey a bottle, he drinks up a little water, and his cries finally simmer down as Tom rocks him.

From the way Tom stares at Mikey fondly, I feel a slight happiness as I imagine a moment where he and Genevieve had talked to Tom about the baby, and it would be the two of them, married and fussing over Mikey.

Until my mouth slowly curls down as a sting claws inside of me. Then, I would just be on the sideline.

Shit, how could I be jealous of Genevieve?

"Hurry, before he cries again," Tom pleads.

Two hours later, I twist and turn in bed, unable to find rest. I can't stop thinking about what Adam said.

It's funny how Tom and Adam don't trust each other, but stealing ideas isn't uncommon in the corporate world. Tom doubting Adam's innocence was a little strange.

Maybe he wanted Adam out of the way back then.

"Bollocks," I whisper.

I climb out of bed and tiptoe out of my room. The empty and quiet hallway makes me feel uneasy.

Thankfully, I'd noticed Tom didn't lock the office after we left. While inside, I begin to check every drawer for anything that leads to Adam's claims.

Click.

I turn to see the doorknob jiggle; I slam a palm over my mouth and quickly crawl under the desk as my heart speeds up. The door creaks open.