Gina was right. Callie might not be a princess, but in that dress, she felt like one.
“Yes,” she decided. This was the best choice. It felt right, it looked right, and it was the most elegantly beautiful thing she’d ever owned.
Serena immediately took charge. “An excellent decision, signorina! If you’ll now decide on a pair of satin shoes from these in the display case over here, my assistant will adjust the gown’s hem so that you don’t trip over it as you come to meet your groom. Once that’s taken care of, I’ll send the shoes to be dyed to match your dress, and make sure everything’s ready for delivery to your hotel by tomorrow afternoon.”
“I know you’re meeting Paolo for lunch and would like to shop for something for Gina to wear, before then,” Lidia said, as they left the boutique and stepped out into the elegant Via Condotti, “but we have time enough to make another stop first, and my dear, you look as if you could use a rest.”
“I am finding it all a bit overwhelming,” Callie confessed. After the peace and quiet of Isola di Gemma, the frantic pace of Rome took some getting used to.
“Then a good cup of coffee is what you need, and I know just the place, no more than a five-minute walk from here. After that, I’ll have my driver take us to Bonpoint which carries a wonderful line of children’s clothing. I’m sure we’ll find exactly the right thing there, for Gina.”
A few minutes later, over cappuccino and almond biscotti, Callie said quietly, “Thank you, Lidia, for your help. I’d never have been able to do this without you. I wouldn’t have the first idea where to shop, let alone how to get around the city.”
“But you do have me, and not just to help you prepare for your wedding. Don’t ever forget that I’m no more than a phone call away, any time you need me.”
“Then let me ask you something now,” Callie said tentatively. “When’s the best time for a woman to reveal everything about her past to the man she plans to marry—before or after the wedding?”
Lidia pursed her lips thoughtfully. “I think it depends on the kind of secret. I’m not sure confession is necessarily good for either party. So let me answer you with a question of my own. Do you love my son, Caroline?”
“Yes,” she said, hugely relieved at being able to admit at least this truth freely, even if it wasn’t to Paolo himself. “With my whole heart.”
“Then consider this. We all carry secrets, and some are best kept to ourselves, especially if sharing them brings nothing but pain and heartache.”
But would it bring pain and heartache to Paolo to learn the children were his? Or would it destroy him?
Seeming to sense her quandary, Lidia went on, “What’s past is past, cara, and nothing you do now is going to change it. For what it’s worth, my advice is to concentrate on today, my dear, and on tomorrow. On the secure life you’ll have with Paolo and the children. They are what matter now. You and Paolo have arrived at this marriage quickly. Everything is still very new between you. Perhaps when you’re all more settled, then will be the time to share your most closely guarded secrets.”
“What are you talking about, Nonna?” Gina piped up, a timely reminder that little pitchers had big ears.
Lidia exchanged a discreet glance with Callie, then took her napkin and mopped the creamy mustache from her granddaughter’s upper lip. “About your being a good little girl and finishing your milkshake, so that we can shop for a pretty dress for you. Hurry now, darling, or we’ll run out of time.”
They found exactly what they were looking for at Bonpoint, one of Rome’s most exclusive shops for children. A full-length silk taffeta dress shot through with blush-pink and palest lilac, and festooned around the waist and neck with tiny satin rosebuds.
By the time it was layered in tissue paper and put in a box, Callie realized she was running late for her lunch with Paolo, but, “My driver will take you,” Lidia said, calmly ushering her to the Mercedes limousine waiting at the curb. “You won’t keep Paolo waiting more than a few minutes—just long enough to be fashionably late, my dear.”
Paolo saw her the minute the car drew up outside the restaurant and she stepped out, all flushed, breathless and beautiful.
“You weren’t the only one shopping,” he said, after she was settled across from him at his favorite table, and had taken a sip of the champagne he’d ordered. “But you are late, cara mia, which prompts me to think I should have bought you a watch, instead of this.”
Her mouth fell open in delicious shock as he snapped open the sterling silver jeweler’s box, and showed her the platinum ring nesting inside on a dark blue velvet dome. “Paolo!” she gasped, turning rosy all over again. “It’s…it’s…!”
“An engagement ring.” He shrugged with deliberate nonchalance. “I thought it was about time you had one. Will it do?”
“Do?” She pressed a hand to her mouth and shook her head, apparently at a loss for words.
“It’s a very good diamond, Caroline,” he said, knowing she was more than pleased with his choice, but enjoying teasing her anyway. “Certified VS1.”
“It’s not a diamond, it’s a pigeon’s egg!”
“Three carats only. Not so very big.”
She swallowed. “Compared to what, the Hope Diamond?”
“Not even close! The Hope Diamond is more than forty-five carats, and quite a different cut from this.” He took the ring from its box. “Shall we see how it looks on your finger?”
It fit, as he knew it would. He’d “borrowed” a pearl dinner ring she sometimes wore, and taken it with him when he purchased the diamond, which accounted for the engagement ring sliding over her slender knuckle now as if it had at last come home. “How does it feel?”
“Perfect!” she breathed, turning her hand this way and that to admire the gem’s fiery clarity. “As if it belongs on my finger, and no one else’s.”
“It does, tesoro.”
Just as you now officially belong to me and no other man!
“But much too extravagant for the occasion, Paolo.”
“How so?”
“Well, we’re not exactly…like other couples who get engaged.”
Not in love, you mean? Speak for yourself, my darling! If I thought you were ready to hear it, I’d shout my love for you from the rooftops.
Shaken yet again by the depth of his feelings, by the vicious streak of possessive jealousy attacking him, he spoke more harshly than he intended. “Don’t make an issue out of nothing, Caroline. It’s a bauble, that’s all. One I can well afford.”
“But you don’t have to buy me,” she quavered, obviously crushed by his reply. “I’m coming into this marriage with my eyes wide-open. I know it’s not for the usual reasons.”
Remorseful, he lifted her hand and kissed it. “What I should have said is, one I can well afford, and which you well deserve. Admittedly ours might not be the most conventional marriage, but where is it written that only the ordinary deserves recognition?”
“I don’t know,” she said, the sheen of tears still in her eyes, but the beginnings of a smile touching her lips.
“There you have it, then. We’re making up our own rules as we go along, and among them is the absolute necessity of your wearing my ring.” He leaned across the table confidentially. “You are a very beautiful woman, you know, and Italian men are famous for finding beautiful women irresistible. I’m simply staking my claim before someone else beats me to it.”
Her smile blossomed, became dazzling. “The world’s also full of women who’d give their eyeteeth for a man as handsome as you, so here’s another rule. If I wear a ring, then you must, too. A wedding ring, that is.”
“Of course. Some traditions are worth preserving. Shall I order my jeweler to make a ring for me that will match the one I’ve commissioned him to design for you?”
“No,” she said. “What you can do is give me this man’s name, and I’ll speak to him myself. Rule number three…you don’t get to pay for your own ring.”
Their lun
ch arrived just then, and the conversation drifted to other things. “Did you find a wedding dress?” he asked, over his tortelli and truffles.
“Eventually, yes. One for Gina to wear, too. And I believe your mother’s shopping for an outfit, this afternoon.”
“Then everything’s running on schedule. Tomorrow your friends fly up from Amalfi, and we take care of the paperwork to get the marriage license. And this afternoon—”
She looked up from her langoustine salad. “We have plans for this afternoon?”
“Indeed yes! While you were busy buying clothes—”
“You were buying jewelry?”
“Among other things. I also checked out a few villas that sound interesting. I’ve earmarked a couple for you to see.” He pushed aside his plate and took a quick glance at his watch. “If you’re finished, we have just enough time for coffee, before we head to the first appointment.”
“Is it far from here?”
“A little over half an hour’s drive north of the city, at Manziana, which is close to where Ermanno and Vanessa lived.”
She propped her chin on her fist, her expression troubled. “I’ve been thinking about that,” she said. “Might it not be best if we lived in their house?”
“I believe, from something Ermanno once said, that under the terms of their will, it is to be sold and the proceeds held in trust for the children.”
“I was wondering about that, as well. When do you expect the wills to be read?”
“Whenever it’s convenient. Our lawyers have contacted us already, to set a date, but since there’s no hurry on that, and you and I have so much else to do, I’ve put them off until after we’re married.”
“I’d have thought it might be better to get it over and done with now. Close the book on the old before starting out with the new, as it were.”
“The children are the sole beneficiaries, Caroline, and from a legal standpoint must be present for the readings. But we both know that their parents’ deaths are never far from their minds, and right now, they’re excited about our wedding. Why spoil it with such a grim reminder of all they’ve lost?” He eyed her quizzically. “Did I overstep the mark by not discussing it with you, before I made such a decision?”
She shrugged. “Oh, it’s not that, Paolo. But couldn’t we be the ones to buy the house? It would surely be easier on the twins, to be back in their own home.”
“Without their mother and father?” He shook his head. “Think about that, Caroline. We’d be imposing our expectations, our changes, on a household set to other rules. Is that fair to the children?”
“You make it sound as if we’ll treat them like strangers!”
“More to the point is that we’re the ones who, in a way, will be the strangers, trespassing on hallowed ground. I can hear the twins now: Mommy didn’t put my underwear in that drawer, Zia Caroline. You’ve moved Daddy’s favorite picture from his desk, Zio Paolo.”
She stirred her coffee thoughtfully. “I see your point. Maybe we are better off starting out in a place that holds no memories.”
“Well, some memories will come with us, of course, and that’s as it should be. But this will be our home, in which we’ll do things our way, and establish our traditions.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
“I’m always right!” he informed her, and laughed at the way her beautiful blue eyes widened.
“I can see we’re going to have to learn to compromise,” she said.
“I suppose we are. But you know, Caroline, our getting married is about more than just the children. It’s about us starting a life together as husband and wife.” He inspected her over the rim of his coffee cup. “Which brings me to another point. Ermanno and Vanessa chose a house big enough for four, and a couple of live-in staff. I hope, once the twins have made the adjustment to living with us and feel secure in their new home, that we’ll add to our family.”
Again, she turned all rosy and flustered. A charming picture, he decided. He’d have to make sure he caused it often. “I thought you didn’t want to bring a baby into the mix?”
“Not right away, but—” He stopped abruptly, as a thought occurred. “Or are you trying to tell me you think our romp on the beach left you pregnant?”
“No,” she said. “I know for a fact that I’m not.”
“Then there’s no problem. We wait until the time is right, yes?”
Another smile played around her mouth. “If you say so, signor.”
“I say we get out of here, before I forget myself so far as to drag you under the table and make love to you,” he replied, the desire she so easily stirred in him making itself felt. “That could take quite some time, and I want you to see these villas while it’s still light outside.”
Manziana, she discovered, lay close to Lake Bracciano, between rolling green hills. And the houses Paolo had selected? They were mansions! Palaces! Beyond anything she’d ever dreamed of occupying.
The first, Villa Santa Francesca, a rectangular stuccoed building surrounded by several acres of land, including an old English-style garden, had two floors, with the master suite on the main opening directly to the pool terrace. It also came with its own private chapel and small cemetery.
This last was what decided Caroline to choose the second. The children, she figured, hardly needed other people’s grave sites as a constant reminder of what they’d lost.
Il Paradiso Villa sat directly on the shores of the lake, with sweeping views from the distant hills, to the dome of St. Peter’s on the horizon. Gracious stone balusters marked the edge of the terrace, with wide steps leading down to a sandy beach. Fountains splashed in quiet corners, sometimes spilling from ancient carved gargoyles on the villa walls, sometimes from three-tiered stone basins set among the lawns and flower beds.
There were stables, with quarters attached for stable hands, and a swimming pool. A tennis court and a putting green. A coach-house converted to hold five cars, with accommodation above for a housekeeping couple.
The house itself boasted hardwood floors rubbed to a satin finish by the passage of many feet over the years. A huge wine cellar lay below a big, rustic kitchen equipped with the most modern appliances, as well as a massive, ancient stone fireplace. A pool table, left behind by the previous owners, stood in the middle of the games room. Seventeenth-century frescoes adorned the ceiling in the entrance hall and main receptions rooms.
A carved winding staircase led to six bedrooms with attached bathrooms, as well as a nanny’s suite. A smaller staircase at the end of the upstairs hall accessed the third floor where, in addition to an attic that begged for the sound of children playing on rainy days, there were also two more rooms for live-in maids.
“What do you think?” Paolo, who’d left her to wander from one area to another without interruption or comment from him, joined her in the master suite after she’d ended her tour.
“It’s incredible.” She flung out her hands, encompassing everything from the stunning views outside, to the fine architectural proportions of the house itself. “This home was built with love and an eye for beauty.”
“It’s also undergone some major and much needed renovation. The plumbing is fairly new, also the electrical system.”
“But it’s lost nothing of its integrity in the process. Whoever undertook the upgrading did so with sensitivity to the original design. It’s a masterpiece, Paolo! A gem of a house. It has a warmth I can’t define that makes a person feel welcome, the minute she steps through the front door.”
“Are you saying you can see yourself living here?”
“Oh, yes!” She closed her eyes in bliss. “Yes!”
“I was hoping that would be so.” He snaked his arm around her waist and pulled her back to lean against him. “It’s my choice, too,” he said, resting his chin on her head. “The agent’s waiting downstairs. What do you say we make an offer on the place?”
She laughed and turned in his arms. “One too good to refuse?”
<
br /> “Is there any other kind?” he murmured hoarsely, and covered her mouth with his in a kiss that stole her breath away.
An hour and two phone calls later, they drove back to the city with a signed contract in their possession.
And so the pieces fell into place, day after day, hour after hour, for the next week.
An early evening candlelight ceremony, they decided, under a marquee on the Raineros’s roof terrace, followed by a cocktail reception. Throughout, a harpist to play selections from Purcell, Vivaldi, Beethoven, and Pachelbel. A four-day honeymoon in Venice afterward, during which time the children would stay with their grandparents.
Meetings with the caterer, the florist. Deciding on a menu, a color scheme. Choosing furniture for the new house. Writing thank-you notes for the gifts that started arriving within hours of the invitations being delivered by hand to a guest list which, somehow, swelled from a modest thirty to a mind-boggling sixty-five, sixty of whom Callie had never met.
Being photographed for an article in a society magazine. Taping a television interview—an event which brought home to Callie just how newsworthy the Raineros were. Good thing she’d followed Lidia’s advice and splurged on several more designer outfits.
And during her free time? Shopping, shopping and more shopping! Finalizing the paperwork required by the authorities for a US citizen to marry in Italy. Dinner with Paolo’s parents, during which time Salvatore alternated between genial and withdrawn, and occasionally looking as if just the sight of her at his table was enough to give him indigestion.
Haute couturiste Serena had been right, Callie realized dizzily. Her “simple” wedding had ballooned out of all proportion to what she’d originally expected.
The days were a mad scramble; a wild, exhilarating ride on a carousel running amok, with Paolo often too busy to keep her company. But the stolen nights she shared with him made up for it. Long, lovely hours made all the sweeter for the whispered plans, the murmured endearments, the quiet intimacy.
The Italian s Convenient Wife Page 13
