by Jane Porter
It was a terribly sad story, Rachel thought, but also reassuring to hear that even as adults, the Marcello brothers had taken such good care of their nanny, and that she loved them so much in return. It was the kind of bond that spoke of affection rather than obligation.
It also made her realize she was going to have to fight Mrs. Fabbro for time with Michael.
“I’ll have coffee sent to your room while you change,” Gio said. “And then once you’re dressed, come to my office for lunch. I can share with you the latest newspapers and headlines, and then we can discuss what we’re going to do.”
CHAPTER NINE
RACHEL SCANNED THE newspapers spread out on the table in the living room adjoining Gio’s study. There were many, too, and in a half-dozen different languages, today, including English.
“Everyone loves scandal,” she said under her breath.
He heard her, though. “And sex,” he added. “Sex sells.”
She glanced across the table, and his expression was bland, but he looked relaxed and perfectly at ease, lounging back in his chair as if they were enjoying a leisurely lunch on a sunny terrace instead of a tense meal on a gloomy winter day.
“We didn’t have sex, though,” she corrected.
Gio shrugged. “Maybe we should.”
She blushed furiously, not expecting that. “Can we stay on topic, please?”
“I am.”
“No, that wasn’t appropriate.”
“It is, if we marry.”
Her head jerked up. She stared at him in horror. Why say something like that? Why mock her? “This isn’t a game, Gio, and clearly my sense of humor is subpar, because I’m not enjoying your jokes—”
“I’m not playing games, bella, and I’m not one for jokes. I suggest marriage because it saves us from scandal, stealing the power from the media and giving it back to us. They don’t drive the story—we do.”
Rachel’s brain couldn’t keep up. She couldn’t get past the “I suggest marriage” part. “I’m not even listening—”
“But you should,” he said, leaning across the table to take her chin, forcing her head up to look her in the eyes. “Your timing could not be worse. One of Marcello SpA’s companies is going public in just a few weeks. We’ve spent the past year preparing for this. My management team filed to IPO ten weeks ago and we’re hoping to be trading in two weeks. It all looked very good, but this...circus you’ve created will reflect badly on my family, the company and going public.”
“I didn’t create a circus—”
“You brought the media here,” he ground out, cutting her short.
She pulled away and leaned back in her chair, heart thumping, mouth drying. She had brought the media here, but she did it because he’d refused to speak to her or respond to her. She’d done what needed to be done. “I had no idea that you were trying to take a company public,” she said quietly. “My coming here now wasn’t about you, but trying to get Michael child care so I could return to work before I derail my career. There’s nothing left in my checking account. My credit cards can’t handle any more debt. I’m here because it’s a matter of survival.”
He said nothing, his expression grim and unforgiving.
She clasped her hands tightly together in her lap. She hated being weak, hated needing anything from others, having long prided herself on her independence, but Juliet’s death had changed everything. “I said this before, and I mean it. If I had the means to take care of Michael on my own, I wouldn’t be here. I didn’t want to come to you. I would have preferred to raise him on my own, but I don’t earn enough to cover a nanny and my bills. Furthermore, I love my job, and if it weren’t for the new vice president of marketing, I wouldn’t be here now. But he’s decided to tighten up my department and he’s not interested in excuses or conflicts or personal problems. If I’m not there on Monday, I’m not to return, ever.”
The silence was heavy and suffocating. It seemed to stretch forever, too.
Finally, Giovanni broke it. “I wouldn’t plan on being there Monday.”
His voice was so hard, his tone so ruthless that a shiver raced through her. Rachel pushed back her chair and rose. “Thank you for your hospitality, but it’s time I left. Michael and I will be leaving this morning.”
She started for the door, and he let her get halfway across the room before he stopped her. “You won’t get far without your passports, cara.”
She froze, stiffening.
“I have the passports, yours and Michael’s.”
Slowly she turned to face him. “Did you go through my luggage?”
“They weren’t in your hotel room. The hotel keeps them, remember? The front desk always takes your passport when you check in, and then returns it when you check out.”
He was right. She’d forgotten all about her passport when she’d unpacked. She should have remembered before now. “You can’t keep me here against my will. You assured me, promised me, that I was free to come and go.” She was shocked that her voice managed to be so calm when her heart was thudding like mad. “But apparently your word means nothing. Apparently you have no integrity.”
“Careful, cara,” he said softly, rising from his chair to walk toward her. “Scandal is one thing. Slander is another.”
Her eyes burned, hot and gritty. She drew a quick, furious breath, hands clenched at her sides. “But you did promise. You know you did.”
“You are free to leave.”
“You’ll give me my passport?”
“I’ll give you yours, yes. Of course. Do you want it?”
“Yes.” Her chin notched up, eyes stinging from unshed tears. “I’ll figure out another way. Michael and I don’t need a lot. I’ll leave my job and look for something else, a job where I can take him with me. Maybe I can be a nanny for another family and they’ll let me bring Michael—”
He cut her off with a kiss, a hard, punishing kiss. Rachel’s hands moved to his chest to push him away and yet she could feel his warmth through his cashmere sweater and her fingers curled into the softness, clinging to the material and him. She hated him and yet loved his smell and taste.
There was little tenderness in Gio’s kiss. His lips parted hers, and he took her mouth with a fierceness that made her head spin. His tongue stroked the inside of her mouth, devastating her senses, sending rivulets of fire through her veins and creating an insistent ache low in her belly, an ache that made her thighs press, trying to stifle the need and how it coiled and curled within her, mocking her self-control.
She’d never felt longing until now.
She’d never wanted anyone as much as she wanted Giovanni.
She was breathless and dazed when he lifted his head. He stroked her flushed cheek, her skin so sensitive that his touch burned all the way through her, breasts tightening, nipples pebbling.
“You can go, bella, but my nephew stays,” he said, lightly running his thumb over her swollen mouth, making it quiver beneath his touch. “You are an American. I have no claim over you. But Michael is, as you said, a Marcello, and he, as you said, belongs here, with his family.”
His head dropped and his lips brushed hers and brushed again before he bit at her soft lower lip, sending a spark of pain through her, the pain immediately followed by pleasure. “But there is no need for you to go,” he added. “There is no need for you to worry about anything. You can remain here as my wife and Michael’s mother. It would solve many logistical problems, as well as protect the Marcello business and name.”
Blinking back furious tears, Rachel gave him a hard shove. He didn’t move. He didn’t even sway on his feet. She yanked free instead, taking several steps back to put distance between them. “You can’t do this,” she choked. “You can’t. I won’t let you.”
“And how will you stop me?”
“I’ll go to the police—”
“You think they’ll take your word over mine?”
“I’ll go to the consulate. I’ll ask for help.”
&n
bsp; “And you’ll tell them what? That you came here with my nephew and summoned the media and attempted to blackmail me?”
“I never blackmailed you. I never threatened you in any way.”
“No? Then you didn’t summon the media? You didn’t release a press statement?” He must have seen her surprise because he nodded. “I have a copy of the information you sent your media contacts. You have not behaved in an ethical manner. You will not look innocent or sympathetic to anyone.”
“You can’t take Michael from me!”
“I didn’t take him. You abandoned him here.”
“I never abandoned him!”
“You handed him to my servant and walked away. If I hadn’t stopped you, you would have climbed in your water taxi and disappeared.”
“You are turning this around. You are making me out to be someone I’m not. I only did what I did because I desperately needed help—”
“Obviously. And you’re getting my help, because your desperation is jeopardizing a baby’s welfare.”
“No—”
“Yes. You knew nothing about me, or my staff, and your impulsiveness put Michael in danger.”
Her chest squeezed tight, guilt mixing with fear. “I will not be manipulated.”
“But you can manipulate me?” he retorted so softly that the hair rose on her nape and an adrenaline rush made her knees shake.
She couldn’t speak. Her heart hammered double time. She stared at his chin and mouth to keep from looking into his eyes, afraid of what she’d see there. “Marriage is out of the question. You don’t love me. You don’t even like me. I refuse to sacrifice myself to further your business needs.”
“But you’ll sacrifice me, and my company, for your needs?”
“I haven’t done anything. You are Machiavellian, not me.”
“Because I am determined to protect my nephew, my company and my employees from a greedy American?”
She stepped forward, her hand lifting, and then she stopped abruptly, horrified that she’d come so close to slapping him. “You are twisting everything, poisoning my intentions. Fibs and lies and half-truths...” She drew a rough breath and then another. “Where does it end?”
“You came here to wage war, and you did, so don’t expect sympathy from me, not when you were the aggressor.”
“I was trying to help Michael!”
“If you marry me, then you have.”
“Your business is not more important than my future.”
“And Michael’s?” he drawled quietly. When she didn’t reply, he added, “You want Michael to be a Marcello, and you tell me that I need to do my part. But then, when I make an offer to you, you refuse it, saying you prefer to return to Seattle. Cara, I’m not sure you know what you want.”
But that wasn’t true. She knew what she wanted. His money. His financial support so she could return to her life in Washington. She didn’t want his money by becoming his wife! “You’re not playing fair.”
“You came here for financial support. I am offering you financial support.” He studied her a moment, his lashes down, concealing his eyes, but then his lips curved in a slow heart-stopping smile. “Don’t be foolish and proud, bella. Don’t refuse what you so desperately need.”
* * *
Rachel grabbed her coat and wallet from her room and left the palazzo, nearly running down the grand marble stairs and across the dramatic entry hall to exit through the house’s front door.
She didn’t care who saw her. She didn’t care if the paparazzi were out with cameras fixed on the door, waiting the newest development in their scandalous story.
To hell with them. All of them, but especially Giovanni Marcello.
The afternoon was cold and the wind whipped the lagoon, sending the high tide sloshing over the canal bank onto the pavement. The sidewalk was wet but not nearly as flooded as yesterday. The tide must be coming down.
Rachel walked blindly down the Grand Canal for a block before turning at the corner and heading away from the busy street along a narrower canal. In her head she went through the last confrontation she’d had with Gio, pausing now and then to focus on something he’d said that was particularly infuriating.
Like the passport situation.
She’d forgotten all about the passports when she’d unpacked, but it wasn’t that surprising as they hadn’t been in her possession at the hotel, either. In the United States, the front desk did not retain the passports of international guests, but it seemed that it was the practice in Italy to collect them and keep them safe, and normally it wouldn’t be a big deal, but she was outraged that the hotel would return them to Gio, and not her. And even more outraged that he had the audacity to keep them. Gio knew she wouldn’t leave Italy without Michael. Gio knew he’d trapped her, and he wasn’t at all remorseful. Rather, he was proud. Pleased. Giovanni the Conqueror. Giovanni the Villain.
She kicked hard at a deep puddle, sending water flying in every direction, drenching her legs. She shuddered at the cold, the damp chill doing nothing to improve her mood.
She wanted to leave Venice so badly. She hated being trapped and cornered. She hated that Giovanni had forced her to move into his home, and then he made it impossible for her to leave.
This visit to Venice had become a nightmare. She’d lost control the moment she rapped on the Marcello’s front door. Why had she thought she could manage Giovanni? Why had she thought this could turn out any other way but unhappy?
Rachel didn’t want to marry Giovanni. She didn’t want a pretend engagement, much less a real one, never mind a wedding ring. She didn’t want to live in Italy. But at the same time, she wasn’t going to walk away from Michael.
What she wanted was to go home with Michael and hire a sitter and return to work and have some order in her life. She was tired of the chaos, tired of the stress, tired of things she didn’t know and understand.
When Juliet got pregnant, it changed Rachel’s life, too. Juliet wasn’t the only one who became a mother, Rachel became the backup caregiver, and then after Juliet died, the surrogate mother. It hadn’t been an easy transition for her. Rachael hadn’t planned on becoming a mother for years. A decade or more. She’d planned on working until her midthirties at least, wanting to focus on career and the opportunity to save her money so that she’d have a proper nest egg, resources to sustain her in case of emergency, because God knew, life was full of emergencies. When one had spent one’s life struggling and scrimping, budgeting and worrying, the idea of financial security was huge. Being financially independent would be life changing, and her plan was to do it for herself. She’d never dreamed that she’d wait for someone to take care of her. The idea of looking outward for support made her almost ill. No, she wanted to be strong and capable. She wanted to respect herself, and she would if she could provide for herself and any children she had.
Money, finances—those were such sensitive topics. Her mother certainly found it impossible to discuss financial topics with Rachel. She’d become emotional and cry, tearfully repeating that she was doing her best.
Rachel didn’t want her mother crying or becoming defensive. She wasn’t trying to criticize her mom; she just wanted to understand and help. How could she make things better for the family? How could she help ease some of the worry? It was a large burden. Mom was good at so many things, but managing money wasn’t one of them.
Money, money, money...
Rachel wandered down streets until she approached St. Mark’s Square. The famous piazza was lined with raised boards as the water was deeper here, flooding the entire square. She balled her hands inside her pockets and lowered her head to watch her steps.
How was she going to do this? How was she going to protect Michael and placate Giovanni? Because she wasn’t about to marry a man she didn’t love, and she most definitely wouldn’t marry a man who didn’t love her.
Rachel was many things—loyal, hardworking, determined—and those traits were evident. But she had a secret few people
knew. She was privately, secretly terribly romantic.
She wanted love, big passionate love. She wanted the happy-ever-after and the lovemaking that resulted in fireworks and maybe even a few tears of joy.
She’d held out all these years for someone special, someone extraordinary. And she was determined to continue to hold out for the right one.
And the right one meant love, not lust. A small part of her—maybe a big part of her—desired Giovanni Marcello, but desire wasn’t the answer and she was ashamed that she responded to him so easily. From now on, she would keep her distance. She had to. Otherwise Giovanni would have her in his bed, taking her virginity and the last shred of her self-respect.
* * *
Giovanni saw Rachel leave. He’d been at the window when she left the house, walking down the front of the Grand Canal to turn the corner and continue down the block. She disappeared for a few moments, and then reappeared as she cut down a narrow street.
She walked with her head bent and her hands buried deep inside her coat pockets until she entered an arched tunnel. If she kept going along that street, she’d eventually arrive close to St. Mark’s square.
He wondered if that was where she was going.
He stood another moment looking out at the window before going to change into knee-high waterproof boots and his heavy winter coat.
He didn’t know why he was going after her. She’d eventually return. She had no choice but to return, and he knew she’d never leave Michael. He’d seen her with the infant and she was as attached as a mother. She’d taken the little boy into her heart and was determined to provide the best possible life for him. He knew all that, and he didn’t question her intentions, not anymore.
He didn’t question her values, either. He understood what she wanted and it was the same thing he wanted for Antonio’s son. But Michael couldn’t have the life he needed, not if he was being juggled between Seattle and Venice, torn between countries and cultures, languages and customs, and Gio wouldn’t lose Michael now that he was home.
