by Jane Porter
Gio couldn’t look at the infant without thinking of Antonio, and even though it hurt to remember Antonio, it was better than the emptiness of the past year. Gio had grieved for his brother for months, his death overshadowing everything. His brother had been his best friend from the time they were toddlers until they graduated from university as young men.
For the past six months Gio had done his best to avoid Michael. He hadn’t wanted to meet this nephew of his, unable to tolerate more anger and more grief. And Gio was still angry, blisteringly angry that his brother decided not to try any of the experimental treatments that might have prolonged his life. He’d also been angry that Antonio spent so much of his last year alive in America instead of being home with his family, angry that his brother failed to take proper precautions and ended up conceiving a child with a shallow, self-serving woman who cared for no one and nothing but herself.
Antonio hadn’t just thrown the rest of his life away. He’d crushed it and smashed it into the trash bin. It baffled Gio. Antonio had been among the smartest and the brightest, and he’d been a light in the world. He’d lit up a room with his keen wit and quick mind. He had a razor-sharp intelligence that he never used against another, not because he couldn’t, but because he chose to build others up, to encourage them to be better.
Antonio had made Giovanni want to be better. Giovanni might have been the elder brother, but Antonio was his hero. Not because he was perfect, but because he genuinely tried to be good. To make a difference.
Gio’s chest ached with bottled air. His hands fisted. Giovanni had lost Antonio but as long as he had Michael under his roof, his nephew was safe.
The high tides had kept all but the most curious and determined tourists out of the flooded neighborhoods, and the streets were mostly empty. Normally Gio liked this Venice, when the streets were wet and he had entire blocks to himself, but today he could take little pleasure in anything until his personal life was settled. He wanted out of the press, out of the tabloid’s headlines. It was bad for his corporation to have his personal life become news, particularly when it was featured on the gossip page instead of the business section.
It didn’t take much to make investors jittery. It didn’t take much to shake the confidence of world markets. He needed to protect the company, and he needed to protect his nephew. That was his focus and his chief concern. Everything else was secondary.
The water grew deeper as he approached Piazza San Marco. His boots sloshed through ankle-deep water as he entered La Piazza, Venice’s most famous square, and the only one in Venice called piazza. He stepped onto the raised boards that skirted the square, elevating visitors and locals above the flooded area.
It struck him as he eased past a family grouped on the walkway that this was the first time he could remember chasing after anyone since he’d broken off his engagement. He hadn’t cared enough about any woman to chase her. It’s why he’d taken mistresses. It was a purely sexual relationship, a relationship he controlled, beginning and ending with gifts, leaving his emotions untouched.
He hadn’t thought he’d ever feel again but the arrival of Michael unsettled him, and Rachel was waking him up, making him feel. He wasn’t comfortable feeling anything. But he didn’t seem to have a choice at the moment.
Gio followed the route he was certain Rachel had taken, splashing through water and then following the elevated boards as he approached St. Mark’s Square.
Most of the shops and cafés surrounding the square were closed, but a few had remained open, with intrepid storekeepers placing wooden boards across the bottom of their open doors, keeping the water out while allowing customers in.
Gio checked in each open shop and café for Rachel. She wasn’t in any of the bigger ones on the piazza, and he exited the square and turned a corner, spotting the small narrow coffee shop preferred by locals who’d stand and drink their espresso, and then leave, not requiring one of the three small tables at the rear.
Opening the door of the café, he stepped inside. There were just a few people at the counter. Beyond the counter were the tables, and two were empty, but at a third sat Rachel. She had a small cup in front of her but she wasn’t drinking. Her hands were in her lap and her gaze was fixed on an unknown point in the distance.
She looked troubled. Lost. Gio’s chest tightened. He drew a quick breath, surprised by the pang.
He nodded to the staff as he passed and drew out one of the empty chairs at Rachel’s table. She looked up at him, the expression in her wide dark eyes a combination of sadness and despair, before her expression firmed, hiding her emotions. “What are you doing here?”
“Hunting you down.”
“Why? I don’t have a passport. I can’t go anywhere.”
“I was worried about you.”
She exhaled softly, and he could see the sadness again, fear and vulnerability shadowing her eyes.
It made him uncomfortable, seeing her so fragile. His mistresses were strong and confident and needed nothing from him but sex and gifts. They didn’t require excessive attention, never mind tenderness or protection.
“I’m tougher than I look,” she said, chin jutting up, but there were tears in her eyes and she looked anything but tough.
Gio struggled with himself. He had been rough on her. He’d frightened her. He took little pleasure in wounding people. Much less women. But he also wasn’t afraid of doing what needed to be done. Marrying Rachel would keep Michael in Venice. It was a contract, much like his arrangements with his mistresses. He wasn’t doing it out of emotion, but practicality.
Yes, there were other ways to keep Michael in Venice. He could sue for custody. But legal cases of this nature took years, and he didn’t want to spend years battling for custody when he could secure it quickly through marriage.
“I do not doubt that,” he answered.
“I’m not afraid to fight you,” she added.
“Obviously.” He waited a moment. “But you won’t win.”
She searched his eyes, and he let her look, not hiding anything from her, because she needed to see who he was, she needed to understand what he was. Tough, driven, uncompromising. He did what he had to do. Always. And it’s why he’d succeeded, because he always did what he had to do, even if it was painful.
“I keep trying to decide if you were teasing or bluffing,” she said unsteadily.
“I don’t bluff.”
She looked hard into his eyes again, and then away. She sat across from him, cradling her cup, expression miserable, and the tension in his chest returned.
Despite the tension, he didn’t try to fill the silence. He had learned early in his career to become comfortable with discomfort. He wasn’t Antonio; his job wasn’t to encourage or inspire. Gio’s job was to make money and grow the company and take care of the Marcello employees, and that’s what he did. Day in, and day out. Feelings didn’t matter. Results mattered. Success. Stability. Financial accountability.
But it was hard to enjoy his single-minded focus when he sat across from a woman like Rachel. She wasn’t Adelisa. He wasn’t even sure what that meant, only she wasn’t his ex-fiancée.
* * *
Rachel looked shattered all over again. “You know it’s impossible.”
“That, cara, is an exaggeration. It’s not impossible. It’s just...difficult.”
“I don’t want to marry you.”
“And that is the difficult part.”
CHAPTER TEN
HE WAS CRUEL beyond measure. Rachel’s throat ached and her eyes burned. “I am nothing to you,” she said quietly. “I am as insignificant as a bug, or a twig on the ground. You have no problem stepping on me, crushing me.”
“That is not true.”
“But my life and my dreams, they do not matter, not when you compare my needs to yours.”
“I am responsible for a huge corporation. My decisions impact hundreds of people, if not thousands.”
“You believe what you’re saying, don’t you? You
’re a demigod in love with your power.” She hoped he heard the scorn in her voice. She hoped he was offended, because she was disgusted and appalled. There was nothing about him she admired.
“You are so consumed with your business. It seems to be the only thing that matters to you.”
He leaned forward, narrowing the distance between them. “I have never put business before people. The various Marcello enterprises are made up of people, and not just my family, but hundreds of people, hundreds of loyal employees, and those people matter to me a great deal. The best businesses treat their employees like partners...family. Or, if you come from a seriously dysfunctional family, then hopefully you treat your staff better than family.”
He’d inherited his family’s business at a point when the company family seemed irreparably broken. The company was losing money, and his father had decided that he’d rather live with his mistress than his wife. Antonio was in America, working for a business that was not their own, determined to get as far from their father as possible.
Gio envied Antonio, because Gio couldn’t escape, not as the eldest, and he was surrounded by the family drama, ensnared in it as Father’s mistress was none other than his secretary, and the affair had been going on for years, with Father and secretary enjoying numerous “business” getaways and long private lunches behind locked doors.
Italians loved a good drama, especially when it was about sex and a beautiful young woman, a woman young enough to be Giovanni Marcello Senior’s daughter.
Gio knew but couldn’t convince his father to fire the secretary or end the relationship, nor would his mother divorce his father. Every day was grueling and Gio tried to focus on work, not wanting to be pulled into the middle of the family drama more than necessary. Gio, like his grandfather before him, had a sharp mind and a love for engineering and practical design. He disliked the endless conflict that had marked his childhood and adolescent years, and the only reason he’d agreed to work for Marcello Enterprises was because he loved the construction company his grandfather had founded.
But now, suddenly, the construction company, the Marcello holding company and even the family itself, was teetering on collapse. Gio was livid. He’d had enough, and he put his foot down. Either his father left, or he’d leave. That was all.
His father thought it was a joke, but Gio was furious that the company was being drained dry for selfish purposes when there were hundreds of employees that depended on the Marcellos. He’d never forget that last big battle with his father.
“We owe our employees a solvent company. They shouldn’t have to worry if they will have a job tomorrow, or a way to pay their bills. If you don’t care about the future of a company that has been around for over one hundred years, get out now before you ruin the Marcello name.”
And to Gio’s surprise, his father left, abandoning ship, leaving his oldest son to save what he could.
That huge fight had been over fifteen years ago, and Giovanni had headed up the construction division and the holding company ever since. It had been a massive struggle to turn the floundering corporation around, but he had. And so, yes, he was protective of the business, and even more protective of those who worked for him.
“The company is not one thing,” he said. “It’s not a bank account. It’s not an office building. It’s not equipment or real estate. It’s people, my people. And I’m determined to do what is best for them. You see, they all have a vested interest in Marcello’s success because each employee is gifted stock each year on the anniversary of their hire date. The longer an employee is with the company, the more stock they hold, which also means they become deeply invested in the company’s success. When Borgo Marcello goes public in two weeks, my employees will have the opportunity to make some very good money. We’ve never done this before. Until now, all our companies have been privately held, but by going public, a number of my employees should make some good money. And that’s what I want for them. This isn’t about me. It’s about rewarding those who have been loyal, when even my own family was not.”
She exhaled slowly, staring out past Giovanni to the narrow street.
She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know what to do with the information he’d just told her. In some ways she was relieved. But she was also more worried, because if what he said was true, he had very valid reasons for being so protective and proactive about his company.
She didn’t want his employees to lose out on an exceptional opportunity. She’d never been offered stock at AeroDynamics, but Rachel did have friends who worked at high-tech companies and owning stock was huge, especially if a company was close to going public.
“There has to be some middle ground, though,” she said after a moment. “Something that could protect your company and employees, and also protect me.”
He looked at her and waited.
She swallowed hard. “Why does it have to be a real engagement, and a real marriage? Can’t we just pretend until your company has gone public?”
“Pretend to be engaged...for an entire year?”
“A year? Why so long?”
“The first year a company goes public is quite volatile. I have no desire to add risk, or damage credibility.” He paused, drummed his fingers on the table. “And Michael? What about him? A year from now he’ll be eighteen months and walking and starting to talk. Will we want to tear his world apart right when he’s becoming confident and secure?”
“He wouldn’t know. He won’t understand.”
“He would if you suddenly left Venice.”
Her eyes opened wide. “You expect me to live in Venice for the next year?”
“I expect you to live with me for the rest of your life.”
Her lips parted in a silent gasp. Her stomach cramped. He was out of his mind, or far too sure of his power. Seconds passed, and then minutes. Rachel could not bring herself to speak, and Giovanni didn’t seem interested in filling the silence, increasing the tension until she wanted to jump up and run. But where could she go? Nowhere. Because Michael was at the Marcello palazzo and she’d never leave Venice without him.
“You want to protect your company,” she said carefully after an endless stretch of silence. “And I want to protect Michael. Surely we can both agree on that.”
Gio’s dark head inclined.
“I understand damage control is needed, especially since the media is fascinated with this fantasy story of ours, but eventually the media will move on to other stories and other scandals, and we can return to our lives, hopefully relatively unscathed.”
Gio just waited.
She swallowed and mentally went through her thoughts before speaking them aloud, testing their strength and clarity. “Let’s start with the pretend engagement. We can do that. It’s not beyond our ability to smile in public and try to behave in a unified manner. It’s a role we can manage for a few weeks, or even a few months. But let me be clear, I can’t commit to anything longer than that. It’s enough for us to take this first step now, implementing damage control, which should prevent the situation from spiraling.”
He studied her from across the table, his gaze slowly examining every inch of her face. “So you’ll stay here for the duration of the engagement?”
“I have a job, Gio, and I might not be the owner of my company but I have colleagues who count on me, and customers impatiently waiting my return—”
“I don’t want you to return to Seattle, not if you’re going to take Michael.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want him with a stranger all day while you work. You deprive him of you. You deprive him of me. It’s not right, not when I’m here, and I want him in my life.”
“And what would I do if I stayed here?”
“Be his mother. Be my wife.”
“And you’ll compensate me, correct? You’ll give me an allowance or open a bank account for me.” She shuddered. “That is not my idea of a life. There is no independence. There is no freedom.”
Her lips compressed. She averted her head, her hands knotted in her lap.
“I know about your life in Seattle. You had a job, and a two-bedroom apartment—two bedrooms because Juliet often needed a place to crash—and a car with one more year of payments left on it. It’s a life, a respectable life,” he added quietly, “but it’s not fantastic. It’s not a dream. There’s no reason you can’t consider other options, and you need to consider other options, if not for your sake, then for Michael’s.”
She was so close to crying that she had to bite the inside of her lip hard, brutally hard, to keep the tears from falling. A marriage without love? What kind of future was that?
As if able to read her mind, he added, “Romantic love isn’t everything. There is companionship. And passion. I will ensure you’re satisfied—”
“Can you please drop this?” she choked, mortified.
“For now.”
* * *
Leaving the café, they walked in silence for several minutes, pausing to let a group of tourists push past. They were talking loudly and in a hurry, and Rachel stepped back close to the building, glad for the interruption as it had been almost too quiet for the past few minutes.
Another group appeared on the heels of the first, and Rachel pressed her back to the building, letting the next group get by them, too.
“The water is receding,” Gio explained. “The tourists have been waiting anxiously in their hotels for the tides to drop, and now that high tide has passed, the tourists are descending on the city again.”
“Does it flood this much every winter?” she asked as they started walking once more.
“We usually have a little bit of flooding every winter, but the amount varies. Acqua alta, which means high water, can range from just a few centimeters to three or four feet. Last year was a bad year. We had over four feet, and over half the island was covered. It was one of the worst seasons we’ve had in one hundred and fifty years.”
