by Jane Porter
“You sound so pragmatic.”
“It can’t be stopped, and Venice is never totally submerged. Even when it’s bad, half the island is dry, and where we are now is the lowest part of the island. The piazza gets the worst of the high water, creating dramatic photos for tourists, but it doesn’t bother residents. We expect acqua alta. Venice is an island, crisscrossed with canals. Water is part of our life. We can’t escape it, nor would we want to.”
“It’s true, though, that the flooding has been worse in recent years, and that’s due to climate change?”
“Venice has been sinking for hundreds of years, but it’s not just because of climate change and the rising seas. The more we develop outlying areas, with the pumping of water and natural gas, the more Venice is negatively impacted. It is serious. It’s devastating for those of us who love Venice.”
She chewed on her lip, as she looked past him to the wet street beyond. “I think everyone loves Venice,” she said after a moment. “How can you not? It’s otherworldly. A fairy-tale city.”
“So you could be happy here.”
She shot him a pensive side glance. “I didn’t say that.”
“Then I will. You could be happy here. It’s a fairy-tale city, a place where dreams come true.”
* * *
Worn out from the emotional day, Rachel had dinner in her room, wanting some quiet and the chance to unwind with Michael.
She held him until after he’d fallen asleep in her arms and continued to hold him for another hour. She loved him so very much. The world was unpredictable and life could be overwhelming, but she was determined to protect him and do what was best for him until he no longer needed her.
He woke in the middle of the night, needing her. She walked him around his green room, and then around her room, making huge loops.
She kept the lights low and tried her best not to engage him, but at the same time she wasn’t going to let him cry as he had last night. She didn’t want a repeat of last night, where Giovanni was up and worrying about Michael, too.
As she paced, she glanced at the huge oil canvases on the wall, the green silk curtains with the thick gold and green fringe, the high ceiling and the gilt trim. Everything here was so old and valuable, centuries of wealth, and it boggled her mind just how different her world was, and how simple her needs really were.
She didn’t need a lot. She didn’t want a lot. Comfort was relative.
For Rachel, a comfortable life meant that she didn’t have to worry about losing her home, or defaulting on car payments. A comfortable life meant that she could see a specialist when a second opinion was needed, or have a dinner out every now and then. Comfortable meant she could take a vacation once a year, renting a little beach cottage on the Oregon coast, something they’d all done in her family each summer when Dad was alive. She’d loved those annual trips to Cannon Beach and the lazy days where they did nothing but play cards and Scrabble and walk down the long sandy beach.
That had been her ideal life, the one she wanted for her children, when she had children. And now she had a child. She had Michael. She’d become a mother much earlier than she’d expected, and it’d been a shock, losing Juliet and discovering overnight that she was a single mom.
It had been beyond overwhelming. She’d never told anyone, but she’d been angry, too. She’d wanted so badly to have someone to confide in, but she’d worried that women would judge her, saying she was selfish, or lacking. But being a parent was such a huge responsibility and Rachel had wanted to do it right when she did become a mom. She’d wanted to have everything ready, in order. She’d wanted to be mentally prepared, and in a position to be able to be self-sufficient, or as self-sufficient as possible.
Not being able to tell anyone that she was scared and worried and also, yes, a little bit angry—or very much angry—had been isolating. It had left her even more alone because she had all these feelings that weren’t socially acceptable, all these feelings where people would judge her for not being a real woman. For not being a good woman.
Rachel’s eyes burned and stung. She blinked hard, trying to clear her vision.
All her life she’d struggled with the sense of inadequacy. She knew she was smart, capable, but it didn’t seem to be enough. People valued beauty. So many in society placed beauty as the ultimate achievement. And beautiful was the one thing she’d never be, despite her attempts to improve her appearance through makeup and exercise and good hair care.
Throughout junior high and high school she’d pored over teen magazines with their tips on how to bring out one’s natural beauty: lip pencil, eyeliner, contour and mascara. She did her face and hair every morning while in college, and continued with the full face routine every morning before work, but the makeup was a mask. It merely served to hide how plain she was beneath, and how fragile her confidence really was.
That was something else no one knew.
She looked polished and professional on the outside, but on the inside, she was filled with self-doubt, and those self-doubts and recriminations had only grown since Juliet died. Like the city of Venice during acqua alta, Rachel was drowning.
* * *
Gio was surprised to see Rachel appear in the doorway of the breakfast room at a relatively early hour. She was already dressed, wearing charcoal trousers and an oversize sweater, and didn’t seem to be wearing any makeup. Her hair had been drawn back into a ponytail high on her head, with just a few shorter wisps loose to frame her face.
She looked pretty, but tired, with lavender shadows beneath her brown eyes.
“Good morning,” she said. “I was told this is where breakfast is being served today.”
“Yes,” he answered, rising and drawing a chair out for her. “Join me.”
She sat down, thanking him in a low voice. With her now seated at his side, he could feel her exhaustion.
“Michael had you up again last night, didn’t he?” Gio asked.
“It’s all right. I’m used to it.”
“I don’t think it’s good for you. I’d like a night nurse to take over in the evenings, at least for the next few weeks. You need your rest, too. It’s hard to keep a level head when you’re short on sleep, and we have a lot going on right now.”
Her brow creased, expression troubled. “So you intend to announce our engagement when?”
Before he could answer, the door opened and the maid appeared. Gio looked at Rachel. “Would you like American coffee or an espresso?”
“Do you have coffee by the pot? I feel like I need gallons of it today.”
Gio gave the instructions to his maid and then waited for her to leave. “It’s been done,” he said as the door closed. “I had my PR firm release the information last night.”
Her jaw dropped, horrified. “What?”
Gio reached for the stack of folded papers on the seat of the empty chair next to him. He’d read them earlier and saved them to show her. He placed the papers in front of her, with the English version on top to make it easier for her, watching her expression as she scanned the paper’s bold headline.
Italian Billionaire Marcello to Marry
American Lover!
“You really did tell them,” she whispered.
“I needed to. Media outlets from all over the world have been calling my company, and the company has been trying to send everyone to the PR agency, but it’s out of control right now.”
She lifted the paper, unfolding it to see the accompanying photo. It was a new one, taken of them yesterday in the coffee shop off the piazza.
For a long moment she said nothing, and then she sighed, the sound that of disappointment and perhaps resignation. “Are they all like this?” she asked, shuffling through the papers to glance at each.
“Yes.”
She flipped through the papers again. “How long will this...attention...last?”
“As long as we remain newsworthy.”
“I’d like to end the newsworthy element as soon as poss
ible.”
“I could not agree more. It’s why we’re going to push forward quickly, and do a news dump, releasing all the announcements and information at one time so there are no more surprises and no more big headlines.”
“How does that work?”
“We’re sending out the invitations for our engagement party today. Once they are in the mail, we’ll make an announcement about the party and perhaps do an exclusive interview with one of the bigger tabloids, inviting them into the palazzo and letting them have a look at the party preparations, or even better, plans for our wedding.”
“But you’re so private. Won’t that just whet the paparazzi’s appetite for more?”
“I think once I’m more accessible, they’ll grow bored.”
“You hope,” she said.
“I do.”
She looked up at him, her eyes bright, her cheeks pink, her emotions right there on the surface. He liked her transparency. He liked that she wasn’t the schemer he’d first thought. She was nothing like the kind of women he spent time with, and maybe that was why he was drawn to her. She was fresh and real and emotionally accessible. Her emotions made her more beautiful: the light that shone in her eyes, the quick curve of her lips, the vexed expression when provoked.
She was provoked now. “You expect me to capitulate, don’t you? You’re expecting me to just acquiesce and marry you.”
“Yes.”
“You will be disappointed.”
“I don’t think so. I think you will soon discover that love is overrated, especially when the sex is deeply satisfying.”
She flushed and her jaw firmed.
“Or perhaps you’ve never enjoyed sex—”
“That’s enough,” she choked. “Nothing about this conversation is appropriate.”
“How are we to make love if we can’t even discuss it?”
“We’re not going to make love, or get married. I have agreed to a pretend engagement. That is all.”
She was so flustered, her cheeks were dark pink, her voice breathless. He didn’t think she was faking it, either. Rachel was a different species of woman, and it made him wonder, if she was this emotional and sensitive at the breakfast table, what would she be like in his bed?
The thought made him hard, and a little impatient. He pushed the papers back toward her. “Then what do we do? Have photographers chase you every day? Lie in wait for you and Michael as you run errands? The life you once had is gone, Rachel. This is your life now.”
She said nothing, her chin jutting in displeasure.
He could change that expression with a kiss. He was tempted, too, but first, he needed to explain something. She needed to understand his concerns.
Gio searched through the papers until he found the one that had reprinted the photo of her carrying Michael to the doors of the palazzo. The photographer had zoomed in on the baby, taken a close-up of him wrapped in the blanket. The headline was simple. It read, The Billionaire’s Baby, but it was enough.
The one photo, coupled with the three words, summed up the dangerous situation Rachel had unwittingly created. Michael was a story, a fascinating story, and people wanted a piece of it. Of him.
Gio placed the Italian paper on top of the English one. He tapped the photo as he read the headline to her, translating it from Italian to English. She looked at him, dark arching brows drawn.
“My grandfather Marcello had an older brother,” Gio told her quietly. “He was kidnapped during an outing, taken right from the arms of his mother during a morning walk. The kidnappers demanded a million dollars. My great-grandparents paid the ransom. Their fourteen-month-old was returned to them, in a box.”
“Dead?” she whispered.
He nodded. “It was a sensational story, and the three men were eventually arrested, tried and found guilty. But it didn’t bring back the child. My grandfather grew up aware that he was the replacement, and equally aware that his birth did nothing to assuage his mother’s grief. Money does not always solve problems. Wealth can make one a target. I do not want Michael vulnerable, and yet you, cara, have made him so.”
Gio could see the effect of his words. Rachel paled and grew still. He almost regretted putting the blame on her shoulders, but she had to understand, the world he inhabited was not like hers. His world was one of power and prestige, but also envy and greed. People could be dangerous. Gio had to protect Michael—and Rachel—from those that would try to destroy them.
The breakfast room was unbearably quiet.
Heartsick, Rachel felt hot and then cold, her stomach plummeting. Last night as she’d paced with the baby, she’d thought about money, and how important it was for her to feel stable and secure. She’d never considered the flip side, and how having a great deal of money could become a trap. “I’m sorry,” she said, meaning it. “I’m sorry to have brought Michael to the world’s attention. It makes me sick—”
“We just need to be careful from now on. We need to make sure he has the right people around him and be sure he’s not exposed to danger.”
She nodded jerkily, eyes gritty, trying to wrap her head around Michael’s future. He would forever be an heir now: the boy who’d inherit a fortune. It wasn’t the life she’d wanted for him. She hadn’t wanted to change his life, just improve it. “I wish I could go back... I wish I’d known.”
“What’s done is done. Now we need to make the best of it.”
“But won’t a party here invite trouble into your home?”
“I have already vetted the guest list, and there will be security, a great deal of it.”
She said nothing and he pressed on.
“The party will be on Saturday, next week. We’ll host the event in the grand ballroom. With the invitations going out in today’s mail, it will keep the ball from looking like a rushed affair.”
“A ball? Not a cocktail party? Something simple?”
“It’s impossible to host anything in a seventeenth-century ballroom without it looking like a major event. Besides, everyone likes to dance.”
“But I don’t see how an engagement ball will solve any of our problems!”
“It will add legitimacy to our relationship, publicly solidifying us as a couple. People will enjoy helping us celebrate our commitment to each other and Michael.”
“Speaking of Michael, when will we tell everyone that Michael is actually Juliet and Antonio’s?”
“Never.”
“What? Why not?”
“There is no need to make an announcement. Those close to us will know the truth. But the rest, why correct them? It’s no one’s business but ours—” He broke off as Anna returned with coffee and breakfast.
Rachel murmured thanks for her coffee but couldn’t even look at the food, far too shaken by the developments. “How many people are you inviting to this party?”
“Two hundred and sixty. I anticipate we will have about two hundred actually attend.”
“That’s a huge party.”
“The ballroom is huge.”
“Then put the party in another room, your mother’s favorite room, for example. We could have twenty in there and it would be lovely.”
“That sounds lovely and intimate, but it won’t communicate what we want it to. A large, lavish party doesn’t just convey confidence, but excitement, and joy...all the things we want the public to associate with our marriage.”
“Our engagement, you mean. A faux engagement, at that.”
He shrugged. “The goal is to present a united front to all. Even to those in our inner circle.”
“What about your mother?”
“I will tell her what she needs to know.”
“The truth.”
“I am not going to create worry and anxiety for her, not if I don’t have to.”
“I am not an actress, Gio. I am not good at pretending. I can’t even lie well. I don’t know why, but if I tell a fib, I immediately blush—”
“That is why you will marry me. Then you won’t
have to worry that about your acting skills. You won’t have to act, or lie. There would be no faux engagement, just a real one, ending in a real wedding. Michael will have his family. You will be able to focus on the baby. I can focus on my business. Everything will be as it should be.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
EVERYTHING WOULD BE as it should—for him.
He would have an heir for his business. He’d have a mother for his nephew. He’d have a warm body for his bed. It was all so easy and convenient for him. She’d made it so easy and convenient.
She inhaled, and then exhaled, face hot, chest on fire. “You don’t even regret having a marriage of convenience, do you?”
“I don’t romanticize marriage anymore, no.”
“But you once did?”
He shrugged. “Once upon a time I was naive.”
“What happened?”
“We got engaged, we nearly married, but in the nick of time I discovered she didn’t want me. She simply wanted a rich husband.”
Rachel went cold, suddenly understanding just why he loathed Juliet so much, and why he’d been so mistrustful of her, too. “I don’t want a rich husband,” she whispered. “I don’t want a husband at all—”
“I understand. But there are consequences in life. We both know that, and we both know marriage would be the best thing for a child that has lost both mother and father before he’s even seen his first birthday.”
“Everything is suddenly we and us, but three days ago you wouldn’t even say his name!”
“Three days ago I had an attorney working on custody.” Giovanni’s gaze met hers. “I was preparing to take him from you. And then you showed up on my doorstep with him...and left him. You played right into my hands.”
“I don’t believe it. You’re just saying that. You’ve never acknowledged him. You’ve refused to acknowledge him.”
“I have spent these past few months researching the legitimacy of your claim, and then considering my options, including suing for sole custody, cutting you out completely. Before I could decide what was the best course of action, you appeared here, forcing my hand.” He studied her from across the table. “Suing for custody might still be the best option. That is, if we don’t choose to raise him together.”
