by Jane Porter
“As a married couple.”
He nodded.
She laughed shortly. Why was she not surprised? “You do not play fair.”
“Life isn’t fair. But I am doing my best to make it as fair as possible for our nephew, whom I believe you care for.”
“I love him dearly.”
“Then it cannot be such a huge sacrifice to stay here and raise him with me.”
She held her breath, heart pounding.
He filled the silence. “You strike me as an extremely capable woman. I have full confidence in you, and that you’ll be able to adjust to your new life. Otherwise, I wouldn’t marry you. I’m marrying you, I’m making you my wife, a Marcello, because you have the qualities I admire in a woman, and the qualities that would make a good wife and an excellent mother.”
“And it doesn’t bother you that I don’t love you?”
“It would bother me more if you said you did.”
Her stomach lurched. “That’s horrendous.”
“I don’t trust romantic love. It’s false and changing.”
“And I think a loveless marriage is horrific. It makes marriage sound lonely and cold.”
“I promise you our marriage won’t be cold, not if we’re sharing the same bed.”
“Sex isn’t the answer to everything!”
“Then you haven’t had the right partner. Great sex is deeply satisfying.”
She couldn’t stop blushing. “You are overly confident.”
He looked at her for an endless moment, before smiling faintly, looking every bit the confident, arrogant man she’d met her first day here. And when was that? Just two days ago? God, it seemed like a lifetime. Everything was changing, the tides were rising, flooding her world, and she couldn’t seem to save herself. “I’ll make you a deal then. You come up with a plan that is better. A plan that immediately protects Michael and gives him a family, as well as financial security. Then tell me and we will do that. But if you can’t propose anything better, we will marry and move forward with our lives.”
He glanced at his watch and grimaced. “I hate to leave on that note, but I have a conference call in a few minutes, and it’s one that I can’t miss.” He pushed back from the table and started from the room, but then stopped before he reached the door. “This is not an easy situation, not for either of us, and I’m sorry.”
And then he was gone.
* * *
After the conference call finally ended an hour later, Gio remained at his desk, deep in thought. It had been a difficult call, not because of the subject matter, but because he’d found it almost impossible to focus.
Rachel had said she didn’t want a cold, passionless, loveless marriage. He agreed with her on that point, but he wasn’t worried that they’d have a cold relationship, or passionless, not when he wanted her as much as he did.
He’d been attracted to her from the start, and he’d fought the attraction, just as he’d tried to ignore how much he’d liked kissing her. He loved her mouth, the softness and the fullness, and how she couldn’t quite help kissing him back. It made her sexy. Delicious. He wanted to kiss the rest of her. He wanted to strip her and explore those gorgeous curves—hips, breasts, thighs and in between.
In the beginning he hadn’t understood why he was so drawn to her. She wasn’t like the women he’d dated, and that was her appeal.
But he was tired of all the words. He wasn’t a man of words. He was a man of action.
He’d take her to his bed. He’d show her that he could please her. He’d show her that she could be happy with him.
Gio left his desk and walked to the tall arched leaded glass windows that looked over the narrow lagoon. It was another gray day with wisps and tendrils of fog rising from the water. The fog was supposed to get heavier as the day ended, shrouding the streets and water in a cloak of mystery. He loved this Venice, and Rachel would grow to love it, too.
He’d woo her tonight. He’d delight her, pleasure her, and in his bed, she’d become his. There would be no more fighting or protesting. She’d discover she liked being in his bed, and she’d realize she’d liked being his.
Gio glanced out at the lagoon once more before returning to his desk. The fog made it the perfect night to go out. They would travel in the Marcello gondola, one of the most elegant boats in the city. It had the patina of age, being well over a hundred years old, and glamorous, the outside lacquered in gleaming black paint while the interior was upholstered in black leather and cream and opulent gold leaf.
He knew where he’d take her for dinner, too. Il Sussurro. It was his favorite restaurant on the island, and without a doubt, the most exclusive. It was incredibly difficult to get a reservation, not just because Il Sussurro had only four tables, but because it was booked out years in advance.
Fortunately, Gio did not have to pull any strings to secure a table, as there was always one waiting for him. Indeed, the fifth-floor table was his, just as the fifth floor was his, which wasn’t saying much as the floors of the medieval building were quite narrow, the house built snug, like a ship, each floor consisting of a single room and the central hall with the circular staircase.
Fifteen years ago he helped finance Il Sussurro when no one else would give the chef and restaurateur a loan. The concept of Il Sussurro was like its name—a whisper, a murmur—small enough to be overlooked, maybe even forgotten.
No commercial lender was willing to risk the money on a restaurant that would not even be able to seat twenty-four people each evening. Where was the profit margin in that? While traditional banks questioned the viability of such a venue, Gio immediately grasped the appeal. Privacy. Novelty. Exclusivity.
Intrigued by the vision for the 1384 building, he’d funded the restoration and refurbishment, and Il Sussurro proved to be a huge success.
Gio made a call to Carlo, one of the owners of Il Sussurro, advising his old friend that he’d be dining at his table tonight.
“How many, Gio?” Carlo asked.
“Just two,” Giovanni answered. “And it’s a special occasion.”
“It’s always a special occasion when you join us.”
“Grazie, Carlo. We’ll see you later tonight.”
Hanging up the phone, he called Allegra Paladin, the founder of Paladin, a Venice-based fashion house founded by a former mistress. When he ended the relationship five years ago he’d given her enough money that she’d been able to open her own business.
On the phone, he told Allegra about the dress he was looking for. It was a couture gown from her September show. The dress was floor-length with a formfitting bodice and long sleeves. There might have been a small collar, he wasn’t sure, but the neckline was a deep V, and the color an olive green. Dusty rose flowers were embroidered on the green lace bodice, with larger, looser rose and gold roses scattered on the long sheer skirt.
“I know the one,” Allegra answered, amusement in her voice. “But it’s not your size, my darling.”
“Mmm, funny, but I think you know it’s not for me.”
She sighed, the sound wistful. “It’s true, then? You really are engaged?”
“You’ll meet the right man one day, I promise.”
“You were the right man.”
“I wasn’t.”
“I should have gotten pregnant,” she pouted.
“Allegra,” he said, a warning in his tone.
“I’m not sure how she managed it. You were always so zealous about protection with me.”
“I don’t want to have this conversation. But I do want the dress. I need it today, and it will have to be shortened. Can you send a seamstress with it to the house this afternoon?”
Allegra hesitated. “She doesn’t seem your type.”
“But that’s just it,” he said quietly. “She is my type. She’s exactly my type.”
“Does that mean you’ve finally fallen in love, Gio?”
“I’m not sure Rachel would be comfortable with this conversation.”
/> “You are in love,” she said, wonder in her voice. “When is the wedding? Have you set the date?”
“We’re keeping the details private for now, but it’s soon. Very soon.”
* * *
Rachel was playing with Michael after his afternoon nap when a knock sounded on her door. Opening her door, she discovered Anna in the hall with a middle-aged woman carrying an oversize red garment bag with silver script on it, reading Paladin.
“Signor Marcello...” Anna paused, frowning, as if uncertain how to explain.
But then Gio was there to take over. “Has something for you,” he said, stepping around the women to enter Rachel’s room as if it was his. He crossed to Rachel and took the baby from her, as if the baby was his, too. “The dress is for tonight,” he added, holding Michael comfortably against his chest, the baby’s diapered bottom resting on his arm. “I hope you’ll like it.”
Rachel watched as the older woman unzipped the bag and drew out a gleaming green gown, shot with gold threads with pops of rose and light gold flowers. “Oh, it’s gorgeous.”
“Do you like it?”
“I do. But why wear it tonight? Shouldn’t I save it for the engagement party?”
“We’re going out tonight. I’ve booked a reservation somewhere special.”
“Won’t people see us...or did you want that?”
“It’s going to be foggy tonight, a perfect night for us to slip out and not be seen. We’ll leave here at eight. Does that work for you?”
“Yes.”
“Good. And now the seamstress from Paladin is going to hem the dress for you, and make any other adjustments necessary.”
* * *
Rachel had never owned a dress like this one before. The bodice hugged her breasts and waist before spilling in a waterfall of silk and lace to her feet. The sheer lace sleeves made her skin gleam and she didn’t think she’d ever felt so feminine before. She struggled with her hair, uncertain as to whether she should put it up or leave it down. In the end she drew it into a low side ponytail because she felt too bare wearing it up, and it was so heavy when she left it down.
Rachel was in the great hall right at eight, and yet Gio was already there, waiting for her. “Don’t tell me I’m late again,” she said, shifting her black wool coat to the other arm.
“No. You’re right on time. But you’re not going to wear that coat tonight, so give it to me.”
“What will I wear instead?”
“A cape.”
“Like Batman and Robin?” She laughed.
“Or like a princess from the eighteenth century.” He lifted the black velvet cloak from the banister and draped it over her shoulders before loosely tying the braided silk ribbon at her throat to keep it from falling off her shoulders.
The brush of his fingers against her neck sent a shiver of pleasure from her, while the long velvet, fur-lined cloak felt like heaven. It was soft and yet with enough weight to cocoon her in warmth.
“I didn’t think I could possibly feel more elegant,” she said breathlessly, “and yet I do.”
“Wait. I’m not quite done. There is one more small adjustment to make,” he said, drawing something from his trouser pocket. “These are not old. Nor are they family pieces. It’s something I bought for you today.” He opened the small bronze leather pouch and shook out a pair of earrings, the dark green stones spilling into his palm, glimmering with color and light. “I worried that the green might be a little off, but they’re such quality stones that I thought it was worth it.”
She was almost afraid to touch the earrings, each one made of two emeralds, a large oval at the lobe, with a huge teardrop emerald beneath. “They’re real?” she whispered.
“Yes.”
“They’re so big.”
“They are dramatic, but they’ll suit you.”
“I hope you’re not spending money on me. I don’t want you to—”
“Don’t deprive me of the pleasure of treating you.” He tilted her chin up and slipped the slim gold post through the hole in her earlobe before attaching the back, holding the decadent earring in place. “Now the other ear.”
“This isn’t a treat. It’s called spoiling. The dress, the cape, the earrings.”
“Hasn’t anyone ever spoiled you before?”
“No.”
“That’s criminal. You deserve to be draped in jewels.”
Rachel couldn’t help laughing. “As if I were a courtesan in a Turkish harem?”
“Or a young bride, anticipating her wedding day.”
She flushed, blood surging to her cheeks, making her face feel hot and sensitive. “Now you’re making me nervous.”
“No need to be nervous. Enjoy being spoiled.”
She dipped her head to hide her blush. “Thank you for the gifts...for all of them.”
“My pleasure. You look beautiful.”
She glanced up, her smile unsteady. “I think, though, I know what you are doing.”
“And what is that?”
“You’re trying to break down my resistance. You want to win me over.”
Deep grooves bracketed his mouth. His bright blue eyes glowed down at her. “I’ve already won you over. You just haven’t admitted it yet.” His head dropped, and his lips brushed hers, lightly, fleetingly, sending a sharp tingle up and down her spine. “But you will, soon.”
* * *
The boat slid through the lagoon, the gondolier standing at the back, eyes sharp, seeing what they couldn’t, steering with hardly a splash. The night was so quiet and still with the fog. The streetlamps looked like distant balls of light. The stillness created a magic, and Rachel found herself holding her breath again and again, senses heightened and delighted.
They soundlessly slipped from one canal to another, turning corners she didn’t even see, easing under bridges that popped out of nowhere. She was grateful the gondolier knew the city so well because she was completely lost, and yet it felt good to give up control. It was almost a relief. She’d been fighting so hard to keep everything together and tonight she could control nothing—not the dark, or the fog, or the direction they were to go. She could only sit and feel, exquisitely aware of Giovanni next to her, his tall, imposing frame hard, his muscular body warm.
She couldn’t see far. Sometimes she saw nothing, but there were other moments when she could just make out the shape of a building, or the shadow of a person walking on the pavement, footsteps muffled by the fog. Every now and then the gondolier’s oar splashed, or they’d pass another gondola and the drivers would murmur a greeting as the boats slid by.
It was all a fantasy, she thought, a seductive dream that was lulling her, relaxing her so that she found herself leaning against Gio, letting him support her weight. She could feel his thigh against hers, and her shoulder against his chest. His arm was around her, his palm flat against her waist, his fingers just brushing her tummy, and it shouldn’t be anything, but it was. It was intense. It all felt dizzying and overwhelming and she was feeling things she had never felt before, and imagining his hand on her bare skin, his fingers caressing her, stroking her, finding the curve of her breast and the hollow between her legs.
She wanted him to touch her and explore her—
“You’re cold?” he said, his voice near her ear, feeling her shiver.
“Just a little,” she lied, almost boneless with need, before drawing a tremulous breath. He’d been right earlier. She was starting to fall for him. She wanted him and was teased by the idea of a life with him. No one had ever taken care of her before. No one had ever spoiled her or desired her, either...
But desire wasn’t love, and the risk was huge. She was falling for him; she could have her heart broken.
“We’re nearly there.” He held her tighter, closer, his fingers so very close to the apex of her thighs that she was stunned she hadn’t burst into flames.
She didn’t understand the attraction, or the emotions sweeping through her. She didn’t understand how she
could be falling for someone who was also such a threat. Maybe the problem was that she had never felt this kind of intense physical attraction before. Maybe the problem was that she had never felt this way about anyone before. Her feelings were not intellectual, nor were they rational. Her feelings really weren’t feelings but hope and desire, fear and need. It began as a baffling, carnal desire that had bypassed her head to fill her body, humming in her veins, and had turned into a curiosity and hunger that made her want him to want her—not just her body, but her mind, and her heart—all of her.
She turned her head and looked at his darkly handsome profile and felt everything inside her tighten and flip.
He was beautiful. There was no denying it. But that wasn’t a good thing, not in this instance, because honestly, he was too beautiful for her. And he wasn’t just ridiculously handsome, he was also brilliant and successful. Wealthy beyond belief. Women like her didn’t get men like him. No, Gio was the kind of man Juliet snagged, the kind of man who wanted perfection on his arm. Even dressed in an expensive gown and draped in velvet and fur and jewels, she wasn’t perfection. She wasn’t even close.
He would not be happy being married to her. He would resent her, and that would be intolerable... It would break her heart.
Gio didn’t know what happened, but something did. One moment Rachel was happy and relaxed, leaning into him, and then the next she’d become stiff, her slim shoulders hunched, head bowed.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she answered.
“Something has upset you. You’re sad.”
She lifted her head but couldn’t quite look him in the eyes. “This is a mistake, you know. All of this.”
“The boat ride? The earrings? What?”
“The gifts, the date, the proposal.” Her voice cracked. “The marriage. You would hate it, and I would hate it, and we’d be miserable, trapped together, and I can’t do more misery. I’ve had enough misery and enough guilt to last a lifetime.”
