by Annie West
Footsteps sounded on the paving stones and she turned to watch Pietro cross the roof garden. In the early evening light he looked like a female fantasy of tall, dark and handsome made flesh. As he drew near those piercing eyes glowed with a warmth that tangled her thoughts.
‘I’ve been keeping this safe for you.’ He held out a small, square, blue velvet box.
Molly’s heart catapulted against her ribs. Her breath snatched as butterflies wheeled and spun in her stomach.
‘What is it?’ She had a good idea but for some reason wasn’t in a rush to touch his hand and take the box.
‘It’s yours.’
Molly swallowed hard. Reaching out to take that box felt like crossing a boundary. Yet she had to see.
The velvet was warm from Pietro’s hand. She paused, holding it for a moment, then opened the lid. Fire dazzled up at her, flaring and shifting as her hand trembled. The butterflies dancing inside her became kites, swirling so fast she felt dizzy.
It was a ring, of course. A dazzling statement piece that would take any woman’s breath away.
‘It’s an opal.’ Not just any opal. The gem was indigo-blue with traceries of iridescent green and, when she turned it, flashes of red appeared as if from some inner fire. ‘It’s utterly gorgeous.’ And that was without the ring of diamonds circling the large centre stone.
Molly’s eyes widened. This must have cost a fortune! Her gaze slewed to Pietro and found him smiling down at her. ‘I’m pleased you think so. I thought you’d like something from your homeland.’
The thoughtfulness of that brought a lump to Molly’s throat. It was the action of a man who truly cared. A man concerned that she might miss her own country.
‘It’s your engagement ring.’ He paused, a tiny frown gathering on his brow. ‘I didn’t have a chance to give it to you before. I’d like to see you wear it.’
There was no doubting Pietro’s sincerity. That expectant look made him appear for the first time something other than confident and in control. As if everything rode on her accepting the gift.
Just like any other man, waiting to see if his fiancée approved his choice of ring.
The realisation touched her. Had she made a mountain out of a mole hill, worrying about Pietro claiming they were married when he’d simply wanted to see her and bring her home?
‘When did you—?’
‘When did I get the ring? I ordered it when I was in Tuscany. It was made to my specifications.’
In Tuscany. He’d ordered this precious thing but it hadn’t arrived before she’d come to Rome, which was why she hadn’t been wearing it when she’d woken in hospital. They couldn’t have been engaged long.
‘You said we met only a few months ago. It’s not long to get to know someone before becoming engaged.’
His look made her blood sizzle. ‘Long enough, Molly. I know you’re the woman I want to marry.’ His tone rang with absolute certainty and her needy heart weakened.
He paused, obviously waiting for her to say something. But words failed her. No matter what had gone before, how could she speak of love and marriage when she barely knew him?
When she didn’t respond Pietro went on, his brow knitting in a frown, a pulse ticking at his temple. ‘You wanted marriage too. That’s what you said.’
Molly didn’t miss the past tense. Is that why Pietro seemed so tense? Despite his smile his expression was tight. His stillness told her he was on edge. Was he waiting for her to declare she still felt the same?
Anxiety trickled through her, and a hint of excitement.
Pietro looked almost stern as he waited for her response, as if it was difficult to harness patience.
‘It’s stunning, Pietro, and I want to wear it. But I feel...odd. I can’t remember being engaged to you and...’ To her mortification, tears crowded her eyes, threatening to spill as she stared up at him. Her emotions see-sawed horribly.
‘Shh, Molly. It’s okay.’ Pietro pulled her to him and wrapped his arms around her. ‘There’s nothing to be upset about. This can wait. The important thing is you know how things stand.’
She shook her head against his collarbone, feeling almost guilty about taking solace in his embrace when she couldn’t bring herself to put on the ring. ‘I’m just overwhelmed. It’s so lovely, and you’ve gone to such trouble, but I don’t remember anything about us and it seems wrong to accept it when I can’t.’
His chin rested on her head, one hand stroking her hair, the other splayed at her back.
‘Don’t fret. As for not recalling us, that will change.’ He pulled back just enough to look down at her, tilting her face towards his. ‘Relax, Molly. Keep the ring and wear it when it feels right.’ He favoured her with a smile that she felt all the way to her toes and made her wonder why she was holding back. ‘Let’s forget that for now. Come on, dinner is being served.’
His warm hand closed around hers and he led her to the pergola with its perfumed vines. Beneath it the table had been set for two with linen and silverware. Fat candles flickered, casting a gentle glow.
But as the meal progressed it was Pietro’s solicitude that made the evening romantic.
He ignored the ring box she placed on the table and kept her amused with stories about Rome and sightseeing plans.
As the time passed Molly relaxed. How many men in Pietro’s situation would have been so forbearing? Clearly he cared about her. There’d been no mistaking his urgency as he’d waited for her to accept the ring. Yet he was willing to wait till she was comfortable with him.
She was lucky to have such a man in her life.
* * *
Pietro watched Molly’s rigid posture relax, read the pleasure in her eyes and knew he’d been right not to push.
No matter how frustrating it was to wait. Tension clamped his neck and jaw and he had to make an effort not to let it show.
Her distress tonight hit home. Seeing her scared and worried evoked latent protective instincts. That moment when she’d realised they weren’t married...
He’d acted on impulse, claiming to be her husband, only realising later that she must notice at some point that she had no wedding ring. By then it had been too late—the deed was done. Besides, when Molly wore his wedding band it would be for real, not a sham simply to get her out of hospital.
As for their engagement... Pietro needed to move slowly. If he forced the matter he might frighten her away and then he’d be right back to square one.
His belly clenched at the memory of her walking out of his villa in Tuscany. Not, as she currently believed, for a short holiday in Rome. But because she’d been stopping briefly in Rome before catching her flight to Australia with no plans ever to return.
They hadn’t bid each other a fond, lingering farewell. He’d been rigid with fury and Molly had said she never wanted to see him again. Then she’d angled her nose in the air and strode out, the picture of hauteur, despite her swimming eyes.
A pang of remorse opened a chasm in his belly.
It was true he’d ordered the engagement ring while at the villa. Not because he’d proposed and she’d accepted, but because she’d only been gone a few hours when he’d realised his mistake.
They would marry. He could not relinquish his unborn child. Family was everything. It was not merely important but something he’d craved almost as long as he could remember. Ever since his own family had been so cruelly ripped away from him. Even now he felt the old, secret yearning, the bleak, emptiness at the centre of his world that no amount of success could ever fill.
The solution was easy. Ensure custody of his child by binding Molly to him in marriage.
After all, she’d looked at him with stars in her eyes when she’d told him about the pregnancy the first time. Her tentative references to a possible future together had betrayed her romantic hopes.
A rusty blade knif
ed his ribs as he watched Molly smile at him from across the table. So sweet, yet still so tentative.
Just as well she couldn’t remember their last evening in Tuscany.
For the first time since Elizabetta, the first time in six years, Pietro had let emotion overtake logic in a devastating tsunami that had obliterated sense. His blood ran cold as he recalled what he’d said to Molly that night.
No time to think of that now. He needed to focus on the present. And the all-important future, when he’d have the family he’d always longed for.
He just had to secure it.
Molly smiled again, gesturing to emphasise a point. When she put her hand down, Pietro reached out and covered it with his. He felt her stiffen, felt her pulse race beneath that silky skin. Her eyelids flickered and she looked away but she didn’t slide her hand free.
Pietro suppressed his smile. He knew it would be triumphant and he couldn’t risk signalling his feelings.
Molly was a romantic. She’d fallen like a ripe cherry into his hand and his bed before. And she’d been ready to fall into marriage.
All he had to do was court her and get her to fall for him again. Seduce her.
That way, when her memory returned there’d be no nonsense about them parting. He’d have her where he wanted her—in his home, bringing up his child.
Pietro loved a simple, fool-proof plan.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE NEXT DAY was tiring but good.
So very good. Molly couldn’t stop smiling. She hadn’t realised what a difference it would make to be out and about in the city. Pietro’s apartment was spacious and designer-attractive, and the views were wonderful, but she’d begun to feel hemmed in. This was her first real outing since waking in that sterile hospital room.
Hurriedly she yanked her thoughts away from the place back to the present. This felt like freedom.
Pietro cut a glance her way. ‘Ready to sit for a while?’
‘That sounds ideal. Thank you.’
His eyes were hidden by reflective sunglasses, so she couldn’t read his expression, but he nodded and guided her towards an outdoor café. She had the impression that he was carefully attuned to her needs. All day he’d been laid back but unobtrusively solicitous, as if knowing how surprisingly fatiguing this first day out would be for her. Not so much from exercise but from being bombarded by all the sights and sounds.
Around them women stared and even turned to watch Pietro, but he seemed oblivious, concentrating only on Molly.
That made her heart flip over and she fought to keep her expression neutral.
He was formidably gorgeous, even down to his designer loafers and trendy button-down shirt.
More than that, he was a perfect companion, attentive and fun, protective when the crowds in some of the tourist hot spots threatened to jostle her. There’d been a moment, as strangers had closed around them, when she’d felt a surge of panic, till Pietro had slid his arm around her and smoothly extricated her from the mob. He hadn’t said anything, just diverted her with some amusing anecdote. Yet Molly knew he’d sensed her panic and acted to dispel it.
His unobtrusive care was tantalisingly attractive, as much as his rangy, masculine frame and the rare smile that turned her blood effervescent.
She still didn’t know how she felt about Pietro, apart from attracted and too needy for her own good. It would take time to forgive him for that lie about them being married. But today had been a good start. Some of the invisible weight bearing down on her had already eased.
‘Thank you, Pietro.’ She sat at the tiny vacant table that had miraculously appeared at their approach and leaned towards him.
His eyebrows arched above his sunglasses. ‘For what?’
Molly smiled. ‘For everything. For today. I know you put off your work to spend time with me.’
She’d heard him early that morning, busy on the phone. One of his many calls had been in English as he’d apologised personally for rescheduling a meeting. He’d said he had to devote himself to an important family matter.
Hearing herself described as ‘family’ went a long way to settling the riot of nerves she’d felt on discovering they weren’t married.
Pietro spread his hands in a familiar gesture. ‘Some things are more important than work, Molly.’
There it was again, that tug at the heartstrings when he put her first. Or maybe it was the way he said her name with that sexy, lilting accent, making it sound as delicious as the gelato he’d bought her earlier.
‘I appreciate it. I suspect visiting tourist sites isn’t the norm for you.’ For one thing his style was far more sophisticated than that of the average tourist.
Pietro took off his glasses and fixed her with a look that suffused her with warmth. ‘You haven’t been to Rome before. Not properly. Of course you want to see some of the famous sites. Sharing your enjoyment has been a great pleasure. Thank you. I feel privileged.’
His mouth tilted up in the merest hint of a smile and her stomach went into freefall.
So much for her determination to take things slowly and not be swayed by attraction.
With an effort she dragged her gaze away, taking in the crowd thronging the piazza.
‘What would you like?’ Pietro’s words interrupted her thoughts.
‘Oh.’ She’d been so busy thinking about Pietro she hadn’t noticed the waiter appear. ‘Not coffee.’ She frowned down at the menu she hadn’t even opened. It was late in the afternoon, and some of the other café patrons sipped beer or wine, but she was avoiding alcohol. ‘A soft drink with lots of ice, please.’
Pietro ordered then turned back to her. ‘I’m glad you enjoyed the Pantheon.’
‘Oh, I did. It was just as wonderful as I’d hoped.’ She turned to stare at the huge domed building on the other side of the square, still not quite believing it. ‘To go inside an ancient Roman building was amazing, especially one so imposing. And that wide hole in the roof!’ She shook her head. ‘I read about it and wondered what happened when it rained but I hadn’t realised there were drains under the floor to take the water away. Silly of me, wasn’t it? It wasn’t what I expected.’
She looked back to find Pietro watching her curiously.
‘What did you expect?’
‘Something smaller. But walking between those enormous columns at the entrance made me feel totally insignificant. You really could feel the age of it. We don’t have such old buildings in Australia. The oldest one I’ve been in is Cadman’s Cottage in Sydney. Built in the early nineteenth century.’
Pietro’s eyes narrowed. ‘When did you read about the Pantheon? In the apartment?’
‘No, I...’ Molly’s eyes widened as she met his.
He nodded. ‘I thought so, when you started talking. It wasn’t in the last few days, was it, Molly? You remembered reading about it before you came to Italy, or at least before arriving in Rome.’
‘Before the accident.’ She breathed in a wispy voice as her throat tightened. She could picture it now—not a screen but a book, some sort of travel guide with a photo of the Pantheon’s huge interior taking up a double-page spread. She saw herself turning the page, seeing the Colosseum, the Spanish Steps, art galleries, piazzas and bright-blue skies.
She swallowed hard, an odd feeling making her flesh tingle and draw tight. ‘It’s a memory.’ It was both scary and exciting. ‘I thought I’d remember the important things first, like you, or my family.’ Molly lifted her eyes to Pietro.
Surprisingly he didn’t look excited, but more wary, as if wondering what she’d reveal next.
Who could blame him? It must be like walking on eggshells, wondering how she’d react. Again it hit her that he really had been wonderful, uncomplaining and considerate.
‘More than one memory, Molly.’
‘You mean the one about me gardening?’ Her
pulse quickened. ‘That’s two things in two days.’
‘Three. You just mentioned a place you’ve visited in Australia. A cottage in Sydney. It wasn’t just that you knew about it, you knew you’d visited it.’
Molly felt her stare grow fixed as she gazed into his golden-brown eyes. Pietro was right. It was another memory. Warm shivers trickled over her skin as she pictured herself walking from the water at Circular Quay in Sydney across the open space to the neat stone cottage.
She could feel the breeze off the harbour cooling the back of her neck as she herded a group of small children towards the cottage. Nearby another teacher, an older woman, flashed a weary smile as she counted their charges.
Molly heard the echo of a cheer at the promise of ice-creams later, and then a cry as little Sally Paynton tripped and grazed her knee.
She frowned, trying to hold onto the image, the clarity of the moment, yet even as she did so it wavered and faded. The memory dissolved, leaving her mouth dry and her heart thumping.
Warmth stole through her and she blinked, lifting her head to see Pietro’s concerned face. Something caressed her hand and she realised it was his thumb brushing her wrist, his fingers warming hers.
Molly felt like a diver coming back to the surface of the sea, disorientated. Yet Pietro didn’t rush her with questions. He merely waited, his touch gentle yet proprietorial and, she realised with a start, an expression on his face that looked implacable. As if he was readying himself to fight some demon on her behalf.
What worrying recollections did he think might surface? Or was that simply her disturbed brain inventing things?
‘You’re right.’ She turned her hand and squeezed his. ‘I remembered visiting there with a school group. It was hot and the kids were tired and one of them fell over.’ She paused as the significance of that recollection struck. ‘I even recall her name—Sally Paynton!’
‘Brava, tesoro. That’s amazing. Your memory is starting to work again. That must be such a relief.’
Pietro couldn’t know how much. ‘It’s true. I’d begun to fear I might never recover.’ She’d avoided admitting it. The fear ran so deep, mentioning it was like tempting fate.
