Dubiously, she inspected her sleep-wrinkled clothing and grimaced. “Do you dress for dinner here?”
“As a rule, yes.”
“Then it’ll take me more than a few minutes to get ready. I’m not showing up looking like a dog’s breakfast, and giving her one more reason to despise me.”
Given Elvira’s often-extraordinary reactions to perfectly ordinary events of late, he couldn’t very well argue the point. “Take as long as you like. This is your home away from home, Cassandra. And if my mother has a problem with that, I’ll deal with it—and her.”
She looked troubled. “I’m already causing discord between you and her, Benedict. I don’t want to create more.”
“The discord,” he told her, “started long before you entered the picture, cara. These days, it seems my mother can’t get along with anyone.” He gave her a gentle push toward the bathroom. “Go. Do what you have to.”
She ran her fingers over her hair. “Is the luggage here yet?”
“Si. I brought it up myself. It’s in the other room.”
“Would you mind going through my suitcase and picking an outfit that you think will serve, while I run a bath?”
“Of course. One of your long skirts and a pretty top will be perfectly acceptable.”
She smiled, and he thought that he’d give a very great deal to see her do so more often. “Thank you, Benedict.”
“For what? Helping my wife unpack?”
“That, and for being so understanding.” She paused in the bathroom doorway. “I’ll be quick.”
“There’s not great rush, cara,” he said, concerned lest she slip and hurt herself as she climbed in and out of the deep bathtub.
He wished he could stay there to help her; to scrub her back and, when she was all flushed and relaxed, and sweet-smelling from head to toe, to wrap her in a bath sheet. He wished they could bathe together, with her spine resting against his chest and his arms around her. That he could cradle her breasts, slide his hand possessively over the faint swell of her belly, touch her between her legs and make her gasp with pleasure—!
“Benedict,” she said, regarding him curiously, “is there something wrong?”
Hell, yes, there was something wrong! He was in acute pain. Again!
“Not a thing, cara,” he said smoothly. “Enjoy your bath. We usually spend an hour over antipasto and wine before the main meal anyway, but because my mother and I spent longer than planned discussing business, even she won’t be her usual punctual self tonight.” He checked his watch. “I’ll lay out your clothes on the bed and come back for you in, say, half an hour?”
“Come back?” An expression of alarm chased over her face. “Why? Where are you going?”
“I’ll shower in my old bachelor suite.” And it will, of necessity, be a very cold shower! Again! “You’ll have the bathroom here all to yourself.”
“You know,” she said, another her smile dimpling her cheeks bewitchingly, “if you keep spoiling me like this, I’m going to wind up being very glad I married you.”
Deciding he’d better put some distance between them before rampant hormones got the better of him, he said with mock severity, “Save the flattery for another occasion, Cassandra, and hop in the tub. We’re wasting time.”
Oblivious to his discomfort, she flung him a last impish smile, and disappeared into the bathroom.
Elvira Constantino, splendid in a straight black, ankle-length gown whose severity was relieved only by a heavy gold cross and chain, was not alone when Benedict ushered Cassie into the ornate salone. A younger woman waited with Elvira, one so closely resembling Benedict and Bianca that Cassie guessed she must be the younger sister, Francesca.
“Well,” his mother remarked, coming forward and pressing another of her frigid kisses to Cassie’s cheek. “Here you are at last.”
“Yes. I’m sorry if we’ve kept you waiting,” Cassie said. “I’m afraid I fell asleep.”
“No need to apologize. You’ve endured an arduous few days, traveling halfway around the world to meet us.” The words clinked out of Elvira’s mouth as hard as little round pebbles hitting granite, “A siesta is acceptable, under the circumstances.”
Sure it is! Cassie thought, containing a shiver. About as acceptable as if I’d brought the bubonic plague into your house!
Benedict slipped an arm around her waist and steered her toward the other woman. “Come and meet the baby of the family, cara. Francesca, this is my wife, Cassandra. I expect you to take her under your wing and make her feel at home here.”
Francesca glanced nervously at her mother, as if requesting direction on how to respond. Elvira replied for her. “Francesca is as busy as you’ll be, Benedict. I’m afraid your little bride will have to learn to fend for herself.”
“In that case, I’ll have to beg off some of the chores you’ve laid out for me, Mother, and devote my attention to my wife, because I certainly don’t intend for her to be neglected.”
Although he spoke amicably enough, there was in his tone an undercurrent of steel which persuaded Elvira to take a softer approach. “Of course not, my son. We will all see to it that she is properly entertained.”
“I’m perfectly capable of looking out for myself,” Cassie said, tired of being batted back and forth like a ball between Benedict and his mother. “I’ve known from the start that this is a working honeymoon for my husband, and certainly don’t expect anyone to baby-sit me while he’s taking care of business.” Then, since Francesca still seemed uncertain of how she was supposed to behave, Cassie took her hand and, with a smile, put to use the little bit of Italian she’d practiced earlier. “Lieto di conoscerla, Francesca!”
Francesca smiled with delight, but Elvira let out a squawk of unkind laughter. “As you said, Benedict, your wife does not speak Italian!”
Cassie heard the hiss of his indrawn breath, saw the angry throbbing of the pulse at his temple, and knew he’d have leaped to her defense again, had she not beaten him to it. “But I’m willing to try,” she said, fixing her mother-in-law in a forthright stare. “Shouldn’t that count for something?”
For a moment, Elvira stared right back, the contempt in her eyes so apparent that a person would have had to be blind to miss it. Then she dropped her gaze and said, “Si. Of course. It counts.” She waved her garnet-tipped fingers to the windows at the far end of the room. “Francesca, show our guest the view, and I will ring for Speranza to bring in the antipasto and wine.”
“I’m very happy to meet you,” Francesca whispered, leading Cassie to a quartet of chairs facing a breathtaking panorama of sea and sky painted in varying shades of purple now that the sun had slipped below the horizon. “And please, Cassandra, do not take to heart the things my mother sometimes says. Calabrian women are very possessive of their sons, you see, and she had other hopes for Benedict.”
Before Cassie could ask what they were, the door opened and she received her answer as another young woman entered the room. Cooing as sweetly as a dove, even if she looked more like a marauding crow, Elvira swooped over and enfolded her in a warm embrace.
“Her name is Giovanna,” Francesca murmured, under cover of the ensuing babble of conversation.
“And she’s the ‘other hope’?”
“Si. I’m afraid so.”
“Is she in love with Benedict?” Cassie asked, watching as the woman turned to greet him continental style, with a kiss on both cheeks.
“I think most unmarried women in Calabria are a little in love with Benedict,” Francesca said with a laugh, “and some of the married ones, as well, if truth be told. But Giovanna will not try to encroach on your relationship with him. She is a good woman.”
She was a very pretty woman, too, with a sweet face and gently voluptuous body, and her smile, as she came to where Cassie and Francesca sat, seemed sincere. “You are Benedict’s Cassandra, and I am Giovanna,” she said, her English even more polished than Elvira’s. “It is a pleasure to welcome you to Calabria.”
She sat in the chair next to Cassie’s and asked about the flight over, how she’d liked the little she’d seen of Milan, and what she thought of Italy so far. “If you’d like a tour guide while you’re in Calabria, please call on me,” she said. “I’d be honored to show you the sights.”
Francesca was right, Cassie soon realized. This woman posed no threat to the marriage. The danger came from the mother, and feeling Elvira’s inimical gaze on her, Cassie drew her silk shawl more snugly around her shoulders.
After a few minutes, Speranza shuffled into the room, pushing a carved wooden trolley bearing a carafe of wine, and a heavy platter containing a selection of smoked fish, olives, marinated vegetables, and tiny rounds of sausage.
“All local specialties,” Francesca explained. “In fact, the olives come from our own land.”
And no doubt they were all delicious. But the spicy smell of the sausage and the sight of the pimento-stuffed olives glistening under a light coat of oil, left Cassie fighting a sudden wave of nausea.
Noticing what she perceived to be her guest’s distaste, Elvira inquired archly, “You do not care for our food, Cassandra?”
“Not right now,” she managed to say, dabbing at the perspiration dotting her forehead.
Benedict, bless his heart, realized her distress and came forward with a glass of sparkling water to which he’d added a sliver of lime. “Here, cara,” he said quietly. “Sip this. It will help.”
Elvira’s sharp gaze missed not a thing. “You do not care for our wine, either? What a shame!”
“It’s not your wine in particular,” Cassie replied. “It’s any sort of wine.”
“Ah, cara, you have a problem with alcohol!” Elvira could barely contain her glee at uncovering what she deemed to be yet another fatal flaw in the woman her son had claimed for a wife.
“I’m not a recovering addict, if that’s what you’re implying,” Cassie said, rallying to her own defense. “I’m just avoiding all alcohol right now, and I’d have thought you’d understand the reason for it.”
“How is that possible?” Elvira tilted one shoulder in a dismissive shrug. “You are a stranger to me. Until a few days ago, I knew nothing of your existence. How can I be expected to know the reason behind your likes and dislikes, unless you explain them to me?”
“Stop pressuring her, Mother! Cassandra said ‘no’ to wine. Be content with that, and find something else to talk about!”
The speed with which he intervened on her behalf, not to mention the sharpness with which he uttered his rebuke, would have warmed Cassie’s heart, had it not been for her sudden suspicion that Benedict had been very selective in what he’d told his mother. Unless Cassie was totally misreading the situation, Elvira might have been informed of her son’s marriage, but she hadn’t a clue his bride was pregnant.
Even more startling, though, was the effect his words had on his mother. Thoroughly subdued, she sank into the nearest chair, and when she spoke again, her intonation flowed like music, instead of snapping with malice. “I hope your suite of rooms is to your liking, child. The third floor isn’t used very much anymore, but I thought that, as a new bride, you would enjoy the privacy it affords.”
“That’s…very considerate of you,” Cassie said, taken aback by the sudden about-face.
“But how else should I be? You are la mia nuora— how do you say in English? My daughter-by-law?”
“Daughter-in-law,” Francesca supplied.
“Just so.” Elvira sipped her wine and subjected Cassie to such a long scrutiny that Cassie began to squirm “It’s a big adjustment, coming to a country where you don’t speak the language or understand local customs,” she finally decreed. “And then, there is the fact that we’re almost nine hours ahead of California time. You’ve come a long way to meet us, and I can see that it’s left you very weary. I should have arranged for you to eat a light supper in your suite and make an early night of it.”
Deciding this was as good a time as any to mention her pregnancy, Cassie began, “Well, it’s not just the travel or jet lag that’s wiping me out. It’s—”
But Benedict, catching her eye and realizing her intent, gave the merest shake of his head. “It was all the running around she had to do before she left San Francisco that’s left her so exhausted,” he cut in deftly. “Cassandra runs a very successful business and had to make sure it would operate smoothly during her absence.”
If steering the conversation into a different channel had been his intent, he succeeded. Throughout the remainder of the cocktail hour, Cassie was peppered with questions from Francesca and Giovanna, who wanted to know everything about her life in California.
Dusk was well on its way to night before the evening meal was served in a dining hall resembling something out of the sixteenth century, with massive furniture elaborately carved like that in the salone, and rich velvet tapestries on the walls. Easily capable of seating twenty, the table was set with engraved sterling and cut crystal so heavy, it could have knocked a grown man senseless. Taking her assigned place, Cassie thought the only thing missing were ladies in period costume and a troubadour playing a mandolin in the minstrel’s gallery.
Conversation was lively enough, although Elvira, for the most part, leaned back in her chair and appeared totally oblivious to her surroundings. Once or twice, her glance fell on Cassie and lingered there, and if her brief show of kindness was gone, so was her hostility. If anything, she looked puzzled, as if she couldn’t recall the reason this stranger was at her table. Finally, just before coffee was served, she abruptly got up from her chair and, without a word of explanation, wandered to the door.
Obviously irritated, Benedict said, “Where are you going, Mother?”
“To bed,” she said, pressing a hand to her temple. “I have a headache and need to lie down.”
“She’s complained often of headaches in the last little while,” Francesca explained, after the door had closed behind her mother. “Usually, they’re preceded by a terrible burst of temper over something quite trivial.”
“Has she seen a doctor?” he asked.
“No, although I’ve suggested it more than once. But she claims stress is the cause, and Benedict, we all know she’s got plenty of that. The situation here goes from bad to worse on a daily basis.”
“Bianca already filled me in,” he said, flinging her a quelling glance, “but Cassandra doesn’t need to burdened with the details.”
“I don’t see why not, if I’m now part of the family,” Cassie said.
“Because you have enough to deal with, cara. Bad enough that my mother’s feeling the strain, without it infecting you, too.”
“But perhaps I can help.”
“No.” Not for a second did he consider the possibility.
“Please stop treating me as I’m made of glass, Benedict,” she said, covering up her annoyance with a laugh. “You said yourself, I’m an experienced businesswoman, so don’t be so ready to dismiss my offer to help, either—at least not without giving me a reason.”
“You’re my wife,” he said brusquely. “And as your husband, I’m saying I don’t want you involved. That’s reason enough.”
Her mouth fell open in shock, and it took her a moment to recover enough to say, “I beg your pardon?”
“This is not America, Cassandra,” he declared. “Here, a wife knows her place—”
“Knows her place?” She stared at him, unable to believe her ears or his arrogance.
“Exactly,” he said calmly. “And it is not necessarily at her husband’s side where business is concerned.”
“Really? What a pity you didn’t choose to tell me before we were married that your idea of how to treat a wife is keeping her barefoot, pregnant, and tied to the kitchen sink. If you had, I can assure you, it would have made all the difference in the world to how I’d have received your proposal.”
“It’s a little late in the day for that, wouldn’t you say?”
“Trust me,
Benedict, it’s never too late!”
Giovanna cleared her throat and muttered, “Come, Francesca, let’s take our coffee in the salone.”
Cassie shoved back her chair and flung down her napkin. “No need,” she fumed, so furious she could have choked Benedict on the spot. “I’m more than happy to be the one to leave.”
“But you’re on your honeymoon…!” Distressed, Francesca appealed to her brother. “Benedict, please say something!”
“It’s okay, Francesca,” Cassie said. “He’s said enough and frankly, I’ve had about as much of the Constantino brand of hospitality as I can stomach for one day! The lord and master’s all yours, ladies, and I wish you both the joy of him!”
CHAPTER EIGHT
HE SHOWED up in the suite some fifteen minutes later. By then, she’d changed and was buttoned up to the throat in the longest, most concealing nightgown she’d brought with her, and sat at the old-fashioned dressing table, furiously brushing her hair.
“We need to talk,” he announced, coming up behind her and attempting to take the brush from her hand. “I realize you found my manner downstairs to be somewhat abrupt—”
She yanked the brush out of his reach and briefly debated swatting him with it. “Abrupt?” she repeated, trying very hard not to screech with the rage consuming her. “Try ‘overbearing, high-handed, rude and obnoxious’ on for size. I think you’ll find any, or all descriptions, will fit!”
He looked pained. “You know, Cassandra,” he said, “you’re not the only one who’s had enough grief for one day. I’m about at the end of my rope, too, and in no mood to deal with yet another temperamental woman. That being so, please shut up long enough to hear me out. Then, if you still feel like raking your nails down my face—”
“Hardly!” she scoffed. “That might be the only way the women around here can vent their frustration when it comes to dealing with deranged chauvinists, but where I come from, we choose more sophisticated methods of getting even.”
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