by Lynne Graham
‘Oh, don’t worry about us,’ Isa cut in hastily, glancing at Bruno and Donetta. ‘The three of us have a date with the television Umberto has most kindly set up for our use.’
Belle stomped upstairs in Cristo’s wake, wondering what was wrong with him, her face still burning from that hard, impatient look he had angled at her.
Teresa greeted them on the landing and lifted Franco from her employer’s arms. ‘Poor little pet…he’s exhausted. I’ll put him straight in the bath,’ she announced.
Belle turned on her heel but a strong tanned hand closed round her forearm to prevent her hurrying back downstairs. ‘I’d like a word in private,’ Cristo breathed.
Temper sparking fast in the strained mood she was in, Belle rounded on him, her green eyes flashing a fiery warning. ‘What on earth is the matter with you?’ she hissed.
‘You’ve been avoiding me and ignoring me since this morning,’ Cristo pointed out.
Belle’s face flamed. ‘I’m only trying to keep things polite for the family’s benefit.’
‘Then you can’t act worth a damn,’ Cristo told her succinctly, his hand on her forearm sliding down to engulf her fingers instead in a firm grip as he dragged her down the corridor with him. ‘And we need to clear the air.’
‘I don’t want to talk…I’m not ready yet,’ Belle exclaimed with more honesty than she had intended, because she had not yet reached the desirable stage where she could consider his feelings for Betsy without raging resentment infiltrating her every thought and reaction.
‘Too bad. I’m ready now,’ Cristo decreed, shoving wide the door of his bedroom and urging her in ahead of him.
‘Is that why you’re suddenly acting like a cave man?’ Belle demanded furiously.
‘No, that’s entirely your fault,’ Cristo fielded without hesitation. ‘If you want to argue with me, argue with me, don’t go all passive-aggressive and do it from behind a fake smile.’
‘That is not what I’ve been doing!’ Belle protested angrily.
‘That’s exactly what you’ve been doing and I’ve had enough of it. I made the mistake of admitting that at one stage I thought that I had fallen for Betsy—’
‘No, you said you had fallen for her!’ Belle contradicted.
‘You mustn’t have been listening,’ Cristo told her severely. ‘For a while before I met you I did believe I’d fallen for her, but once I met you I soon realised that I’d misconstrued my response to her.’
Belle abandoned her angry pacing round the room and fell still. ‘Misunderstood?’ she questioned sharply, turning her head back to look at his darkly handsome face.
His lean, strong features taut, Cristo expelled his breath in a rueful hiss. ‘You have to understand how I felt at the time Nik and Betsy’s marriage broke down. I felt unbearably guilty and accountable because—’
‘You told some secret of Nik’s to Zarif and he talked when he shouldn’t have and let the cat out of the bag,’ Belle interposed impatiently. ‘Yes, I remember—’
‘And Betsy was devastated and she turned to me as Nik’s brother, believing that I might know or understand why Nik had done what he had done. That was why she came to me. Unfortunately I didn’t know or understand, and I couldn’t help, but I felt extremely sorry for her. For whatever reasons, Nik had treated her badly. I felt very protective towards her and angry with Nik and I honestly assumed that those feelings were love.’
While she listened to what Cristo had to say, Belle was slowly breaking out in a cold sweat of relief because she was finally recognising that somehow in her hot-headed emotional response she had got the wrong end of the stick. Cristo had misinterpreted his feelings for Betsy and then recognised his mistake. Belle could understand how confused Cristo must’ve felt at the time, torn between guilt and responsibility for his brother’s marriage breakdown while feeling both disloyal to his brother and strongly sympathetic towards Betsy’s plight.
‘I can understand that. You felt responsible so you tried to be helpful and provide a supportive shoulder.’
‘I did still think I loved her when I asked you to marry me even though I’d never been attracted to Betsy the way I was to you,’ Cristo admitted with a twist of his mouth. ‘That sounds ludicrously naïve, doesn’t it?’
Belle was frowning in surprise. ‘You weren’t attracted to her?’
‘No. I assumed that was because I still thought of her as my brother’s wife but I think it was more because she wasn’t my type and didn’t appeal to me on that level.’
‘But…I’ve seen photos of her and she’s incredibly pretty!’ Belle fired back at him in ridiculous challenge.
‘I’ve discovered that tall, curvy redheads are much more my style, amata mia,’ Cristo quipped. ‘Particularly ones who can give as good as they get in a row and can function as my intellectual equal.’
Belle dragged in a steadying breath before she could ask uncertainly, ‘Are you talking about me?’
‘Who else?’ Dark golden eyes locked to her bemused face and lingered. ‘After all, it was only because I fell in love with you that I learned to appreciate that I’d never been in love with Betsy.’
Mouth running dry, eyes wide, Belle was suddenly feeling very short of breath and even slightly dizzy, as if the floor below her feet were rocking. And indeed it might as well have been because it seemed that most of her pessimistic assumptions had been glaringly wrong. ‘You fell in love with me?’
‘And it was almost love at first sight,’ Cristo teased with a charismatic smile. ‘Before you decided to try and convince me that you were your mother and a forty-odd-year-old woman, I saw you crossing the lawn, wearing a pair of shorts, and you have curves and legs to die for,’ Cristo told her with a wicked grin.
‘You’re so superficial,’ Belle mumbled in a pained tone of amusement. So superficial but mine, she was thinking lovingly.
‘Not at all. I love your legs but I love your brain and your ready tongue more,’ Cristo confided without hesitation. ‘In fact there’s a whole host of things I like about you that have nothing to do with your very sexy appearance.’
‘Like…?’ Belle pressed shamelessly.
‘Your loyalty and love for your family, your kindness, your lack of greed,’ Cristo enumerated, moving closer step by step while Belle continued to survey him with wonder. He loved her, not Betsy, and her brain was struggling to process that alien conviction. She was not second-best; she was his first choice and he genuinely cared about her. The first heady spur of joy surged through her like a rejuvenating drug.
‘I like lots of things about you too,’ Belle burbled. ‘But I fell in love with you without knowing I was doing it. It was only when I thought you loved Betsy that I realised how I felt about you.’
‘Great minds think alike,’ Cristo purred, stroking the side of her face with a gentle forefinger. ‘You love me, I love you. We’re a perfect match.’
‘No, we’re imperfect but that’s okay…we’re only human,’ Belle mumbled unsteadily, her heart leaping behind her breastbone as Cristo drew her into his arms and eased her wonderfully, reassuringly close to his lean, powerful frame. ‘Oh, I can’t believe this…I was so miserable today!’
‘I would’ve told you how I felt about you then if you hadn’t been so angry I was afraid that you wouldn’t believe me,’ Cristo confessed. ‘Let’s face it, neither of us was looking for or expecting love in this marriage, but you turned out to be the best thing that’s ever happened to me and I think the family we already have will be the icing on the cake.’
Belle dealt him an anxious upward glance, afraid he was being too optimistic in his outlook. ‘But you can get lots of little problems too with family.’
‘And together we’ll deal with them,’ Cristo asserted huskily as he brushed his mouth very tenderly over hers, lifting his handsome dark head to stare down at her with tender love and appreciation softening his stunning gaze. ‘You’re mine, my love, my wife, my future…’
‘I like the sound o
f that very much,’ Belle admitted, snuggling into his broad chest with a happy sigh. ‘But you know when you said that it wouldn’t be worth my while learning Italian, I assumed you only saw me as a short-term prospect.’
‘Ma no…certainly not,’ Cristo chided huskily. ‘I only meant that these days I don’t spend a lot of time in Italy.’
‘I’d still like to learn.’
‘I love you,’ he told her in Italian and she repeated the words faithfully back with a little giggle as he backed her down on the bed with a clear agenda in mind.
*
Belle greeted her family with a shining smile the following morning. Isa beamed and said nothing. Franco was scolded for trying to steal off Cristo’s plate and Tag for snarling at Cristo’s ankles. Pietro and Lucia squabbled as usual. Donetta wanted to know when they were going shopping and Bruno was making rapturous comments about the quality of the light.
Below the level of the table, Cristo gripped Belle’s hand in his and breathed, ‘Family is what it’s all about, amata mia. My father missed out on so much.’
EPILOGUE
FOUR YEARS LATER, Belle stood at a cheval mirror and pulled her stretchy dress away from the very small bump she sported.
‘You’re pregnant. You’re supposed to be that shape,’ her grandmother told her reprovingly.
‘I’m putting on a lot of weight though,’ Belle groused, checking the generous curve of her bust and hips in the mirror as she turned round and pulled a face.
‘Not too much,’ Isa contradicted. ‘You’re very active and naturally you need to eat. At least you’re not as sick as your mother was when she was expecting.’
‘There is that,’ Belle conceded reluctantly. ‘Now, are you sure you’re going to be all right while we’re away?’
‘Belle, you and Cristo will only be away for five days, of course we’ll be all right,’ the older woman declared lightly. ‘Stop fussing.’
Cristo and Belle were celebrating their fourth wedding anniversary in Venice where they would be visiting the princess and Henri in their palazzo on the Grand Canal but staying in a small intimate hotel that Cristo had carefully selected for them. Belle could barely credit that so much time had passed since their wedding and that soon she would be a mother in her own right.
Cristo had bought a fabulous house for them in Holland Park. Bruno was now studying art at college and Donetta was planning to do fashion design. Pietro and Lucia were both in secondary school and fought a little less often now that they were so conscious of being almost teenagers. Franco was a sturdy six-year-old in primary school, who insisted on having his curls cropped the minute they became visible and who modelled his every masculine move on Cristo, whom in common with the twins he called ‘Dad.’
Although they had started out with a ready-made family, who had been officially adopted by Cristo and Belle within months of their first wedding, Cristo had never overlooked their personal relationship or taken it for granted. They had, after all and at his insistence, had their marriage blessed in an Italian church service shortly before the first Christmas they had shared, both of them feeling the need to exchange their vows with rather more sincerity and emotion than had figured when they had initially married. They also enjoyed regular weekend breaks and holidays as a couple.
It had been during their last romantic break that Cristo had admitted that he would love her to have his child. That development had taken place far sooner than either of them had expected because Belle had fallen pregnant within a month of that decision. She smiled, hand splaying across her tummy as she thought of the little girl on the way to joining the Ravelli family. She could hardly wait and her brothers and sisters were equally excited at the new addition in the offing.
Indeed, Belle was happier than she had ever dreamt of being with Cristo and her family. And she had never been so busy. The palazzo, where they usually spent their summers on a family holiday, had been modernised. The whole family circle had drawn closer. Cristo’s brother, Nik Christakis, still intimidated Belle but his life had taken some surprising turns since their first meeting and he had definitely warmed up from the driven workaholic he had once been.
Zarif’s life was still a story under development and Belle loved visiting Vashir with its colourful vibrant culture and fabulous history. Cristo’s younger brother had weathered the storms over the scandal of his father’s secret double life because the rumours about Gaetano’s misbehaviour had once been so wild that the truth was no more shocking to the populace, who could only marvel that Zarif was such a conservative male in comparison.
Belle clambered into the limo that was to whisk her to the airport to meet Cristo and smiled, looking forward to the promise of having her husband’s undivided attention for a few days. An hour and half later, she boarded the private jet, her attention switching straight to Cristo’s tall, well-built figure as he pushed aside his laptop and sprang upright to greet her in the aisle.
‘You look beautiful, amata mia,’ he told her huskily.
Belle slid self-mocking hands down over her bust and hips and quipped, ‘Well, you are getting a more generous portion of me with every month that goes past…’
‘And I love it,’ Cristo growled, bending down to kiss her ripe peach-tinted mouth with hungry appreciation. ‘I think you look incredibly sexy.’
‘Tell me more,’ she urged as he settled her down in a comfortable seat beside his and fastened her belt for take-off.
‘Later. Right now it’s time for this…’ Cristo slowly slid an emerald ring onto her wedding finger. ‘It’s the same colour as your eyes and it is to signify my gratitude and appreciation for four very happy years of marriage.’
‘Thank you, it’s absolutely gorgeous. Unfortunately my gift is unavailable right at this moment, so you’ll have to wait.’
‘What is it?’ Cristo asked curiously.
‘Well, it might be turquoise and frilly and exactly the sort of thing you like but you’ll just have to wait and see,’ she warned him with an irreverent grin. ‘It has to be love, Cristo. It really has to be love I feel for you.’
‘I adore you, amata mia,’ Cristo murmured, holding her hand in his. ‘And if you’re talking about what I think you are, I can hardly wait.’
Belle rolled her green eyes teasingly and her colour heightened. ‘You don’t have to wait. I’m wearing it. Have you ever heard of the Mile High Club?’
*
Keep reading for an excerpt from WHEN DA SILVA BREAKS THE RULES by Abby Green.
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Ten years ago one devastating night changed everything for Austin, Hunter and Alex. Now they must each play their part in the revenge against the one man who ruined it all.
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PROLOGUE
CESAR DA SILVA hated to admit that coming here had had any effect on him, but his gut was heavy and tight as he stood on the path near the grave. He asked himself again why he’d even come and reflexively his fingers closed around the small velvet pouch with its heavy weight in his hand. He’d almost forgotten about it.
He smiled cynically. Who would have thought that at the age of thirty-seven he’d be obeying urges and compulsions? Usually he was the king of logic and reason.
People drifted away from the open grave a short distance across the hilly green space. Ornate mini-mausoleum-style headstones dotted the cemetery in the hills of Athens, its grass no doubt kept generously watered in the Greek heat.
Finally there were only two men left by the grave. Both tall, of similar height, with dark hair. One had slightly darker and shorter hair than the other. They were broad, as Cesar was, with powerful builds.
It was no wonder they were all similar. He was their half-brother. And they had no idea he even existed. He saw one put his hand on the shoulder of the other. They were Rafaele Falcone and Alexio Christakos. They all shared the same mother, but had different fathers.
Cesar waited for icy rage to surge upwards upon seeing this evidence of the family he’d always been denied, but instead he felt a kind of aching emptiness. They came towards him then, talking in quiet voices. Cesar caught his youngest half-brother’s words on the slight breeze—something like, ‘Couldn’t even clean up for the funeral…?’
Falcone replied indistinctly, with a quirk to his mouth, and Christakos riposted, smiling too.
The emptiness receded and anger rose up within Cesar. But it was a different kind of anger. These men were joking, joshing, just feet away from their mother’s grave. And since when did Cesar feel protective of the woman who had taught him from the age of three that he could depend on no one?
