The Fabrizio Bride

by Alyson McLayne

  "That's ridiculous."

  "No, it's not." Turning, she walked to the door. When she reached it, she paused. Her voice was surprisingly steady. "Don't wait for me in the morning. I'll drive myself to see Ana Lisa."

  She made her way up the stairs, entered her bedroom and headed straight for the shower, stripping along the way. Turning the water on full, she stepped beneath it, letting the hot stream warm her body and melt the ice that had formed in her veins.

  A sob rose from her throat. She clamped a hand over her mouth to hold it in, but it broke through. One, then another, then another. Her legs wouldn't support her any longer, and she sank to the floor, wrapping her arms around her knees. She dropped her head down and let go.

  It really was over.

  * * *

  Rafe stood on the pier, staring sightlessly across the lake. The water gently lapped against the shore and the rhythmic chirping of crickets filled the night air. As peaceful as it was, it did little to soothe the pounding in his head or the burning in his gut even though hours had passed since his confrontation with Sarika.

  A sickening feeling of regret seeped through him. He owed her an apology. A huge apology. Yes, she'd lied to him about Berrucci, but he'd called her a puttana, which he knew wasn't true.

  As much as it killed him to admit, she'd been right about their relationship. She'd played such havoc with his emotions when they were together, he'd been determined to keep his feelings in check – especially right after they'd made love. He'd been afraid that if he stayed with her for long he'd never be able to let go. End up just like his father – sacrificing his work, his family, his pride, for the embrace of his lover. Putting everything at risk.

  So he'd tried to control the need, the longing.

  Which was why she'd turned to Berrucci – wanting something Rafe had been unable to provide. He'd practically pushed her into the other man's arms.

  His stomach clenched, and he let out a primal roar that echoed across the lake, his famous control giving way to the primitive urgings of a man losing his woman. Driven by lust, driven by anger. Driven by a need to protect and possess.

  He thought he'd moved on, but the idea of her being with another man tore him up inside. The situation had slipped out of his control, and the regret he felt was replaced by a kind of panic.

  He had to do something. He couldn't just let her leave tomorrow and go to Berrucci. Sarika was his. She'd always been his.

  But if they got back together, he knew she would insist on full disclosure, and that meant unrelenting pressure from Ana Lisa to get married.

  He squeezed his thumb and index finger over his eyes. It's not that he didn't want to marry and have children, he just didn't want...what? A wife? No, that wasn't it. Didn't want what his parents had had? Definitely. But more than that, he didn't want to be like his father, and Sarika was the one woman in the world who turned him into Antonio Fabrizio.

  Crazed, chaotic, out of control.

  With a sigh, he looked back at the villa. Was Sarika as twisted up as he was? Or had she gone to sleep dreaming of Berrucci?

  The ever-present jealousy surged again, and it was all he could do to stop himself from charging up the steps and making her forget all about the other man. She was his woman, his lover, his Sarika.

  She belonged with him, not Berrucci.

  * * *

  Sarika opened her eyes the next morning to bright sunlight streaming through the windows. She expected to feel the same anguish she'd felt the night before, but instead, a burning anger filled her. Which was better than self-pity. She wasn't a victim, and she wouldn't allow herself to act like one.

  No more tears. She had a life and she'd get on with it – spend as much time as possible with Ana Lisa, build the business with Elena, start seeing other men. And never, ever, be alone with Rafe again.

  Turning over, she gasped when she saw the time. It was almost ten. She jumped out of bed and stumbled toward the bathroom, her body weighed down by fatigue.

  She washed at the sink and pulled the unruly waves of her hair into a loose clasp behind her head. She applied her make-up carefully to hide her tired eyes and cover the telltale signs of last night's kisses. The last thing she wanted Ana Lisa to notice were the whisker burns on her neck. Then again, it might be worth it to see the expression on Rafe's face if she told Ana Lisa her grandson had nipped her just a little too hard.

  Her amusement faded. What a mess. Sarika wanted nothing more than to avoid Rafe for the rest of her life, but she knew they'd be thrown together for as long as Ana Lisa was alive. And God willing that would be a long time yet.

  She moved to her suitcase, which had been returned to her bedroom last night, and chose a light, wrinkle-free sundress that matched her eyes. Then she added dangly earrings and a pair of sandals.

  Her case rolled easily along the runner in the hallway to the top of the stairs. She was about to carry the bag down, when she saw Rafe on the bottom step.

  "Leave it," he said. "I'll send someone to collect it later."

  She gazed down at him in dismay. He looked so handsome in casual, linen pants and a blue, button-down shirt. "What are you doing here?"

  "Waiting for you."

  "No you're not."

  "Yes I am."

  A twinge of excitement shafted through her. She squashed it immediately. No way was she going anywhere with him – especially in the limousine where they'd last made love.

  No, not love. Sex. Rafe had never loved her.

  She glared at him, then picked up her case. It was a mistake. Before she could take a step, he'd climbed the stairs and stood below her, his hand clamped around her wrist.

  "Put it down, Princess."

  They were almost at eye level. A silent war raged between them that she refused to lose. She'd lost so much already. The suitcase weighed heavily on her arm. He frowned, then gently pried open her hand. She dropped the case and tried to pull free, but he held tight.

  "Is this how you get your kicks these days?" she asked. "Forcing me to obey you? Do you want me to get down and lick your boots, too?"

  His eyes flashed. She braced herself for a verbal onslaught, but instead he said, "I'll keep it in mind." Then he leaned forward, looped his arm around her thighs, and lifted her over his shoulder. She shrieked in surprise as he carried her down the stairs.

  When they reached the bottom, she came to her senses and struggled to get free. He ignored her, carrying her along the hallway toward the front door. "Put me down. Rafe, you son of a bitch, put me down right now!"

  "No."

  Screeching in outrage, she pummeled his back, so he slipped his hand under her skirt to cup a soft cheek. She shivered as his fingers squeezed her flesh. Her thighs clamped together, but she only succeeded in trapping him there.

  "I seem to have the upper hand, Sarika, so I'd stay very still if you don't want my fingers to slip."

  Amusement tinged his voice, and it galled her. "I hate you."

  "I'm sure you do. I can be a bastard." But he didn't put her down.

  He took his hand away and smoothed her skirt down just before he opened the door and stepped into the sunlight. She heard a car door open behind her. Twisting around, she saw Santo standing beside an idling limousine.

  "Santo," she yelled as they approached. "Kidnapping is a criminal offence. You can't let him do this!"

  "I heard you were feeling faint. Rafe is helping you to the car."

  Rafe chuckled, and her fury rose. She struggled in earnest, but it was too late. He ducked with her inside the vehicle, a hand covering her head so she didn't bang it. When the door slammed shut behind them, he finally let her go. She reached across for the other door, but it was locked.

  Turning back, she glared at him. "You're an ass."

  "Probably. But it seemed like the right thing to do at the time. No pointless discussion or beating around the bush. Just good, old-fashioned, male action."

  "A fricking Neanderthal." She situated herself as far away fro
m him as she could.

  He leaned his head back and closed his eyes as the car accelerated toward the gate. A small, wry smile curved his lips. "That about sums it up. A raging, primitive man who is so eaten up by you he doesn't know which end is up. Whoever claimed women were the weaker sex were out of their minds."

  She gaped at him, her brain whirling over his words. What did he mean, he was eaten up by her?

  He cracked an eyelid and his smile twisted. "How can that surprise to you?" He held her gaze for a moment, then leaned forward and took her hand. She tried to snatch it back, but he held tight.

  "Relax, Princess. I had a reason for driving in with you this morning. An important one. So quit fighting me and listen...please."

  Please? Had he actually said please? She sniffed disinterestedly, but underneath curiosity spiked. "It's not like I can stop you."

  The weight of the moment intensified as he rubbed his thumbs over her knuckles, his gaze unwaveringly on hers. "I wanted to apologize. What I said last night was unforgivable. I know it's not true. You're not a...what I said you were."

  She raised her eyebrow. "A puttana?"

  "Yes," he said curtly, then continued. "And you wouldn't do...what I said you would do."

  "Would that be lie to you or cheat on you?"

  He shot her a dark look, and she suppressed a smile. He was apologizing. Rafael Cesare Fabrizio was apologizing to her. Wonders would never cease.

  "Are you going to listen or do you want to take over?" he asked.

  "No, you go ahead. You have my full attention on this momentous occasion."

  He took another deep breath and frowned, but this time she could see he was upset with himself, not her. "No matter how much it bothers me, you had every right to see other men when we were apart. I cut you off, I know I did. I gave you no expectation for the future, so it's understandable you started dating again."

  Anger surged slowly within her. She'd told him repeatedly she'd never been with Lorenzo. Still, he didn't believe her. So what did that make this so-called apology? A farce, that's what. Apparently, she wasn't a puttana or a cheat, after all – just a liar.

  "Cut to the chase. You want something, Rafe, so spit it out."

  Frustration gathered in his eyes. His brows slanted together and that telltale muscle in his cheek danced. "I'm sorry for what I said last night. I was jealous. I want you to forgive me."

  "Oh, please, you don't believe you've ever done anything wrong in your life, so really there's nothing to forgive. Why don't you tell me what you really want?"

  He continued to glare at her. Finally, he threw his hands in the air and blurted out, "I want you to dump that bastard Berrucci and marry me!"

  Chapter Four

  “What?” Sarika gasped.

  “You heard me.” Heat rose up Rafe’s neck, and he ground his teeth together. Why had he let her provoke him like that? He’d had it all planned out. He would be sincere and charming. Win her over with gentle persuasion. Then she’d pushed his buttons – again – and he’d screwed it up.

  What the hell. It was only a marriage proposal.

  Idiot.

  “You’re out of your mind,” she said, voice shaking. Whether from shock or anger he didn’t know. “You called me a liar, a cheat, and a slut. That’s supposed to make me want to marry you?”

  “I never said you were a slut.”

  “Oh, right. A puttana, then.”

  “I apologized for that.”

  “And that makes it better?”

  She placed a hand over her heart as if to protect it. Guilt twisted him inside.

  “It’s too late, Rafe. All of it’s too late. If you really wanted to marry me, you would have asked me ten months ago instead of walking away. You would have been proud to call me your girlfriend instead of hiding our relationship behind your security team and pretending nothing was different.”

  “We had good reasons for that.”

  “Yeah, you didn’t want to marry me. So what’s changed?”

  “I’ve changed.”

  She frowned, staring at him as if she could see into his soul. He resisted the urge to cross his arms over his chest.

  Everything was so chaotic with her. Such a rush of emotions – anger, doubt, jealousy. But joy, too. And passion. He’d never been with a woman who ignited such a fire in him. He wasn’t going to lose her to that dirtbag Berrucci. Not that she needed to know that. She’d probably marry the bastard just to spite him.

  He leaned forward and took her hand again. “Look, Sarika, I wasn’t ready for marriage then. I am now.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’ve had time to think about it and decided it’s for the best.”

  “Why?”

  “Can’t you just accept I’ve had a change of heart?”

  “No. Last night you said you never wanted to be with me again.”

  “I didn’t mean it. I let my emotions get in the way.”

  “Get in the way? You think you can just push aside how you feel? Or how I feel?”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Then what did you mean? For God’s sake, give me something, Rafe.”

  He clenched his jaw. Always the questions. She couldn’t just take him at his word, she had to go deeper, push harder. He released her hand and sat back, arms crossing over his chest. “We’re going in circles.”

  She stared at him for a minute then sat back, too. “Like a broken record. I want more and you can’t give it.”

  “I’m willing to give you marriage. How much more is there?”

  “Everything. Your heart, your soul. It’s called surrender. It’s what people do when they love each other.”

  Sarika turned her head to look out at the sun-drenched day. The narrow road wound through the mountains as they headed north. Tall pine trees reached toward a blue, cloudless sky. How could it be so lovely outside when inside she was a churning, chaotic mess? She’d seen the look of horror cross Rafe’s face when she’d mentioned surrender, and she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. No, not cry. He didn’t deserve such heartfelt emotion from her.

  He said he was “willing” to marry her like he was bestowing some great gift upon her.

  Jackass.

  “You think Berrucci will marry you?”

  Anger and frustration laced his question, and she suppressed an acidic smile. She couldn’t make him love her, but he damn well felt something he couldn’t push aside. The twisted amusement faded. Was that anything to base a marriage on? They may have passion, but they didn’t trust each other.

  And it wasn’t just about Lorenzo. Rafe didn’t trust her with his feelings, making it impossible for her to trust him, married or not.

  “No, I don’t think Lorenzo will marry me, and believe it or not, I don’t care.” She faced him. “But I will find someone. A man who loves me without reservation. Who isn’t afraid to give me his heart. I want a family of my own, and I’m through fighting for you.”

  That muscle danced wildly in his cheek. She could guess how he felt. He’d had it all planned out, and she should have fallen on her knees, weeping with gratitude. She might have ten months ago. Even last night if he’d asked her after making love. But he hadn’t. He’d accused her of terrible things and walked away. Again.

  If he was her husband would she feel more secure? No. He could still leave, like he’d done before. Like her father had done.

  She was finished with men who couldn’t commit.

  “My answer is ‘no’, Rafe. I won’t marry you even to please Ana Lisa, which is why I think you’ve asked me. I know you believe it’s for the best, but it’s not. Some day you’ll thank me for it.” Her heart contracted, but it had to be said. “Go back to your life, and leave me to mine.”

  “To your future husband, and a house full of babies.”

  “Yes.”

  From the corner of her eye, she saw his hand fist on his lap. After a moment, he loosened his fingers and spread them against the linen fabric o
f his pants.

  “I wonder how Ana Lisa would feel to know you’ve refused my proposal?”

  Her blood ran cold and she turned toward him. He relaxed against the grey leather seat, face calm as he watched her, but his eyes burned beneath lowered lids.

  “You will not tell her,” she said. “Even you wouldn’t stoop so low.”

  His only answer was a shrug.

  They made the rest of the drive to Santa Barbara in silence. Rafe pulled out his laptop and ignored her while Sarika stared out the window, her mind racing and heart breaking all over again. A marriage proposal from Rafe. Was she dreaming?

  After skirting the outlying cities north of Los Angeles, they merged onto the coastal highway that led into the city that was her home – Santa Barbara.

  Yes, her home. She knew that now, even though she hadn’t been back for some time. Her seven years on the east coast had been great on so many levels – she’d reconnected with her childhood haunts, felt closer to her mother, and established her independence. But Santa Barbara, this small, beautiful city with its miles of beaches, mountainous backdrop, and temperate weather, was her future. It was here she intended to start a business, get married, and raise a family.

  Without Rafe.

  Pushing down the pang that rose in her chest, she focused on the city as it came into view. Spanish Colonial Revival style architecture dominated the low buildings with their distinctive red tile roofs and smooth plaster walls. Greenery abounded, along with bright-colored gardens and soaring palm trees – all free of advertising clutter due to an ordinance against billboards.

  As they drew closer to the center of the city, the roads grew more congested. It was early afternoon and people were out enjoying the summer sun: tops down on their cars, lounging in sidewalk cafés, window shopping for the latest fashions.

  When they finally arrived at the hospital, Sarika couldn’t exit the vehicle fast enough, but she had to wait for Santo to let her out. After what seemed like forever, the door opened. She slid along the seat until Rafe’s hand caught hers, stopping her flight with a gentle squeeze.