The Fabrizio Bride

by Alyson McLayne

  Her eyes began to droop again. “Nothin’ to talk about. I’m going to marry someone else. Elena and I have a plan.”

  Chapter Six

  Hammers pounded her skull and burning daggers poked her eyes.

  Sarika dragged the covers over her face to block out the offending sunlight, but the movement caused her stomach to heave and her head to spin. She lay motionless, groaning, waiting for the room to stop whirling.

  It did, eventually, and she went from Hangover Hell to the edge of Puking Purgatory. If she didn’t move, she still felt awful but not as if her stomach and head were in a deadly shootout, the winner getting to eject itself from her body.

  She took shallow breaths, in through her nose, out through her mouth, trying to calm the nausea.

  “Sarika, are you all right? Can I get you anything?”

  Rafe’s voice sliced through her temples, and the dip in the bed as he sat on it felt like an earthquake, undoing any progress she’d made.

  She groaned in response. After a moment, the mattress lurched again and footsteps walked away from the bed. She squinted past the quilt and saw him at the window adjusting the heavy, brocade drapes. They’d been closed except for a small section that had caught on a Queen Anne chair, allowing light through. As the piercing glare disappeared, she shut her eyes in relief.

  Oblivion. Then a minute later he yelled at her again. “Sit up, sweetheart, take these.” His arm slipped behind her back and eased her into a semi-upright position.

  “Go away,” she moaned.

  “They’ll make you feel better, I promise.” He placed two pills in her hand.

  “Stop shouting.”

  “I’m not shouting.”

  She glared at him then put the pills in her mouth. “Water.”

  He gave her a glass filled to the brim. “Drink as much as you can.”

  After swallowing the pills, she tried to return the glass, but he made her finish. When she did, he set the glass on the bedside table. “Do you want to go back to sleep, or do you need to use the bathroom?”

  “Sleep,” she said.

  He started to lay her back down.

  “No, wait. Bathroom.”

  Lifting her gently from the bed, he carried her across the thick, cream-colored carpet. She felt as weak as a newborn, but she didn’t want him to know that. “I have a hangover not some debilitating disease. I can walk, you know.”

  His mouth quirked. “I’ll put you down at the door.”

  Seconds later, her feet touched the bathroom’s cool marble. She leaned against the door jamb until she had her balance.

  “Are you sure you don’t need my help?” he asked.

  She glowered at him and shut the door in his face. Then she laid her cheek on it and closed her eyes.

  “Sarika?” His voice vibrated through the wood.

  “What?”

  “Don’t look in the mirror, sweetheart.”

  * * *

  She woke again in the bed to a tapping sound, which was odd, because the last thing she remembered was curling up on the thick, cotton bath mat in front of the toilet. She had indeed looked in the mirror and it hadn’t been a pretty sight: pale face, green around the gills, hair tangled. And her once perfect eye-makeup now made her look like a deranged raccoon, but she was too sick to care.

  She’d also noticed she wore a man’s white dress shirt and nothing else. Not even her panties.

  Rolling over, she saw Rafe propped up beside her on the bed with his laptop on his thighs. He looked so good in khakis and a black tee-shirt it made her want to drool.

  Not that she could. Her mouth felt as thick and dry as a cotton ball.

  Unable to see around him to her clock, she asked, “What time is it?”

  He stopped typing and looked at her. “Just after two. Are you feeling better?”

  She thought about it. Not one hundred percent but definitely better. “Yes. What are you doing here?”

  “Taking care of you.”

  “Oh, no you’re not.” That was the last thing she needed. She wanted him out of her life, not being nice to her as if she was his girlfriend, or even worse, his wife.

  “Okay,” he said.

  She eyed him suspiciously. “What do you mean okay? You can’t just say okay.”

  “Okay,” he said again, deadpan, but his lips twitched.

  Growling, she pulled the covers back over her head. What kind of game was he playing? Last night was a little blurry, but she remembered him carrying her to bed and tucking her in. As well as bringing her a big glass of orange juice with a water chaser. At the time, she’d thought that was funny. Now she knew it was probably the reason she wasn’t more ill.

  Thanks were in order, but after the hell he’d put her through the last ten months, she didn’t feel the need say it. They weren’t even close to being even.

  The bed dipped again when he moved. She was relieved it no longer felt like an earthquake – or his voice like hammers. The quilt drew back, and he peered at her. “Do you think you could eat something? Maybe dry toast and coffee?”

  “Maybe.” How dare he be so nice. “I thought you played soccer Saturday morning?”

  “I do, but you needed me more.”

  Her jaw dropped. Then her shock turned to skepticism. “That never stopped you before.”

  “I know, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for a lot of things, but I don’t want to have that conversation right now.”

  Neither did she. Not ever. She’d decided to move on with her life, a life that didn’t include Rafe, and she had to stick to it. She dragged the cover back over her head.

  “I’ll get some toast,” he said through the quilt.

  * * *

  Two hours later, Sarika stood in front of the bathroom mirror wrapped in a towel with wet hair dripping down her back. Rafe had brought her toast and a coffee then refused to leave, so she’d ignored him. He’d asked her once about her plan with Elena, but she’d ignored that, too, causing the telltale muscle in his jaw to jump.

  Two points for her.

  Although, how he’d known about her business plans she had no idea. Maybe Lorenzo or Ana Lisa had told him. It didn’t matter, really. Her new life had nothing to do with Rafe. He was her past not her future.

  Still, they were going together to see Ana Lisa, and Sarika was determined to put on a smiling face. She didn’t want anything upsetting her Godmother, especially tension between Sarika and Rafe. If only she could work up the energy to finish getting ready.

  Make-up hid the hollowness of her eyes and added color to her wan face but could do nothing about the shakiness of her hands or the dull ache in her head. Why had she overindulged last night?

  To escape Rafe and everything she’d felt when he’d asked her to marry him.

  Elena was right, Sarika had been waiting half her life to hear him ask that question. And as outraged as she’d been at the proposal and determined to say ‘no’, a part of her had rejoiced.

  Walking away had hurt like hell.

  Then the doubts had surfaced. What if it was different after they were married? What if he’d changed and was able to love her the way she deserved to be loved? She’d certainly never stopped loving him. Would that be enough to keep them together?

  No, he’d always hold a part of himself separate from her, and she’d go crazy trying to fill the void. She’d become needy and clingy which would only push him further away.

  As much as it hurt right now, the decision to walk was the right one – not that she’d gotten very far. Rafe had been by her side most of last night and today. Caring for her, being considerate of her.

  Bastard.

  A knock sounded at the door. “Sarika?”

  She leaned onto the counter and pressed her forehead to the cool marble. “I’m coming as fast as I can.” Her voice sounded weak.

  The door opened, and she turned her head to glare at Rafe who peered around the edge. Damn he was a sight for sore eyes.

  “Go away,” she s
aid.

  Instead, he came into the room and pulled her up, turning her so her cheek lay on his chest. “Hush. Just rest while I do this for you.” He picked up the blow dryer, set it on low, and proceeded to dry her hair.

  It was so sweet, and she was so tired that she just closed her eyes, wrapped her arms around his waist, and hooked her thumbs in the waistband of his pants. She must have dozed off, for when she woke, he was carrying her into the bedroom.

  After placing her on the end of the bed, he moved to her bureau and rifled through a drawer before pulling out matching bra and panties. One of her favorite pairs. Apparently the maid had unpacked her suitcase when she’d been out.

  “I remember these fondly,” he said, laying them beside her before retreating to the walk-in closet.

  She knew she should protest his high-handedness, especially his comment about her underwear, but she was too drained to care. Plus, she was interested to see what he chose for her. He came out with a few outfits: light grey pants, a yellow, cotton skirt, and a white, eyelet, summer dress.

  She chose the pants plus a simple, white tee-shirt. Ease and comfort were the words of the day. When he moved forward as if to dress her, she shot him a forbidding look.

  He raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, I’ll meet you downstairs.”

  Twenty minutes later, they were in the limo on the way to the hospital. Rafe made one stop at Ana Lisa’s favorite café to buy them all treats and macchiatos. Sarika eyed them hungrily but decided to wait.

  When they arrived, her Godmother beamed up at them and pushed her dinner tray aside. The leftover pasta in a tomato basil sauce smelled delicious, and Sarika took it as a sign that she was well on her way to recovery.

  “Buongiorno, my children. How lovely you both look,” Ana Lisa said.

  Sarika kissed her cheek. “Buongiorno, Zia.”

  Rafe greeted her next then passed out the special coffees and treats. “I brought cannoli, Nonna, from your favorite café.”

  When Sarika bit into the sweet dessert, it melted in her mouth. She moaned in delight and smiled up at him. He smiled back then brushed a crumb from her bottom lip. Their eyes met and held, causing the heat to rise in her body. The moment seemed to last forever, and she forgot all about her plans to start a new life as she imagined him leaning over and kissing her. Slowly at first, then with a growing hunger.

  “What did you learn at the party? Is there any news?”

  Ana Lisa’s question broke the spell, and Sarika dragged her gaze from Rafe. Had her Godmother noticed? She wasn’t stupid. She would wonder if they were involved. Expectations would arise for their future that Sarika couldn’t fulfill.

  It wasn’t fair to any of them.

  How dare he?

  When they left an hour later, Sarika barely waited for the limo door to close before turning on him. “If you cause a rift between me and Ana Lisa, I will never forgive you.”

  Rafe faced her, shocked. “I would never do such a thing.”

  “You were touching me, too close to me. She’ll notice and wonder about it. Assume we’re together.”

  “Is that so bad?”

  Her jaw dropped. “Yes! We’re not a couple, Rafe. You asked me to marry you, and I said ‘no’.”

  His nostrils flared, and he looked away. She watched, almost fascinated, as that muscle jumped in his jaw. Then he took a deep breath and turned back to her.

  “You’re right. I’ll be more careful. I don’t want adverse feelings between the two of you. I just…forgot myself.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t understand. You were always so vigilant before. Even if we’d just made love, you never slipped. Not even a lingering glance. Believe me, I would have noticed. It seemed like I was forever trying to catch your eye.” The last sentence sounded bitter.

  He sighed and pulled her hand into his. “Sarika, we needed time back then to develop the relationship without Ana Lisa knowing. I still think we were right to keep it a secret. When you asked me to tell everyone about us, I just wasn’t ready to go public. Now I am. Which is why I was careless in front of Ana Lisa.” He trailed a finger down her cheek. “I want to touch you around other people, I want to kiss you. I want my ring on your finger, so everyone knows you’re mine.” His hand lowered to rest on her stomach. “I want my children growing inside you.”

  Every word stabbed her heart. She also wanted that, but more than anything, she wanted him. All of him, which she knew he couldn’t give. She tried to pull her hand away, but he held tight.

  “No, just listen. I’ve thought a lot about this, and you were right to end it. We’d been together for almost a year and you deserved more. What happened with Lorenzo Berrucci was…regrettable. I went a little crazy, but I know better now. I believe you.”

  So that made everything all right? They could go back to what they had before but as husband and wife? “It’s not about you believing me or not, Rafe, it’s about why you didn’t want to believe me in the first place. That hasn’t changed.”

  “Of course I wanted to believe you.”

  “No, you didn’t. Otherwise you would have. It sounds simple, but it’s true. To love someone is to give everything to them. To surrender. That’s how I loved you. But it was one-sided. And I won’t live like that again.”

  He sat back in his seat, tension evident in every line of his body. She tried to pull her hand away, but he refused to release it, and she wouldn’t get into a tug of war she’d only lose.

  They arrived shortly at Ana Lisa’s, a stunning Italianate style villa built by her husband in the fifties to make her feel more at home when they were first married. Located in an elegant neighborhood called The Riviera, the property was blessed with gorgeous city, mountain, and ocean views.

  Rafe opened his side of the car and pulled her behind him along the leather seat. She hurried to keep up with his long strides. At the ornate wooden door inlaid with stained-glass panels, she stopped him. “Go home, Rafe.”

  “I am home,” he said, then released her hand and walked inside.

  She stood there, eyes wide, then followed him across the marble foyer toward the library. He had just poured himself a shot of cognac and offered it to her, but she shook her head, watching as he tossed it back. His throat moved as he swallowed, and she remembered all the times she’d kissed that exact spot. She could do so again. Right now, if she wanted.

  “What do you mean you’re home?” she asked.

  “Ana Lisa asked me to stay with you until she’s released from the hospital.”

  “But I don’t want you here.”

  “Then you’ll have to take that up with her.”

  “Fine. I’ll go stay with Elena.”

  “And have Ana Lisa find out? You think she doesn’t call home everyday and check on things? We could ask Enzo, if you like,” he said, referring to her Godmother’s maggiordomo.

  Enzo had been running Ana Lisa’s villa for as long as Sarika could remember, and he was almost as old as her Godmother. Sarika had no doubt they spoke several times a day.

  She closed her eyes, feeling trapped. When she opened them again, Rafe stood right in front of her, his eyes steady and jaw firm.

  “You have to forgive me sometime, Sarika, and when you do, I’ll be right here.”

  “You’re not listening to me, it’s not about forgiveness. I want more from you.”

  “And I’m giving it.” He pressed her hand to his chest. “I’m here saying I’m sorry, wanting to build a life with you, promising to make you happy. You’re mad at me. I get it. If I could change what I did, I would. But I can’t. All I can do now is promise never to do it again.”

  * * *

  Sarika awoke alone in her bed the next morning. To her disgust, she was disappointed. A part of her had wanted Rafe to be there like he was yesterday, taking care of her. It had made her feel loved and cherished. Made her want to say ‘yes’.

  No, she refused to go there. She’d made her decision. Rafael Fabrizio was a bad habit she
intended to break. He’d been sweet because he wanted something from her – acceptance of his proposal. And he would do whatever was necessary to get it.

  She, on the other hand, wanted a hell of a lot more. His surrender to love.

  The phrase made her snort, thinking it sounded like a romance novel or a country western song, but really, when she thought about it, surrender was exactly what she needed. He was so busy trying to win her, he couldn’t see that all he had to do was give in. Stop fighting himself, stop fighting her, stop fighting his feelings and just surrender.

  If he gave her one true, loving moment, she would topple like a house of cards.

  Sighing, she rolled over and a waft of something delicious hit her nostrils, making her mouth water. A small thermos emblazoned with the logo of her favorite café sat on the nightstand. She hesitated, knowing exactly who had put it there and why.

  Damn, she was weak. It smelled so good and she could just imagine the rich taste as it spilled over her tongue and warmed her throat, gave her a little jolt of caffeine as it filled her stomach.

  Beware sinfully handsome Italians bearing gifts.

  But then again, taking the gift didn’t mean anything other than she liked her morning cappuccino. So really, he lost and she won. She’d drink the cappuccino and still say ‘no’. She wouldn’t even call to acknowledge it. Okay, she would, but she would make it clear it meant nothing. That was good. It drove the point home that she would stick to her guns.

  Pushing the pillows against the headboard, she sat up and reached for the coffee. She flipped the lid and savored the drink. The first sip was glorious. Then her cell phone rang, disturbing her reverie.

  Rafe’s name appeared on the display. She hesitated, working out exactly what to say, then picked up on the last ring.

  “Hello?”

  “Good morning, Princess. What are you wearing?”

  The careful words she’d composed flew from her mind. Her jaw gaped as the sexual timbre of his voice sent darts of awareness to every corner of her body. “I…you…that’s none of your business.”

  She looked down at Rafe’s dress shirt from yesterday covering her body. Why had she put that on last night when she found it hanging behind her bathroom door? She had a drawer full of nightgowns to choose from. Why choose the one that smelled like him and reminded her of his thoughtfulness?