The Fabrizio Bride

by Alyson McLayne

  She snorted. “You wish.” Then worry crossed her face, and she frowned. “What are we going to do?”

  “I’ll deal with it. Just get dressed and come downstairs. I need to make sure my grandmother’s all right.”

  He stole a brief kiss, then left the room.

  Sarika watched him go, missing him immediately. She sank to the side of the bed and dropped her head in her hands, unable to process what had happened. Not only had she slept with Rafe again, but they’d been caught in flagrante, by the one person she’d never wanted to know.

  Her Godmother blamed him, but Sarika knew that wasn’t fair. She was as responsible for this morning’s disaster. She’d wanted him to stay last night just as much as he had, and if she was truthful, she’d wanted him to break his word. To make love to her. It had been hell lying so close to him, touching but not touching. A few times she’d initiated, but he’d caught her hands and squeezed them tight.

  Flopping back onto the bed, she huffed out a frustrated breath. Why had she agreed to him staying last night? And why was she wearing his ring, even if it was on her right hand. She lifted it above her head and looked at the beautiful diamond. It didn’t feel right sitting on this hand, but she wasn’t ready to switch it to her other hand either.

  She dropped her arm to the mattress. She shouldn’t have accepted it. All she’d done was make her life a hell of a lot tougher. Last night had undermined her determination to change things between them and possibly created discord with her beloved Godmother. How could she have been so stupid?

  With an angry growl, she rose from the bed and stalked toward the bathroom. Time to pay the piper. Five minutes later, dressed in faded jeans and a white tee-shirt with her hair brushed, she hovered outside the library door listening to her Godmother scold Rafe. And he took it, answering in soft, soothing tones as he apologized again and again.

  “Nonna, I’m sorry. Please sit down. You need to rest.”

  “I don’t understand,” Ana Lisa responded. “You’ve always protected her. And now to take advantage in such a way. How could you?”

  Sarika squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her head to the doorframe. Her stomach curdled with shame.

  “It was wrong, I know,” he said. “It’s not Sarika’s fault.”

  “Did you even think how confusing it would be for her? She just had her heart broken by another man. I’m so ashamed of you.”

  Oh, God.

  “Nonna, you don’t look well. Please, sit down.”

  The worry in his voice made Sarika’s heart leap, and she hurried through the doorway. Her fingers hovered over the ring, then she slipped it off and palmed it.

  Ana Lisa stood before the fireplace, cheeks pink and eyes bright. Too bright.

  Rafe hovered nearby, anxiety etched in his furrowed brow. He clasped his grandmother’s hand, but she snatched it away, causing his shoulders to stiffen. “Please, Nonna—”

  “No.”

  With a soft groan, Sarika pushed the ring back on, rushed over and wrapped a supportive arm around Ana Lisa’s trembling body. “Zia, you worry for nothing. You should be happy. You’ll finally get those grandchildren you wanted.”

  She took a deep breath and raised her left hand, the beautiful diamond sparkling from her ring finger. “Rafe and I are getting married.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “Married?” Ana Lisa asked, hope lightening her expression. “But what about that other man?”

  Sarika embraced her Godmother and glanced into Rafe’s stunned face. She could relate. “It’s a long story. Come sit with me, and I’ll explain.” They settled on the couch. Why did Rafe appear so shocked? It was what he wanted. He should be ecstatic.

  Unless he’d changed his mind?

  “Can you bring some tea?” she asked.

  He nodded and rushed from the study, returning seconds later. “It’s coming.”

  With a loud exhale, he sat on Ana Lisa’s other side. She clasped his hand. He lifted it and kissed her knuckles.

  “Tell me,” she said.

  Sarika cleared her throat. “Zia, Rafe is the other man. We were…we are together.”

  “But you said this man left you?”

  “He did. We—”

  “We had a fight,” Rafe interjected. “I was an idiot. A stupid, jealous idiot, but Sarika forgave me.” He raised questioning eyes toward her.

  Did she forgive him? She searched her heart for any residual anger or bitterness over his behavior the last ten months and found none, just an echo of sadness that he’d held himself back from her. Still did.

  Ana Lisa relaxed against the couch with a happy sigh. “How long? And why didn’t you say anything?”

  Sarika fudged the details. “Almost a year.”

  “A year?”

  “We needed time to ourselves,” Rafe said. “To see where the relationship would lead without any outside pressure. You understand, don’t you?”

  Ana Lisa closed her eyes, but a contented smile crossed her lips. “I understand. I’m an interfering old woman, and I would have made things impossible for you. But none of that matters now.” Her lids rose, and incandescent joy shone within. “You’re getting married!” She raised their hands to her mouth and kissed each one, admiring Sarika’s engagement ring in the process. “You must have twice as many babies to make up for the grandchildren I expected from both of you.”

  Rafe smiled and snagged Sarika’s gaze. Heat bloomed in his eyes. “That can be arranged.”

  Desire surged through her, and the idea of having Rafe’s child filled her with anticipation.

  Then the reality of what she’d done began to sink in. She was getting married. To a man who wanted her, but couldn’t even say he loved her.

  Did that matter? They could build a good life together and maybe in time, he’d open up. Or maybe they’d be exactly as they were now their entire lives. Could she accept that?

  She had no choice. It was her doing. Rafe had been taking the blame, shouldering responsibility for their actions – until she’d stepped in and changed everything.

  “You must marry as soon as possible,” Ana Lisa said. “And you must promise to be chaste with one another until after the wedding.” Her tone brooked no argument.

  Rafe frowned. “Really, Nonna, don’t you think—”

  “Rafael, your promise. Sarika deserves better.”

  Sarika’s eyes widened as she watched the two Fabrizios face off. Equally stubborn, equally used to getting their own way. Even so, she had no doubt who would win.

  “We’re not children,” he grated.

  “No, you’re a man who should honor and respect his betrothed enough to wait.”

  Rafe held still for a moment, nostrils flaring, then he tossed his hands in the air with a muttered curse. “You have my word. But the wedding will take place this weekend.”

  Sarika’s jaw dropped. “Are you crazy? I can’t put a wedding together in five days.”

  “You can, and you will. Consider us your first clients, and you won’t have to waste time conferring with the bride.”

  Ana Lisa laughed, dissipating the tension. She patted Rafe’s arm. “You have the libido of your dear grandfather, God rest his soul.” Then she turned to Sarika and kissed her cheeks. “That is a good thing, bambina, take it from me.”

  With Rafe’s help, Ana Lisa rose from the couch and walked toward the desk. “I’m calling Father De Luca to arrange a meeting. We must start planning immediately.”

  * * *

  Three hours later, Sarika sat with Rafe and Ana Lisa in a cozy office in the church the Fabrizios had attended for as long as anyone could remember. Arched, stained-glass windows let in a warm light, enhanced by wood paneling on the walls. A richly colored area rug covered the oak floors.

  The priest, Father De Luca, had been saying mass there since Sarika was a child. A kind smile creased his face as he observed them from behind a heavy, wooden desk. “This is a happy day for everyone. And an even happier one to come.”


  The ceremony had been arranged for Sunday afternoon in the garden at Ana Lisa’s villa, causing Sarika’s head to spin and heart to pound at how fast everything was happening. Her fingers pleated nervously in her yellow, linen skirt. The heat of the room stifled her, but Rafe still looked cool in his pale blue shirt and tie. And so sexy she wanted to take him home and disregard the promise they’d made to Ana Lisa.

  Images popped into her head from the night they’d made love: his fingers trailing over sensitized skin, his head between her thighs creating such ecstasy, the dark intensity of his eyes as he’d watched her come undone. She would have loved to release another button on her white, cotton blouse as her temperature rose but reminded herself she was in church.

  Rafe reached across and took her hand. Glancing over, she saw he was also on edge, that tiny muscle twitching periodically in his jaw. If she hadn’t known what to look for, she would never have guessed his state of mind.

  Did he feel trapped? Was the idea of marrying her better than the reality? God, she hoped not. One of them needed to be certain they were doing the right thing.

  Father De Luca, Rafe, and Ana Lisa rose, indicating the meeting had come to an end while Sarika had been daydreaming. She stood, straightening her skirt.

  The priest embraced them. “We will have a rehearsal on Saturday night. Afterward, we can all relax, knowing everything is as God intended.”

  Easy for you to say.

  Ana Lisa stayed back for a private word with the priest, while Rafe grasped Sarika’s hand and lead her through the rectory. Their shoes echoed on the wooden floor. At the exit, he turned toward a bench in the shade against the stone wall of the church. “Do you want to wait out here?”

  The cooling breeze and sweet scent of hibiscus were welcome after the stuffiness inside, and she nodded. Making their way along a gravel path, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders as they sat down.

  She closed her eyes and leaned into him. If she lived solely in this moment, she could die happy.

  “Sarika,” he murmured against her hair, his voice sounding strangely neutral.

  “Mmm hmm?”

  “I have to go to New York tonight.”

  Her eyes popped open. “What?”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll be back Friday. Saturday at the latest.”

  Her stomach knotted, and the breakfast in her belly curdled. She’d grown used to him leaving before – waking up to find him gone on a plane somewhere. But he’d been around so much this past week, she’d forgotten how his frequent trips made her feel.

  Abandoned. Unloved.

  And wasn’t the timing suspicious? Right after she’d agreed to marry him. Last night he’d placed his ring on her finger, albeit the wrong finger, but she’d still felt the weight of the moment. He’d connected with her on a deeper level, and the emotional intimacy between them had intensified.

  Now this. Leaving without notice.

  She faced him. “I swear, Rafe. If you don’t come back for the wedding, I will never forgive you. Neither will Ana Lisa.”

  The fingers on her shoulder tightened as his eyes grew frosty. “How can you even think I’d do such a thing?”

  “Well, it’s happened before, hasn’t it? I turned up the heat and you skedaddled without a backward glance.”

  “I did not skedaddle.”

  “It seems to me you’re running now.” Her throat thickened, and she swallowed to loosen it. Damn it. She would not cry. Not even angry tears.

  A tense silence ensued. “I wanted to clear my work schedule so we could spend time together after the wedding. Go on a honeymoon.”

  Oh, God. “Really?” Maybe she’d been wrong. He wasn’t the only one with emotional baggage that affected his judgment.

  “Yes.”

  A car drove up and parked behind the waiting limousine in the parking lot. He removed his arm from her shoulders. “I have to go. That’s my ride to the airport. You and Ana Lisa can take the limo home.”

  She grabbed his arm, detaining him as he sat forward. “Wait. What about my C’s?”

  “Your seas?” he asked.

  “The words you promised. The ones that start with the letter ‘C’.”

  He sighed with frustration, which made her frown.

  “I bought you a chocolate, croissant and cappuccino this morning. Don’t they count?”

  “No. They’re not emotions. It has to be something you feel.”

  He muttered under his breath, then said, “‘Crabby’, ‘Cross’, and ‘Cantankerous’. No, wait, that describes you this morning.” He rose abruptly from the bench. “I have to go. I’ll text you the words later.”

  She glared at him as he walked through the churchyard to the waiting car. Part of her wanted to chase after him, while the other part wanted to go back to bed and bury herself under the covers. She did feel crabby after that conversation.

  Unfortunately, she had too much to do, and the day was spent with Elena and Ana Lisa planning the wedding. Things were coming together relatively smoothly for such short notice. Even her dress would be ready by Friday.

  By the time she turned in that night, Rafe still hadn’t texted her. She stood in the middle of her bedroom wearing a tattered tee-shirt from college, scowling at the phone in her hand. When it beeped, alerting her to an incoming text, she jumped and almost dropped it onto the plush carpet.

  Cursing softly, she sat on the edge of the bed and read the message. Just three words: ‘Chaotic’, ‘Crazy’, ‘Consumed’.

  She stared at them, heart pounding. ‘Crazy’ she understood, he made her a little crazy, too, but ‘Chaotic’? He was always so controlled around her. And what did he mean by ‘Consumed’? The other night, he’d shocked her by saying his desire for her was like an obsession. Is that what he meant by ‘Consumed’?

  Biting her lip, she typed in a single word of her own. ‘Clarify’? Then sent it.

  She’d barely taken one agitated lap around the perimeter of the room before the phone beeped again. She ran toward it and accessed the message. Three more words stared back at her: ‘Desperate’, ‘Delirious’, ‘Disconcerted’.

  He’d moved on to the D’s, and they were even worse. Why had she started this stupid game? And what did he mean by ‘Desperate’? That they were in a desperate situation and had to marry because of being caught in flagrante? Or that he was desperate to marry her because he couldn’t be without her?

  She raced downstairs to her laptop in the library and accessed an on-line dictionary. Brows drawn together, she read the definition for ‘Delirious’. It could be good or bad, as in he was deliriously happy to be with her, or he was in a state of delirium. Which circled right back to ‘Crazy’.

  Damn. Now she was more confused than ever.

  Maybe the last word would help. She typed in ‘Disconcerted’. ‘To disturb the self-possession of; perturb; ruffle’, came up on the screen.

  Hmmm. She was sensing a theme here. At this point, if they made it down to the P’s there was no way he would list ‘Pleasant’ and ‘Peaceful’, more likely ‘Perturbed’ and ‘Possessed’.

  She dropped her forehead onto the desk with a groan, ready to throw that damned book into the Pacific. Ignorance really was bliss – maybe next time she’d think twice before digging through his emotions. Honesty wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

  * * *

  Rafe sat back against the headboard of his bed in the luxurious suite he stayed in when he was in New York. Soothing earth tones should have eased his mind, but he felt a persistent anxiety that had increased daily the longer he’d been around Sarika. The push/pull left him exhausted. As much as he wanted to be with her all the time, as close as possible, the need to ‘run’, as she’d called it, had also intensified.

  But run from what? He wanted this marriage. He wanted her. He wanted children with her. So why go on a business trip that wasn’t necessary? Yes, there were things that were easier done in person, but he could have stayed in Santa Barbara. Helped Sarika. Connect
ed with her.

  He knew she still had doubts. He would, too, if she’d behaved the way he had. Hot one minute, cold the next. What if she decided he wasn’t worth the trouble? Decided to cut and run like he had?

  Like a coward.

  He closed his eyes and squeezed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. Maybe he should return tonight. He could be home by morning. Wake her with kisses.

  But just the thought of returning made his anxiety jump another notch, and he slammed his fist on the mattress. Damn it! What was he afraid would happen? Sarika was his fiancé, about to be his wife and mother of his children. It was impossible to want another woman more than he wanted her, so it’s not like he would tumble into the trap his father had – marrying too young, falling in love with another woman, torn between that woman and his family. Rafe would never choose anyone but his wife.

  He looked down at the phone in his hand. She’d called a few minutes ago, and he’d let it go to voice mail. She hadn’t left a message, she hadn’t needed to – he knew why she’d called.

  What had possessed him to send her those words? Crazy, chaotic, consumed, desperate, delirious, disconcerted. He sounded like a serial killer, not a man who was about to marry the only woman he’d ever…he’d ever…

  Ever what?

  Of course, he cared about her. And wanted her. Desperately. One of the ‘D’ words again. Was that it? He felt desperate? The same way he imagined his father had felt with his mistress. Desperate to leave his wife and child and be with her. Except he would never leave Sarika or their children for anyone else, so it didn’t make sense. None of it made sense.

  He took a deep breath. He just had to make it through the next few days then everything would calm down. Once they were married, the uncertainty would ease and everything would return to normal. They’d have their routine; he’d see her in the morning and the evening. The rest of the day would be his. He’d still play soccer on the weekends and take care of business. Go on trips and meet up with friends, sometimes with her, sometimes alone. They’d become parents, and he’d no longer be overwhelmed by her. Consumed by her.