He’d be himself – but married. Content. Calm. In Control. Those are the words he should have sent, but she’d asked for honesty, and he’d gone with the first words that had resonated in that panicked corner of his heart.
Hell. Everyone knew honesty wasn’t everything it was cracked up to be.
* * *
The precious fabric glided through Sarika’s fingers toward the floor – heavy, white silk mikado exquisitely detailed with tiny Swarovski crystals and fine stitching, creating the faintest impression of flowers.
She gazed toward the mirror, awed by the incredible talent and hard work that had gone into creating a wedding dress of such grace and beauty. Simple in its design, a strapless neckline cut straight across the top of her breasts, shaped her body, and then flared gently in a swathe of material to pool at her feet. What made the gown intricate was the fabric itself and the diagonal draping and fall of the silk.
Astounding.
Ana Lisa stood behind her on one side of the podium, the designer on the other. They beamed at her.
“Bambina,” her Godmother said. “It is so beautiful. You are so beautiful.”
The other woman, short, round and impeccably dressed, nodded. “Stunning. I’ll press it and deliver it to you myself on Saturday. What about a veil?”
Sarika didn’t want anything to distract from the detail in the dress. “I don’t need one. Just diamond earrings and a simple hairstyle. Maybe a ribbon woven through the strands if I wear it up.”
“I agree,” the designer said, then clapped her hands together. “You must give me a picture to hang in the salon. The Fabrizio Bride.”
Ana Lisa glowed with pride and happiness. Many society brides graced the walls, but deep down Sarika wondered how many of them were still married. It was a cynical thought – not worthy of this place that catered in chiffon and lace dreams of happily ever after.
After she’d been helped from the gown, Sarika changed back into her vibrant, flowered dress. Bright red toenails contrasted with her white sandals, and she carried the same floppy, straw bag from yesterday. Her hair had loosened from its clip, so she let it fall freely down her back.
Ana Lisa waited for her on a plush fawn-colored couch in the sumptuous viewing room. As Sarika drew near, her Godmother patted the cushion beside her. “Come sit with me. We have the room for another hour, and they’ve provided espresso and biscotti.” She motioned to a tray on the glass table.
Sarika sat and reached for the silver coffee pot. “May I pour for you, Zia?”
At Ana Lisa’s nod, Sarika prepared their drinks. She handed it to her Godmother, sat back and took a sip. It was good. Not quite as good as the cappuccino’s Rafe had brought her, but delicious nonetheless.
They ate and drank in silence, each lost in their own thoughts, then Ana Lisa put her cup on the table and clasped Sarika’s hand. “Bambina, you will tell me what is bothering you.”
Sarika almost choked on her coffee.
With a pat on her back, Ana Lisa said, “Did you think I would not notice you are upset? Is it because Rafe left on business?”
Placing her drink and biscotti down, Sarika tried to compose herself. “No, Zia, everything is fine, really. He explained he went to New York to clear his schedule so we could have a honeymoon.”
“And maybe get a bit of breathing space before the wedding, hmmm?”
Sarika’s gaze clashed with Ana Lisa’s. “What…what do you mean?”
“I know my grandson as well as I know you. As much as he wants to marry you, it is a frightening step for him. It has been difficult for him to let go of the bad memories from his childhood. His parents did not have a happy marriage.”
Sarika leaned forward. “He told me that, but he wouldn’t go into detail. What happened?”
“It’s not a surprising story. Antonio and Carmella married too young because she was pregnant with Rafael. That in itself made the marriage worthwhile, but when Rafael was about ten years old, Antonio met another woman and wanted to be with her. Carmella wouldn’t let him go and their home life became rocky for the next few years as Antonio moved back and forth between the two women. It is that chaos that so affected Rafael.”
Sarika squeezed Ana Lisa’s hands, her heart cramping for everyone in the situation, but especially for the scared, confused boy.
“Things before that had been…calm. I don’t know if my son and Carmella cared enough for one another to make a scene. Up until then, Rafe had been the focus of their love and attention. After that, Carmella used him as a pawn to make Antonio stay. It was awful, which is why Rafe spent so much time with us during the holidays when you were growing up. He needed to escape.”
Ana Lisa’s voice had thickened, and Sarika handed her Godmother a tissue as tears welled in her eyes. “My son made some terrible mistakes, but I cannot begrudge him finding someone in his life he cared about before he died. It is a blessing to love and be loved – as I was by my dear husband, and you are by Rafael. You will have a good, long marriage, and you’ll help Rafe forgive his father and grieve his death. His mother’s death, too. Your love can heal him.”
Sarika swallowed past the painful lump in her throat. “I’m trying, Zia, but he’s so hard to reach. I don’t know if he’ll even come back for the wedding.”
“He loves you, bambina, and will not risk hurting you in such a way. I understand it’s hard to make yourself vulnerable, especially knowing how you feel about your father, but trust that Rafe loves you.”
* * *
The phone rang just as Sarika pulled the bedcovers over her body. She picked it up, turned off the light, and snuggled down knowing it would be Rafe. She wanted so badly to talk to him, connect with him, especially after hearing about his childhood.
And the possibility that he loved her. She’d mulled over that one all day.
She flipped open her cell. “Hello?”
“Are you in bed?” he asked, the low timber of his voice sending shivers down her spine.
She closed her eyes, better to imagine he was there beside her. “Yes. Don’t I even rate a ‘hello’ anymore?”
“Not this time. Are you alone?”
Her eyes sprang open, and she almost laughed. “You mean other than the big, beefy man lying beside me?”
“That’s not funny. I meant Ana Lisa or Elena or someone.”
“Elena? I know that’s most men’s fantasies but—”
“Sarika. Stop teasing.”
“Okay. Yes I’m alone, and it’s dark, and I’m practically naked because it’s too warm for a nightgown and—”
“Stop. Go back to the naked bit.”
She stretched languidly under the covers, lips tilting into a smile. “Rafe, I am not having phone sex.”
“Why not? That’s not breaking any of Ana Lisa’s rules. She probably doesn’t even know what phone sex is.”
“We promised to be chaste. Talking dirty over the airwaves is not chaste.”
He sighed in a long, drawn out manner. “Can’t you just pretend you’re telling me about a dream?”
The erotic one she woke from the other morning sprang into her head, and she bit her lip to keep from moaning. “Let’s talk about something else. I’m almost afraid to ask, but do you have any E words for me?”
“Yup, a big one.”
“What is it?”
“‘Erection.”
She burst out laughing, rolling from side to side on the mattress. It was moments like this she remembered how fun Rafe could be. How quirky and irreverent. They’d laughed together a lot when they were younger.
“F is easy, too. ‘Fornication’, ‘Fellatio’ and ‘Fu—’”
“Rafe!” She stopped him just in time, still trying to control her laughter and more than a little turned on. But now she was dying to know the next letter. “What about G?”
“Hmm, I’ll have to think about it… How about ‘Groping’, ‘Grabbing’, and ‘Grinding’.”
She groaned.
“That, t
oo. If I can’t sleep, you shouldn’t be able to either.”
“You’re a brute.”
“I know. Tell me about your day.”
She did, skipping Ana Lisa’s story about Rafe’s father’s affair and how it had affected him. That was something they needed to talk about in person – if he ever opened up to her.
“When will you be home?” she asked.
“In the afternoon. I’ll come straight to Ana Lisa’s from the airport.”
“Okay.” She closed her eyes and felt the love in her heart pour out. “I’m looking forward to seeing you. I miss you.”
“I…I miss you, too, Princess. I’ll text you your words. I don’t want to do it over the phone. It’s…easier.”
“I know. We’ll get there, Rafe.”
He disconnected, and she drifted off, warmed through from their conversation. The phone beeped in her hands a few minutes later, and she roused herself enough to flip it open and read the lighted display. He’d written: ‘Ensnared’, ‘Fearful’, and ‘Grip – as in I’m losing mine’.
Her drowsiness fled in an instant, and she sat and turned on the light. E, F, and G. And not very happy ones. She’d thought after their teasing conversation, he would have chosen words that expressed the good things she made him feel.
‘Ensnared’ meant trapped, obviously. Trapped into marrying her? Or trapped by desire? Either way it was bad. ‘Fearful’ was straightforward, and losing his ‘Grip’ was like ‘Disconcerted’ and ‘Crazy’ from yesterday.
She bit her lip, stomach twisting with anxiety, then texted back. ‘R U sure U want 2 marry me?’
The answer returned in less than a minute: ‘Eager, ‘Fortunate’, ‘Grateful’.
Relief coursed through her, and she texted back one more time: ‘Me 2.’
* * *
Sarika stood under the white canopy in the sumptuous garden behind Ana Lisa’s villa and tried to calm herself with deep breaths, which was hard to do in the tight, pink bodice she wore. Rafe was late. The rehearsal was scheduled to start ten minutes ago, and he hadn’t arrived yet. She’d called repeatedly, but he hadn’t picked up, causing her to leave message after message on his voice mail.
So she’d contacted Santo who’d said the plane had touched down already, and Rafe would be there shortly. That was an hour ago.
What could be holding him up? Nothing. Just the fact that he didn’t want to be here. He’d skedaddled, like her father had.
Damn it. She had to quit thinking like that. Quit presuming the worst.
Elena conferred with the head caterer, florist and musician at the side door to the villa. She was a whirlwind of activity, checking and double checking that everything was in order. Ana Lisa stood at the altar with Father De Luca and two of her friends who were doing the readings for the ceremony. Other people bustled around setting out chairs and erecting a tent and dance floor.
Everything was coming together perfectly except for the missing groom.
“Hello, Sarika.”
She spun to see Lorenzo Berrucci standing behind her, looking handsome in casual linen pants and a white, button-down shirt. Dragging a smile from the bottom of her feet, she said, “Lorenzo, what are you doing here?”
He greeted her with a kiss on each cheek. “Elena called me in a panic. She forgot something at home, so I brought it over. Congratulations, by the way. Looks like you’ll have lovely weather for the big day.”
Sarika looked up at the clear, blue sky with the occasional white, puffy cloud. The forecast was the same for tomorrow. Perfect for a wedding.
If there was one.
Ana Lisa hurried up the aisle toward them. “I just spoke to Rafael. He’s detained and says to go ahead without him. He will be here for dinner afterward.”
“You spoke to him?” Sarika couldn’t keep the shock and hurt from her voice. “Why didn’t he call me?”
“I don’t know, bambina. Maybe he couldn’t get through.” Ana Lisa greeted Lorenzo then said to him, “We need a stand in for the ceremony. Will you pretend to be the groom?”
He hesitated for a moment then nodded his head. “Of course, Signora Fabrizio. I would be happy to help.”
“Good, you will wait up here with Father De Luca.” She took Lorenzo by the hand and led him toward the altar.
Sarika flipped open her phone looking for messages, then checked her incoming calls. Nothing. He hadn’t even tried to contact her, choosing to speak to his grandmother instead. Why was it always two steps forward and one step back with him? Or maybe one step forward and two steps back. Pretty soon there’d be nowhere left to go.
Last night she’d fallen asleep with a smile on her face, sure Rafe would eventually open up and love her, and they’d have a long, happy marriage. Now he couldn’t even call to let her know he’d miss his own wedding rehearsal.
She dialed his cell phone again and when it went straight through to voice mail, she hung up then texted a brief message: ‘Sorry U couldn’t make it. Not 2 worry. Lorenzo stepped in.’
* * *
“Damn it!” Rafe cursed.
Sitting in the back of the limo parked by the side of the road about ten minutes from Ana Lisa’s, he read Sarika’s latest text message again – and again. What the hell was Berrucci doing there? Had things fallen through with that other woman, and he’d decided to make one last grab for Sarika?
Rafe had played right into the bastard’s hands by stopping for…for…hell, he didn’t know why they’d stopped. Other than he’d ordered it.
He hadn’t realized he’d spoken aloud until Santo, who leaned against the car beside the open back door reading a paper, muttered, “Idiot,” under his breath.
Rafe knew the insult was directed at him, and he scowled. That was the problem with hiring friends, especially ones he’d played with as a boy, the boss/employee relationship was blurred.
“We’ll go in a minute,” he said.
Santo threw the newspaper to the ground. “You said that an hour ago. Are we going to sit here all night while you make up your mind? Just call Sarika and cancel the wedding if that’s what you want. She’ll never forgive you, but that won’t matter because you’ll never have to see her again. Unless you come upon her unexpectedly at Ana Lisa’s and she’s there with her husband and children. Maybe a little boy named Lorenzo.”
Rafe groaned and dropped his head in his hands. “You don’t understand. She makes me crazy. I’m turning into my father.”
“So be alone and in control for the rest of your life. Or marry a woman you feel nothing for. Either way, Sarika has to know. She’s strong. She’ll get over it. Besides, Lorenzo Berrucci is there to comfort her.”
Punching the seat in front of him, Rafe ordered, “Get in the damn car and drive.”
* * *
Sarika watched Elena walk down the aisle ahead of her. Step touch, step touch. She wore a cute, little skirt that swayed around her thighs as she moved, making her short legs look longer. Or so she’d said. Sarika thought it was the three-inch heels.
Glancing down at her own skirt, she sighed. It was long, straight and pink with a slight flare at the bottom. Unfortunately, not enough flare to walk gracefully down the aisle in her own three-inch heels, which were silver to go with the trim on the edge of her matching pink bodice. Even her toenails were painted pink, and she’d straightened her hair and tucked it behind her ears, then added silver hoop earrings. She’d wanted to look pretty for her non-existent bridegroom.
She blew out a frustrated breath, and the napkin she held bunched up to simulate the bridal bouquet flopped over. Kind of like her dreams.
Elena spun around when she reached the altar, also holding a bunched up napkin. “Okay, when I get here the bridal march will start and you’ll come down the aisle with Ana Lisa. Dum, dum de dum.”
Sarika forced a smile for her Godmother who stood beside her. Ana Lisa puffed up the bouquet napkin again then held out her right arm for Sarika. It was a sweet moment, and she leaned down and kissed Ana Lis
a’s cheek.
They started sedately toward the priest. Looking up, Sarika caught Lorenzo’s eye. It should have been Rafe. Hurt and anger, mixed with a lot of fear, boiled within her. Where the hell was he? He’d promised.
As they neared the altar, Ana Lisa slowed and was about to hand Sarika over to Lorenzo when a familiar voice yelled out behind them.
“Stop!”
Chapter Twelve
Sarika spun to see Rafe striding down the aisle toward her like an avenging angel dressed all in black – a fierce, possessive gleam in his eye. His arm snaked around her waist, and he pulled her to his side. She tensed and glared at him, but he was too busy glaring at Lorenzo to notice.
“Thank you,” he said, voice clipped. “You can sit down now.”
Horrified by his rude tone, Sarika started to apologize only to see Lorenzo’s lips tilt up in an amused smile.
“How the mighty have fallen,” he said. “I think I’ll take a front row seat for the rest of the show.”
Rafe scowled as Lorenzo planted himself on a white folding chair. With a muttered curse, he turned back to Sarika and kissed her cheeks. “I’m sorry I’m late.”
She opened her mouth to demand an explanation, but he pressed a finger against her lips. “Later, Princess.” Then he led her to the altar. Santo was already in place as best man, right across the aisle from Elena as maid of honor, who eyed him in a way that was anything but honorable.
The mock ceremony proceeded smoothly after that. When they finished, Sarika grasped Rafe’s hand and dragged him inside to the library. He shut the door, leaned back against it, and pulled her between his thighs. She pushed away, but he held tight and nibbled her neck.
“You look good enough to eat. Like a pink strawberry.”
“Strawberries are red,” she said sharply.
“Like a raspberry, then.”
“Raspberries are red, too.”
The Fabrizio Bride Page 13
