by Jennie Lucas
Hallie sucked in her breath. The opulence was unbelievable. Gilded Corinthian columns stretched up toward the Murano glass chandeliers high above.
“I didn’t think it possible,” she breathed. “This place is even more amazing than your hotel in New York.”
He smiled at her. “Grazie.”
She turned to stare as a chic fortysomething woman passed by, dressed to the nines in six-inch heels and a velvet skirt suit so well crafted the jacket was like a corset, and perfect scarlet lips. At the woman’s side was a man in a well-cut suit who paused to let his eyes caress Hallie before he continued past. Hallie blinked in amazement, staring after them. “And the people...”
“What about them?”
“All the women look like movie stars. And the men like James Bond. Everyone dresses as if they’re about to meet the love of their lives. What is this place?”
Cristiano gave her a sudden wicked grin. “Roma.”
She shook her head in awe at a city where everyone, from teenagers to octogenarians, seemed to claim eternal sensuality as both a privilege and a duty. “You grew up here?”
“I lived here briefly.”
She knew so little about his past. “You were born in Rome?”
His gaze shuttered, as if he could sense her probing.
“Naples,” he said flatly. Clearly he wasn’t interested in saying anything more.
Mr. Moretti was a brawler, back when he was young. He fought his way out of the streets of Naples.
His driver’s words came back to her. Not for the first time, she wondered how a fatherless, penniless boy, neglected then orphaned by his mother, had made his fortune, turning himself into an international hotel tycoon.
“Look.” Cristiano pointed at the lobby ceiling. She gasped, tilting back her head to look up.
On the ceiling, gold-painted stars decorated a midnight sky. Across the lobby, she saw huge vases filled with red flowers beside marble fireplaces carved with cherubs. The enormous sweeping staircase had an actual red carpet.
She’d never seen anything so incredible, not even in a movie. She stopped, feeling she was in a dream. “It’s—it’s—”
“I know,” Cristiano replied. “The building was once a palazzo gone to ruin. I was only twenty-two when I convinced the contessa to sell it. It took two years to rebuild and restore it. I gambled everything I had—my reputation, my future. This place,” he said softly, looking around them, “was the making of me.”
His voice was deep with emotion. Hallie looked at him, her heart in her throat.
Coming back to himself, he smiled at her. “Come.”
As they walked through the hotel lobby, everyone beamed at Cristiano, and not only him.
Somehow, weirdly, everyone in the hotel seemed to already know Hallie. As if, simply by marrying Cristiano Moretti, she’d suddenly become a celebrity in her own right—famous, beautiful and adored. They all beamed at her.
“Buongiorno.”
“Buongiorno, signor e signora.”
“Benvenuto, Signora Moretti.”
After three different people of different ages greeted them, Hallie turned to Cristiano in bewilderment. “They know who I am?”
He gave her a crooked grin. “Of course they do. We were married yesterday. By now everyone in Rome knows you are my wife. You’re a celebrity here, cara.”
“Why would I be a celebrity?” Then, looking at his face, she gave him a sheepish grin. “You’re teasing me.”
“I don’t tease,” Cristiano said. Taking her hand, he brought it to his lips for a brief, hot kiss, then whispered, “At least not that way.”
She shivered until he released her hand.
“Be serious,” she pleaded. She saw several people in the lobby covertly lifting cameras to take her picture. Why? Was something wrong with her? She looked down at the simple outfit that Cristiano’s concierge had packed for her in New York. It was sleek and severe, less comfortable than her beloved sundresses: a black dress with a sweetheart neckline and black high heels.
Cristiano had assured her that the outfit would be appropriate in Rome. Now, her heart pounded at all the curious eyes staring at her. “Why is everyone looking at me?”
“Because many Italian women want to know your secret.”
“What secret?”
His dark eyes flickered. “Of how you hooked me into marriage.”
“Um, by letting you accidentally knock me up?”
With a snort, he said mildly, “In New York, I am not that unusual. There’s a Sicilian tycoon in my hotel who is a well-known playboy, in addition to being a cold bastard. Even Ares Kourakis, my best man at the wedding, was called uncatchable before he fell for some little waitress from the West last year. But here, in Rome and Naples, everywhere in southern Italy, I am famous.” He looked down at her, caressing her with his eyes. “And now, so are you.”
Butterflies skimmed through Hallie. As he led her to the extravagantly gilded elevator, and they rode it to the top floor, the butterflies only increased. Marco and Salvatore went ahead of them, carrying their luggage.
Cristiano stopped at the penthouse door with the stroller. “Welcome to our home.”
“Our home?”
He smiled. “For now.”
Following him inside, Hallie saw a large suite of rooms, all decorated as lavishly as the lobby. The baby’s blue-walled room was furnished with every luxury and comfort, with books and lavish toys. Next to that, she saw the enormous master bedroom, with a huge bed and walk-in closet.
Through sliding doors, she walked out onto a terrace. Purple flowers laced the edge of the railing and she felt the hot Italian sun beating down from the blue summer sky. Looking out, she gasped at the panoramic view, gaping in wonder at the old buildings, domed churches and Roman temples spread out across the seven hills.
Coming from behind, Cristiano wrapped his arms around her, pulling her back against his chest, nuzzling her neck.
“It’s so beautiful,” she whispered, and turned around in his arms, feeling she was in a dream.
He smiled. “You’re beautiful, cara mia,” he said huskily, lowering his head to hers. “And now that you’re my wife, I intend to give you the world...”
* * *
For the next two weeks, whenever Cristiano wasn’t working, checking every detail of this hotel—which had prepared strenuously for his inspection—he took Hallie and the baby to explore the city.
First, he insisted on taking Hallie shopping. With the new burly bodyguard at their side, they visited all the grand shopping streets of Rome, starting with the expensive boutiques near the Spanish Steps.
“More shopping?” she’d protested in dismay. “Is that really necessary?”
“One must be conscious of la bella figura in Rome. Even more than in New York. And it will help you relax, knowing you fit in.”
“How would you know?” she grumbled. “You fit in everywhere.”
Looking at her, he said quietly, “I came to Rome as a young Napolitano. I changed my clothes and changed my fate.”
Hallie waited breathlessly for him to continue, to tell her more of his hard childhood and how he’d made his fortune. But he did not.
Sighing, she gave in, rolling her eyes. “Fine. Take me shopping.”
She was relieved when the clothes were purchased and they could do what she really wanted—explore the city. They bought Jack a wooden sword and shield at the Colosseum and laughingly tossed coins in the Trevi Fountain. They drove past an enormous white-columned building that looked like a wedding cake, and the endless Roman ruins scattered around the city as casually as food carts in New York.
In the evenings, they had room service sent up to their penthouse for dinner, but once Cristiano took them out, to a simple outdoor trattoria with a private courtyard near the Piazza Navona. As the sun set, wi
th flowers everywhere and fountains burbling, Hallie wistfully watched musicians sing and play guitar, remembering her old dream of a singing career. Cristiano had observed her, then had a quiet word with the trattoria’s owner.
A moment later, the musicians spoke into the microphone and invited Hallie to come up on stage and sing. Embarrassed, she’d tried to refuse until Cristiano had said, “Please, do it for me.”
Staring at his handsome face, she couldn’t deny anything he asked of her. She’d gone up on stage and sung an old Appalachian folk song a capella.
Applause rang in her ears as she returned to their table. As she passed by, an American man claiming to be a record executive even gave her his card. Laughing, she showed it to Cristiano when she sat back down at the table.
“I told him thanks, but no thanks. My days of trying to get singing gigs are over.”
“Are you sure?”
Remembering all the painful years of rejection, she nodded fervently.
“Good,” he said huskily. “You’ll sing only for me.”
For the rest of the evening, Hallie ate pasta and drank wine and watched her new husband learn to be comfortable holding their baby. Seeing Jack tucked gently and tenderly in Cristiano’s arms, she felt a rush of happiness, like everything was right with the world.
But once they left the trattoria’s private courtyard, Salvatore had to hold back the rush of onlookers and paparazzi eager to take pictures of their family. It made her scared to go out on the street with the baby.
Each night, she sang lullabies to Jack, the same lullabies her mother had once sung to her, passed down from her grandmother and great-grandmother before. That night, when her baby finally slept, with his plump arms over his head, she turned and saw Cristiano silhouetted in the doorway, his face in shadow.
“Those songs you sing,” he said in a low voice. “They break my heart.”
Drawing her out of the nursery, he kissed her and pulled her to their bed. Then he made her heart break, too, with the purest happiness she’d ever known.
However, after living in a hotel for two weeks, she’d started to feel trapped, unable to leave the penthouse without Cristiano and the bodyguard.
One afternoon while he was working, Hallie took her baby out onto the penthouse terrace to enjoy the warm summer sun. Watering the purple flowers that decorated the terrace railing, she tried to pretend she was back in West Virginia, in their old garden. Her mother had loved to spend hours taking care of their plants. As she watered the flowers, she would sing.
“Why did you never leave, Mama?” Hallie had asked her once in the garden, the year before she’d died. Hallie had just graduated from high school, and what the world was telling her she should want and what she actually wanted seemed to be two different things. “Why did you never go to New York and become a famous singer?”
“Oh, my dear.” Turning to Hallie, her mother had caressed her cheek tenderly. “I did think of it once. Then I met your father and traded that dream for a better one.”
“What?”
“Our family.” Her mother’s eyes had glowed with love. “Your whole life is ahead of you, Hallie. I know whatever you decide to do, you’ll make us proud.”
And so, after she’d lost everything—her mother and father and brother and home—Hallie had taken her father’s meager life insurance and gone to New York. To try to make her family proud.
“Hallie?”
Lost in thought, standing on the terrace watering the flowers, Hallie jumped when she heard Cristiano’s voice behind her.
Turning, she saw him, devastatingly handsome as always in a sleek suit. He wasn’t alone. Behind Cristiano was an older woman, plump, white-haired and simply but perfectly dressed.
“Cara, I have someone I’d like you to meet.” He looked over Hallie’s tank top and capri pants as she stood holding a glass pitcher from the kitchen. “Are you watering the flowers?”
She could hardly deny it, since he’d caught her red-handed. “Um, yes?”
“You must not. We have hotel staff who are paid very well to do it and who are supporting families. You would not wish them to be out of a job?”
“I suppose not,” she said, crestfallen. With a sigh, she set down the glass pitcher on a nearby table. “I can’t wait until we have a house of our own.”
He frowned. “A house?”
“When we go back to New York.”
“I thought you liked Rome.”
“I do, but...” She thought of her friends with a pang. “Tess sent me a text that Lola had her baby yesterday. I miss my friends. I’m looking forward to when we can settle down and have a proper home.”
A strange expression crossed Cristiano’s face. “Well, we’ll talk about that later.” Clearing his throat, he motioned to the white-haired woman behind him. “I’d like you to meet Agata Manganiello. She lives in Rome and used to work for me. She was my first secretary, long ago.”
“Hello...um...buongiorno,” Hallie said.
Smiling shyly, the woman said in careful English, “Hello, Mrs. Moretti. I am pleased to meet you.”
“I’m pleased to meet you, too,” Hallie said, then turned inquisitively to Cristiano.
“I have known Agata for almost fifteen years,” he said. “She is careful, responsible. She’s very good with children.”
“I raised six of my own,” Agata said proudly, “while working for Cristiano.” She tilted her head thoughtfully. “I think caring for you was harder than the other six put together.”
Cristiano gave a good-natured laugh. “You were a miracle worker,” he said affectionately.
Hallie looked at him in amazement. He sounded so relaxed. And the Italian woman had called Cristiano by his first name. She’d never heard any of his other employees do that, not even Mr. Loggia, the manager.
Cristiano was treating this woman like...family.
“You’re thinking of hiring her to watch Jack,” Hallie said slowly. “Aren’t you?”
His gaze met hers. “I’d like you to consider it.”
“But I don’t want a nanny.”
“Not a nanny. A babysitter. Occasionally, I’d like to take you to dinner, just the two of us. And once my new hotel opens on the Amalfi Coast, there will be a grand ball to celebrate. We will sometimes need help. And I’d trust Agata with my life.”
He waited, watching her. Biting her lip, Hallie considered. It felt very different from when he’d tried to force that last awful nanny on her by surprise.
Reluctantly she turned to the older woman. “You raised six children?”
Agata nodded. “And now I have five grandchildren.”
She has kind eyes, Hallie thought. Cristiano said he trusted her with his life.
Slowly she asked, “Would you like to hold Jack?”
The woman smiled. “Sì, naturalmente.”
Picking up the baby from the thick quilt on the terrace, Hallie placed him in the woman’s capable arms and waited for him to fuss. He simply gurgled happily, reaching a flailing arm toward Agata’s nose.
“I was thinking Agata and the baby could get to know each other this afternoon,” Cristiano said. “If it goes well, I’ll take you out to dinner tonight. Just the two of us.”
Hallie opened her mouth to argue. Then she heard Agata crooning some Italian song as she snuggled Jack in her plump arms, to the baby’s delight. She looked at them. Jack seemed happy and content.
“I’ll think about it,” she said grudgingly.
“Va bene.” Cristiano kissed her lightly on the forehead. “I will be back in a few hours to spend time with Jack, then you and I will have dinner. As per your rules. Speaking of which—” he angled his head “—I’ve been thinking about making some new rules of my own.”
She frowned. “What rules?”
His smile transformed into a grin. “Wait and
see.”
Hallie watched the Italian grandmother carefully that afternoon, telling herself she’d send Agata away the instant Jack seemed unhappy. But the baby seemed to love her, and Agata was easy to have in the penthouse, kindly and unobtrusive. It was almost, Hallie realized, like having...no, not her mother, but some kindly great-aunt come to watch the baby. Maybe it was the fact that Cristiano—who didn’t trust anyone—seemed to trust her, for it made Hallie trust her, too.
Later that evening, with the baby safely fed and sleeping in his crib, she left capable Agata in charge and went out on a dinner date with her husband for the first time.
Hallie dressed carefully in a new, sexy black dress with a bare back that he’d bought her. Trying to match the drama of the dress, she pulled her long, dark hair into a high ponytail that hung down over her naked back. Going to the internet for makeup tips, she lined her eyes with black kohl and mascara to make them smoky and dramatic, then put on scarlet lipstick.
As she came out of the bedroom, she was nervous that Cristiano wouldn’t like her new look.
But, when he saw her, his jaw dropped.
“You make me want to stay home,” he growled, coming closer. In his own well-cut black button-down shirt and trousers, his dark hair rumpled and sexy, he looked amazing to her, as always.
“Please, take me out,” she whispered.
“As you wish.” Catching her hand in his own, he lifted it to his lips. His breath against her skin made her shiver all over. “I’ll take you out.” He gave her a sensual smile. “Then I’ll take you in.”
He never let go of her hand as they descended the elevator into the lobby. Past the crowds, she saw a bright red Ferrari waiting for them in front of the hotel.
“What about Salvatore?” she asked, looking at the two-seater car.
“I want to be alone with you tonight,” he said, opening her door.
As Cristiano drove her through the streets in the fast sports car, she looked out her window at the sensuality of Rome at night. So mysterious and dangerous, the city seemed to whisper two words: sex and death. She felt his hot gaze on her. Then he punched down hard on the gas, racing over the hills of the city.
