The Italian's Demand

by Sara Wood

  ‘If someone is with you.’

  ‘Am I that dangerous to the local population?’ she quipped, in an effort to cover up her nerves.

  ‘You might run off with Lio and I’d never see him again.’

  Verity gasped. ‘I’d never do that to you!’

  ‘Your sister did.’

  ‘Adoptive sister. And what she did has no connection with me.’ She glanced at him warily. ‘So you mean to keep me locked up and treat me like a criminal!’

  He shot her a frowning look. ‘You can do what you like, providing you’re escorted. I wouldn’t make you a prisoner. What kind of man do you think I am?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t know!’ she muttered. ‘I wish I did!’

  ‘Then the sooner you find out the better,’ he said grimly. ‘I’ll show you around properly later. Let’s just get in and take Lio to the nursery before the staff—and he—awake.’

  ‘They must be careful not to scare him—’

  ‘They know about his problem. I called them from the plane. Here we are. Welcome to my home,’ he said formally, as if remembering his manners. ‘Daverro, it’s good to be back!’ he continued under his breath. ‘To be here, with my son…’

  She was too stunned to make any coherent response or comment. Her astonished eyes were scanning the gorgeous gardens, tumbling with flowers and exotic foliage. Huge paddle-shaped leaves of banana plants soared above towering ginger and canna plants. Tall oleander trees jostled with palms and mimosa trees.

  And amazingly, great mounds of climbing roses had been allowed to heap themselves up, like breakers tumbling to the shore. A riot of colour dazzled the eye and delighted butterflies danced over the haze of flowers.

  ‘This is like no Italian garden I’ve ever seen in my garden books!’ she declared. ‘They’re usually on geometric lines, with neat box hedges and stone statues of nudes, and cypress trees like exclamation marks,’ she said in awe, itching to explore the garden more closely.

  ‘My mother’s doing,’ Vittore grumped. ‘She doesn’t like manicured or formal gardens.’

  Verity cheered up, feeling she might have a kindred spirit to talk to.

  ‘I think I might like your mother.’

  ‘She’ll be here later. After Lo struscio.’

  ‘The what?’

  He gave a little ‘tut’ of irritation, as if talking to her was a burden.

  ‘It means “strutting your stuff”. The evening stroll where you wander up and down staring at everyone else and seeing what they’re wearing and who they’re with.’

  ‘Your mother struts her stuff?’ Verity said in amazement, warming even more to the woman.

  While she absorbed that, he drew up at the foot of a double flight of marble steps which led to an imposing portico.

  Vittore leapt out, his fingers impatiently unstrapping the car seat.

  ‘You’ll understand when you see her.’

  He lifted the seat as if it weighed nothing and carried Lio inside. All she could do was to follow with Lio’s changing bag, her heart beginning to bump about uncomfortably.

  They marched across a huge, marbled hall and up a grand staircase lit by an enormous crystal chandelier. On the honey-coloured walls, the subjects of the ancestral portraits stared at her disapprovingly, following her with their oil-dark eyes.

  Verity felt very small and humble. This place was too huge, too vast for Lio. He’d hate it. And she’d have to mop up his tears and quieten his screams.

  Her heart sank to her boots. It was a lovely house in stunning surroundings but their stay was likely to be short and harrowing. She reckoned they’d be on their way back home after four weeks.

  To her astonishment, a deep depression swept over her, leaving her with a sense of impending loss that she couldn’t shake off. And, as she followed Vittore along the elegantly furnished landing, she realised to her dismay that he was the root cause of her low spirits.

  She wallowed in a rare gloom. She wanted him but knew she must not feed her hunger. It was like wanting forbidden fruit. Fatal but utterly desirable. She was aware of all the reasons why she shouldn’t let him get close, but nevertheless she felt an unstoppable desire. And every hour they were together that need grew stronger.

  Verity scowled, despising herself for falling into Vittore’s trap so easily. He’d make love to her, win Lio over, and send her back home, used and unwanted.

  So her best bet would be to mentally tattoo ‘Remember, Verity: you are a means to an end’ all over her eyeballs and hope that would be enough to remind her that Vittore was a danger to her health—and to Lio’s future welfare, too.

  ‘Here’s the nursery.’ Vittore smiled at her: happy, confident, triumphant.

  Her pulses did their usual sprint but she remained outwardly cool and even managed to unclip Lio from the car seat without too much fumbling.

  ‘Just in time. He’s stirring,’ she observed. ‘Incidentally, you’ll have to buy something larger than that crib.’

  ‘I know. Haven’t had the opportunity yet.’ Vittore seemed agitated.

  So was she. Lio might yell his head off at the strange surroundings. Carefully she sat on a nursing chair close to the crib, with Lio in her arms.

  ‘You’d better move back out of sight,’ she warned Vittore.

  ‘Of course.’

  His huskiness reached deep inside her, disturbing her more than she would have liked. It was her kind nature, she told herself. A knee-jerk response to a father’s frustrated love. Nothing to do with worrying about Vittore’s feelings.

  Lio knuckled his eyes and then opened them blearily, his blond hair matted from sleep.

  ‘Hello, sweetheart!’ she murmured with a smile.

  Grumpily he buried his face in her lap and stuck his bottom in the air. A hand quickly appeared to her right, Vittore’s strong, brown fingers setting a mobile in motion, the lambs, cows and pigs bobbing merrily.

  The tune sounded sweetly in the quietness of the room and Lio slowly turned over. A beaming smile broke across his face and he laughed, reaching up for the animals. Still waiting for a perturbed yell, Verity lifted him up so that he could see them more clearly, saying the names of each bobbing animal. Lio rewarded her with a huge, dazzling smile that reminded her so forcefully of Vittore’s grin that her stomach contracted.

  ‘Come on. You need changing,’ she muttered.

  She looked around but Vittore had gone. Surprised, she made a hasty recce of the room, found there was an en suite bathroom attached, and decided to pop Lio into the bath. They played happily with the boats and ducks and when he was dry and had been set down, she again waited for him to object to the alien surroundings.

  Oddly, he seemed to love them, his little face bright and sunny with pleasure as he eagerly toddled about and explored the toy boxes.

  Perhaps Vittore had been right about the need to leave Linda’s house, she reflected, when she later dressed Lio by the full-length window. Though any child would be charmed by the hand-painted jungle scenes on the wall and the fascinating toys everywhere.

  Someone had obviously bought things unsuitable for the three-month old baby that he had once been, thinking of the future when Lio would be more active. And she knew that person was probably Vittore. Seeing all the unused toys must have been heartbreaking for him, she thought with a pang.

  ‘Hey, wriggly worm, stand still!’ she pleaded with Lio, trying to manoeuvre his T-shirt over his hand while it still clutched a shiny red Maserati.

  The shirt popped into place. She tapped his button nose playfully and he laughed, then stared out of the window, his eyes anxious.

  Verity followed his gaze. ‘It’s Papa,’ she said softly.

  Solemnly the little boy watched his father sitting on the terrace below, sipping a cup of coffee and taking occasional bites from a croissant. Verity waited with baited breath, stilled by the significance of the moment.

  Then Lio turned away, his forehead furrowed, lower lip stuck out in dismay.

  �
�It’s all right, sweetheart. I’m here, aren’t I? Are you hungry?’ And of course Lio nodded. He had a good appetite. ‘Right. Let’s go down. Breakfast!’ she said eagerly, taking his small hand in hers.

  But she caught a movement on the terrace below and paused. An elderly man—obviously someone on Vittore’s staff—had appeared and was talking to Vittore, his face alight with pleasure. To her astonishment, Vittore rose and the two men hugged. The older man had tears in his eyes when they separated and shook hands, pumping one another’s arms up and down vigorously. There was no mistaking the man’s affection for Vittore.

  Lio was tugging her to come away and so she slowly walked down the stairs with him, then, after opening a series of doors and finding no exit to the garden, she suddenly struck lucky, seeing open doors leading to the terrace at the far end of a large, high-ceilinged and frescoed salon.

  The period room was imposing, with beautifully upholstered antique settles and deep armchairs and yet it had a homely air, with family belongings everywhere. A sun hat, flung casually on a table. An open book, abandoned on the floor and newspapers stacked on a small ornate table. Someone’s silk cardigan draped over the back of a chair. A pair of court shoes abandoned, where someone had obviously kicked them off by the sofa.

  And there were dozens and dozens of photographs everywhere. She couldn’t stop to examine them properly because Lio was keen to go outside, but she did manage to slow their pace down and scan them quickly.

  Most seemed to be of Lio and his father, from Lio’s birth to, presumably, when he was three months old. They were natural shots, not set-up poses, many clearly surprising Vittore and taken as he changed his baby’s nappy, bathed him, or dressed him. In all of them, Vittore looked happy and adoring, the light in his eyes betraying his deep love for his son.

  That gave her cause for thought. The photos were proof that Vittore had taken an active part in Lio’s care. She walked on, down the room, absorbing this fact. At the same time she was trying to deal with the fact that some of the pictures had made her heart sink.

  Amid the shots of Vittore and Lio had been many with assorted groups of people. Probably part of the extended family. But it was the ones of her nephew with beautiful women which had dampened her spirits.

  She hadn’t seen them properly, but one woman had definitely been a stunning blonde. Another was dark with a figure to die for. Verity frowned, hoping they were relatives. But she wasn’t holding her breath.

  She knew what Vittore was like. He adored women and they adored him. That would never change. If Lio settled down in Italy, Vittore would almost certainly have several affairs during his son’s childhood.

  She went cold and her hand tightened around Lio’s in alarm as she thought of the consequences. He’d just get used to one of his father’s mistresses when another one would appear on the scene. Where was the stability in that? All his life, women would be abandoning him. It made her shiver to think of the kind of man he’d become.

  She looked down on his sweet blond head, agonising that one day he’d be cold and hard and contemptuous. All innocence, he smiled up at her trustingly.

  ‘Sossoss?’ he asked hopefully.

  ‘Sausages?’ she said with a smile, a break in her voice. ‘Shall we see?’

  Lio nodded. Dear heaven, she thought shakily. He meant the world to her. She was his rock. It had been left to her to protect him and if that meant defying Vittore and his rights and his wealth and his wretched harem then that’s what she’d do!

  Braced for battle, she came out into the sunshine and stood for a moment, blinking. At the far end of the terrace, Vittore rose, his eyes misty for a moment as they fixed on Lio. And then he turned his glance to Verity.

  ‘I could leave if you think it necessary,’ he said, very quietly.

  She looked down at her nephew.

  ‘Sossoss?’ he asked, jiggling up and down.

  She laughed. ‘You and your tummy!’ Confident in Lio’s love, she said magnanimously, ‘I think L-I-O is doing all right at the moment. Hunger has overcome his fear of you. He’s keen to eat his breakfast,’ she added with a laugh. ‘Oops! Prove me wrong, then! Where are you going, sweetheart?’ she cried, as Lio suddenly tore his hand from hers.

  ‘’Ook!’ Excitedly he pointed at the fountain, burbling below the flight of steps into the garden.

  ‘Look,’ she encouraged. ‘Water. You like water, Lio.’

  To Verity’s delight, he started on a laborious and careful climb down the steps without demanding that she followed. She watched lovingly as he reached up and paddled his hands in the fountain, quite astonished that he should have left her side in such a strange place.

  And then the implications hit home. Her heart began to race. Lio was settling in too quickly, too well! She gulped, afraid of what that meant.

  It was good. It was right, she told herself. And if his excessive anxiety vanished then she would be pleased. Her mouth wobbled and she jammed her teeth together hard. Her interests, her needs weren’t important. She must be glad for Lio if his emotional problems were resolved.

  Except that it meant he might be happy to be with Vittore. And would therefore be prey to Vittore’s stream of women.

  She would be asked to leave. Perhaps she’d be going home before the six months were up. And in that case…Her eyes became huge with alarm. Vittore would claim his bet. He’d have the right to make love to her. Until the novelty wore off.

  She went pale with horror. How had she ever agreed to such a medieval arrangement?

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  SHE glanced warily at Vittore, chills running up and down her spine. He was opening a huge canopy over the breakfast table to provide shade for them, his delighted smile illuminating his face. And despite herself, she felt the warmth of his happiness enclose her heart.

  His inky eyes met hers. ‘He’s not daunted,’ he said softly, though his curbed exuberance was unmistakable. ‘He likes it here!’

  Verity moved towards him, her mind a mass of contradictions.

  ‘It seems you may have made the right decision after all,’ she agreed stiffly.

  ‘Be glad for him.’

  She sighed. ‘I am.’

  Their gazes held. They both knew what this could mean. Vittore would gain everything. She would lose all that she valued dearly.

  ‘Oh! Tesoruccio mio!’ whispered a voice from within the salon.

  The spell between them was broken. Verity turned her head to see a plump, dark-haired woman dressed entirely in black emerging with a laden trolley. Her tearful eyes were fixed on Lio and a stream of softly passionate Italian poured from her mouth.

  ‘Hush, Maria!’ Vittore’s arm came around the woman and he proffered his handkerchief. ‘Calma, calma!’ he soothed quietly, giving the broad black shoulders a squeeze. ‘Verity,’ he said quietly. ‘This is Maria, my housekeeper. Maria, this is Verity, Linda’s sister, who looked after Lio—’

  Before she could say anything, Verity found herself wrapped in a bear hug, her ears assailed by one whispered ‘grazie!’ after another.

  ‘You bring our baby back,’ Maria said in a whisper, drawing back and letting Verity breathe again. ‘We are so happy! You make il conte smile again. I kiss you. I thank you. And now,’ sniffed Maria, ‘I bring you the big breakfast. The baby, he is so sweet. So lovely…and yes, yes, I know,’ she breathed, eyeing the oblivious Lio fondly. ‘I will not go to him. I wait. I go now. But I kiss you again…’

  ‘Thank you, Maria,’ Verity said with a warm smile, overwhelmed by the woman’s joy. ‘You’re very kind.’

  ‘Ah. You are beautiful. In here.’ Maria banged her capacious bosom dramatically. ‘Not like your sister. Hah!’

  ‘Maria!’ Vittore’s tone was low and kindly, but held a warning.

  ‘Yes, I go, I go! I am happy. You are happy. We all are happy!’

  Maria moved with a dancer’s grace to Vittore who had sat down at the table, clapped a huge and comforting hand on his shoulder and vanished bac
k into the salon.

  ‘Your staff are very fond of you,’ Verity commented slowly, watching Lio solemnly flicking water at the cherub in the middle of the fountain.

  ‘And I of them. They’ve known me all my life.’ He seemed to be gauging her reaction to that piece of information.

  ‘Oh.’ Her face grew thoughtful.

  You couldn’t buy that kind of loyalty or affection. Unless, of course, Vittore had kept his flagrant infidelity a secret. She frowned, struggling with the conflicting information.

  ‘Would Maria be fond of me,’ Vittore said quietly, ‘if I had neglected Lio?’

  She blinked, startled by the question and thought of those happy, fatherly photographs. A man besotted with his child.

  ‘No,’ she answered honestly.

  ‘So Linda lied about me.’

  She chewed her lip. ‘It looks like it,’ she said slowly.

  ‘And if she told that lie…?’

  Verity felt her pulses quicken. Yes. If Linda had lied about the relationship between Vittore and Lio, had she also lied about the women who had warmed his bed? Or was she kidding herself? Was that what she wanted to be true?

  ‘Lio’s coming back,’ Vittore said quietly, breaking in on her frenzied thoughts.

  ‘Thanks,’ she whispered, moving to the top of the steps.

  As she waited for Lio, she was astonished at how badly she wanted Vittore to have been faithful and true. But it was unlikely. Men with devastating good looks always had plenty of opportunities to stray. And Vittore had wealth and charm by the bucket-load.

  She felt less sure of herself now. And less certain that Lio would reject Vittore. Remembering the pact she’d agreed to, she shivered, hating the thought of being used for sex. And even more terrified that she and Lio would be parted.

  Her mind in turmoil, she responded to Lio’s insistent ‘Up!’ and lifted him into her arms. To divert him, she investigated the silver lidded dishes on the trolley, marvelling at the wonderful breakfast that Maria had prepared.

  ‘Sossoss!’ protested Lio excitedly, wriggling.