The Italian's Demand

by Sara Wood

  Her head lifted. Lio was stirring. ‘I must go,’ she said gently.

  ‘’Course.’ Honesty dashed the back of her grubby hands across her eyes, leaving streaks of dirt. ‘Do what you can,’ she said in a small voice.

  Touched by the dramatic change from a confident, enthusiastic woman to someone so deeply unhappy for her beloved son, Verity hugged Vittore’s mother and kissed her tear-stained cheek.

  ‘I’ll…try,’ she promised shakily.

  And hurried to collect Lio and bring him down to the garden to play. Reeling from what Honesty had told her, Verity tried to put her mind to entertaining the fractious little boy just as Vittore came striding across the lawn, his face dark and brooding.

  Lio took one look and flung himself into her arms. That set the pattern for the rest of the day, which was a disaster. By the evening she was at screaming point. Lio had indulged in two tantrums and deliberately banged his head on the ground in his paddy. Vittore had remained in the background, saying nothing.

  But she could feel his distress, his helplessness. And wanted to weep.

  It was very late by the time she had finally settled Lio for the night. To her dismay, Vittore was waiting outside the nursery door. She frowned, wishing she could have had time to consider what Honesty had said. To rethink her position.

  But seeing Vittore put all thought to flight. He had changed into a cream summer suit and powder blue shirt for dinner, his freshly shaven face as smooth as satin and offering her tantalising drifts of his exclusive aftershave.

  ‘What?’ she asked grumpily, too weary to be civil.

  ‘You’ve had a tough day.’

  ‘Nothing unusual.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Verity. I apologise for my bad temper. I felt so helpless.’

  His voice sounded like rippling silk, so musical and invasive that it was easing her tense muscles and furrowed brow without effort. She didn’t look at him. Couldn’t.

  ‘I do understand,’ she said huskily. ‘The pain of not holding your child and watching him from afar must be sheer hell.’ Then she did look up, and trembled at the tenderness in his dark eyes. ‘I’d be far worse in your place,’ she babbled. ‘China would get smashed. I’d eat carpets. Rip up telephone directories.’

  A smile touched his wan lips. ‘Thank you. Always ready with something to lift my spirits.’

  Oh, yes, she thought. Star comedienne, she was. But she wanted to weep for him. And then she’d cry for Lio and then herself and Honesty. They were all in a pit of darkness.

  ‘Is he asleep?’ he murmured.

  She heaved a heavy sigh. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good. When you’ve changed, get a blanket and bring him to the hall.’

  Her eyes widened at the unexpected order. He’d already started towards the stairs as if he expected her to obey!

  ‘I don’t think so!’ she muttered in automatic protest.

  He froze. Turned, came slowly towards her again, his eyes dark and piercing.

  ‘You will do this, Verity,’ he said softly. But the silk barely covered the steel beneath. ‘If you won’t, then I will go in and get him,’ he said evenly.

  ‘This is your son!’ she cried, indignantly, deciding that maybe she wouldn’t weep for him after all. ‘You can’t haul him about like a piece of luggage—’

  ‘This is a special occasion. There’s a party in the village. A surprise party,’ he explained, still reasonable, still determined that she should obey him. ‘The villagers have spent all day preparing for it—’

  ‘Well they don’t need Lio or me there!’ she argued.

  ‘It’s for him.’

  She blinked. ‘But it’s not his birthday!’

  ‘It might as well be.’ Vittore’s expression gentled. The sadness of his smile ate into her heart. ‘You see, Verity, they are thrilled that he’s back with me. They’ve gone to a great deal of effort. Maria reports that there are tables set up in the square and along the streets, balloons, fireworks planned—’

  ‘But…Lio can’t possibly go—!’

  ‘They all know that he’s wary of strangers,’ Vittore explained. ‘That is why they timed it for this evening, so that he would be sleeping. They want to see him and thought this would be the best way to save him from any distress.’

  She stared at him, touched by the villagers’ interest. But exasperated, too.

  ‘It’s just not on! You know it isn’t,’ she said firmly. ‘If he wakes—’

  ‘Don’t make problems that don’t exist.’ He frowned at her reprovingly. ‘He sleeps well at night. If he stirs you always settle him down again. But, as a precaution, I want you to come too. If you refuse to come then I’ll take him myself. He’s going, whatever you decide.’

  Her body slumped. ‘But…I’m so tired—’

  ‘Please yourself.’ Calm and polite, he moved towards the nursery door.

  ‘No!’ She bit her lip. ‘You’ve done it again,’ she complained. ‘You put me in an impossible situation!’ Irritated by his manipulation, she added, ‘Aren’t these villagers a bit arrogant to imagine they can organise a party and expect you to drag your toddler out of bed for it?’

  ‘You don’t understand,’ he said softly. ‘Let me explain. When Lio disappeared, they were all distressed. They sent letters, flowers, little gifts of sympathy. They knew Lio. They’d celebrated his birth here in the house and Lio was passed from hand to loving hand. They adored him. Whenever we went into the village he was surrounded by admirers. The carpenter made his crib and several toys. Women embroidered clothes for him, schoolchildren tickled him under his chin and competed to make him laugh. Their affection and kindness means a great deal to me. Maria told them that he sleeps soundly and would not be disturbed,’ he said, his eyes dark and warm with affection for the people of his village. ‘Verity,’ he coaxed, ‘they are anxious to celebrate his return. And I am not going to disappoint them.’

  Her head lowered in defeat. This fitted with what his mother had said. There was a special relationship between Vittore and the villagers. And against such compelling arguments, how could she refuse?

  ‘Of course. I didn’t realise. I just wanted to protect him,’ she said in a small voice.

  He beamed, dazzling her. ‘I know,’ he said softly.

  She gulped. ‘I’ll shower and change. Then I’ll get him.’

  They walked to her bedroom door and he opened it politely. When it shut behind her, she stopped and closed her eyes, trying to draw in strength for the evening ahead. And then she hurried to find something to wear.

  In a simple white cotton dress, its scoop neck and full skirt flattering her figure more than she remembered, she felt she looked good, at least. Hastily she grabbed hanks of hair and pinned them up on top of her head then dashed a slash of lipstick across her mouth.

  Her eyes seemed huge and startled, sparkling with nervous anticipation. There was a hectic colour in her cheeks. She stared at herself in dismay, knowing that her suppressed excitement was all to do with spending the evening close to Vittore, and not because of the party.

  But they would be chaperoned, she reminded herself. By a few hundred people. Fortified by that thought, she walked boldly out. And immediately faltered, shaken by Vittore’s stunned reaction.

  ‘You look very beautiful,’ he said huskily.

  She swallowed, devastated by the sultriness of his mouth and the admiration in his eyes.

  ‘The dress cost two pounds fifty in the Portobello Road,’ she announced hastily and escaped to the nursery, thanking the Fates for her quick tongue. She had almost simpered and said breathlessly, ‘Do I?’ in which case he would have known he was home and dry as far as his seduction plans were concerned.

  Briskly she collected a blanket and tucked it around Lio then lifted him into her arms.

  ‘Right. We’re ready,’ she said. ‘You bring his changing bag, just in case.’

  He slung it on his shoulder and, contrary to her hopes, it didn’t detract from his sexy image one bit. He m
ust have been raking a hand through his hair while she changed, because that Byron lick had fallen onto his forehead, giving him extra sex-appeal.

  And when he took her elbow the warmth of his cupped hand transmitted itself to her and with it came all the familiar surges of tension rippling through her veins.

  ‘I appreciate this,’ he confided. ‘I know you’re tired. I’ll stay with you and keep an eye on you—’

  ‘I’ll be fine on my own,’ she muttered nervously.

  ‘I think I’ll have to. I’d better warn you now. They’ll be wary of you to begin with,’ he explained as they walked down the stairs together.

  Her brow furrowed and she flung him a puzzled glance. ‘Me? Why?’

  ‘Because you are Linda’s sister.’

  She thought for a moment. ‘They didn’t like her?’ she ventured. Her heart beat rapidly. No one seemed to like Linda. Was that why she left, because she felt unwelcome?

  Vittore had remained silent, his face dark and stormy as if unpleasant memories were filling his head.

  ‘No,’ he said eventually.

  ‘Well, I’m not my sister,’ she pointed out.

  ‘Far from it. But there could be some awkward moments,’ he mused. ‘We must make it clear that Mother and I are convinced you are good for Lio.’

  ‘How do you propose doing that?’

  He shrugged. ‘I thought we could smile a lot at one another. Look friendly.’

  ‘Not a good idea,’ she said flatly.

  She knew his version of ‘friendly’. It involved a lot of touching. And she wasn’t going to spend another sleepless night tussling with her wish that he would pounce and be done with it.

  Vittore heaved a heavy sigh. ‘I thought you cared about Lio?’ he reproached, bending his head to her in a gesture that assailed her senses with gleaming honey skin, smoke-black eyes and a hint of expensive soap.

  ‘I do,’ she said shortly, having trouble stiffening her watery knees.

  ‘Then surely you realise,’ he argued with infuriatingly calm reasoning, ‘that if he is to integrate with the people in the village then it won’t help if there’s a bad atmosphere every time you turn up with him. I realise it will be in your interest for my son to feel he is a stranger in his own home, but—’

  ‘No,’ she denied. ‘I wouldn’t want that. I don’t want him upset. My dearest wish is that he feels happy and relaxed with people.’

  ‘Then do your part,’ Vittore urged.

  ‘But…I don’t want to cosy up to you! Can’t I keep patting his head and tucking in his blanket? Or—?’

  ‘Your feelings aren’t important tonight.’ Dark eyes serious, he paused by the front door, his eyes glittering in the artificial light from the huge crystal chandelier. ‘Don’t mistake what I am doing. This is not for you. These are good, honest people, Verity. They want the fairy tale to be true and I’m not going to let them down. The heir to the Mantezzini estates has returned and in time he will grow up under the loving and watchful eyes of everyone here.’

  ‘You can’t be sure of that,’ she said quietly, anxious that his hopes weren’t raised too high. ‘You must remember that he might be coming home with me.’

  ‘True. But for tonight,’ he replied, ‘I want you to think of these people with good hearts, who believe in the happy ever after. I care about them, Verity. We are indivisible, the villagers, Lio and me. These people are part of his destiny. This land is his—and will belong to his children and his children’s children. I don’t expect you to understand. It isn’t that I own the land—’

  ‘You have it as a privilege,’ she said thoughtfully, moved by his passion. ‘And owe a duty to everyone on it.’

  His eyebrow lifted a fraction. ‘Exactly. I am impressed, Verity. You value Lio’s heritage.’

  He strode off to collect the buggy while she bit her lip, realising he’d backed her into a corner. But his description of Lio’s place in this small and intimate world had been a revelation.

  She contrasted it to the life Lio would lead with her in England. And found it wanting. No family. No loving community. Just her.

  She felt a shiver of apprehension trickling down her back. Lio shouldn’t be deprived of his birthright. For his sake she’d have to work hard to encourage Lio to love his father.

  She began to tremble. It also meant that she’d be working towards her own hell.

  No Vittore. No Lio. The bleakest future she could imagine.

  CHAPTER TEN

  DESPAIR wrenched at her heart. Her arms tightened around Lio, her gaze sightless and pained. She couldn’t bear the thought of leaving either of them. But almost certainly that was what would happen.

  Vittore returned and held the main door open for her. Like a zombie she walked out into the night.

  Turning, she watched him coming down the steps; urbane, sophisticated, devastatingly handsome. Her stomach flipped as a matter of course and she merely accepted that that was what it did. It was too common an occurrence now to surprise her any more.

  Helping her to tuck Lio into the buggy, he put a hand on her arm and asked softly, ‘What about it, Verity? Will you co-operate?’

  ‘Do you ever leave me with a choice?’ she asked in an undertone.

  She thought his face cracked into a faint smile but it was too fleeting to be sure.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said, his voice husky with warm gratitude. ‘I am grateful. Ah. Here’s Mother.’

  With Lio in his buggy, they walked down to the village with Honesty, who chatted in her usual cheerful way, absolving her of any need to make conversation at all. Behind them, at a slower pace, came Maria and the valet, dressed in their Sunday best.

  Even some distance away they heard the music drifting up and the sound of laughter. Verity took a deep breath just as Vittore’s arm came around her shoulders.

  ‘All right?’ he murmured.

  ‘Nervous. I’ve no idea why,’ she muttered.

  ‘Perhaps you are anxious that they should like you.’

  ‘Can’t think why.’

  ‘No?’ He grinned and she thought he seemed remarkably cheerful for a man whose son didn’t want him. ‘They’ll love you,’ he said. ‘Here we are. Smile. It’s the welcoming committee.’

  It was like being admitted into a mother’s arms. Not that she knew what that felt like. With that protective arm around her, Vittore beamed down at her as if she represented the world to him and she wished that she did.

  The villagers responded to his approval as he’d predicted, kissing and hugging her, thanking her for bringing their piccolino padrone back to them all. And then they were swept triumphantly down the vicoletti, the stepped streets, and into the square.

  ‘They want us to dance,’ Vittore murmured in her ear.

  She looked at him in alarm. The small square looked very festive; brightly lit by swinging hurricane lanterns and decked with streamers from one side to the other. In the middle sat a sweating band, who’d been playing fast and furious tunes up to now, but had unfairly switched to something that sounded unnervingly dreamy.

  ‘In a minute,’ she promised in panic. It was bad enough having Vittore’s arm around her, let alone—

  ‘Now.’

  ‘But Lio—!’ Her gasped protest was cut off abruptly.

  ‘You can watch the buggy from the dance floor. They won’t let him come to harm. One squeak and he’ll be in your arms. A squeak from Lio, that is,’ Vittore said drily.

  ‘But—’

  Smiling faces surrounded her. They were so nice, these people. So open in their joy for Lio. How could she be churlish?

  Vittore sensed her surrender and led her onto the dance floor. A burst of clapping rang out, embarrassing her.

  ‘I’m not very good,’ she whispered.

  ‘I’ll lead you,’ he husked in her ear.

  She trembled. That was what she was afraid of. Even more than before, she had to keep her distance from Vittore. Then she wouldn’t be hurt so badly when she left.

&n
bsp; A tremor ripped through her. Panic created havoc in her stomach. She didn’t want to leave, she thought miserably.

  ‘Verity?’

  ‘Right,’ she said breathily, very erect, very rigid. His body was too close. A foot away—and she could feel his heat and the overpowering frisson that seemed to fill the air between them. ‘Here we go,’ she cried, trying to sound jaunty. ‘Prepare for bruised toes. Smashed kneecaps. Cracked shins—’

  ‘Relax,’ he husked. ‘You look as if you’re ready for the firing squad.’

  ‘That would be an improvement on this,’ she muttered.

  Nevertheless, she did a cheesy grin for appearance’s sake and lessened the distance between them a fraction.

  He chuckled. ‘Close your eyes and think of England.’

  Her gaze flicked up to his in wry amusement. ‘No woman with any sense would close her eyes when you’re flinging charm and charisma around.’

  He laughed, the sudden exposure of his gleaming teeth and satin throat, coupled with his evident delight, just made her feel weak and helpless. And before she knew it, she had been drawn against his wonderfully male chest and knew she was exactly where her body wanted her to be.

  ‘Eyes open?’ he queried, whirling her around until she felt even giddier and more disorientated than before.

  ‘You bet,’ she muttered into his shoulder.

  Though only just. They kept wanting to close in bliss. Idly she wondered how she’d come to rest her head there.

  The music became even more sultry. A tenor voice rang out and everyone turned to exclaim and clap.

  Astonished, she saw an unusually tall man aged around seventy and with less teeth than must be comfortable, standing in front of the band. The sound that came from his mouth was like liquid gold and he sang the love song as though he were twenty and in love for the first time.

  ‘Oh, it’s lovely,’ she whispered helplessly.

  Vittore merely held her. But they were both moving more dreamily and she could feel her heart and her defences weakening.

  ‘Don’t get the wrong idea. I’m doing this for show,’ she reminded him. And herself.