The Borghese Bride

by Sandra Marton

  Dominic sat up and let his hands dangle between his thighs.

  A good sting called for a con artist with imagination. Arianna and the marchesa had as much as he’d ever seen. They’d set up a close-to-perfect con. Dangle a beautiful woman in front of a man who’d already tasted her favors, let her put on a don’t-touch-me act while he could think of nothing but the night she’d spent in his bed, then make him feel so sorry for her that he’d give her anything she wanted.

  Perfect, all right.

  Too bad for the del Vecchios that the wheels had come off their plan. Timing was everything, and the timing on this had gone bad. The kid was supposed to stay out of sight just a little longer, probably until Arianna let herself be seduced into bed again.

  He was sure now that she’d known who he was the night they’d been together. Forget all that nonsense about electricity sizzling between them. What had been sizzling was Arianna’s clever scheme on the back burner….

  A scheme so clever it had taken five years to pull off?

  Dominic frowned.

  That didn’t make sense. There wasn’t a take in the world worth such a long build-up. Yes, the pay-off was big, but five years?

  Okay. Maybe she hadn’t set him up that night. That didn’t mean that what was happening now hadn’t been planned. The del Vecchio women saw their fortune gurgling down the drain, and he was their chance to get it back. The marchesa had dangled the bait. Arianna had set the hook with the marry a Martian routine…

  Sighing, Dominic rose to his feet, tucked his hands in the back pockets of his khakis and went down the steps.

  He could hardly wait to get home. What he’d told the marchesa about having business in New York wasn’t true. The “business” had been Arianna. Now, he was eager to see Rome again.

  Too bad he wasn’t there right now, doing something simple like sitting at a café in the piazza near the Trevi fountain, drinking something tall and cool with Isabella or Antonia or any one of half a dozen other beautiful women who’d be happy to smile at him and say yes, without question they wanted the honor of being his wife.

  At least he’d know, up front, if they had any surprises for him, like lovers tucked away in country houses no one knew existed…

  Or children.

  Saved by the skin of his teeth. Wasn’t that what Americans said when you miraculously escaped a disaster? Imagine if Arianna had said yes, she’d marry him, and oh, by the way, had she mentioned she had a son?

  Whose child was he? Dominic started down a narrow, foot worn path through the grass. Who had slept with Arianna and planted a seed in her womb?

  Not that it mattered. After today, he’d never see her again. Anger, carnal desire, who knew what had been driving him? At least he’d come to his senses before it was too late.

  What man would marry a woman he barely knew, business arrangement or not?

  Dominic kicked a small stone out of the path.

  The child was the final touch. A ready-made family, to start married life? He shook his head. No way.

  Still, Arianna would make some man a good wife.

  She was bright, she was beautiful, she was passionate. Not just in bed. In her work, too. He had to admit he liked that about her. If he’d married her, she’d have slipped seamlessly into his world, where money bought respect if not approbation, and if anyone had dared to look down on her because she was the wife of a man who’d come up from the streets, she’d have made short work of them.

  Arianna was tough, like her grandmother. Maybe “strong” was a better word. It was an unusual quality in a woman who was beautiful. In his experience, beautiful women invariably acquiesced to men.

  Not Arianna.

  She’d apparently passed on that strength to the boy. Dominic laughed to himself. The way the kid had come at him, ready to take him… How old could the child be? Four? Five? He supposed he’d been pretty tough at that age, too, honed to steely resiliency by the streets.

  If he ever had a son, he’d want him to be just like that. Confident. Sturdy. If he ever had a son…

  Dominic caught his breath. The boy was just about the right age, but it couldn’t be. He’d used condoms. He always did. He was always careful.

  “Dominic?”

  He turned and saw Arianna coming toward him. He met her halfway. She gasped with surprise as he grabbed her shoulders and hoisted her to her toes.

  “Is he mine?”

  Arianna’s throat constricted, but she didn’t bother pretending ignorance. She’d been preparing for this question while she’d dealt with Jeff, then put her son in for a nap and sat with him as he fell asleep. That was the only reason she could meet Dominic’s hot gaze and lie through her teeth.

  “No,” she said calmly, “he’s not.”

  Dominic’s hands bit into her flesh. His expression was grim. Hers, she hoped, was neutral. When finally he let go of her and tucked his hands into his pockets, she breathed a silent “thank you” to the angel who’d surely been watching over her.

  “Whose is he, then? Your friend with the bad left hook?”

  Arianna shook her head. Was it cold out here, or was it her? She gave a little shudder and tucked her hands into the pockets of her shorts.

  “I told you. Jeff is only a friend. Not even that. He’s Jonathan’s swimming coach. He has a son the same age and the boys like to spend time together.”

  “Were you widowed? Divorced? Who is the boy’s father?”

  “What is this, an interrogation?”

  “It’s a simple question.”

  “Here’s a simple answer. I’ve never been married and Jonathan is mine. That’s all you need to know.”

  “Jonathan. Quite a mouthful for a little kid. Don’t you ever call him John or Johnny?”

  “What I call him,” Arianna said deliberately, “is none of your business.”

  “Be careful, cara.” Dominic flashed a warning smile. “A little while ago, you were pleading with me to stay so you could ask me a favor.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t have to. It was obvious. So I stayed, and now you think you can insult me. That’s not a good way to get whatever it is you want.”

  He was right, it wasn’t. She just didn’t want him asking questions about Jonathan. There were too many questions and not enough answers.

  “I’m sorry.”

  He laughed. “The words came out as if they’d been stuck in your throat.”

  “Really, I am sorry. You’re right. I asked you to stay and you did.” Arianna glanced back at the house. Jonathan’s room was upstairs. He probably wouldn’t hear them, but she didn’t want to risk it. “Let’s walk a little further. The path leads into the pines.”

  Dominic shrugged. “As you wish.”

  She fell in beside him and they walked into the woods in silence. The tall pines shut out the sun, making the day seem suddenly cool, and she shuddered again.

  “You’re cold,” Dominic said.

  “I’m fine.” She stopped walking and swung toward him. “I know you’re—you’re upset.”

  Dominic laughed and Arianna felt her cheeks redden.

  “All right. You’re more than upset. My grandmother made you think I’d be—that I’d be interested in marrying you. And now you seem to think she and I set you up.”

  “Go on.” Dominic folded his arms. “Let’s hear the rest of what you think.”

  “We didn’t. I didn’t, anyway. I didn’t know who you were until yesterday, and I certainly have no wish to marry you.” She paused. “Now you’ve stumbled across my—my hidden life.”

  “A truly bad title for a soap opera, cara.”

  “But accurate.” Arianna took a deep breath. “How did you find out about this house? I’ve kept its existence a secret.”

  “There are no secrets from a man who can afford to buy them.”

  “You called this place a love nest.” A breeze blew a strand of her hair across her face. She caught it and tucked it behind her ear. “
It’s never been that. I bought it after my son was born.” She paused. “It was the only way I could think of to keep his existence a secret.”

  “Because he is illegitimate?”

  “Of course not! He’s my son. I’m proud of him. I love him with all my heart.”

  “But he has no father.” Dominic’s mouth thinned. “A child should not be held responsible for the errors of its parents. If his father didn’t want to acknowledge him—”

  “Jonathan’s father doesn’t know he exists. I wanted it that way. We had—we had only a brief relationship.”

  “A man is entitled to know he’s sired a child, and a child is entitled to know his father.”

  “Dammit, don’t preach to me, Dominic! That’s easy for you to say, but you don’t…” Arianna fought for composure. “The issue here is not my son’s birth. It’s the choices I made after it. There was no reason for the man involved ever to know about my child.”

  Arianna shuddered again. Dominic muttered an oath, ignored her protests as he wrapped his arm around her and drew her into the warmth of his body.

  “And the marchesa? Surely she would be happy to know she has a grandson.”

  “The marchesa lives in a world that doesn’t exist.” Arianna looked up at him. “She still believes in white gloves, and servants, and calling cards, and—”

  “And babies who are never born out of wedlock.”

  Arianna nodded as they turned and began walking out of the pine woods.

  “Exactly. Still, I was going to tell her… but she had a heart attack. How could I give her such news when she was ill? So I waited. And waited. And the more time passed, the more difficult it became. I’d look at her and see the evidence of the years etched into her face, or she’d talk scornfully of some new medical test she’d had…”

  “Time moves on.”

  “Yes.”

  “All the more reason for her to want to see you married. She wants to insure the future of the del Vecchios.” Dominic paused. “As I wish to insure the future of the Borgheses.”

  He spoke softly, so softly that it was almost a whisper. Arianna was afraid to look at him, but he stopped walking and turned her to him. “I think your grandmother knows that, and hoped I’d find her suggestion not quite as outlandish as it might seem.”

  “You don’t have to apologize for her. And I’m glad you admit it was outlandish.”

  Dominic lay his fingers lightly across Arianna’s mouth.

  “I did, at first. But then—I’m not sure when, but at some point, it began to make a strange kind of sense.” His voice turned husky. “I would get a beautiful princess for my wife, she would keep her precious Butterfly, and someday there would be a Borghese-del Vecchio heir.”

  “Dominic—”

  “But,” he said, tilting her face to his, “I misjudged the beautiful princess. She doesn’t want any of that badly enough to pawn her soul to the devil.”

  “You’re not—”

  “Hush.” There were tears on Arianna’s lashes. Gently, he wiped them away with his thumb. “It’s all right, cara. There are better ways to find a wife than to fall into a game devised by a sly old woman.” He slid his hands into her hair. “It could have worked, you know. Do you remember that night? You and I… we made the earth tremble.”

  Arianna met his eyes. She had lied to him about the one thing that mattered more than anything else in the world. How could she lie to him about this, too?

  “Yes. We did.” Her voice shook. “I want you to know something, Dominic. I never—never in my entire life… what I felt that night, what you made me feel…”

  He bent to her and kissed her, softly at first, then with growing hunger. She leaned into his embrace, her mouth open to his, her heart beating fast with the excitement of being in his arms again.

  “Arianna.” He pulled back enough so he could look into her eyes, forgot what he’d told himself about not wanting this woman, forgot even that he didn’t want a child another man had given her. “Bellisima Arianna, let’s start over. Let’s pretend we only just met. We’ll go to dinner. To the theater. We’ll walk in the park. Whatever pleases you…”

  “Mommy?”

  They jumped apart, torn from each other’s arms by the sound of that small, uncertain voice. Jonathan was standing on the porch steps, hair tousled, feet bare, a well-loved teddy bear clutched in his arms.

  “Yes, sweetheart.” Arianna tried to read her son’s face. What had he seen? What had he heard? She went to him and held out her arms, but he took a step back. “Did you have a bad dream?”

  “He’s still here,” her son said, staring at Dominic. “That man you said had to leave.”

  She looked back at Dominic. “He is leaving,” she said quickly. “Right now.”

  Dominic shook his head. “Not yet.” His tone was easy, his smile warm. He walked to the porch, squatted down when he reached the steps and held out his hand. “I think it’s time we met properly, Jonathan. My name is Dominic.”

  Arianna held her breath. Her son stared steadfastly at this stranger. Then, slowly, he stuck out his hand and let it be engulfed by Dominic’s.

  “I never heard that name before.”

  “It’s Italian.”

  “I know about Italy. They play soccer there.”

  Dominic nodded gravely. “Indeed they do, only we call it football.”

  “Jeff was gonna take me to a football game in the fall.”

  “Was he,” Dominic said coolly.

  “Do you have a little boy at home, like Jeff does?”

  “I wish I did, but I don’t.”

  “And do you want to marry my mommy, like Jeff does?”

  “Jonathan,” Arianna said quickly, but Dominic’s voice cut across hers.

  “What would you think if I did?”

  “Dominic!” Arianna reached for her child and hoisted him into her arms. “Jonathan, you don’t have to worry about me marrying anybody. I’d never—”

  “I think you should marry somebody, Mommy. You don’t know anything about stuff like football or soccer.”

  “Honey, we can talk about this another—”

  “You could marry Dom—Dom—”

  “Dominic,” Dominic said helpfully.

  “Dom’nic.’ Cause sometimes I think it would be nice to have a daddy,’ cept not one who gets knocked out so fast, like Jeff.”

  Dominic snorted. Arianna glared at him, then buried her face in her child’s neck. “Jonathan,” she whispered, “sweetheart, this isn’t the time to—”

  “That was a really good punch!”

  Oh God. Her son sounded gleeful. “Jonathan,” Arianna said firmly, “stop it right now.”

  “Just one kapow,” Jonathan said, slapping his hands together so that the teddy bear swung in a wild arc, “and bam! Out ol’ Jeff went.”

  Arianna put him down. “Listen to me, Jonathan.”

  “Gianni.”

  She stared at Dominic, who was exchanging man-to-man smiles with her son. “What did you call him?”

  “Gianni. That’s Italian for Johnny.”

  “I know what it means.” The porch felt as if it were swaying under her feet. Arianna wrapped her hand around a stanchion. “But his name is Jonathan, not Johnny. Really, Dominic, don’t you have an appointment back in the city?”

  “He looks more like a Gianni than a Jonathan to me.”

  “Yeah, Mom. I look more like a Gianni than a Jonathan.” The child made a face. “What do you call that? A nickname?”

  Dominic smiled. “Si.”

  “That word’s Italian, too. Right?”

  “Right. It means yes.”

  “I always wanted a nickname, but my mom just calls me Jonathan.” The child turned an innocent face to Arianna. “How come you never gave me a nickname?”

  Arianna gave up. “You never asked,” she said, and plopped down on the top step. She’d just have to ride out whatever was happening here.

  “So, how come you were kissing my mother, Do
m’nic?”

  Arianna shook her head, then buried her face in her hands.

  “Well, I like to kiss her.” Dominic sat down, too, and pulled the boy into his lap. “Your mother is pretty.”

  “She’s smart, too.” Jonathan’s voice filled with pride. “She runs a big store. In Manhattan. Do you know where Manhattan is?”

  “Yes,” Dominic said solemnly, “I do.”

  “I went to the park there once.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “An’ to a museum.”

  “Jonathan.” Arianna rose slowly to her feet. “That’s enough. Say goodbye to Signore Borghese and go into the house.”

  “I thought his name was Dom’nic.”

  “It is,” Dominic said. He stood up. “Signore means mister. And Borghese is my last name.”

  “Oh.”

  Oh, Arianna thought, while the hysteria mounted inside her, oh? Her son and his father were discussing names and sports and her—her—as if they were old pals.

  This was a bad dream. It had to be. Maybe if she tried very hard, she’d wake up.

  “Dominic.” She took a deep breath. “Thank you for waiting. So we could talk, I mean. And thank you for being so understanding.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “I didn’t expect…” Arianna put her hand on her son’s head. “I thought it might take longer to convince you that, well, that… You know.”

  “Not to discuss today’s events elsewhere?” He shrugged. “The timing of that matter is in your hands, not mine.”

  “Thank you. Let me just get Jonathan inside and I’ll walk you to your—”

  “Not that you have all that much time to deal with it.”

  “I know.” She smiled as the tension inside her eased. Dominic Borghese wasn’t a beast after all. He’d given her a bad few minutes, well, a bad couple of hours, but obviously he understood that he couldn’t tell the marchesa about her son any more than she could marry him. “I’m going to talk to the marchesa this week. I’ll fly to Florence and—”

  “Tomorrow,” Dominic said.

  Arianna blinked. “Sorry?”

  “I said, you’ll fly to Florence tomorrow.” He frowned. “My plane’s probably left already, but I’m sure my office can arrange for airline tickets on short notice.” He looked down at Jonathan and smiled. “Have you ever been to Italy, Gianni?”