“His name is Jonathan,” Arianna said sharply. She took a step back, tugging her son with her. “What are you talking about? He’s not going to Italy. Neither am I.”
Dominic’s eyes met hers. He was still smiling, but the steel in that smile sent a chill down her spine.
“I’ve agreed to permit you your own timing with regard to telling your grandmother what must be told to her. As for the rest…I told you what I want of you, Arianna.”
She was speechless. “You can’t mean… You don’t really think…”
“I do mean. I do think.”
“No! I’d never—”
“Think before you speak, cara. There’s a great deal at stake here. Your grandmother’s finances. The future of the Butterfly.” Dominic paused. “Your secret.”
“But you said—you said you wouldn’t—”
“Mommy?”
“Hush, Jonathan.”
“Mommy!”
“Jonathan, please. This doesn’t concern you. Why don’t you go into the house? See if—if there’s any popcorn. I’ll be in and—”
“Mom-my,” Jonathan said impatiently, “who’s that lady?”
“What la…” Arianna looked across the yard. A moan burst from her throat. “Oh God,” she whispered, “no. Please, no!”
Dominic’s eyes followed hers. The marchesa was walking toward them, looking down at the uneven ground and leaning heavily on her walking stick as she picked her way through the grass. Dominic’s driver was a couple of paces behind her, looking sheepish.
Dominic slid his arm around Arianna’s waist and laid his hand on Jonathan’s shoulder. He could feel Arianna trembling. He drew her closer, clasped the boy more tightly.
“Marchesa,” he said politely, “what a surprise.”
“Your plane was being serviced, Signore Borghese. Some nonsense about an engine, your pilot said. I had already given up my suite at the hotel and there I was, all alone. No host. No granddaughter. What was I to do? I phoned your apartment but there was no answer, and your driver was most reluctant to give me any information until I…” The old woman’s eyes rounded. For the first time, she seemed to notice Jonathan. Her face turned a papery white.
“Arianna? Who is this child?”
“Mommy?” Jonathan looked up at Arianna. “Mommy, why is the lady such a funny color?”
The marchesa’s mouth dropped open. “What did the boy call you?”
“Nonna.” Arianna broke away from Dominic and ran down the steps. “Nonna, let me help you. Come and sit down.”
“I want answers, Arianna! Who is this boy?”
“I’m Jonathan Cabot. Who are you?”
“Dio.” The marchesa whispered the word like a prayer. She put her hand to her throat just as Arianna’s arm curled around her waist. “Arianna, tell me it isn’t so.”
“Please, grandmother…”
“Tell me the boy isn’t yours.”
“I am, too, hers! Tell her, Mommy.”
Jonathan sounded brave but he leaned back against Dominic’s legs and Dominic could feel him shake. He cursed under his breath and lifted the child into his arms, remembering all too clearly the pain of a childhood spent in the shadows.
“Signore Borghese?” The marchesa stamped her walking stick on the grass, but with far less force than usual. “Explain this immediately.”
“I’ll explain,” Arianna said quickly. “I just don’t know where to start.”
“You don’t have to, cara.”
Dominic spoke softly, but there was no mistaking the air of quiet command in his voice as he came down the steps, holding Jonathan in one arm, and stood close beside Arianna.
“Do you recall when your granddaughter and I confessed that we had known each other in the past?”
“A brief meeting, you said. At a party.”
“It’s true. We did meet at a party.”
Dominic smiled at Arianna. At least, she thought, it would look like a smile to her grandmother but what she read in his eyes was a warning.
“The truth is that we had more of a relationship than we admitted. And now we have some news that should please you.”
“No,” Arianna said breathlessly, “Dominic…”
It was too late. Dominic drew her into the curve of his arm.
“Your granddaughter and I are getting married.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
THEY were married in the Manhattan chambers of a judge Dominic knew. The ceremony was brief and the only guests were the marchesa and Gianni.
Dominic had to keep reminding himself Arianna didn’t want him to use that name. Her son’s name was Jonathan, she said emphatically, just before the ceremony began. He was American, not Italian. She wanted Dominic to remember that.
The boy looked so crestfallen that Dominic came close to telling her he’d call the child by whatever name he wished, but he knew there were times it was best to let things ride.
“Let’s not quarrel,” he said pleasantly. “What’s the importance of a name, anyway?”
Arianna didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. He knew that they were jockeying for position, establishing the rules for a marriage neither of them had planned. It was logical, though. For a man in his position and a woman in hers, an arranged marriage made sense.
That was what Dominic told himself, anyway. But when he stood beside Arianna as the judge spoke, when he felt her tremble, when he reached for her hand and she looked up at him as if he had the answers to all the questions in the universe, he found himself suddenly wondering if perhaps he was marrying her for some other reason.
There was no time to think about it.
“By the power vested in me by the State of New York…” the judge said and just that quickly, the ceremony—and the moment—were over.
The judge smiled. “Congratulations.”
Dominic nodded. “Thank you.”
“Well? Aren’t you going to kiss the bride?”
Dominic turned to Arianna, prepared to offer nothing more than a pro forma brush of his lips against hers, but she turned her head to the side and his kiss landed on her cheek.
It made him angry.
Did she think the touch of his mouth would be some sort of contaminant? Was she too good to accept a kiss from a peasant? He wanted to grab her and force a real kiss on her, twist his hand in her hair and hold her still under the pressure of his mouth until she moaned and kissed him back.
But he controlled himself.
He was overreacting. This was difficult for Arianna. Everything had happened very quickly. Their arrangement, the ceremony, the marchesa learning about Jonathan—news the old woman had received with surprising good grace, just as he’d hoped, because she believed the boy was his—all of it had taken place in the blink of an eye.
He understood that his new wife needed time to adapt.
In fact, he decided to tell her that.
They had lunch at a restaurant in the east sixties. Dominic ordered vintage champagne and the marchesa offered a toast.
“To the future of our new famiglia.”
Dominic drank. So did the marchesa. Smiling, she offered her glass to her newly found great-grandson and even Jonathan swallowed a drop of the pale golden wine.
Arianna raised her glass to her lips but that was all. She didn’t drink, didn’t smile, didn’t acknowledge Dominic’s presence.
“Are you okay, Mommy?” Jonathan asked, and she smiled then and said yes, she was fine, just a little tired, but Dominic knew it was a lie.
She was upset, that was all. There was still confusion in her eyes….
Or was it hate?
That evening, after they’d boarded his jet and both the marchesa and Jonathan were asleep, he slipped into the seat beside Arianna’s and took her hand.
“I know this was very sudden,” he said, “and that, perhaps, you have not yet adjusted to this change in your life….”
He got no further. She pulled her hand from his and looked at him through eyes so fla
t they might have been made of glass.
“Don’t touch me!”
“Arianna…”
“You forced me into this marriage. Did you think I’d forgive you for that?”
“Your grandmother—”
“Don’t blame it on her! And don’t change the facts. You’d already announced that I was marrying you before my grandmother put a foot out of that car.”
Stung, Dominic fired back.
“Excuse me, cara, but I don’t see any chains on your wrists. You stood before the judge willingly this morning.”
“Willingly? I was as trapped as—as a pawn in some medieval power play.”
“You could have said no.”
“And shatter my nonna’s health and dreams?” Arianna shook her head. “You know better than that.”
“Let me be sure I understand this. Because you wanted to protect the marchesa and because I provided a way out, because you chose to go along with the fiction I’d created right up to letting me put a wedding ring on your finger…because of those things, I’m the villain and you’re the martyr. Is that it?’
Her face reddened. Seeing it gave him grim pleasure.
“You’re twisting my words! That’s not what I meant.”
“No?” Dominic flashed a tight smile. “Then perhaps you’ll tell me what you did mean.”
“You were the one who wanted an arranged marriage. Now you have one. Don’t blame me if you don’t like what you got.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re going to get.”
Dio, he wanted to… What? Slap her? Never. He wasn’t a man who’d hit a woman, no matter how she treated him. He could shake her instead, or rave and rant…or haul her against him and kiss her until she had to acknowledge the truth, that they could make an arranged marriage work.
No, he wouldn’t do that. He was angry, but he wasn’t a fool.
“It’s time we agreed to something, Arianna.”
“What could we possibly agree to, except that this was a mistake?”
“One thing,” he snapped, doing his best to hang on to his temper. “You will treat me with respect at all times.”
“Fine. I can manage that, as long as you agree to the one thing I require.” She waited for him to give her his full attention. “Don’t even think of trying to sleep with me.”
Oh, the sheer pleasure of seeing the shock in his eyes. He looked at her as if she’d spoken in an unknown language.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I said, I won’t share your bed. You want me to make it clearer? We’re not going to have sex, Dominic.”
“We will.”
“We won’t. It’s not up for discussion.”
“You’re right. It isn’t.” He leaned close, clasped her wrist and brought her hand up between them. She was putting his temper to an impossible test! “We are man and wife.”
“Husband and wife.” The tilt of her chin defied him not to recognize the difference. “That doesn’t give you the right to my body.”
“What are you hoping? That I’ll tell you I’ll divorce you if you demand a sexless marriage?” His voice roughened. “Or that I’ll force you into my bed to do what we both know you want?”
“Are you threatening me?”
“You are my wife.” He dropped her wrist and sat back, afraid of what he might do if she went on provoking him. “I’ll give you some time to begin behaving like one, but I warn you, I’m not a patient man.”
He got up and walked away. She plucked a magazine from a low table, snapped it open and buried her nose in its glossy pages as if she were actually reading it. As if she could. As if she could think of anything except what Dominic had referred to as this change in her life.
Change? He’d turned her world inside out. Did he really think he could do such a thing and get away with it?
He damn well couldn’t and the sooner he understood that, the better.
Arianna kept the magazine in front of her face until the plane touched down at Ciampino Airport. Then she reached for Jonathan.
“Say goodbye to your grandmother,” Dominic said gruffly. “I’ll get the boy.”
“The boy,” she said coldly, “is my son. I’ll carry him.”
“Do as you’re told.”
He brushed past her and carried the sleeping child to the chauffeured car that was waiting for them. Dio, he was furious! Did Arianna think she could treat him this way and get away with it? Did she think she could benefit by this marriage but go on pretending he’d forced her into it? By the time she joined him a few minutes later, Dominic was seething.
The car began moving and he pressed the button that raised the privacy partition.
Arianna reached for the child again. “I’ll take him now.”
“Gianni is exhausted. Let him sleep.”
“His name is Jonathan. I keep telling you that. And he can sleep quite comfortably in my lap.”
Dominic felt the anger inside him swelling until it seemed lodged in the middle of his chest.
“Find something else to argue over, Arianna. I’m not going to let you use the boy.”
“Use him? Perhaps you’ve forgotten. He’s my son.”
She spoke the words quickly, almost defiantly, as if to establish her rights. And she did have rights, Dominic knew. Far better rights than his. She was Gianni’s mother. He was, at best, a stepfather who’d only laid eyes on the boy a handful of days ago.
Still, he felt protective of the kid and determined not to let Arianna poison the boy’s feelings for him.
After a moment, Arianna turned and stared out the window as the car swept through the dark streets of the city. When it began to slow as they approached the Spanish Steps, she swung toward him again.
“I assume you have a guest room. Be sure and tell your chauffeur to put my things there.”
“Is that how it’s done in the United States? Wives and husbands have their own rooms?”
“This is not the United States, and I am not, in any meaningful sense of the word, your wife. I expect—”
“I know what you expect,” he said brusquely. “You’ve made it clear. And I’ve decided to accommodate you. I shall have my quarters. You’ll have yours. In business, I take what I want. On a personal level, I never take what isn’t offered to me.”
The car pulled to the curb. In the headlights of an oncoming vehicle, he saw color climb into her face again.
“Remember that,” she said, as if he were a street urchin who needed lessons in behavior, and he felt such rage that he’d have swept her into his arms, carried her into the house and to his bed if Gianni hadn’t been present.
No. Dammit, no. He wasn’t going to let her reduce him to that level.
Instead, he grabbed her wrist. She gasped and he knew he was hurting her, but at that moment, he didn’t give a damn.
“You’ll have to beg me to take you to my bed. Do you understand, Arianna? As far as I’m concerned…”
The door swung open. He looked up and saw the chauffeur standing outside the car, heels together, spine straight, looking like a soldier at attention.
“Signore?”
The only thing missing was a salute. Dominic recognized the driver as a new man and started to tell him that he could forget about all that obsequious nonsense, that he despised being treated as if he were an emperor, but Arianna made a sound that might have been a little snort of derision.
Damn her to hell, he thought, and stepped from the car.
* * *
Three days later, he decided to make a small gesture of peace. They were living under one roof, sharing mealtimes for the boy’s sake, but otherwise behaving like strangers.
No one could go on living this way.
They’d both said some rough things that first night, but it was understandable. He’d been tired. So had Arianna. Add in the shock of the marriage and jet lag, and you had a situation primed for disaster.
So he came to breakfast
Saturday morning dressed in light canvas trousers and a navy T-shirt. Arianna and Gianni were already there.
“Good morning.”
Arianna didn’t respond. The boy looked up and grinned.
“Good morning, Dom’nic.”
He smiled back and ruffled the kid’s hair.
“I’ve been thinking…how would you like to see Rome?”
Gianni’s eyes lit. “Cool! Mom? Dom’nic says—”
“I heard him.” Arianna took a roll from the bread basket, broke it in pieces and began buttering it. She didn’t look up. “I’ve seen Rome dozens of times.”
“I haven’t.” Gianni had a hopeful expression on his face. “The only thing I saw was that big fountain the other day, when you and I went for a walk.”
“Eat your eggs, please, Jonathan.”
Dominic heard the edge in his wife’s voice and decided to ignore it.
“Neither of you has seen my Rome,” he said pleasantly. “There’s a wonderful little church that’s far off the tourist track, and a small garden with what’s rumored to be a statue by Michelangelo inside. And I know a restaurant in the Jewish Quarter where they serve the most incredible fried artichokes.”
“I don’t like artichokes,” Arianna replied, in a tone meant to end all discussion. “Jonathan, didn’t I tell you to eat your eggs?”
“I like ardachopes,” the boy said eagerly.
“You don’t even know what they are. And you wouldn’t like them.”
“I bet he would.” Dominic rose from the table, snatched Gianni up and swung him in the air. The kid liked that. It always made him giggle. “How about it, compagno? Want to go sightseeing with me today?” He held the boy at arm’s length and dropped his voice to a whisper. “We’ll go to the catacombs and see all the skulls and skeletons. How’s that sound?”
“It’s too hot for that,” Arianna said quickly.
“Don’t be silly. The catacombs are underground. It’s probably 20 degrees cooler down there. Sound good to you, Gianni?”
“His name is—”
“Oh, yeah,” Gianni said happily.
Dominic tucked him under his arm as if he were a football. The boy giggled even harder.
“We’ll be home by dinnertime.”
The Borghese Bride Page 9
