“I want to see Dom’nic,” he’d said.
Dominic had solved the problem by talking with his stepson on the phone.
“Do you really want to disappoint your nonna? She’s been planning this visit for weeks. When you return from Firenze, we’ll do a bunch of things together.”
So Jonathan had agreed to stick to the schedule just as long as he could welcome his stepfather home this morning.
“I’m so glad Dom’nic’s okay,” he’d kept saying, with a look in his eyes that made it clear how much he worshipped him.
Arianna shot a quick look at Dominic. He was sitting as far from her as possible, staring straight ahead.
Her husband felt nothing for her, but he loved the son he didn’t know was his. All those hours in the hospital that first day, waiting to learn if Dominic was going to be all right, she’d been haunted by the realization of how unforgivable it would be if father and son lost each other before learning the truth.
The lie she was living was wrong, but what could she do about it? She’d dug herself in so deep that there was no way out. Telling the truth was far, far too dangerous. Who knew how Dominic would react? What he would do? He was a powerful, vengeful man.
She might lose her child.
She was already losing her husband.
Once, knowing he’d married her for all the wrong reasons had filled her with anger. Now, he didn’t want her at all. Not for whatever warped sense of revenge he’d thought she deserved, not for passion…not for anything.
That should have pleased her.
Why didn’t it? What did she want from the man who was her husband? Hate? Love? Emotion of some kind. Any kind…
Not true. He’d shown her emotion the day of his accident and she’d rejected it. What if she hadn’t stopped him? If she’d let herself be pulled down into that sea of passion.
Arianna’s eyes blurred. She turned her face to the window as the car pulled up to the house. The chauffeur got out, but Dominic was already moving, reaching clumsily for the handle, muttering under his breath at the indignity of being helpless, when the door flew open.
“Dom’nic! Oh Dom’nic, you’re home!”
Jonathan flung himself into Dominic’s lap.
“Jonathan! Be careful. Dominic’s arm—”
Arianna caught her bottom lip between her teeth. Man and child were embracing, her little boy laughing, her husband joining in, though his eyes were suspiciously damp.
“Hello, Gianni. Did you miss me?”
“Somethin’ fierce!” Jonathan pulled back, his brow furrowed. “Mom told me you were all right, but I kept hearing the crash in my sleep, you know?”
Dominic nodded. “I know,” he said gruffly.
“Even talking to you on the phone every day wasn’t… I mean, sometimes I just thought,’ cause you were in a hospital and all…”
Dominic wrapped his good arm around the boy and drew him close. Arianna tried not to weep. Her child and his father loved each other so much.
What should she do? Better still, what could she do, without bringing on disaster?
* * *
Jonathan left for the marchesa’s an hour later and any pretense at polite conversation stopped.
Dominic went out on the main terrace, settled in a chaise longue and closed his eyes. Arianna stood beside him, waiting for him to acknowledge her presence. Was he going to ignore her for the entire week?
“Dominic? Shall I bring you something?”
“Nothing,” he said politely. “Thank you.”
“What about lunch? You must be hungry by—”
“Where is Rosa?”
“I gave her the week off.”
Dominic opened his eyes. “You did what?”
“I gave her—”
“You should have consulted with me first.”
“It’s your home. She’s your employee. I know that, but—”
“What I know is that I might need her assistance.”
“For what?”
“How should I know for what? Making me lunch, for one thing. Finding me a shirt in the closet. I’m as helpless as an infant, in case you haven’t noticed. How should I know what the hell I’ll need her for until I do?”
“I’ll be happy to help you,” Arianna said calmly. “I’ve already made some sandwiches and some—”
“I don’t need help from you.”
The words snapped like a whip. Arianna stiffened under their lash, hating herself for the sudden tightness in her throat.
“Sorry. I forgot. You don’t need anybody or anything. Not ever.”
She whirled around, marched away from him and Dominic winced in expectation of a glass-rattling slam, but Arianna apparently controlled herself. The violent bang never came, though her body language had made it clear that was what she wanted to do.
Dominic sighed and laid his head back.
What was that all about? Had he even suggested he didn’t need anybody or anything? No. He had not. Hadn’t he just said he needed Rosa?
His wife was in a bad mood. That, at least, he understood. She hated him, hated Rome, hated the life he’d brought her to, and now she was trapped with him in this apartment for the next few weeks.
She probably figured the accident was all his fault, that he’d been angry and driving too fast, but that wasn’t true. He’d just been coming back to take her in his arms and tell her he was sorry, that he hadn’t meant to frighten her or hurt her, that he’d only wanted to make her see that—that—
What? That their marriage was a mistake?
Dominic closed his eyes. That’s what it was, wasn’t it? One hell of a mistake. How long could it go on? He couldn’t share his space with Arianna much more, inhaling her scent, seeing her at breakfast and dinner and knowing she hated him, hated the existence he’d forced on her.
His head was pounding.
All right. This wasn’t the time to make plans that stretched past tomorrow. He’d simply institute some changes so that she wasn’t burdened with his care.
He’d call Rosa, tell her to resume her normal schedule even though the idea of pots rattling and the vacuum cleaner roaring made him shudder. And if Rosa launched into her ear-shattering rendition of Mimi in La Bohème, he’d have to threaten to murder her.
He’d call a temp agency, too, and hire a butler. A valet. Dio, just the idea of having someone wait on him made his belly churn, but he’d turned out to be damnably useless at simple things like buttoning his shirt or pulling on his trousers one-handed. He didn’t even want to think about the intricacies of bathing.
Rosa couldn’t help him with personal things like that and his wife surely couldn’t. She wouldn’t want to touch him. To undo the buttons on his shirt, slip her hands under it so that he felt the cool press of her fingers against his skin…
Dominic groaned.
Wonderful. His arm was in a cast, his head was pounding, his wife despised him and he was turning himself on, just remembering what it had been like that first time, when she hadn’t hated him, and imagining what it could be like again if the way she’d curled into his embrace that night in the hospital hadn’t been a drug-induced dream.
If she felt what he did at the sight of her, this combination of need and desire and something more, something tender and gentle and—and—
“I’m sorry.”
He looked up. Arianna stood over him, a tray in her hands, her expression as emotionless as the apology.
“No.” Dominic sat up. “I’m the one who should apologize.”
“It’s all right. You’re ill.”
“I’m not ill. I have a broken arm. That’s not an illness.”
“You have a concussion. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”
“I had a concussion. And you didn’t yell.”
“You’re supposed to take it easy. And I did yell.”
“No. You…” He paused and his lips turned up at the corners. “If we’re not careful, we’re going to end up fighting over who owes wh
o an apology.”
Arianna didn’t answer. Then, slowly, she smiled.
“You’re right. Okay, how’s this? We were both wrong.”
“That’s perfect.” Dominic looked at the tray and raised his eyebrows. “Are those tuna salad sandwiches?”
“Uh-huh.” Arianna put the tray on the table beside him. “Rosa said you liked tuna.”
“Did she shudder when she said it?” Dominic grinned as he reached for a sandwich. “She thinks anything made without garlic and proscuitto is fit only for stranieri.”
“For foreigners. She told me.”
“Ah. Then the good news is that she doesn’t think of you as a foreigner.”
“Don’t be too sure. She said she could understand my liking tuna but the signore, after all, was Italian.”
Dominic laughed. “She thinks I pick up bad habits when I visit the States.”
“Yes. Well…” Arianna cleared her throat. “There’s lemonade. Cookies, too. If you want anything else…”
She started to turn away. Dominic reached out and caught her wrist.
“Don’t go.”
“I don’t want to bother you, Dominic. The doctor said—”
“Stay and have lunch with me. Please. It’s my first day home. Keep me company.”
He waited, his heart racing. How could it be so hard to wait for an answer to such a simple question?
“All right,” she said slowly. “Thank you. I will.”
It was, Arianna knew, a flag of peace. Dominic was envisioning the endless weeks ahead and making the best of the situation that he could.
Well, so could she.
They managed polite conversation during lunch and then during what remained of the afternoon. At seven, Arianna fled to the kitchen, grateful for the chance to make dinner.
She was exhausted from the strain of pretending she and Dominic were friends. Perhaps not even that. More like acquaintances. Surely not husband and wife. Not a man and woman who’d once come together in passion…
And created a child.
* * *
They ate in the dining room, Arianna at one end of the table, Dominic at the other. It was a beautiful room with white marble floors and pale, pale rose silk wallpaper. She’d thought about lighting candles and using them as a centerpiece, but dinner by candlelight was for lovers, not for them.
As at lunch, they made polite conversation. It didn’t go as well as it had before. After a while, they fell silent. Dominic paid rapt attention to his plate, stabbing his fork into the pieces of meat Arianna had cut for him, poking at the potatoes and asparagus.
He didn’t seem to eat much of anything.
“If you’d rather have something else…” Arianna finally said.
“What?” He looked up, his eyes met hers and then his gaze slid away. “Oh. No, this is fine.”
“Is the meat too rare? I asked Rosa and she said—”
“It’s fine.”
“Rosa also said you like asparagus, but—”
“For God’s sake, Arianna! Rosa isn’t an expert on what I like and don’t like. Why you would think…” He stopped, put down his fork and let out a long breath. “I’m sorry.”
“No. No, that’s all right. You must be—”
“Grumpy.”
“Tired.” Arianna pushed back her chair and stood up. “After all, your first day home…”
“Yes. Exactly.” Dominic pushed back his chair, too. “I’ll help you clean up.”
“No!”
The word shot from her throat. The last thing she wanted was to spend more time with him and be reminded of how little he had to say to her, how uncomfortable he was just looking up and seeing her across the table. It was different when Jonathan was here. Alone—alone, she had to face the truth. She had no place in Dominic’s life.
“I mean…” She forced a smile. “You should get some rest.”
Rest? It was barely nine in the evening. Dominic suspected he would get no rest this night whatever the hour. He’d lie awake instead, seeing his wife’s stiff smile as she pretended that spending almost an entire twelve hours alone with him wasn’t a chore.
“Yes,” he said quickly, “I think that’s what I need. A good night’s sleep.” Was his smile as forced as hers? “That was an excellent meal. Thank you.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
“You’re sure you don’t mind if—”
“Of course not. Good night, Dominic.”
“Good night.” She turned away, then swung toward him. “Unless…?”
“Yes?”
Unless you want to have some coffee. Unless you don’t want to leave me just yet. Unless you want to reach out, as I do, and bridge this chasm between us…
Arianna swallowed dryly. “Unless you, uh, you have objections, I thought I’d make a roast chicken tomorrow night.”
A roast chicken. That was why she’d called him back. To discuss tomorrow’s menu. Was that all they’d talk about in the endless days ahead? His taste in food and Rosa’s knowledge of what he liked and didn’t like? Maybe. What else could they discuss? What could Arianna say to him? Surely not the words he ached to hear, that she was happy he was home, that she was happy she’d married him, that—that—
“Roast chicken is fine,” Dominic said, and fled to the safety of his bedroom.
Arianna stood staring after him. After a long moment, she began clearing the table. The day had been hot and muggy. Now, as darkness embraced the city, thunder rumbled far in the distance.
Wonderful. Just what this night needed. The drama of a thunderstorm, as if there wasn’t enough drama hanging over this house already.
“Arianna?”
She turned and saw Dominic in the entry to the dining room, his hair mussed, his shirt partly unbuttoned, and she knew with fearful clarity that the passion she’d felt for him the first time they’d met had never changed, would never change.
Thunder rolled through the sky again, an unwitting counterpoint to the sudden pounding of her blood.
“Yes?”
She saw his Adam’s apple move up and down as he swallowed. “I’m—I’m sorry to bother you, Arianna, but—”
It was the first time she’d ever heard uncertainty in his voice.
“Are you in pain?” she said quickly. “I’ll get the tablets the nurse—”
“I’m fine. It’s just… I can’t get these damn buttons undone.”
Her eyes flew to the buttons that marched with military precision down the front of his pale blue shirt. Two were open. Two, just enough to form a vee that showed his tanned skin. The remaining buttons were still closed, all the way down to the black leather belt that circled his waist.
Arianna felt her face heat. Her eyes swept up and met his. He looked as miserable as a man could look. Well, why wouldn’t he? He didn’t like asking anyone for help, especially her.
“Oh. Of course. I should have offered…” She took a breath so deep she felt it all the way down to her toes. Then she smiled pleasantly and tried to ignore the way her hands had begun to tremble. “I’ll get them for you.”
He stood unmoving as she came to him, his eyes locked to her face.
“I sprained my wrist a couple of years ago,” she said, reaching for the first closed button. “I couldn’t believe how useless it made me feel.”
One button undone. Why didn’t he say anything?
“It was my left wrist and I’m right-handed, like you, so I thought, well, this isn’t going to be a problem.”
Two buttons. More of his chest was visible. Tanned skin, muscled pectorals, dark whorls of hair. Wasn’t he going to say anything? Was he just going to let her chatter like an idiot?
“But it was. A problem, I mean. I had an awful time with the silliest things. Like—like putting up my hair. It was longer then, and—”
“You have beautiful hair, Arianna.”
Her fingers stilled on the button. His voice was so low. So rough. The sound of it sent a tremor of electricit
y dancing down her spine.
“Thank you. That won’t be a problem for you, at least. I mean, your hair is short. Not that I won’t help with it, if you ask. Wash it. Comb it. Or…” She clamped her lips together. Stop babbling! “There! Just one last—”
“Take it down.”
Her eyes flew to his. “What?”
“Your hair. Take it down.”
“Dominic.” Arianna swallowed hard. “I don’t think—”
“Please. Take out those clips and let your hair loose.”
She didn’t have to make the decision. He’d made it for them both. His hand was in her hair; the clips at her temples dropped to the floor and he combed his fingers through the pale strands.
“I never forgot the feel of your hair against my mouth, Arianna. Against my skin.”
“Dominic.” God, she could hardly breathe. The way he was stroking her cheek, his hand warm against her face… She looked up. “Dominic,” she whispered, “what—what are you…”
He kissed her. Gently, tenderly, the brush of his lips like silk, as soft as the whisper of his fingers against her cheek. She stood trembling, breath stilled, and then she made an almost imperceptible sound and he kissed her again, his mouth searing hers with its heat, holding her only that way, with a kiss, until she felt as if she would melt.
Lightning sizzled outside the window.
A moment later, a lifetime later, Dominic lifted his head. Arianna swayed unsteadily. Her eyes met his as he cupped her jaw, slid his thumb over her bottom lip.
“Say it,” he whispered. “Arianna. Tell me what you want.”
I want you to love me.
The truth, so long concealed within her heart, was stunning and as dangerous as the lightning bolt that slashed the black sky. She knew he waited to hear her say that she wanted to make love with him…but now she knew that would never be enough.
She loved Dominic.
And what was worse, she wanted him to love her.
How many secrets could a woman live with before she broke?
Something must have shown in her face. Dominic dropped his hand to his side and took a step back.
“It’s all right.” His voice was thick; she could tell what letting go of her had cost him. “I shouldn’t have asked.” She shook her head, put her hand on his arm and he stepped away again, as if her touch burned him. “Really, it’s all right, cara. It’s been a very long day.”
The Borghese Bride Page 13
