“Good-bye, brother.”
Damon left, and Raphael ushered me inside where the driver was already carrying our bags upstairs. I had a momentary panic, wondering what the sleeping arrangement would be. Our marriage would be on paper alone, but did that mean he wouldn’t try to touch me? Would that mean he’d have other women?
I glanced in his direction, realizing he’d have no trouble finding as many as he wanted, married or not.
“Can I have a few minutes?” It came out stiffer than I intended.
Raphael turned to me.
“I’d like to splash water on my face and change out of these clothes before lunch,” I added.
He nodded. “I’ll take you to your room.”
My room. Did that confirm we weren’t sharing?
Raphael said something to Maria, who went into the kitchen, and he led me up the stairs to the second floor. I looked around as we went, taking in every detail.
“How old is the house?”
“Over three hundred years.”
“The oldest building at St. Sebastian was seventy years old.”
“I’ll give you a tour later.” On the second-floor landing, I saw how the arches that matched those at the front door let in the bright sunlight framed by the bluest sky.
“You must have amazing views on a clear night.”
“We do.”
Raphael looked nostalgic. Sad almost. At least for a millisecond.
“This way.”
I followed him down the hall to the third door. He opened it, and I stepped inside. My suitcases were already arranged on luggage holders, which were the only modern things in the large room with its king-size bed, draped by curtains hanging from the ceiling with high, intricately carved wooden head and footboards. Blues were the theme here, and the curtains at the picturesque windows matched that of the headboard. The windows stood open, and I realized that for as warm as it was outside, the house itself felt reasonably cool, even if it had a slightly musty smell. Raphael seemed to notice it the same moment I did.
“The room hasn’t been used in a while.”
“It’s beautiful.” I turned in a circle, wondering how old the furnishings were.
“Bathroom is here.”
I followed him to an adjoining room, not very large but big enough to house a bathtub separate of the shower. White marble veined with gold covered floor, ceiling, and walls, although the fixtures looked quite old. He turned the tap.
“Completely updated. You should be very comfortable.”
“Once we’re… Um… Never mind.”
“What?”
I hesitated, cleared my throat, and asked the question. “Will I keep this room once we’re married?”
“Does the idea of sharing my bed repel you?”
“I…you said…”
He chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’m not used to having to force my women.”
I guessed that meant a yes, I’d keep this room. But I also felt like a jerk.
“I didn’t mean—”
“Don’t take too long.” He walked out of the bathroom. “We’ll have lunch out back. Can you find your way?”
“I think I can manage one set of stairs and an exit.”
“I guess that private-school education will be of some use after all.”
And I was the one who felt like a jerk?
He left me alone, and I went to the window to watch Maria and two women setting up a large banquet that I swear would have fed a dozen but was set for only two. Raphael’s dark head appeared, and I watched as the two girls helping Maria almost curtsied to him. He shook their hands, and their laughter resonated up to my room. For some reason, a feeling of something close to jealousy tightened my stomach.
He looked up a moment later, surprising me. I stepped away, embarrassed, shook my head, and opened one of my suitcases to get something to change into before heading down for lunch. I needed a shower and a nap, obviously. Exhaustion was making me think and feel things there was no way I should think or feel.
The travel between time zones made sleep difficult, so when I woke at close to three a.m. the next morning, I wasn’t surprised. After tossing and turning for half an hour, I gave up. I was wide-awake. Throwing the covers back, I got up and went to one of the windows, pushing the curtain away to look out at the rich, velvety midnight-blue sky dotted with sparkling stars. More than I saw at home, more than at school. It was a clear night, and I felt like I could see forever. The few clouds that floated past shone silver in the moonlight.
The gardens were quiet, and I saw once again the shadows of the ruined vineyard. It seemed impossible that Raphael’s father would burn it down. And more impossible that he would do it to repay my grandfather for a debt.
I didn’t know much about the process of growing grapes or making wine. It seemed strange now, considering that was where my family’s money came from. I wondered if he could replant, revive the land. It seemed like a waste and a shame to leave it dead, like it was.
Although it fit, in a way. Part of Raphael was dead too.
I shuddered and dropped the curtain, hugging my arms to myself. I picked up a sweater I’d hung on the back of a chair, put it over my shoulders, and slipped into a pair of flip-flops. I’d go to the kitchen and make myself a cup of tea.
I glanced both right and left but the hallway was quiet. I wondered which room was Raphael’s as I made my way down the stairs and around the living room to the kitchen, which had been expanded and, judging from the wall, looked to be about twice the size of the original. I pushed the door open and walked inside, switching on the light. It seemed almost eerie now with only me there, but I set that thought aside and found the kettle, filled it with water, and set it on one of the six burners. I then set about looking for mugs and tea bags. That was when an outer light came on, startling me. A motion detector? The door opened before my imagination could carry me off, and Raphael walked inside. He stopped short at the door, just as surprised to see me as I was to see him.
He looked different, his hair messy, his face relaxed, the usual cockiness gone. He wore jeans and a tight-fitting V-neck white T-shirt that hugged his shoulders and arms, giving me a glimpse of cut muscle beneath.
I swallowed.
He stomped dirt off his shoes and took them off, then stepped inside and closed the door.
The tea kettle whistled, but all I could do was stare at him. He raised his eyebrows, and when I didn’t move, he came toward me, stepping a little too close, closer than he needed to. His chest touched mine, and I picked up the faint scent of sweat and grease before stepping backward as far as the counter allowed.
He grinned.
I knew he liked it, liked making me feel uncomfortable. He seemed to take some sick pleasure from it. It was probably more that he liked messing with me because I made it so damn easy.
He switched off the burner.
I cleared my throat, blinking away. “I couldn’t sleep. I thought I’d make some tea.”
He nodded and reached over my head, one corner of his mouth curling upward as I shrunk away. Being this close to him, it felt strange.
“Why do I make you so nervous, Sofia?” he asked, setting a mug on the counter.
I turned around and looked up and found an array of tea bags in the cupboard. “You don’t,” I said weakly, focusing on reading every box.
“I told you I don’t expect to bed you. I thought that would ease your mind.”
I concentrated on opening a tea bag.
“Unless you wanted me to, that is. I’m open to the idea, of course.”
“You like messing with me,” I said, watching the water as he filled my mug.
“I do. It’s so easy.”
He set the pot down and went over to the sink. On his way there, he glanced down at his shirt, which was smeared with dirt. He pulled it over his head and dropped it down a chute along one of the walls. A laundry chute. I had one in my room too. He stood with his back to me, scrubbing his hands and splashin
g water on his face. I wasn’t sure if it was the marks I noticed first, thin silvery lines crisscrossing flesh, or his powerful back flexing with muscle at the movements.
When he turned to me, I swallowed, forcing my mouth to close. I’d never seen a man that looked like him in person before. He was perfect, his face, his body—perfect apart from those countless scars.
“Can you toss me the towel?”
“What?”
“The towel. Behind you.”
I turned. “Oh.” I felt stupid, flustered. Like an inexperienced fool. I threw the towel, and he caught it. All I could do while he dried himself was watch him, focusing on his hands.
His hands.
Big and calloused and…
I shook my head to clear my thoughts. How could I be attracted to this man? “I’ll go upstairs.”
“No.”
He walked to another cupboard and found a glass and a bottle of what I guessed to be whiskey.
“Sit.”
He took a seat at the table, then, when I still hadn’t moved, he pushed a chair out with his bare foot.
“Sit, Sofia. I don’t bite.”
With heavy legs, I joined him at the table. He watched me while he uncorked the bottle and poured about two fingers worth into his glass. He then tilted the bottle and poured some into my tea.
“What are you doing?”
“It’ll help you sleep.” He leaned back in his chair and drank.
“I don’t drink.”
“Maybe you should start. Lighten up a little.”
“Lighten up? You…you kidnapped me!”
“Don’t be dramatic. I don’t remember knocking you out and dragging you away. Besides, this isn’t exactly a dungeon I’ve brought you to.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Give it a rest, Sofia. The whiskey will help you sleep. That’s all.” He seemed suddenly tired.
“It’s just,” I started, picked up the mug, and sniffed it, feeling a little embarrassed. “I just have never really drunk very much.”
His eyebrows went up. “Are we adding drinking to the list of things you haven’t done?”
I gave him a glare, then dropped his gaze. I knew exactly what he was referring to. Determined not to give him one more thing to tease me about, I took the smallest sip. My lips burned.
“Define much. You had to have parties at that school of yours even if your stuffy old grandfather locked away the liquor.”
“Of course we had parties.” I just didn’t attend them most of the time. I’d never been much for them, preferring to spend time reading or studying. “I’ve had some beer and wine.”
“Have you tasted any of your family’s wines?”
I smiled. “Lina and I snuck a little at Christmas.”
“Bad girls,” he said, his expression again mocking.
“Don’t make fun of me.”
“You like to follow the rules?”
“You like to break them?”
“It’s a lot more fun than always doing what you’re told.”
Why did I care what he thought of me? If he found me ridiculously boring? Why did I care? “I just never gave not following them much thought.” And why in hell was I defending myself?
“That so?”
“I’m sure I’m very dull, considering your colorful history.” His face hardened, and I wished I hadn’t said that. What happened with his father, it wasn’t his fault. I knew that. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”
“It’s fine.” He finished his glass and poured another.
“Where were you?” I asked, painfully aware of his naked beauty just across the table, trying hard not to stare.
“Maria told me they’ve been having some trouble with the work truck. I wanted to have a look.”
“Work truck?”
“There are fields on the other side of the property. We sell hay to local farmers. I’ll show you around later.”
“Does that money sustain the house?”
He chuckled. “Not even close. When my mother passed away, she left my brothers and me a sizeable inheritance. Most of it has gone to repairing the house. Not much left over for maintenance after the fire. Luckily, I have other sources of income.”
“Other sources like arrangements like mine?”
“Well, I don’t have other brides in the closet, but yes, I suppose.”
“Did you get it fixed?”
He looked confused.
“The truck, I mean?”
“You really want to know about the truck? You have no other questions, nothing else you’d rather talk about?”
I had about a million. I just had to muster up the courage to ask them. “I lied earlier. You do make me nervous, Raphael.” I didn’t know why I said it, I just knew I had to.
His expression changed. He hadn’t expected that. “What do you think is going to happen to you? What do you think I’ll do?”
“Anything you want.”
He sat forward, resting one elbow on the table, his chin in his hand. His eyes, the blue so bright, studied me closely, making me wonder if they could penetrate through me, pick my thoughts right out of my mind before I’d even had a chance to process them.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Sofia.”
“Why did you have to take me, then?”
He leaned back in his seat. “That again.”
“Sorry to bore you, but this is my life we’re talking about.”
“I did you a favor. I opened your eyes.”
“By telling me my grandfather is a thief. That he’s been stealing from my sister and me.”
“Do you prefer to bury your head in the sand? It doesn’t change things. Grow the fuck up.” He drained his whiskey.
I pushed the chair back. “Screw you, Raphael. You try putting yourself in my shoes for a split second, then tell me to grow the fuck up,” I said, standing.
“Sit,” he growled.
“No.”
“Just fucking sit. Ask me a question. A different one.”
“Are you going to stop being a jerk?”
He gave me a lopsided smile. “I’ll try, but no promises. It’s my nature.”
I hesitated.
“Sit down and talk to me,” he said finally.
I wasn’t sure if it was his tone or his words that made me do it, that made me sit back down and meet his eyes and feel at least a little closer to equal footing for the first time with this man.
He nodded in acknowledgment.
“Is this home for you?” I asked.
He inhaled deeply. He took his time to answer, and I thought about what he’d told me earlier, what he’d promised. Truth.
“Yeah, I guess it is.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s where things were good. It’s where I remember my mother. Where I remember my brothers and me as kids.” He paused. “I remember being happy mostly.”
Hearing him say that last part, it was strange. In a way, it almost hurt me to hear it. I felt the loneliness coming off him, and I realized it was always there, every time I was with him. No matter what, no matter the insane reasons I sat in this beautiful house in Tuscany across from this beautiful beast in the middle of the night, that was what I always felt from him. Loneliness. Maybe that was why I had questions to ask. Maybe that was why I wanted to know him. It was naive, I knew it, and that little voice inside my head sounded its warning again, but I felt his pain lying just beneath that cool, detached surface.
Raphael suffered. He suffered greatly.
“It’s normal to miss your mom,” I said. “And your brothers and the past.”
He looked confused for a moment, and all I could do was think of how much what I’d just said applied to me.
We sat quietly, and I finished my tea. Raphael tilted my mug to glance inside it, and before I could stop him, he’d poured more whiskey into it. Not much, maybe half what he had. He handed it back, and I picked it up. Sipping it straight was harder than when it was mixed wi
th the tea, but I did it, liking the warmth, the tingling feeling in my spine, relaxing a little even.
It was me who finally broke the long silence with a confession of my own.
“When my mom was seventeen, she eloped with my dad. She ran away from Grandfather to do it because she was pregnant with me.” I felt him watching me, and I wondered why I told him that. Although, he probably already knew the story. In fact, it seemed like he knew more about me than I did. “Do you ever think about your father? About why he did it? Even though he had no intention to harm your mother physically, didn’t he know how much it would hurt her, even considering his circumstances?”
The temperature in the room seemed to drop by about a thousand degrees, and I regretted asking the question the moment the words were out.
“My father was a bastard, a coward, a cheat, and ultimately, a murderer. But he was also desperate.”
Silence hung heavy in the air between us until, finally, I found my voice. “I’m sorry.”
He raised his eyebrows and tipped his glass toward me before drinking it down.
“Do you only want me for the money? Is that why you took me, because my grandfather couldn’t pay?” I had grown a little bolder after swallowing the last of the whiskey. “I mean, you have to wait until I’m twenty-one to get it. What if I don’t sign over the shares?”
“Do you want me to want you for more?” he asked.
I raised my gaze to his, surprised by his question.
“Truth, Sofia.”
My face heated both from the question and the intensity of his gaze on me. I couldn’t answer him; I didn’t know myself what I wanted.
“I never thought I’d be married…like this. That’s all.” I reached for the bottle and tilted it to pour in a little more.
“Too much truth?” he asked, studying me. Seeing right through me.
I swirled the whiskey in my glass then drained it and poured myself a little more.
“You probably shouldn’t drink so fast,” he said.
“You said I should ask you my real questions. I’m asking. Now you have to answer.”
He smiled. “I asked if you had things you’d like to talk about. I didn’t say I’d talk about them.”
He took the bottle and corked it.
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