Izzy slitted her eyes open and watched as he rose and walked over to the window overlooking the backyard. A ruddy sunset reflected off the snow, filling the room with a strange, dreamy light. He stood with his back to her, and she saw that he’d abandoned his suit jacket.
If Izzy recalled her Phelps Academy French correctly, Mère meant “Mother,” but when actually addressing one’s mother, Maman was more customary; Mère was almost archaically formal.
“Oui,” he murmured. “Aujourd’hui.” Today. He must be telling her that he got married today. He raked his free hand through his hair.
She closed her eyes. Go back to sleep. This is eavesdropping.
“Isabella Fabrioni,” he said, the soft rumble of his voice making her name sound like poetry. She opened her eyes and strained to hear his quiet words; so much for trying not to eavesdrop.
“Non,” he said. “Italienne-Américaine.” A pause; he twirled the wand that adjusted the wooden blinds, making them open and close, open and close. “Oui.” She thought she heard pleasure in his voice. “Elle est une bonne femme.” A good woman. “Et très belle.”
Izzy smiled. So he did think she was beautiful.
“Vous êtes à Saint-Tropez?” Clay proceeded to chat with his mother about her travels and the weather, polite banalités such as remote acquaintances might exchange. His French sounded flawless to her ears, but then he’d always had a facility with languages. This small talk lasted a minute or two, and then he bid her adieu.
Tossing the phone onto the sofa, Clay expelled a lengthy sigh and leaned on the windowsill, his head down. He remained that way for so long that Izzy finally sat up and said his name.
He turned. Even backlit as he was by the deepening sunset, she saw something in his eyes that made her soul ache. But by the time he’d crossed to her it was gone, replaced by the knee-weakening grin that had made him one of the World’s Most Sought-After Billionaire Bachelors. Until today.
“Hey, Izz.” He sat on the edge of the bed and snapped the light on. “When did you wake up?”
Izzy hesitated, then said, “While you were talking to your mother.”
It was as if someone had turned down the dimmer switch that controlled his expression. The grin faded. The spark in his eyes winked out. “Sorry to have awakened you.”
“No, that’s—”
“How are you feeling?”
“Um... better, I think.” He didn’t want to talk about his mother, that was obvious. Izzy pressed on, anyway. “Why isn’t she here, Clay?”
He lifted the hawk sculpture from the night table, studying it from different angles. “She’s in Saint-Tropez with someone named Cesare.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“She can’t very well be in two places at once.”
“Clay, what is your mother doing in Saint-Tropez when you’re getting married on Long Island?”
He set the sculpture back down with a thump that made her start. “What does it matter?”
“What does it matter?” She laid a hand on his arm. “She’s your mother.”
He didn’t answer that, merely shook his head ruefully, as if he couldn’t begin to explain it and she couldn’t begin to understand.
“You didn’t even invite her, did you?” Izzy asked.
He sat still and unresponsive for a long moment, and then said, “I did, actually. I left a message on her voicemail last Sunday. Backed it up with an email. I guess...” He shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess it was just too short notice or something.” His tone was artificially indifferent.
“She didn’t offer an excuse just now?”
He chuckled humorlessly. “She doesn’t offer excuses.”
“And your father?”
He met her gaze squarely. “What’s with the third degree, Izz? You never asked me about them before.”
“We were never married before.”
“Yeah, well, we’re only kind of married now. And I’d kind of prefer it if you’d just let the whole subject drop.”
Izzy sat forward, letting her hand travel up to his shoulder. “Did you invite your father?”
He looked away. She felt the tension in his muscles. “I got through to him Monday at his office in Geneva, but he said he had a business commitment.”
“I take it they were both too busy to come to your first wedding, too.”
“They’re busy people. It’s no big deal. Don’t make it one.”
“No big deal? I can’t believe you really feel that way. I don’t believe it.”
Turning back to her, he said, “The thing you have to understand is, I’m used to them being the way they are. They’re the only parents I’ve ever had, and their way is the only one I’ve ever known. If they suddenly changed and started wanting to hang around me and meddle in my affairs, I’d probably feel smothered.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Do you think my parents smother me?”
He pressed a fingertip to the raised eyebrow, smiling. “No. I think your parents are... They’re great. So great, it’s a little unnerving.”
“See? That’s the way parents are supposed to—”
He cut off her words by touching her mouth, his calloused fingers tickling the tender flesh. With a start, she realized his face was very close to hers; his blue eyes looked transparent in the golden lamplight. Softly he said, “You’ve become a real pain in the ass all of a sudden, coffee bean.” He looked down at his fingertips resting lightly on her lips. “What am I gonna do with you?”
She swallowed. He drew away, then reached out to tuck her hair behind her ears, but it sprang out stubbornly.
“Don’t bother,” she managed to say. “It doesn’t like to stay put.”
He chuckled and traced a warm path down the side of her face with his thumb. “You’ve got marks from the pillow.”
“Great.” Here she was on her wedding day, in wrinkled sweats and with a creased face. And hair that looked like she’d stuck her finger in a light socket.
“You’ve got incredible hair,” he said, threading his fingers through it. The sensation was both soothing and exhilarating. She wanted it to end; she wanted it to go on forever.
He’d gotten her to stop grilling him about his parents, she realized, by the simple application of some of his famous seductive charm. A light caress or two, a little flattery, and she was pudding. It unnerved her to think how easily she might capitulate should he take it into his head to crank the seductiveness up to full throttle.
Was that a serious possibility? She used to think he found her unattractive, but suddenly she was très belle. Not to mention his lawfully wedded wife. She’d have to be on the lookout for any hint that he was itching to exercise his husbandly rights. Not that he might ever take the marriage seriously. She knew Clay Granger far too well to think he could commit to one woman forever. But given that she was so conveniently close at hand, might he not be tempted at some point to use her to slake that ravenous libido of his?
That’s not fair. He’d never gone after her in the past, despite hundreds of opportunities. He cared for her, but in the same platonic way she’d always cared about him.
But things have changed now. Ever since Harry’s New Year’s Eve Party—no, ever since their kiss that night—something had shifted between them. When she looked into his eyes, she saw something she hadn’t noticed before, at least not often—something half hidden but very there. An awareness, the acknowledgment of possibilities.
And the potential for disaster. That was all she needed—to fall for another card-carrying Don Juan, just when it looked like she was finally fixing the mess left by the last one.
“We did it, Izz,” Clay said, still stroking her hair. “We pulled it off.”
Her eyes, which had begun to close, snapped open. “Clay, we need to talk about telling my parents the truth—that you’re not the baby’s father. I feel awful lying to them.”
He took her hand. “So do I. But I’ll feel a lot worse if we tell them and you end
up suffering as a result.”
“Who says I’ll suffer? They were cool about my pregnancy. Maybe they’ll be just as understanding about this.”
He paused thoughtfully. “Maybe. I’ll even say ‘probably.’ On the other hand, maybe not. Maybe they’ll just think it’s awfully damn strange that you married someone you’re not even involved with. They’ll wonder about the real father, how come you didn’t marry him. It could look to them like you were just, well... sleeping around.”
“They won’t think that,” she said. “And if they do, I’ll just have to take the heat.”
“What about the baby?” he asked grimly. “You think it’s fair to make him take the heat, too?”
“The baby?” she said in a small voice, knowing, even before he continued, what he would say, and that he was right.
“If you tell your parents,” he said, “everybody will find out. The whole world will know that we got married to legitimize your illegitimate baby. The upshot is that he’ll still be a bastard in the eyes of the world. And we’ll both look like schemers. People love to gossip, Izz. Please don’t hand them ammunition on a silver platter. We’ve taken it this far. We actually went to the trouble of getting married. Let this marriage do the job it was intended to do.” He regarded her with imploring eyes.
Finally she nodded. “Okay. You’re right, I guess. I mean, I know you’re right. It’s just...” She rubbed her forehead. “I’m tired, that’s all...”
Clay gathered Izzy in his arms. “It’s been a long, trying day. Especially for you.” He patted her back, rocking her gently. Izzy melted bonelessly against him, luxuriating in the security of his strong arms. Her face rested against his chest, a wall of warm muscle beneath the cool smoothness of his shirt. She breathed a lingering hint of starched cotton mingled with that elusive whisper of herbs. His heart thudded against her ear, a comforting vibration that reverberated throughout her, softly pounding her anxiety into dust.
Izzy encircled him unselfconsciously with her arms, marveling at his solidity. Her gaze lit on the sculpture of the hawk on the night table, and it occurred to her that Clay’s body felt as if it, too, had been cast of bronze. The men in her past had all been in decent enough shape, but none had approached Clay’s ultra athlete status. And none of them had felt as rock-solid, as unabashedly masculine, as Clay Granger.
She felt safe in his arms, she realized with some surprise. Safe and comforted and cared for. Her eyes drifted shut.
The rocking ceased. She felt him shift, felt a soft pressure as he kissed her hair. His embrace tightened a bit. Her heart began to pound, and she scolded herself for reacting that way to such an innocent kiss.
And it was innocent. The kind of kiss a brother might give a sister. Nothing more.
He threaded his fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp, as his lips touched the top of her head again.
Innocent, she repeated mentally. She opened her eyes and saw the little bronze hawk. Yeah, as innocent as that hawk with a sparrow held tight in its claws. Birds of prey, Clay had once told her, had no choice but to hunt; it was in their nature.
Clay Granger was something of a predatory animal himself. Was he capable of living platonically with a woman? Could a hawk set up housekeeping with a sparrow?
Moot point. Izzy wasn’t a sparrow. Maybe at one time, like with Prez. He’d consumed her, body and soul, and she’d allowed it—even welcomed it. Her most humiliating memory of their relationship was having told him she loved him, just because she knew he wanted to hear it. Had it been true? Did it matter anymore? The fact was, she’d exposed her vulnerable underbelly to him, and he’d ripped it open and tossed her aside once he was done with his play. And she’d let herself be victimized by others of his species before him. She would never expose herself like that again.
The only way for her to protect herself was to keep a lid on any feelings she started having for Clay that weren’t strictly fraternal. She had a history of falling for birds of prey, but the cycle stopped now.
A knock came at the door. They drew apart. “Come in,” Clay said, a bit unsteadily.
Her parents entered, followed by Aunt Teddy and Harry. “We’ve been talking about your predicament,” Teddy said.
“Predicament?” Izzy ran her fingers through her hair to erase the shivery aftereffects of Clay’s kisses.
Harry took up his familiar, sitcom-viewing position in the club chair, and grinned mischievously at Clay and Izzy. “You’re gonna love this.”
CHAPTER FIVE
JESUS, WHAT NOW? Izzy thought.
“The doctor said you need someone looking after you,” her mother said, sitting on the other side of the bed. “Clay has to work. He has the magazine. And Harry says he’s away on business a lot.”
“I thought I’d hire someone,” Clay said.
Paola regarded him with an expression of incomprehension. “Hire someone?”
“Sure. I hire out the cleaning already, so Izzy doesn’t have to worry about that. I can just get someone else, a... companion. I know. A private-duty nurse.”
“Hire someone?” Paola repeated. “Pay money to someone to take care of my Isabella?”
“Well, sure.” Clay shrugged and looked from one blankly staring in-law to the other, clearly baffled as to what the problem was. Harry snickered in the corner.
The older Fabrionis exchanged a look.
Al shook his head. “We take care of our own in this family. If someone needs help, one of us pitches in.”
“Ah.” Comprehension lit Clay’s eyes. “That’s... well, that’s very admirable.” As well as being, Izzy knew, a very strange concept to a boy raised in a big, lonely apartment on Central Park West, with only a paid cook and maid for company. “But it’s really not necessary in this case. I can afford the very best care.”
He shot a glance at Izzy, who couldn’t repress a smile. He really didn’t get it.
“It’s not the money,” Al said. “It’s the idea of a stranger taking care of our Isabella, when one of us ought to be doing it.”
Clay looked so clueless that Izzy felt sorry for him. She touched his arm. “The Fabrionis have always looked after the Fabrionis,” she explained.
“It’s an Italian thing,” Teddy growled. “Family and all that crap. Didn’t you see The Godfather?”
“Are you saying,” Clay began, darting another glance—a pointed one—toward Izzy, “that you want someone from the family to... move in here?”
Move in here. Izzy sucked in a breath. Move in here? With the two of them? Newlyweds in separate bedrooms?
Harry slow-clapped a few times. “Give the boy a cigar.”
Al obligingly reached into his shirt pocket and handed Clay a Dunhill. His son-in-law accepted it with a dazed expression.
“I’d come stay with her myself,” Paola told Clay, “but I watch five of my grandchildren during the day so my daughters can work. But we were thinking—”
“Mom,” Izzy said, scouring her mind for a credible argument against the fortitude of Italian family solidarity. “You guys. Listen. I know you mean well, but it’s just not necessary.”
They all looked at her as if to say, Why not?
Clay perked up. “Because she needs medical care. She needs a medical professional looking after her. I’ll hire an R.N.”
“Teddy’s an R.N.,” Paola said.
Harry chuckled. “Can I have one of those Dunhills, Al?”
“Sure.” Al tossed the cigar across the room.
“Ah,” Clay said. Izzy could almost see the gears whirring and spinning in Clay’s mind as he struggled to resist what Izzy now knew to be the inevitable. “Yes, but I’m sure Teddy’s busy...”
Teddy snorted. “Busy trying to think up ways to kill time. Father Frank told me I should be a lunch lady at the school. Can’t you just see it?”
“’Fraid not, Aunt Teddy,” Izzy said. She fixed Clay with an expression of resignation. He placed the cigar thoughtfully between his lips, then grimaced and jerk
ed it out; he hadn’t taken the plastic wrapper off.
“We thought Teddy should move in right away,” Paola said, “seeing as how Izzy had that fainting spell and all.”
“Right away?” Clay said. “Tonight?”
“Yeah, we know it’s your wedding night,” Teddy said. “But you can’t do anything anyway—”
“Teddy, for cryin’ out loud,” Al interjected.
“Well, they can’t,” Teddy persisted. “And it’s not like I’m gonna be crawling into bed with them, for God’s sake. I figured I’d take the room next to this one.”
“The green room?” Izzy said. Her room.
“Harry says it’s the best guest room,” Teddy said. “He suggested I take it.”
Clay’s eyes zeroed in on Harry. “How accommodating of you.”
Harry looked up from unwrapping his cigar. “Just trying to help out. Hey, I think it’s a great idea, having Teddy live with you guys.” With a glance at the big iron bed, he added, “Gonna make for a nice, cozy little household, don’t you think?”
So that was it. Ever the zealous matchmaker, Harry had actively encouraged this little plot, knowing Teddy’s proximity would force Clay and Izzy to share a bed. And Teddy, of course, was perfect for this scheme. She was a nurse, she had the free time, and she was answerable to no one but herself. Teddy had never married. Rumor had it there had been a man in her life once, but it had ended badly. Now she lived all alone in an apartment in Brooklyn, with nothing to do but figure out how to spend her pension.
Teddy checked her watch. “I’m gonna drive back to Brooklyn and pack. I should be back by midnight. If I can get a key to the house, I can let myself in so I don’t have to bother you. I’ll need one, anyway, if I’m gonna be living here.”
Clay let out a long sigh of surrender. “There’s one hanging by the back door,” he said tonelessly. Staring into middle distance, he stuck the Dunhill in his mouth, not noticing, or perhaps simply not caring, that it was still wrapped in plastic. “Help yourself.”
AS CLAY BEGAN TO UNDRESS for bed, Izzy recalled what Harry had said to her when she’d asked who’d want to end up with one of the “World’s Most Sought-After Billionaire Bachelors.” Who’d want to end up with a rich, handsome, successful man? Only about half the population of the universe.
The Marriage Arrangement Page 6
