Wife By Force: International Billionaires II: The Italians

by Caro LaFever

  Changing into a conservative dress and shoes, she managed to slap some makeup on, comb her hair into a knot on the top of her head, and call for the limo. He didn’t have any foreign trips scheduled. Plus, he never missed work. The king would be waiting.

  This time, though, it wouldn’t be a seduction.

  This time they needed to talk.

  The drive to his office was silent. She’d tried to pry information from the security team yesterday with no success. But she couldn’t bear to tell them she was desperate, that she didn’t know where her husband was, that he’d left her without telling her where he’d be. The conversation would be too embarrassing.

  She wasn’t that desperate. Yet.

  The shimmering glass of his modern business building came into view and she took in a deep breath. She wouldn’t hold anything back this time. She would tell him the truth about her love; how she’d let go the grudges she’d held against him, how she hadn’t been taking those wretched pills for weeks, how it was her hope she was already pregnant with his child. After that, she’d ask if he loved her.

  God, she hoped he loved her.

  Even if he wouldn’t say it, she knew in her heart. She knew. How could a man make love to her with such passion and tenderness and not love her? How could a man stare into her eyes as he came into her, his gaze alive with wonder and possession and not be in love with her? How could a man care for her needs, both physical and emotional, and not love her?

  She didn’t need the words.

  She just needed him with her again.

  “Signora.” The driver opened the door with a flourish, his face solemn.

  Straightening her shoulders, Lara walked with shaky confidence into his building. The place was a hive of activity, people rushing past her to catch one of a dozen lifts. The lobby was stunning in glass and crystal, all silver and light. The receptionist recognized her from her previous visit and with a smile, waved her onto the farthest lift that was reserved for the top floor executives.

  The lift raced upward, making her feel slightly dizzy. Or maybe the coming confrontation was making her dizzy. Stepping into the foyer, she immediately caught the attention of Dante’s PA. The woman sat in solitary splendor, guarding her employer’s double doors.

  “Signora?” The woman’s dark brow rose.

  “I’d like to see my husband.” She pasted on a smile.

  The brow rose further. “I’m sorry, Signora Casartelli. He is not here.”

  Heart sinking into her stomach, she managed to maintain her smile. “A meeting?”

  “No.” The PA frowned in confusion. “He called me this morning to tell me he would not be in this week. Were you not aware of his plans?”

  Her spine stiffened in embarrassment. “Obviously not.”

  “I will be glad to pass on any message?” The PA instantly appeared as embarrassed as Lara felt.

  “That won’t be necessary.” She had to get away from here. A flush rose up her neck. Turning on her heel, she started toward the lift’s sanctuary.

  Dante? Not at work? She rushed across the lobby and into the waiting limo. Settling into the leather seat, she tried to put the pieces together. He was going to be gone all week? Her husband rarely missed work and never for an entire week. He was harder on himself than on any employee.

  He must be far more upset than she realized.

  Panic shut her throat. She had to find him soon. The panic pumped her blood into a shaky froth of anxiety. Soon, or he might freeze up as he had once before. Freeze so hard she’d never be able to punch through the ice.

  Walking through the front lobby of their flat, she frantically tried to think of the next step. Should she break down and call his family? Admit that he was gone, that they’d had a fight?

  “Signora Casartelli.”

  The cold voice broke into her concentration. Turning, she confronted a middle-aged man dressed in a conservative business suit. His eyes were grey and cool, his mouth set in a firm line.

  A sudden shaft of pure ice went up her spine. “Yes?”

  “This is for you, Signora.” He pulled out a thick file from his briefcase and held it towards her. “You will need to sign for it.”

  She knew, with a deep-seated instinct, she did not want what was in that file. “I—”

  “It is a mere formality.” A silver pen was placed in her hand with firm guidance. A single piece of paper was laid on the file. Signing seemed to be the only option open to her.

  “Grazie.” The stiff bow matched his entire demeanor. He left with a silent tread.

  Lara stared at the manila folder he’d placed in her hands. The thing was bulky. Not a gift, surely. No one would have a present delivered by that kind of man. Taking hold of her diminishing composure, she stepped into the lift and focused with numb bemusement on the silver-paneled door as it rose to the top floor. She discarded her jacket and then sat down on the sofa with the packet in hand.

  Slipping the leather sleeve off, she pulled the pile of documents out. For a long moment, the language swirled in front of her eyes, not making any sense. But one word leapt into her gaze, with complete clarity.

  Divorce.

  A sharp cry of horror escaped her lips. “No!”

  Still, there it was, in stark words. Dante wanted a divorce.

  How could he have moved so fast? Not even forty-eight hours had passed since she’d seen him last. Closing her eyes tight, she remembered the laughter, the teasing. She wanted that back. She wanted him back.

  She didn’t want a divorce!

  Sucking a deep breath in, she managed to open her eyes and scan the documents, looking for some clue to what was driving him, some clue to where he was. Could she get to him through these lawyers? She had to see him. She had to talk to him. She had to tell him…

  I love you. Don’t do this.

  The settlement page stopped her cold. Her father’s mortgage was paid off completely and there were no ties or conditions to the payoff. Her brother’s job was guaranteed. The foundation for her schools would continue, with annual payments from his business, also guaranteed.

  A sharp stab of pain and guilt ran through her. Even if he had forced her to marry him, look at the generosity he displayed when he was trying to get rid of her.

  “No, no, Dante.” Her hands tightened around the papers. “I won’t let you force me to divorce you. I won’t let you force me to let you go. Not without a fight.”

  * * *

  In the middle of the night, the idea came to her.

  The villa.

  Why hadn’t she thought of it before? They hadn’t spent much time there since returning from their honeymoon, but it was his home—his family home. He would go there, to think, to retreat.

  By six a.m. she was on the road. Not wanting to wait for the limo, she used the grey Fiat that had been parked in the underground lot since she’d arrived in Florence. Her husband had argued about it; if she had to have a car, he would buy her a Mercedes or a BMW. She’d never been interested in cars, though. Why purchase an expensive car when she rarely needed one?

  Not caring if security followed her or not, she made good time getting out of the city and traveling north towards the sea. Rolling down the window, she relished the soft morning wind whipping her hair around her face and drying the tears that seemed to fall on her face whenever she thought about her situation.

  For the thousandth time, she castigated herself. Hadn’t she learned anything from being with Gerry? Hadn’t she learned that sticking her head in the sand, trying to avoid confrontation, only made things worse? She should have been courageous and told Dante she loved him when she’d figured it out. Instead, she’d hidden from him and from herself.

  Because she was scared he didn’t love her.

  Her hands tightened on the steering wheel. How could he have forced her to marry him if he didn’t have some strong feeling about her? His smokescreen about it being time to marry and wanting children—it didn’t ring true. Not now. Not now that she
knew, really knew, Dante. The man she knew was methodical, yes, yet not cold and calculating. He was cool on the outside, all heart on the inside. He showed it in the way he cared for his family, the way he cared for her.

  He cared. But did he love?

  Whether he did or he didn’t, she had enough love for both of them. There was no way she was going to sign those divorce papers.

  Driving up to the Casartelli villa, her gaze scanned the grounds, the windows. It was early morning, so it wasn’t surprising the house still dozed. Her husband was an early riser, however, maybe he was sleeping in. Maybe she could surprise him in the bedroom and find more than words to convince him of her feelings.

  Lara shivered. She missed him. Missed his warmth in the bed, his strong arms encircling her, pulling her into his chest. She missed his soft snore in her ear, and the way his hand smoothed over the skin of her stomach, even when he was asleep. She missed his passion as he slipped inside her, murmuring Italian praise as he kissed her neck and shoulders.

  God, she hoped he was still asleep.

  Jerking the car to a stop, she hopped up the stairs and threw open the carved door.

  “Signora.” The housekeeper bustled towards her, astonishment on her face. “This is such a surprise.”

  Good. Surprising Dante worked to her advantage. “Ariana, where is he?”

  The older lady’s eyebrows rose. “He?”

  How embarrassing. Could she say she’d misplaced her husband? At this point, though, she no longer cared what others thought. She wanted to find him; that was the only thing that mattered. “Dante? Is he upstairs?”

  A hand stayed her instinctive turn towards the grand staircase. The housekeeper’s face was wreathed in frowns. “The Signore is not here.”

  Her heart thumped to the bottom of her stomach. “You’re sure?”

  “Si.” Worry clouded the old woman’s expression. “He would not have arrived last night without my knowledge.”

  Ariana ran a strict household. Nothing except the best for the Casartellis. If her employer were here, she would know. Where was he? A sense of hopelessness coursed through Lara and a sheen of tears threatened to spill. She’d been so sure he’d be here.

  Alarm flashed in the housekeeper’s eyes. “The Signore is missing? We must alert—”

  “No, no.” She grabbed the woman’s shoulders before she could move away. “Ariana, it must be a misunderstanding between Dante and me.”

  “You thought he was here?”

  “Yes.” Patting the older woman’s hand, she plastered on a smile. “We must have got our signals crossed.”

  “Si, si.” The wreath of frowns turned into a gentle smile. “This can sometimes happen. It is too bad you have traveled all this way—”

  “Not a problem.” She blinked and swallowed her tears. “I’ll nip over and see Papa.”

  “Bene.” Ariana nodded. “He will be glad to see you.”

  “I’m sure he will.” Turning quickly to hide the tears slipping down her cheeks, Lara headed toward the open front door.

  “If the Signore appears, I will have him call you.”

  Waving an airy hand, she slipped into the Fiat. Driving out to the main road, she pulled along the side of the lane and stopped to lay her head on the wheel.

  Where could he be?

  Was he zooming around the European capitals, ignoring her calls, already putting her out of his mind?

  A fierce determination surged through her. Whatever he was thinking, wherever he was hiding, he couldn’t ignore her forever. Some way, somehow, she was going to find him and confront him with her love. If he wanted to throw away what they had after that…she would deal with it then.

  Pulling onto the road, she drove towards her family home on autopilot. Seeing her father was exactly what she needed. His quiet calm would be a balm and give her courage for what lay ahead.

  The fountain’s water sparkled in the morning sun, the flowers surrounding it alive with vivid color, lifting their faces to the warmth of the rays. Pulling to a stop, she took a deep breath, wiped the remaining tears off her cheeks and put on a happy smile. She would say hello, grab a comforting hug, before returning to Florence to track down her husband.

  Her hand trembled as she pushed the car door open and stepped out.

  “Lara.” Hugo Derrick emerged from around the side of the villa, garden trowel in hand, face quizzical but filled with a warm welcome. “What a surprise.”

  In a flash, all her shaky composure disappeared and she was a small girl again, running to her papa after falling or fighting with her brother or any myriad of childish hurts. Yet this wasn’t a childish pain; this was a gigantic yawning claw of anguish she could not contain inside any longer.

  “Well, well,” her father muttered, his arms coming around her quaking body to hold her in a warm hug. “Something’s amiss, I take it.”

  A watery chuckle escaped the sobs. Leave it to her father for English understatement. “Papa,” she whispered into the leathery neck, letting the smell of his tobacco soothe her.

  He grumbled and groused, but his arms continued to hold her until the wave of crying subsided. “Let’s sit down.”

  Allowing him lead her to one of the many stone benches dotting the property, she blotted her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt, trying to bring herself back from utter despair. As soon as they sat, her father’s bushy eyebrows rose with a look at her face, and one more time she found his arm around her shoulders, her head planted firmly on his chest.

  “Not like you to do this,” his voice rumbled above her. “Must be something major.”

  “It is.” A hiccup broke through her tears.

  A warm, rough hand patted her shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll tell me all about it when you’re ready.”

  Tell him all about it. Tell him she’d been forced to marry to save him and Andy. Tell him she’d fallen in love with her husband against her will. Tell him she’d stupidly hurt her husband with her stubbornness and her unwillingness to admit her new feelings. Tell him she’d been served with divorce papers and couldn’t find her husband to confront him.

  Another wave of tears accompanied her thoughts and her papa’s arms tightened around her. “Now, now,” he murmured.

  After wetting his shirt to the point of dripping, finally she felt the last of her tears dry on her skin. Slumping into his hold, her mind dulled to exhaustion. What would she do now? She’d gone everywhere she knew. She supposed it was time to confront his family. Someone would know where his bolthole was. It would be embarrassing, but she was beyond any shame. She wanted her husband back.

  Lifting her head and sitting upright, she mopped her wet face with her sleeve.

  “Do you want to talk about it now?” Her father’s mild voice was edged with concern.

  She glanced at him. He was looking straight at her, his eyes filled with affection. “I love you, Papa.”

  Chuckling, he patted her arm. “And I love you. Whatever has happened, we’ll fix it.”

  “I’m not sure that’s possible.” She stared at her clasped hands. “I’ve screwed it up royally.”

  “It?”

  Her hands tightened. “My marriage.”

  “Hmm.” Her father relaxed back on the bench. “You and Dante have had a fight.”

  “More than that.”

  He hummed again.

  A lulling silence fell. The tree leaves above them rustled in the soft wind and the buzz of a bee rambling among the fountain flowers wafted in the air. The morning sunshine hit her legs, warming and soothing her. Some of the tension of the past few days started to slide away. Her papa always did this to her; he centered her with his love and gave her hope with his acceptance.

  “He’s left me.”

  “Dante?” He coughed. “That surprises me.”

  “I can’t find him. I’ve been everywhere.”

  “Apparently not everywhere or you’d have found him.”

  Her father’s dry humor reminded her of her husband
’s. If she’d had any tears left, the thought would have brought them forward, but she was drained. Dropping her head down into her hands, she closed her eyes.

  He patted her leg, and in typical fashion, remained patient and quiet.

  Sighing, she confessed what she could. “I was mad at him and I did some stupid things.”

  “We all do that on occasion.”

  “Finally, I guess, he’d had enough.”

  “Lara.” He pulled her forward until she looked into his weathered face. “Whatever has happened, know this—he loves you.”

  “Papa,” she cried, a wild hope bursting through her pain. “Do you think so?”

  “I know so.” His voice was firm. “No man would have done what Dante did for your family without a great love.”

  A knot of faint anger stirred in her soul, but she stamped it out of existence. The past was the past. She’d forgiven him and she wasn’t going to let the old anger stand in the way of her love. “He was marrying me, Papa. That’s why he helped you and Andy out.”

  “No.” Her father’s face turned stern. “You have that wrong.”

  “What?”

  “He agreed to help us before you accepted his proposal.”

  “That’s not…possible.” Utter shock held her still.

  Running a hand over his bald head, her father appeared chagrined, yet determined. “Dante talked to me, the morning he came to ask for your hand.”

  He was so old-fashioned, her husband. Now, though, the knowledge filled her with a warm affection instead of irritation. “When was this?”

  “Right after Carlotta’s wedding. Perhaps a day or two after.”

  Further shock ricocheted through her body. Even after she’d called him a monster and run from him, he’d still held out hope she’d become his wife? The arrogance of the act would have made her scream in the past, but now it only filled her with a hot glow. Because it might not have been arrogance. Maybe it was...maybe it was...love?

  “He told me he’d loved you for a long time.” Her papa’s broad hand patted her knee. “But I’d known that for what seems like forever.”

  “What did you say?” She gaped at him in astonishment.

  “Lara, Lara.” He shook his head. “The man was devastated when you married that Englishman.”