by Caro LaFever
Tomas seemed oblivious. He had his own concerns, mirrored in the slight horror in his face. “I’ll come in with you. I guess.”
Even in the midst of her own distress, she had to stifle a grin at the fake heartiness of his tone. “I’d rather you left.”
“You mean it?” Tomas had not perfected his older brother’s ability to completely wipe any emotion from his demeanor. His relief was palpable.
“Yes.” Scrambling out of the car, she turned to give her brother-in-law one last look. “Thanks, Tomas.”
He pinned her with his dark gaze. “Go find him and turn him back into the brother I know.”
“I will.” With more conviction in her voice than she held in her soul, she marched over to the front door, ignoring the purr of the engine as it headed down the lane.
Evidently, Dante had not heard the approach of the car because she saw no shadow of a man waiting for her behind the glass window of the door. Not wanting to give him any advance warning, she carefully pushed the door and found it unlocked. Stepping into the cool interior, she tiptoed down the hall, taking a moment to peer into each room. There was a simple sitting room on the left, with an ancient stone fireplace for the winter nights. Another door opened into a small study. A pile of books stood on a side table by a small sofa.
No laptop. No phone. Very un-Dante.
He was here, wasn’t he?
Picking up her pace, she came to the end of the hall and walked into a charming kitchen. Copper pots hung from scattered pegs. An old brick oven held a prominent position beside long wooden counters. A bottle of wine stood by a glass, half-filled.
He was here.
Finally, she saw him through a half-opened, glass-paned door leading out to a stone terrace that appeared older than Roman times. His back was to her. He was dressed in a simple, loose white cotton shirt, the sleeves rolled up. Tan chinos hung on him. His hands were on his hips as he stared at the land rolling in front of him.
A king surveying his kingdom.
“Dante,” she whispered.
He didn’t move; he hadn’t heard her.
One step closer.
“Dante.” His name was a clear call from her heart.
With a sudden jerk, he turned.
And she gasped.
His face was haggard and pale. His eyes held no spark of humor or tenderness. They were entirely dead. As she watched, a thin line of white appeared around his tightened mouth.
“Dio maledetto Tomas.” Before she could say a word, he strode off the terrace and started jogging down a long row of vines.
“Wait.” Running out the door, she jumped down the old steps, trying desperately to keep up with his retreating figure. “Stop!”
He ignored her and his long legs soon put a significant distance between them. She was determined, though, on fire. She’d found her quarry and he was not going to get away. For a second, she halted and impatiently slid off her high-heeled sandals; she’d picked them out before leaving with Tomas and now wished she’d dressed for a marathon instead of lovemaking.
Hiking up her skirt, she sprinted after her husband. It wasn’t worth yelling at him, he wouldn’t listen, and she didn’t have any excess breath as it was. Huffing and puffing, she kept after him, gaining a bit as he came to a halt to glance around.
He cursed again.
“I’m not going to give up,” she cried between gasps.
He turned and continued at a faster pace.
“This is ridiculous,” she muttered.
Down one rolling hill and up another. His shirt became plastered to his sweating back in the heat of the late afternoon. Long legs flexed and bunched, his butt a piece of pure poetry in its movement. Even in her breathless state, she admired the shift of his muscles beneath his clothes.
He was her man. He was hers. She would never let this gorgeous male go.
Abruptly, he stopped.
At last, she got to within a few feet of him and stopped herself. “Dante.”
He was breathing hard, his shoulders rising and falling, the sweat rolling down his neck. “Why are you here?” he growled over his shoulder. “I’ve given you everything you want.”
“A divorce?” Taking deep breaths, she tried to marshal her thoughts, tried to remember the words she’d put together as she rode to this place. “I don’t want a divorce.”
His shoulders stiffened and his hands fisted by his sides. “You don’t want to be married to me.”
“I do. I want to be married to you.” The fancy words fell away and blunt truth was the only thing she had to offer. “In fact, I’ll force you to stay married to me if I have to.”
Wrenching around, he stared at her with blank astonishment. “What?”
“It’s true.” She met his glower without flinching. “I’m not letting you go.”
He paced away and she prepared to chase him once more, but he turned around and looked at her instead. His face was pale, but his eyes were now alive. Burning and alive. “I don’t understand.”
“Why did you let me think I had to marry you to save my family?” It was time they put everything on the table and cleared it away. Then, hopefully, they could move on to fulfill the promise of the marriage they could have. The happy marriage she’d sometimes glimpsed between their fights and misunderstandings.
Dante closed his eyes at her question and stood silent.
“Well?”
“You found out.”
“I talked to Papa.”
“Ah.” Running his hand through his hair, rumpling it into a complete mess that tugged at her heart, he paced away again. “Finally. The shoe drops. I thought you would find out way before this.”
“But I didn’t.” She wrestled with the chain of logic. There must be some kind of strange logic behind his actions. Her husband was not a man without a strategy. “What were you thinking? If I’d found out before the marriage—”
“You wouldn’t have married me,” he said with a wry grimace. “I was fully aware of that.”
“So you—”
“Hoped. Prayed.” His words landed between them, laced with a raw pain that caught at her throat. The steel cage of control he kept himself in was gone. In its place was a seething mass of emotion. It flowed through his words, contorted his face, stiffened his big body.
“That I wouldn’t find out.”
“Exactly.”
“Why did you do such a stupid thing?” The sun slanted across the last rolling hill, spilling a soft heat on her shoulders and head. The smell of dark earth and tangy vines imprinted the moment into her mind and soul. This was the moment when she and Dante would understand each other. This was the moment when it all would be laid bare.
She would forgive.
And surely, he would too.
“I lost my temper.” He wouldn’t meet her stare and his voice was filled with self-contempt.
She understood him at last.
“Dante. It’s all right to lose your temper.”
“No.”
“It’s okay to show your emotions.”
His hand slashed against her statement.
“Look at me.”
With stoic resignation, he glanced her way.
“I like it when you show your emotions,” she declared. “I like it when you lose your temper.”
“Please.” He made a sound of dismissal.
“I love it when you lose control.”
He shook his head and it filled her with anxiety. He didn’t understand what she was saying. Her mind scrambled, trying to find some way to get through to him. Some way to find out what she needed to know. “Let’s return to the beginning. When I came into Papa’s study that day—”
“And jumped to conclusions.”
“Why did you let me keep those conclusions?” Staring into his black, shuttered eyes, she tried to find the answer. “Why did you let me think so badly of you for all this time?”
His mouth thinned as if he wanted to contain the words.
�
��It’s time,” she stated. “Time to tell each other the truth.”
His eyes closed tight.
“Tell me.”
“Because I had to have you,” he admitted in a choked voice. “I knew you wouldn’t marry me unless I forced you.”
Anguish and chagrin reverberated through his words. She stepped forward and laid a hand on his chest, feeling the breath leave him. “Why did you have to have me? You could have married any number of women.”
He stared at her, astonished, as if she’d missed the most essential part of the puzzle. The essential part of him. “I couldn’t marry another woman.”
“Why?” She held her breath.
His gaze begged for her forgiveness, all defenses gone. “Because I love you.”
A shiny zing of pure joy filled her. This was the only thing she needed, the only thing she wanted. Everything that had come before could be forgiven and forgotten with love. “I forgive you.”
Dark eyes were suddenly veiled by dark lashes. “Grazie, bella,” he drawled. He started to withdraw, but her words stopped him.
“And I love you too.”
His mouth fell open and his gaze met hers.
“Dante, I love both sides of you. The cool, calm businessman and the passionate, emotional man beneath.” She touched her hand to his cheek, loving the rasp of his days-old beard. “Without your emotions, we would never have found each other. Without the honor and integrity that drives you, I would never have fallen in love with you. You don’t have to hide anything from me ever again. I love every part of you.”
His eyes widened and then the shadows, the shadows she hated, drifted over them. “You love me,” he halted, his mouth twisting in clear disbelief. “Yet, you do not want to have my children.”
“Not true.” She twisted her hand in his shirt, keeping him by her side. “Let me explain about the pills.”
His grudging nod gave her hope.
“When we married, I was angry.” She stared up into his pale countenance. “You knew that.”
“Si.”
Her confidence stuttered at his sharp slice of a word. Still, she kept at it. She had to win this battle because it meant the war between them would finally end. “I felt controlled. So I took control of the one area I could.”
“Controlled.” His eyes flashed with immediate understanding. “Like your first marriage. You got the pills to make a point.”
“Yes, if only to myself.” Her heart soared at his acknowledgment of her dilemma. “But I haven’t taken those pills in weeks.”
“No?” Lingering disbelief rang in his one word.
“No, I haven’t.” Her breath came out in spiky chops, emotion spilling into her words. “I want your children, Dante. I want you to love me and together we’ll have the children we both want. And we will love them just as much as we love each other.”
A poignant silence fell between them. She watched her husband, watched the tenseness of his shoulders fade, watched as his hands relaxed at his sides. Watched his face as he took her words and love in. “Lara,” he rasped.
“I love you.” She took her heart out of her soul and placed it in front of his feet. “I have loved you for all of my life and I always will.”
Her love coursed through him and joy flooded onto his face. Her heart bloomed as she saw he believed at last. “Bella.” He stepped toward her with his arms open.
Laughing, she put her arms around his neck and pulled him down, kissing his open mouth until he met her passion with his own.
“Madonna in cielo,” he murmured into her ear, pressing a string of kisses along her tingling skin. “Sognavo di te.”
“I’ve dreamed of you, too.” She smoothed her hands down his chest, trying to soothe and stir him at the same time. “I missed you, too.”
Groaning, he caught her mouth and the latent passion he kept under strict command poured out of him, blanketing her senses with overwhelming results.
She broke the kiss, pulling his head up to stare into eyes glazed with pleasure. “Never leave me again.”
“Never.” The glaze cleared and all that was left was pure love. “I have loved you for a long time. And I will love you forever.”
There was no sign of the unflappable man she’d married. Instead, before her stood a man who’d been pulled apart and put together again. He was complete beauty to her. His body was sweating, his hair a mess, his face flushed with emotion. And his eyes, those black, inscrutable eyes, were now sparkling with pure happiness. “I am…”
“You are mine,” she finished for him. Licking his salty skin, she reveled in the shiver that ran through him. “I want you. Now.”
With a yank, she pulled him down with her as she fell to the dusty ground.
“Lara.” Cushioning her fall by rolling onto his back, he tried to object. “Not here, tesoro mio.”
“Right here. Right now.” She slipped her hands underneath his shirt and stopped the last of his objections with her tongue and lips.
The sun’s rays dappled their skin as clothes flew and hands and mouths touched and sipped and gloried in their union. For the first time in her life, she was fully attuned to everything inside her and everything around her. This man made her whole, and filled her with a certainty of pure acceptance and love. He would be her champion and she would be his.
“Now, my love?” Holding himself above her, he gazed down, his skin red with passion, his eyes dark with love.
“Yes, Dante, yes.” And she pulled him to her.
Epilogue
Antony Pietro Tomas Casartelli was not pleased.
His naps were extremely important to him. In fact, other than eating, that was what he did the most: napping, sleeping, snoozing. Without his naps, his mamma said he turned grumpy and surly.
Which he had a right to do, obviously.
“Ssssh.” The high voice disturbed him again. “You’ll wake him, Lucia.”
“You ssssh,” another high voice whispered in response.
Antony opened his eyes and frowned.
“Oh, no.” The high voice turned into a shriek. “Now you’ve done it.”
“It’s your fault, not mine, Mia.”
With that, he threw his head back and roared.
“Now, now.” His mother’s stern voice came to him but he was in mid-roar and it felt too good to stop. Gentle hands pulled him up and he landed on a familiar soft bosom. Suddenly, he was hungry. He continued to roar knowing this was a sure way to get what he wanted. Food and attention.
“Girls.”
“I’m sorry, Mamma.”
“He’s so cute, Mamma. We couldn’t help looking at him.”
“I suppose it doesn’t matter since it’s time he ate.”
Soon, he was given what he wanted and he decided it was better to eat than to roar.
“Will he ever get taller?”
“Will he ever talk?”
These questions were highly offensive. Not worth the cessation of his morning snack, however, worth a glare. Antony managed to glare sideways. He met two sets of honey brown eyes staring at him with fascination.
“Yes, he will get taller and he will eventually talk when he’s ready.” His mamma smoothed a hand across his dark curls as she leaned back on the solid oak tree. “He will be bigger than both of you some day.”
Ha! he thought as he finished his meal.
“I don’t believe it.”
A chuckle escaped his mamma as she lifted him to her shoulder and patted between his shoulders. “But it’s true, Lucia. He’s a boy and built like your papa.”
“Papa’s huge.”
“My girls are talking about me?”
Antony cocked his head and stared across the lawn at his father, who was entering the garden through the stone door. At first, when he’d been young, he’d focused mainly on his mamma. He recognized her voice, her touch first. Plus, she was the source of his food. Very important. Lately, though, this large man had entered his awareness in a very determined way. His shoul
der was not as soft as his mamma’s, but for some reason, he liked to peer over it. It was so much farther off the ground than his mamma’s. And the man’s voice was deep and vibrant. The sound rolled through Antony’s brain and made him want to talk.
“How is mio figlio?” Warm, strong hands lifted him up and up. Landing on the hard shoulder he’d grown to appreciate, he stared down with superiority at two heads covered with dark curls and four honey eyes staring at him.
“Don’t you dare lift him over your head and bounce him, Dante,” his mamma scolded as she grabbed the blanket he’d been napping on and shook it out. “I just fed him. I don’t want him to spit everything up.”
“Spit. Yuck.” One of the small dark heads bobbed. “I’m too old to spit.”
“Me too.” The other head bounced in agreement.
“No son of mine will spit.” Antony found himself pulled away from the shoulder to meet a pair of black eyes. The eyes were filled with pride and love. The emotions sat very well on him. It was what he deserved. “My son can bellow to his heart’s pleasure, but no spitting.”
“He bellowed a lot a little while ago, Papa.”
“Si.” His father grinned down at the girls. “I heard him as I walked down the lane.”
“We didn’t mean to wake him.”
“But we did.”
“Because he’s cute.” His mamma’s face came into his view and she kissed him on his cheek.
“Cute?” His father’s voice was filled with mock horror. “He is not cute.”
“He’s still a baby.” His mamma kept smiling at him. “He’s allowed to be cute.”
“Not with my nose.”
Antony frowned. What was a nose?
“He does have your big nose, Papa.” The little voice was filled with concern.
“What is wrong with my nose?” his father objected.
His mamma’s glance swerved away from him and centered on his papa. “Nothing, Dante.” She smiled. “Your nose is exactly right for you. Just as I am.”
“So you are, bella.” The deep voice grew rich with love. “So you are.”
Antony leaned on the broad shoulder and contemplated taking another nap.
