by Day Leclaire
“Why not?”
“His family is—or maybe was—ridiculously wealthy. He didn’t need to work and invented as many excuses as possible to avoid it. Still, as my former friend and considering he’d set up the interview—”
“You expected David to be there.”
“Yes.” Constantine closed his eyes, all emotion draining from his voice. For some reason the very lack of emotion made the telling that much worse. “At some point I asked where he was and Aldo gave this laugh.”
“Oh, no.”
“I knew then. Aldo realized he’d given the game away and told me to let it go. That he’d make it worth my while. That it was only a little fun between consenting adults.”
“How many teeth did you knock out?”
A cold smile slashed across Constantine’s mouth. “Only one. It took me forever to track down my former friend. I arrived just in time.”
“Ariana doesn’t remember any of this?”
“Nothing of that night, no. Despite my attempts to hush it up, she later found out that David and some of his friends took bets to see who’d be the first to have her. Fortunately, whoever told her the tale prettied up the details somewhat. She assumed that d’Angelo and his friends were trying to make her fall in love with one of them in order to relieve her of her virginity. She thinks it was because of her name and status.”
“That’s bad enough.”
“True. But the actuality would have been far worse. He wanted her. But more than that, he wanted to hurt me. I could never have lived with myself if Ariana had found out that d’Angelo attempted to get back at me for ending our friendship by using her to make his point.”
Gianna rested her hand on his arm, feeling his muscles clench beneath her fingers. “I think it was more than making a point. He may have money, but you have something he could never hope to possess. Honor. Ethics. And a name that stood for just that. I suspect David couldn’t stand the idea of your possessing something he didn’t. Something he could never possess.” Constantine didn’t respond and she sensed she’d missed something. It only took a moment’s thought to key in on it. “It’s not your fault. You must realize that by now. You couldn’t have known David had an ulterior motive.”
She’d guessed right. Fury tore through him. “That’s just it, Gianna. I knew him. I should have known, or at least suspected what he might do. I’ll never forgive myself for putting my own selfish interests ahead of my duty and responsibility to Ariana. If I hadn’t been so desperate to gain financing for my business, I’d have guessed what d’Angelo was up to.”
“You did figure out what David was up to. And you rescued Ariana, just like you rescued me.” She pressed her fingertips to his mouth. “Before you say it, you’re also not to blame for tonight. You had no way of knowing that he would act so fast. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine. I should have listened to my instincts…and to you.”
He kissed her fingertips. Then he leaned in and kissed her. She surrendered to the embrace, helpless to resist. How could she have ever thought she’d someday feel this sort of desire for David? It either existed or it didn’t.
It was like The Inferno. Some people melded, driven together by forces beyond their control. Others didn’t. And even though she knew that Constantine wasn’t the only man capable of sparking The Inferno, she’d never felt it with anyone else. Did it really matter that he didn’t experience it the way she did? That for him, there’d been a glitch in the connection, enabling him to walk away from her? Couldn’t she be happy with what he was willing to give her?
He deepened the kiss and she moaned in longing. Why couldn’t he want her as much as she wanted him? As though to prove the point, he pulled back and brushed her hair behind her ear.
“Sleep now,” he said.
“Yeah, right. I’m sure your bedtime story will put me right off.”
“Try.” A slow smile played at the corner of his mouth. “For the sake of my sanity, please try.”
“Well, when you put it like that…”
She closed her eyes, if only to shut out the sight of him. And though she didn’t think she’d sleep, the instant she snuggled against him, she went under.
A loud pounding woke Gianna the next morning. She bolted upright in bed, disoriented. Confusion battled with a sudden, overwhelming alarm, made worse by the empty indentation beside her.
“Constantine?” His name escaped, edged with panic.
“Right here.”
At some point he’d left the bed and returned to the chaise. At the commotion emanating from below he stood, looking strong and rested despite all they’d been through the night before. His air of calm immediately relaxed her. He still wore the trousers from his tux, but hadn’t bothered to don the shirt or jacket he’d loaned her the night before, possibly because she’d left them in a heap in the corner of the bathroom.
She vaguely recalled hearing him in the shower at some point in the early hours of the morning, though a dark shadow clung to his jaw indicating he hadn’t borrowed a razor, and his hair fell across his brow in heavy, unruly waves. Despite that, his “morning after” look made him almost unbearably appealing.
He checked his watch. “Don’t get up. I’ll see who it is.”
“What if it’s David?”
He didn’t hesitate. “Then he’ll soon regret ever coming near you.”
She despised the wave of fear that swept through her when she thought about David. She’d never experienced that before. Nor had she ever considered herself weak or vulnerable. He’d stolen her innate feeling of security and, for that alone, she’d never forgive him. As for the rest, she’d find some way to make him pay for drugging her, for attempting to assault her. Because there wasn’t a doubt in her mind he would have done precisely that if she hadn’t gotten away.
Determined not to surrender to cowardice, she tossed aside the covers and swept up her robe. She tied the sash around her waist in a quick, angry motion, then followed Constantine from the bedroom. He opened the front door just as she reached the foyer. To her horror, Primo stood there, his gaze moving from a half-dressed Constantine to Gianna in her bathrobe, bare feet and bed-head hair.
Uh-oh. This couldn’t be good.
“May I come in?” Primo asked, excruciatingly polite.
Gianna thrust her hands through her hair in an effort to smooth the unruly curls. Not that it helped. It simply drew attention to the horror of it all. “Of course. We…I wasn’t expecting you.”
“This I can see.”
“I’ll start a pot of coffee,” Constantine said, and disappeared in the direction of the kitchen.
She didn’t know which was worse. The fact that he’d deserted her. Or the fact that—from her grandfather’s perspective—he was familiar enough with her home to fix the coffee. Not that he was. But it certainly must seem that way to Primo. Warmth burned her cheeks and she avoided his gaze.
She trailed after Constantine like a caboose on a runaway train, helpless to prevent it from careening onward to its predetermined destination. She didn’t have a hope in hell of preventing the coming disaster. Still, she was driven to try. “Just so you know, this isn’t what it looks like,” she said, in an attempt to divert the impending train wreck.
“It looks like Constantine has spent the night.”
Gianna reddened. Sharp curve ahead! “Well, yes, he did. But not the way you mean.”
“And which way is that, chiacchierona?” he asked gently.
“He…we…I—”
“Cream? Sugar?” Constantine interrupted.
Primo waved aside the offer. “Black. And strong enough to grow hair on my chest. At my age I could use some.”
Gianna decided to give up on trying to explain the situation to her grandfather. There was no excuse Primo would find acceptable to explain Constantine spending the night with her. “Please don’t take this the wrong way,” she said to him. “But what are you doing here?”
“Constantine called me.”
Shock froze her in place for an instant as her train jumped the track and completely derailed. She stood amidst the carnage and swung an outraged look in Constantine’s direction. “You. Called. Primo?” Didn’t he understand the ramifications of that?
Apparently he didn’t because he appeared neither concerned, nor the least apologetic. “Yes. I explained about d’Angelo. It was my duty.”
“Now that Constantine is your fiancé, it is only proper that he discuss such matters with me,” her grandfather informed her. He turned his attention to Constantine. “I have made some phone calls. My understanding is that d’Angelo has left the country. The claim is urgent business.”
“I’m not surprised.”
Primo nodded in agreement. “Nor am I.”
Gianna held up her hands. “Wait a minute. Wait just one darn minute here. Could we forget about David? If he’s left the country, he’s not of immediate concern.”
“He’s of concern to me,” Constantine retorted.
“I am also concerned,” Primo added with a nod.
She refused to allow them to sidetrack her. Her gaze narrowed on her grandfather. “First, Constantine is not my fiancé. And second, it was my place to tell you about last night, not his. I’m not some delicate piece of china to be placed on a shelf while the men take care of business. I’m a woman in charge of her own destiny.”
Primo gestured toward Gianna’s mug. “More sugar,” he instructed Constantine. “And for the sake of your marriage, I warn you to avoid conversation with our Gianna until after she has had a full cup of sweet coffee. Better if it is two.”
She gritted her teeth to keep from saying something she’d regret. “Primo—”
“Ascoltare me, Gianna Marie Fiorella.”
“Little flower?” Constantine murmured, his eyes filled with laughter. “Somehow I never thought of you that way.”
She shot him a smoldering look before returning her attention to Primo. “I’m listening.”
Her grandfather’s index finger thumped against the table. “In the eyes of your family, you are engaged to this man. He proposed to you last night in front of us all. And he has now spent the night with you.”
“But we didn’t—”
“He was in your bed?”
Color burned across her cheekbones. “Primo,” she muttered.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” He nodded as though that sealed the deal and drank a long swallow of coffee. “I will speak to the priest and discuss dates while you and your mother attend to such matters as the dress and flowers. Your babbo will have a conversation with Constantine about his duties as a husband. Are we clear on this matter?”
She waited a split second to see if Constantine planned to say something helpful. Anything. Apparently he didn’t, since he simply stretched out his long legs and buried his smile in the steam rising from his coffee mug. Gianna shot to her feet, tightening the belt of her robe with a swift jerk that nearly cut off her circulation.
Fine. She’d just claimed she was a woman in charge of her own destiny. Time to prove it. “I understand why you think we should marry, Primo. But you can’t force me to the altar.” She glared at Constantine. “None of you can. I’m not Luc and Téa to be threatened into a marriage I don’t want.”
“Who says you don’t want it?” Constantine spoke up for the first time. “You know perfectly well this is where our relationship has been heading. There was never any doubt about that.”
“What relationship?” she shot back. “We felt a few sparks. Exchanged a few kisses. But we don’t know anything about each other. Certainly not enough for marriage.”
“You have felt The Inferno with this man?” Primo broke into the conversation.
She’d never been able to lie to her grandfather. She doubted she’d be able to this time, either. She came as close as she could manage. “Maybe.”
Constantine held out his right hand, palm up. “Definitely. We felt it the first time we touched.” At Primo’s lifted brow, he added, “Ariana’s wedding.”
“So many months ago?” her grandfather marveled. “And you have not acted in all this time? How is this possible?”
Gianna stabbed a finger in Constantine’s direction. “My point exactly. How can it be The Inferno? If it were, he never could have stayed away. Certainly not this long.”
A hint of anger sparked in Constantine’s gaze and he slowly climbed to his feet, towering over her. “You know damn well why I stayed away.” It was a darn good thing she could speak Italian considering he used it every time he got angry. Which, it would seem, was often. “I had no choice.”
“You did have a choice. You chose to stay away,” she retorted, folding her arms across her chest. She didn’t care if it made her look defensive. She felt defensive.
“Chose?” Anger flashed, caught fire. “I had nothing to offer but my name.”
“That would have been more than enough for me,” she retorted.
“It would have dishonored me to live off my wife’s money and provide nothing in return,” he shot back. “For the past nineteen months I have worked day and night to build a business. And I succeeded. I succeeded well enough to move here. Did I ask you to come to me in Italy? No. Because I know how much your family means to you. Instead I opened my business in San Francisco so we would have each other and your family. And what do you tell me when I arrive?” Fury ripped through his voice. “You tell me you’ve moved on. Moved on!”
“It had been nearly two years,” she protested. “Was I supposed to wait forever?”
He kept going as though she’d never interrupted. “You had moved on to that bastard d’Angelo. A man without scruples, without honor. A man who tried to drug you in order to force you into marriage.”
“If he’d succeeded—” and just the thought had her breaking out in a cold sweat “—I would have told him the same thing I’m telling you. I won’t be forced into marriage. Not by anyone, for any reason.”
“I don’t understand. If you don’t want marriage, then what the hell do you want from me, Gianna?” Constantine demanded. “Why am I here? Or have these past nineteen months been a waste of my time?”
Good question. She planted her hands on her hips and spared her grandfather a swift glance. He continued to drink his coffee, watching the drama unfolding with an expression of utter delight. Honestly. There were times her family drove her crazy. She looked at Constantine uncertainly. “Are you interested in marriage?”
He swore. “Why do you think I returned? Why do you think I’m listening to this craziness instead of carting you off to bed and spending the next week compromising you so thoroughly you’ll have no choice but to marry me?”
Color darkened her cheeks. This time she didn’t dare look at her grandfather, though she heard his soft, choked laughter. She held up her hands. “Enough, already. If you’re serious about a relationship, then you’ll have to go about it the normal way. The old-fashioned way.”
That stopped him. “What are you talking about?”
Exasperated, she said, “I’m talking about dating, Constantine. I’m talking about going out to dinner and getting to know each other. Learning each other’s likes and dislikes. Figuring out whether or not we’re actually compatible.” She shoved her palm in his direction and shook it at him. “This isn’t any guarantee of happiness. I happen to know that for a fact.”
Silence reigned at the end of her tirade.
“Exactly how do you know this for a fact, chiacchierona?” Primo asked, the question dropping into the abrupt silence.
Oh, no. She refused to go there. Refused to share the secret she’d kept since her thirteenth birthday. Her entire family believed implicitly in The Inferno, believed that it was permanent and everlasting. No way would she be the one to disabuse them of a legacy they celebrated and cherished.
She folded her arms across her chest and—for once in her life—closed her mouth and kept it closed.
To her profound relief, Constantine inadvertently
came to her rescue. “Gianna has a point,” he offered, albeit reluctantly. “Even though we’ve known each other for more than a year and a half, we’ve only been together for a handful of days.”
“What do you suggest?” Primo asked.
“Time,” Gianna immediately replied. “Time for the two of us to become better acquainted. To look before we leap.”
Primo didn’t want to agree, she could see it in the brilliant gold of his eyes. After a moment’s reflection, he nodded, also reluctantly. “Very well. I will say nothing of what I have learned here this morning while I give you this time.” He fixed Gianna with a cool, pointed stare. “One month, chiacchierona. After that you marry, willing or not, even if I have to carry you down the aisle, myself.”
Six
The instant Primo left, Gianna retreated upstairs, no doubt to change. Constantine followed. He wasn’t about to give her the opportunity to fortify her barricades or find a loophole buried within Primo’s ultimatum.
“I need to change,” she informed him the instant he entered her bedroom.
He made himself comfortable on her chaise lounge. “I’m not stopping you.”
She turned on him, planting her hands on her hips. “What is it with you? Last night I practically threw myself at you and you wanted nothing to do with me. This morning you won’t give me an inch to breathe.”
“You have an inch.” He eyeballed the distance between them. “By my calculation, you have quite a few inches.”
“You know what I mean.”
She must have realized he had no intention of leaving. With a sigh of irritation, she spun on her heel and crossed to her closet, flinging open the door and disappearing inside. Curious, he followed.
“Madre di Dio,” he murmured faintly.
“I don’t want to hear a word about it,” she retorted, her back to him.
He thought he caught a defensive edge in her voice. “Just out of curiosity, how many pairs of shoes do you own?” he asked.
She turned, clutching a pair of heels. “Not enough.” She glanced at the huge rack of tidily shelved shoes which covered every spectrum of the rainbow. “Besides, they’re not all mine. Some of them are Francesca’s. We discovered a while back that we wear identical sizes.”
