His mouth moved into something like a smile, dangerous and edgy. ‘Not the kind of life you expected as my wife, is it?’
‘I didn’t have any expectations. But if I had, I can honestly say you’ve exceeded them,’ she replied truthfully. ‘You’ve left me hungry for more.’
His shoulders tensed. ‘More?’ his tone was steely as though he was bracing himself for her exorbitant demands. His eyes narrowed as he held her gaze, looking like some pagan god of war. ‘What is it that you want more of, Alexi?’
‘More of you.’ she said, staring at him with unflinching certainty. ‘Much more.’
‘We’ll see,’ he muttered dubiously.
Her stomach lurched with a strange mix of excitement and trepidation as the plane began its decent and Gold Ridge station came into view. The size of the place made it look hugely prosperous. And backed by the wealth of the mine, it had to be.
Everything seemed meticulously organized; squares of fenced stockyards, rows of buildings with galvanized iron roofing, strategically placed water-tanks, pipe lines running up from a large waterhole that had been dammed into a creek, avenues of shade trees and shelter belts. It was nothing like she expected. Isolated it might be, but there was a hive of activity.
In the distance she made out several men on quad bikes, riding up the rugged terrain, men on horseback milling around what appeared to be sizable stables, and a group of people were standing around the airstrip. Clearly Gold Ridge Station was a thriving community of people who helped run it and who would provide her with company if she ever needed it.
Whatever the life was like here, she would adjust to it, Alex vowed, as the plane touched down on the airstrip. As she stepped onto the tarmac Alex gazed up at the ancient alpine ranges, towering thousands of meters tall in the near distance. They were the bright, mysterious mountains of childhood dreams and fantasy. This was an enchanted Enid Blyton landscape, full of magic and blurred boundaries and snowflakes in winter which fell from heaven.
Her heart pulsed, so great and immediate was her love for the place which meant so much to her husband. She understood now the hold this land—his mistress—had on Vitali. Nothing could surpass her wildly exotic beauty.
A baby deer peered at her from amongst the wild mountain tussocks, its bright eyes regarded her with primal wisdom. She half expected it to speak in this charmed, magical place. Something was calling to her. As clear as a clarion bell.
Call it intuition, call it magic—call it love. She didn’t know what it was, but its impossible message was plain. “Stay,” it whispered. “Stay in the foothills of these magic mountains. Let nothing tear you away.”
The first people Alex saw when she and Vitali stepped out of the plane were a group of Maori boys perched on a nearby fence. They were waving madly at them with huge grins on their faces. Alex laughed and waved back, and in the next instant they jumped off the railings and scampered away, up towards the houses, giggling
‘Who are they?’ she asked Vitali.
‘The children of our stockmen, part of George Whiti’s extended family. They were here before the English ever colonized this country. As far as I’m concerned this is their home.’ He gave Alex a warning look ‘This is where they stay for as long as they want.’
‘Of course,’ she agreed.
His eyes probed her with sharp intensity. ‘No racial prejudice?’
‘No. Why should they be?’ She said matter-of-factly. What a strange thing to ask.
He shrugged and Alex saw the tension ease from his face as though she had passed yet another test.
‘First impressions will count with your people,’ she whispered, tucking her arm around his.‘Kiss me, Vitali and show them I’m the woman you love.’
He gave a low laugh and pulled her arm more firmly around his and kissed her on the cheek as a sleek black Range Rover Sport, dust billowing behind it, came to halt at the bottom of the aircraft steps.
‘Alexandra, this is Robert McKee. He and his wife, Dara, manage the place in my absence. Robert, this is Alexandra, my beautiful wife.’
How long would he manage to keep projecting a lovely indulgent manner? I may as well enjoy it while it lasts, she thought as she snuggled into him.
‘Please call me Bob,’ Robert McKee said, holding out a freckled hand. His lips and eyes beamed in heartfelt approval. ‘I never thought I’d see the day,’ he laughed, ‘You must be some lady, melting that steel heart of his. Me and the wife look forward to getting to know you more.’
Bob Rossi was well into his fifties, a lean, wiry man whose weather-beaten face was creased in mirth. His hair was ginger-gray, his eyes sparkling clear blue. Alex took his hand and smiled as his hand closed around hers, giving her a gentle squeeze of encouragement.
‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Bob. Very pleased indeed,’ she said as he released her hand and gave Vitali a playful pat on the back. ‘American?’ he remarked in surprise. ‘You’re a long way from home, I hope you’ll be happy here with us, Mrs. Rossi.’
‘Thank you. You know, I really do feel quite at home already, Mr. McKee,’ she said, warmly.
Bob McKee flashed her an approving grin. ‘I didn’t think Vitali would pick a wuss!’
‘Wuss?’
‘A wet blouse…a….’ then registering her confusion, Bob McKee came right out with the question that seemed to be on everyone’s minds, ‘a quitter!’
‘Oh, I can assure you, I’m no quitter. ‘
Alex felt Vitali's arms gently squeeze her waist, before he dropped them stiffly and reached for their luggage. ‘Enough standing around,’ Vitali said, impatiently. ‘There’s work to do.’
Alex’s suitcase was packed into the Range Rover while Bob chattered on about how delighted everyone was with the news of their marriage. Vitali had sent word ahead, Bob informed her, and every man, woman and child—and deer, he chucked in, enjoying his own humor, on Gold Ridge Station was waiting to meet the woman that had claimed the bosses heart.
And they were there to look her over too, Alex though with a flutter of nerves.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Alex worried briefly about her choice of clothes, then reminded herself that she didn’t want people judging or evaluating or responding in any way to what she wore, but to the person she was and the person she was choosing to be—the loving wife of Vitali Rossi. And in this last point alone she was relieved to have an advantage.
The staff were obviously fond of Vitali and held him in high regard. Surely everyone was ready to like her because he had chosen her to be his wife. Still, she was certain that winning their affection on her own account would be another test she would have to pass if she was to win Vitali's respect.
Alex was too preoccupied with the task ahead of her to take in everything as the Range Rover bumped along the rough terrain between the farm buildings, stables, barns and staff houses. They were all built of local stone, and their natural beauty and affinity with the landscape impressed themselves briefly in her consciousness until she caught sight of the big house.
No big was not the right word. Ginormous didn’t even do it justice!
Vitali had told her the property was set over 1850 hectares of land across a glacial valley. He had told her it was an award-winning home, designed by a pre-eminent New Zealand architect specializing in eco-architecture. But what he couldn’t possibly have begun to describe, was the raw power of its natural beauty. The house was created from stone reflected the schist and moraine boulder deposits from the substructure of the surrounding land. It blended seamlessly within the rugged setting of the glacial valley with 180-degree views of the surrounding mountains.
Surrounding it was an incredible array of flora including native brown top grasses and wild native mountain tussocks. Sculptures crafted by New Zealand and international artists complimented the natural beauty of the property’s lakes, waterways and wetland areas.
‘The Wolves are Coming', Bob McKee said, following Alex’s gaze as she studied a sculpture
near the entrance of the house. ‘A hundred and ten life sized wolves, cast in iron’, he said, gesturing to it.
Alex’s gaze locked on the lone man, forged in iron, standing his ground, his sword raised, as the wolves snapped and snarled at his feet
‘When Vitali first saw it in Beijing he was instantly captivated,’ said Bob. ‘It’s a major work from China, the start of expanding his sculpture collection internationally.’
Captivated was one way of putting it, Alex mused as she studied the disturbing yet fascinating fortified steel. There stood a man, a David amongst a Goliath of wolves. Their lips bared back from piranha-like teeth, yet he showed no fear. His face was a mask of steel, his body and soul seemed battle-weary from the unrelenting duel for survival.
You are what you art.
If this was the case what did the piece her husband had chosen reveal about Vitali—his personality and the wounds of his past? The sculpture reminded her of man, a warrior, a knight who would not be overcome, nor possessed, nor defeated. A man, like the wolves who refused to be tamed.
‘It’s an interesting piece,’ she said, turning to Bob McKee, ‘My agent told Clive Gagos that when you choose a work of art it’s as much an expression of who you are as the artist that created it.’
She lifted the tone of her voice toward the end of the sentence as though her statement were a question. Bob was a man who perhaps could help her unlock the mystery of her husband, and help her open the door to his troubled past and impenetrable heart.
Bob McKee laughed. ‘You know there may be something in that.’
‘When you think of wolves what comes to mind?’ She pressed.
He regarded her thoughtfully, then glanced back at the sculpture. ‘This may seem strange, but for some reason all I can think of is those children that you hear about in the news sometimes—you know, the ones that are raised by wolves. Isolated from human contact from a very young age, with little experience of human care or love…’ His words trailed off.
‘Even the fiercest of wolves will embrace a stranger as their own and from then only through death do they part,’ he said, as though reading her mind. ‘Anyhow, we’d best rattle our dags—your husband will be wondering where we got to.’
Alex’s stomach knotted as she reflected on his words. Was this what had happened to Vitali? Had his father died trying to defend himself, the goldmine, or the woman he loved?
Had Vitali, then at a vulnerably young age, been abandoned by his mother, neglected and left in this isolated place, devoid of love. Did this painful yet fascinating and powerful statue remind him of the past and affirm his solitary guarded nature? If so, what hope was there for her?
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Alex had little time to contemplate the questions. A crowd of people were lined up on the sweeping deck perched atop craggy rocks like the rim of a flying saucer. They waved and called out excited greetings to her and Bob as the Land Rover came to a halt in front of them.
The next hour was an exhausting one for Alex. She was introduced to some fifteen families and she tried hard to remember the names and the various occupations of all the adults-a mechanic, governess, book-keeper, horse-breaker, cook and on and on…white faces and brown and every shade in between, all expressing a friendly welcome. Vitali, to her intense relief and pleasure, gave her every support, exhibiting the quiet pride expected of a newly-wed and doting husband.
If only he wasn’t acting, she mused sadly. As soon as the courtesies were over, he stated that he and Bob had business to discuss. He smoothly passed Alex over to the care of Dara McKee, Bob’s wife, who was instructed to show her through the house.
Alex bit back a protest and hid her disappointment that Vitali didn’t see fit to show her through her new home himself. Now was not the time to make a stand with so many other people around, but sooner or later she would make him recognize that she wasn’t going to be fobbed off and cut out of his life with such pastimes as interior decoration.
She was going to be his in partner in every sense. In the meantime, she did need to get her bearings and make friends with Dara McKee. She had gained little insight from Bob, but perhaps his wife would be less reticent in sharing all she knew about Vitali and his life.
The older woman was eager to be as accommodating as possible and Alex quickly warmed to her cheerful and open personality. She was a big-boned, wide hipped woman with white hair and lively brown eyes. Her thick hair was pulled back from her strong face and tied in a practical, no-nonsense bun. She smiled and laughed frequently with the easy confidence of someone who was adored, and who loved her life here.
As they toured the massive property it was clear that Dara was as proud of it as though it were her own. Which it was in a way. She and Bob lived in the western wing.
‘How long have you been at Gold Ridge Station, Dara?’ Alex asked.
‘Oh, we’ve been here ever since Vitali was a boy. I practically raised him after his mother—’ she pressed her lips together. ‘Some thirty-odd years now,’ she said, glancing out to the glacial peaks. ‘Our two boys were only youngsters liked Vitali when Mr. Rossi, Vitali’s father, asked us to move in and manage the place. He used to bring Vitali across from his boarding school in London for his holidays.’ She looked at Alex solemnly, ‘He was always too busy with work to stay here with the boy himself.’
Dara shook her head in bewilderment. ‘Bob and I were born and bred around here. We love it. So does Vitali. But his mother…Do you know, she’s never been back…all these years?’ She frowned and darted an anxious glance at Alex. ‘I suppose you either love it or hate it. I guess you’ll find it very different from your life in New York.’
‘Yes, it’s quite a change—thankfully. I think I love it already. Just like I fell in love with Vitali the first time I saw him.’
She wasn’t exaggerating. The feelings she felt for Vitali had been instant and now this house of his…’ she pondered as they continued the tour of her new home, a home that accurately reflected who he really was and what he valued. It exulted an equally powerful and instantaneous effect.
The rooms were grand and lofty—full of light, and revealing surprising vistas. Mysterious, unexpected shadows interplayed against the pristine white walls adding layer upon layer of depth. Naturally the house was adorned with beautiful artworks—once again all landscapes, an eclectic and interesting mix of old and modern juxtaposing naturally.
The furniture was designed equally for show as it was comfort—this was not a museum, a show-pony of a house, nor a machine to be lived in, but a home to be loved, to be embraced, to leave an imprint upon a person’s soul.
‘Vitali gives people he cares for free-range. He only asks one thing—to respect his private space.’ Dara said, nodding to the north-facing wing.
As Alex continued her tour of the house she could think of only one room she would like to bring her woman’s touch. The wing that guarded the passage to her husband’s heart. The North Wing. Vitali's true north. His inner sanctum—the area where access was denied and fiercely guarded. But while she was impatient to break down his walls, she knew better than to hurry him. Little by little she would win his respect, then his trust and then his heart. Of that she was certain.
Almost.
‘Vitali has arranged for you to have your own room,’ Dara said, avoiding looking at Alex.
‘Of course,’ Alex said quietly, not wanting to reveal her hurt surprise. ‘I enjoy my space and privacy as much as he does.’
Like the wolves of his sculpture Vitali remained an unpredictable beast. While he had been true to his word and there appeared to be every modern comfort she could possibly desire, there was another thing she would never care for—their separate bedrooms.
It was archaic. Medieval. Primitive. Hurtful. As though he was the king and she was a wench who would be at his disposal should he command it; or worse, as though she was a wife he did not want to bed.
When Dara left Alex to settle in by herself, she did some s
erious rethinking of her position.
The separation of the bedrooms seemed to be symptomatic of the separation of responsibilities at Gold Ridge Station. The division of labor was very definitely drawn. The women ran the domestic chores; the men worked the farm. Of course, they were interdependent; one without the other would never survive. Normally Alex would not have considering meddling with a system that by all accounts seemed to suit everyone well.
Well enough for everyone except her.
She wouldn’t be able to develop the sense of working together with her husband unless she did something that would be of very real value to him. Something positive that met the challenge of the land itself. That was what he cared about. That was his pleasure. His passion. Controlling the uncontrollable, Vitali had said so.
If she didn’t come up with some workable plan that would impress him, he would keep her on the periphery of his life. She would be just a convenient woman—and an inconvenient wife. And she desperately wanted to be at the heart of everything, with him standing proudly at her side.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Alex took a shower and changed into her lace dress in deference to the fact that this would be their first dinner in their real home. Her suitcase of clothes made little impact in the cupboards in the dressing-room, and she made a mental note to ask her mother to send out the rest of her clothes. Then, she went into Vitali's room entering through their common bathroom and dressing room.
Her heart hammered against her ribs as she stepped into his sacred space. It was wrong to go against his command, but there would be no sense of togetherness at all if Vitali insisted on keeping separate bedrooms. That had to be settled before anything else and here was a domain in which she may be able to bring some womanly control. Control which she must demonstrate right now.
The Italian Billionaire’s Scandalous Marriage: An Italian Billionaire Romance (Italian Billionaire Christmas Brides Book 2) Page 15
