To Wear His Ring Again

by Chantelle Shaw

  ‘When I first met you, I was a nobody, just an ordinary office assistant who dreamed of making it as a singer but never really believed it would happen. When I fell pregnant, my hopes and plans for the future were centred on being a mother to our baby and nothing else seemed as important.’ A shadow of pain crossed her expressive face. ‘But after we lost Arianna, I felt...irrelevant. I wasn’t a mother and I sensed from the widening gap between us that I didn’t live up to your expectations of a good wife.’

  She shook her head when he looked as though he was going to argue. ‘We both know that our marriage wasn’t working. I guess we dealt with our grief about the baby in different ways. I wanted to talk about Arianna but you withdrew into yourself, and I had no idea what you were thinking...or feeling.’

  ‘So you turned to your friends who you had known since you were a child,’ Constantin said heavily. In his heart, he knew he had not been able to give her the support she had needed from him. He had shied away from acknowledging the pain of losing their baby. It had been easier to lock his emotions away and ignore them—just as he had done as a young boy when his mother had died—but in doing that he had also ignored Isobel’s need for them to grieve together for Arianna.

  ‘I poured my feelings into the songs I wrote, and found some small comfort playing the piano and creating music. When I’d moved to London from Derbyshire with the rest of the band, we played gigs in pubs, but I stopped performing after I married you. I hadn’t thought about the band becoming successful when we started performing again, it was just something to take my mind off the miscarriage. But to my amazement the Stone Ladies were spotted by a record producer and everything quickly escalated.’

  She leaned across the table and trapped Constantin’s gaze. ‘When the Stone Ladies were offered a record contract it was a chance for all of us in the band to have the music career that we had longed for since we were teenagers. My father had told me I was a fool to chase a dream, but the dream was coming true. I had an opportunity to be someone in my own right, not a daughter, or a wife, but me, a girl from nowhere who was suddenly a serious musician earning more money that I’d ever imagined.’

  Constantin frowned. ‘You were married to a billionaire and did not need to earn money.’

  ‘Yes, I did,’ Isobel said fiercely. ‘It was important to me to make my own way in the world. On our wedding day, at the reception, I overheard a comment from one of the guests that I had landed myself a meal ticket for life.’

  The memory of that excruciating moment still made Isobel shudder. The catty remark had been made by Contessa Ghislaine Montenocci, a member of the Italian nobility who looked down her thin, aristocratic nose at anyone who did not have a title. ‘I felt embarrassed, like I’d felt when the kids at school called my family scroungers because my father claimed unemployment benefit.

  ‘Being a professional singer gave me a sense of pride.’ Her voice became husky. ‘I wanted to make my father proud of me, although I’m not sure he ever was. I...I also hoped that you might be more interested in me if I had a successful career,’ she admitted. ‘The women we met at social events, the wives of your friends, were all sophisticated and well educated,’ she explained when he looked surprised. ‘I felt I couldn’t compete with them.’

  ‘I never wanted you to compete with them,’ Constantin said tersely. ‘I was happy with you the way you were.’

  ‘If that was true, why did you become so cold towards me? The truth is that you didn’t feel proud of me as your wife, and no amount of designer dresses or expensive jewellery could turn me into a glamorous marchesa.’

  Isobel stared at Constantin’s chiselled features and felt frustrated that she could not make him understand. ‘You told me once that your appointment as CEO of De Severino Eccellenza, and your success in driving the company forwards and making it one of Italy’s highest earning businesses, was your greatest achievement.’ She sighed. ‘Being part of a successful band is my greatest achievement. But my career was one of the things that drove us apart.’

  A nerve jumped in his jaw. ‘We weren’t driven apart. You walked out.’

  Isobel tore her eyes from the angry gleam in his and looked down at her half-eaten dinner. Suddenly she had lost her appetite, and it seemed that Constantin was no longer hungry because he called the waiter over and requested the bill.

  They walked back to the penthouse in silence, both of them lost in their private thoughts. Isobel’s statement that her singing career had given her a sense of self-worth had touched a chord in Constantin. DSE’s increased profits, and the fact that the company had become a globally recognised brand name since he had taken over as CEO, were the two things in his life that he felt proud of.

  The trauma of witnessing his father and stepmother’s fatal accident, and the terrible suspicion that Franco might have been responsible for the tragedy, haunted Constantin. Since that dreadful day, he had avoided relationships that demanded his emotional involvement and instead focused his energy and passion on the company.

  But his uncle Alonso was threatening to award the chairmanship of DSE to his gutless cousin Maurio.

  It would make all his hard work over the past decade a waste of time, Constantin thought savagely. The company would not last five minutes with Maurio in charge. When he had asked Isobel to give their marriage another chance his sole aim had been to convince his uncle to appoint him Chairman. He glanced at her walking beside him, and his jaw tensed as he noted the admiring looks she attracted from every red-blooded male they passed. Somewhere along the line his priorities had changed, he acknowledged.

  Isobel looked up at the full moon suspended like a huge silver disc in an indigo sky. The night air was warm and the bars and street cafés were busy. It was the first time in months that she had walked down a street without glancing over her shoulder and wondering if the stalker was watching her. The police still hadn’t caught David, but she felt able to relax while she was in Rome with Constantin.

  Although she did not feel very relaxed as he curved his arm around her waist when they walked past a group of young men. The close contact with his body sent molten heat surging through her veins, and memories of happier times they had shared tugged on her heart. When they had stayed in Rome soon after they were married he had taken her to dinner at Pepe’s, and on the way home he had paused at every street corner to kiss her. By the time they had reached the apartment they’d been so hot for one another that they had only made it as far as the nearest sofa, she remembered.

  Her face grew warm as she visualised him stripping her naked and pushing her back against the cushions, slipping his hand between her thighs to find her wet and ready for him. She had always been ready for him, she thought ruefully.

  ‘Would you like a nightcap?’ he enquired as they entered the penthouse.

  ‘No, thanks. I think I’ll go straight to bed.’ Isobel could not meet his gaze when her mind was full of images of him making love to her. ‘Hopefully we’ll hear from the British police tomorrow that they have caught the stalker. I’ll be able to go home, and once the divorce is finalised we will be free of each other.’

  Constantin’s eyes narrowed. ‘Is that really what you wish for, Isabella?’

  ‘Yes.’ Emotion choked her voice. Dinner at Pepe’s had been a poignant reminder of everything she had lost, everything that might have been. ‘I admit I had wondered if perhaps there was a chance we could get back together, but our conversation tonight proved that our differences are too great.’

  She did not trust herself to continue and turned away from him before he saw the tears she was trying to hold back. ‘It’s like you said, Constantin. There’s no point dwelling on the past. We need to move forwards, in our case, on separate paths.’

  * * *

  Constantin stood in front of the sliding glass doors in his bedroom, which led outside to a balcony that ran the length of penthouse
and overlooked the piazza. Not that he ever ventured onto the balcony, but the view across the city even through the pane of glass was spectacular. Tonight, however, as he nursed a crystal tumbler of single malt, he barely registered Rome’s famous historical skyline. Instead his thoughts were focused on his wife, who was occupying the guest room next door to his suite.

  It was happening again. He had spent less than twenty-four hours in her company and already his resolve to keep his distance from her was under threat. He swallowed a mouthful of whisky and seriously contemplated drinking the entire bottle in the hope that it would dull the ache in his gut.

  It was her smile that did it, he brooded. When Isobel smiled her whole face lit up—like when she’d recognised Pepe’s Trattoria, and when she’d noticed the yellow roses in her room. She was the only woman he knew who would prefer to be given roses than diamonds.

  He frowned as he recalled her telling him that her father had been out of work for much of her childhood and the family had been dependent on social welfare. Finally he understood why she was so fiercely independent. She had said that her career with the Stone Ladies had given her a sense of pride, but he had believed that she had left him because she was in love with the band’s guitarist Ryan Fellows.

  Jealousy was a poisonous emotion, he thought grimly. It festered in your soul like a vile worm. It was a shameful secret that he was determined to keep hidden from Isobel. For her safety he must control the green-eyed monster that he was convinced he had inherited from his father. Dio, tonight at the restaurant he had wanted to kill the young waiter who had flirted with her.

  Was that how his father had felt when his beautiful young wife had smiled at other men?

  Constantin pictured his stepmother’s laughing face. He saw her tossing her hair and leaning forwards so that her breasts almost fell out of her tiny bikini top. Be an angel and put sun cream on my back, Con, sweetie.

  He had gone home to Casa Celeste for the school holidays and had spent all summer having erotic fantasies about his stepmother. His father had noticed him following Lorena around like a lovesick puppy and there had been a huge row. He had never seen Franco as angry as he had been that day. Later, he had heard his father and Lorena arguing on the balcony.

  Santa Madonna! Would the images in his mind ever fade? He finished his drink, but as he was about to turn away from the window a movement outside caught his attention. Isobel had stepped onto the balcony, and Constantin was transfixed as the breeze moulded her long white silk nightgown against her slender body. In the moonlight she was ethereal and so very lovely that the ache inside him intensified.

  For her sake he had to ignore the hot throb of desire that skewered his insides, he reminded himself. But despite his good intentions he could not stop looking at her. She had her back to him and his eyes lingered on the twin curves of her bottom beneath her silky gown. As he watched she leaned further forwards over the balcony railing.

  A vision from the past flashed into his mind. His stepmother leaning over the balcony rail; falling, falling... Lorena’s scream echoed inside his head.

  ‘Get away from there!’ The calm of the velvet night air was shattered by Constantin’s loud shout. Startled, Isobel looked round, and gave a cry of fright when he clamped his hands around her waist like a vice and lifted her off her feet, bundling her through the sliding glass doors into his bedroom.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘What am I doing? Mio Dio, what were you doing leaning over the railing like that?’ He swore savagely and raked his hair back from his brow with a hand that was actually shaking, Isobel noticed. He was grey beneath his tan, and the expression in his eyes was like none she had ever seen before. For a few seconds she saw stark terror in his eyes before he swung away from her, poured whisky from the bottle into a glass and gulped it down.

  ‘I was trying to get a better view of the fountains. Constantin...I was quite safe. The balcony rail is too high for me to have fallen over.’

  He slowly turned back to her, and she was relieved to see he had regained some colour in his face. To her surprise, he looked almost embarrassed by his strange behaviour.

  ‘I guess I overreacted,’ he muttered. ‘It’s just that I hate heights.’

  Her eyebrows rose. ‘You hate heights, yet you live in a penthouse with a balcony.’ She compressed her lips in an unsuccessful attempt to disguise their betraying quiver.

  ‘It’s not funny,’ he snapped.

  ‘Oh, come on, Constantin, it is a bit,’ Isobel giggled. Her shock when he had grabbed hold of her and hauled her in off the balcony—coming so soon after the shock of being attacked by the stalker—had left her feeling slightly crazy. ‘You must have one of the best views of Rome but you’re too scared to enjoy it.’ She gave a peal of laughter. ‘It’s the most human reaction you’ve ever shown.’

  Constantin closed his eyes and tried to block out the memories that swirled like black storm clouds in his brain. It was no good. He could not prevent the film reel in his mind from playing.

  He was seventeen and spending the summer at Casa Celeste. He saw his father and Franco’s young, pretty second wife standing on the balcony at the top of the tower. He heard his father’s harsh voice and Lorena’s high-pitched tones. Standing below in the courtyard, Constantin had realised they were arguing again. For years afterwards he had been unable to remember who had moved first—his father, or Lorena. His heart had crashed with fear as he saw Lorena topple over the balcony railing and fall through the air. He would never forget the sound of her scream. Moments later he had watched his father fall after Lorena. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion but it must have only been seconds before he heard two thuds. Thankfully he had closed his eyes at the moment of impact. For years he had blanked out the details of what he had witnessed—until his nightmares had revealed exactly what had taken place on the balcony.

  He jerked his eyes open and saw Isobel staring at him. She had teased him for being scared of heights, but she had no idea of the stark terror that had seized him when he had seen her lean over the balcony.

  ‘Surely not, cara,’ he said grittily. ‘I have never failed to react like a normal human male when I’m with you.’

  Isobel belatedly realised that he was furious with her for teasing him. Remembering the strained look on his face when he had rushed onto the balcony, she acknowledged that her amusement had been misplaced.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she muttered. But her apology was also too late. The glitter in Constantin’s eyes warned her that she had pushed him beyond his limit. But while her brain urged her to run from his room, her limbs refused to obey. The atmosphere between them trembled with tension that built, second by simmering second, until it was an explosive force.

  He swore as he caught hold of her and dragged her towards him. ‘It will be my pleasure to demonstrate that I have all the normal human reactions, mia bella,’ he told her harshly. Without giving her a chance to reply, he brought his mouth down on hers and kissed her with savage possession.

  Constantin slid his hands down and clasped Isobel’s bottom in a statement of bold intent. She felt the heat of his touch brand her through her thin nightgown and she gasped as he dragged her hard against him, forcing her pelvis into contact with the solid length of his arousal. He gave her no opportunity to voice her objection as he plundered her mouth and stole his pleasure, thrusting his tongue between her lips and exploring her with a flagrant eroticism that turned her bones to liquid.

  The fire had been building all evening. Long before that, she conceded, remembering the electricity that had sizzled between them when she had watched him working out in the gym at his London home. Their hunger for each other had always been a driving force in their relationship, and however much her common sense told her to stop the madness her body recognised its master and was a willing slave to the delicious sensations he was creating with his hands
and mouth.

  He trailed his lips down her throat, each kiss sending a little shockwave through her that made every nerve-ending tingle. She arched her neck and gave herself up to hedonistic pleasure that intensified when he drew the straps of her gown over her shoulders and peeled the sheer silk away from her breasts.

  She knew she should stop him, but the realisation that she was playing into his hands was driven from her mind when he cupped her breasts in his palms and kneaded them gently. It felt so good, but good became unbelievably wonderful as he flicked his thumb pads across her nipples, sending starbursts of sensation from her breasts down to her pelvis. The ache there grew to a desperate need that made her press her hips to his so that the hard bulge beneath his trousers rubbed against the hidden sweet spot at the heart of her femininity.

  He growled something against her mouth and with one fluid motion yanked her nightgown over her hips and it slithered to the floor, leaving her naked to his glittering gaze. She made a little murmur of embarrassment as he slid his hand between her legs and gave her a mocking smile when he parted her and discovered the moist heat of her arousal.

  ‘It appears that your human reactions work well too, tesorino.’

  She closed her eyes to block out his cynical expression. ‘Constantin—don’t!’ Taunting her about her weakness for him was bad enough, but his casual use of the endearment that she had once hoped meant that he cared for her was heartbreaking.

  He caught hold of her chin and tilted her head up. ‘Tears, Isabella?’ An expression of pain flitted across his hard-boned face. She looked fragile and achingly vulnerable, the bruises on her arms a grim reminder of her narrow escape from the mentally disturbed stalker who had become obsessed with her. ‘Do you honestly believe I would hurt you?’

  Isobel recalled his stark expression when he had leaned over her hospital bed. I will never forgive myself for putting you in danger, he’d told her with a roughness in his tone that she had never heard before.