by Deana Birch
Within minutes they were standing at the entrance to an elaborately decorated ballroom swarming with more faces Claire recognized than she cared to acknowledge and a specific one that made her stomach clench—the raven-haired beauty that had appeared on Luca’s cell phone with the wailing child.
After Luca and the woman exchanged hugs and kisses on the cheek, he turned to her with a smile beaming with pride. “Claire, I’d like you to meet my cousin Gianna.”
Cousin. The relief racing through her was confusing and welcome. “It is lovely to meet you. Thank you for allowing me the honor of attending.”
Eyes the same warm shade of dark brown as Luca’s hopped between the two of them as the other woman took Claire’s hand in both of hers. “We cannot be happier to see our ‘Cuca’, as my three-year-old calls him, with a date as beautiful as you.” Gianna’s lips lifted into a knowing smile. “Has he told you about his goddaughter, Claire? My Ilaria adores her Cuca. She will be devastated when he marries and has children of his own and is no longer at her beck and call.”
Still. Claire held every limb, every muscle, every cell of her body perfectly still, her wide, gracious, practiced smile firmly in place. She barely registered the hushed Italian racing back and forth between Luca and his cousin, but one word stood out—one of the handful she knew as well as her own name.
Bambino.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Luca
In the middle of Gianna’s rant about her ‘right’ to say anything to Luca’s date because she was the only female family member present, Claire turned away from them to the crowd in the massive museum’s grand hall.
Her white dress, with its crimson floral embroidery that trailed off just after her pleasing curves, must have been made for her. And the view from the back was equally enticing as the one from the front. The fact that it only had one strap almost gave Luca pause that she was showing too much skin for the cranky fundraiser types. But he beamed having her by his side, which she currently was not—an oversight in need of rectification.
Luca swatted Gianna away, telling her they would discuss her big mouth at a later date. She’d never won any argument with him, and he wasn’t going to wave his white flag of surrender in her pushy direction anytime soon. But deep down he loved her attention. So, before stepping away, he kissed his cousin’s rouged-up cheek and rolled his eyes. She and her pint-sized pestering had gotten him through dark days as a child. Maybe she did have some kind of right to blabber at his date.
Date. In the weeks leading up to their first Saturday night away from the club, Luca had come to terms with their formal evening being just that. And he hoped Claire accepting his invitation away from all their lessons and physical intensity meant she had too.
But there she stood—stiff, uncomfortable and, at the same time, radiant. A waiter passed by with a silver tray of champagne and she refused the drink with a quick and polite shake of her blonde and elegantly styled head.
From behind him, Gianna’s husband boomed a laugh and Luca realized Claire’s unease.
Husband.
It was as he’d feared from the moment he’d thought of asking her to come. What would this mean to her and the memory of the man she’d referred to as the love of her life?
He stepped to her, placed his palm on the small of her back but stayed at a socially acceptable distance. Her gaze reached for his and he tried to reassure her with his smile. She softened a little—not enough for his liking—and looked back into the crowd.
“See some people you know?” he asked.
“A few. No one I loathe, so that’s always a good start.”
“Low expectations for your first…” First what? He was an ass. “Sorry.”
Claire turned to him with big eyes and a smile he’d have liked to kiss off her stunning face. “An apology and at a loss for words. My, my, and here I thought you’d be more formal in your tux, which suits you well, by the way.”
And she’d done it yet again. This timing, this knowing of how to answer, how to be… He hated to say it. Comfortable. To somehow make them comfortable. The word had previously held so much weight with him. Thinking his preferences were wrong. Knowing he could never participate in chatter about how men treated their women. But now, it fit. And it gave him a glimmer of hope that maybe all the stars could line up.
Luca leaned into Claire. “Don’t think your cheeky lines will be forgotten, sotto. In fact, I encourage you to keep them up. That red on your dress is quite inspiring. I do seem to remember you liking the spanking part.”
She stared at him for a moment with mischief dancing in her eyes and said, just as quiet as his own words, “If you hadn’t taught me better, I would so be rolling my eyes at you right now.”
He grinned and led her deeper into the crowd, mindful of the stares. It was hard to know if they were for him, the elusive bachelor, or the stunning widow at his side.
“Well, once again you are exceptional. I’m going to assume my rewards are better than my punishments,” he said on the way.
They reached the center of the party on the edge of the dance floor and to the left of the string section, who was playing a waltz. Perhaps it was bold and it was surely fueled with pride, but Luca’s next words were out of his mouth before he could grasp their repercussions.
“Dance with me, cara.”
“I’d love to.”
He took her hand in his and gave her a gentle spin. Because that woman, in that dress, doing not only the honor of accompanying him when he needed to be at his best for his family, but also showing all the socialites of Zurich that they were together… It all deserved a spin.
With eyes following them around the dance floor, Luca tried to occupy Claire from noticing by keeping his own gaze directly into hers. The rigid position from before seemed to disappear with every step they took.
“My apologies for Gianna. She likes to think she’s my mother and sister.”
Claire tilted her head. “Why would she think she’s either of those things?”
Luca’s eyes narrowed but his lips flinched a smile. “An excellent question.”
He studied the room from over Claire’s bare shoulder. Gianna had once again done a remarkable job hustling the old money of the city for their family’s philanthropy. Thanks to her hard work, drug addicts on the streets would have an easier start at a new life. Luca blinked away the memories of why the foundation had been started and lost himself in guiding the movements of his captivating cara.
Claire cleared her throat. The music had stopped. Luca smiled tightly, hiding in the ghosts of the past and, in a move that brought him more comfort than it ever had before, he clasped Claire’s hand in his to lead her to the table where Gianna held court.
When he caught his cousin’s eye, she shooed away her current flock of fashionable guests, leaving the high-backed cushioned seats open for Luca and Claire at her left. Luca pulled out the chair farthest away.
“Oh, no no no,” Gianna said, with a shake of her finger. “Claire sits next to me.” The jewel-clad hand pointed to the empty chair closest to his cousin.
“I’d be honored.” Claire’s simple nod and gentle smile were just as soft as the beautiful glow shining from beneath her skin. Flawless. His cara was immaculate in every way.
With his date in good hands, he excused himself to make the obligatory rounds of the boring family friends. There was no way he would feed them nuggets of gossip about one of Zurich’s most famous bankers. Claire was too good for them.
Throughout dinner, and with a conversation Luca could have done entirely without—one which involved him walking the length of their Italian village without pants—Gianna and Claire giggled like school girls. And for all the embarrassment his cousin heaped on his plate, he couldn’t be upset.
Seeing Claire laugh and enjoy herself touched a part of him that had nothing to do with being her Dom. And as he hung his head while Gianna blasted yet another story—this one about an unfortunate mishap of his dark thic
k hair attempting to be lightened and ultimately shaved off by their nonna—he knew the flare of happiness touched the same part of his being that understood he and Claire were on a date.
As the party wound down, Luca even allowed himself to think it was a successful evening. The more time he spent with Claire outside his suite, the more he understood what a privilege it was to have her behind that door and on her knees.
They said goodbye to Gianna and her husband, with his cousin teasing him about finally liking a girl, and walked to the car with smiles from the evening still painted on their faces.
On the ride home, the energy settled between them and Luca cursed Claire’s big red ‘no’ of spending the night. Conceding that he and Claire were on an actual date had opened the safe where he kept all his other confessions.
He liked her, not just sotto. Her. His cara. Claire Favre. And lately, with the stress of the club and that lingering cloud of Bruno’s health, he’d found solace in her presence. She’d brought him lunch. No sub he’d ever trained had dared to be so bold.
Sure, the others had cared about him, some perhaps too much. But none had cared for him. It must just be a part of her magic and would need to be forgotten.
Because if there was one thing on which they had both been abundantly clear, it was that he was training her. And that came with the understanding the relationship would not have an afterlife. He would be gone, like the love of her life.
He pulled into her driveway and killed the engine. Luca was about to get out of the car when her hand stopped him.
“Where’d you go there?” she asked.
“Sorry, cara.” He tried a smile. “Was thinking about the club.”
Claire looked out of the window at her house then back at him with piercing eyes. “That’s a lie.”
It was. On all accounts.
She continued, “Trust, right? Honesty?” Her jaw set as she waited for his reply.
But Luca wasn’t sure which question he was meant to answer, so he rubbed his lips together instead of speaking.
“You realize this reading of the other person goes both ways, right? I see you, Luca, better than you see me.”
Better than he saw her? What the hell did that mean? His mind raced as to what he was missing. What stone had he left unturned?
“I read the program while you were chatting up the suits. I take it your mother was Sophia,” she said with sympathetic smile.
Luca pushed the base of his palm into his beard and wiped his forehead with his fingers. Clever Claire. He should really start to anticipate her intelligence.
“Is that why Gianna is like a mother and a sister to you? Because your mom died?”
“I guess.” He shook his head. Why the hell were they talking about him?
“You guess? You fucking guess?” She blinked hard then opened her eyes wide.
He raised an eyebrow at her profanity.
“Oh yeah, I’m saying ‘fuck’. That’s what happens when I call bullshit.” Had she been standing, her hands would likely have been propped on her hips. Instead, she did some kind of head weave she must have learned from her assistant. The gesture was so unlike Claire that it almost made him laugh. But her tone was serious. Was it possible he’d given her too much confidence?
Perhaps the night had been a grave error. Maybe being seen with a new man in the old social circles was more overwhelming than he’d understood it to be. There had been that initial moment of the night where she’d seemed thrown, something the confident Claire would have brushed off had she been by herself. Something was wrong. It was unlike her to be so aggressive.
It was him. He’d pushed too far, backed her against the ropes. Insisted on the damn date, valued his desires over her needs.
Her rant continued but the volume shifted way down and she spoke in an eerie, pissed-off voice. “And that’s what I’m doing, Luca Bernardi. I’m calling bullshit. I ask you a question and you don’t answer. Where’s the trust there? Where’s your fucking honesty?”
Let her get it out. He could take it. Hell, if slapping him in the face would make her feel better, he’d gladly be on the receiving end. Because all roads to her line of questioning led to nothing—nothing he wanted to think about and nothing he wanted to share.
And yet he refused to look away. As much as her stare seared a hole in his armor, the other hole she’d unintendedly burned was bigger. Fresher. Endlessly deep and far more damaging.
The love of her life.
It would not be him. That seat had been taken. The familiar smoke of rejection filled his lungs and made it hard to breathe.
He finally broke the lock of their eyes and scanned over the dashboard into the dark night. “My mother died. Gianna is my rock. Happy?”
She scoffed lightly. “Why would that make me happy? And just so you know, that’s a sad excuse for honesty. I tell you everything. Everything.”
He wished he could blame his next words on the lateness of the hour or even the pushiness of her tantrum. But even when he formed them, he knew they were wholly selfish.
“You don’t tell me everything, Claire,” he whispered, but refused to look at her. The shame of putting himself first bore too much judgement. “You don’t tell me what you do on Fridays.”
His indignant proclamation hung in the air until an almost inaudible “Red” escaped from Claire’s caught throat.
Luca whipped his head around to find a tear-stained face flushed with disgust.
“What?” he asked, as the blinks of his eyes begged the clock to rewind.
“Red,” she said, so calm, so simple. She reached for the handle, bunched her skirt and got out of the car.
Slowly—which made it worse—she moved up her front steps and through her door, never looking back.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Claire
She circled her living room for the sixth time since she had sent the desperate plea to Julien for emergency advice and wine. She ran her fingers down the length of her hair and gripped the ends over her right shoulder.
The slam of the front door was quickly followed by a breathless Julien propped against the entryway leading into the living room. “You didn’t specify red or white, so I grabbed one of each. We really need to have a better stock for when crises—” His gaze swept over her. “Oh, honey.”
The tears she’d barely allowed to subside began in earnest again. Her friend had just enough time to set the bottles down before she launched herself into his arms, sobbing against his shoulder.
The oversized clock above her fireplace ticked away the seconds as she released the pain she’d bottled for more than twelve hours. From Gianna’s hint of Luca wanting children to his quiet reminder that she too held secrets, the infractions had unknowingly creating black marks in an otherwise-idyllic night.
Capped off by the darkest moment of them all. The one that had occurred when she was curled beneath her blankets at three o’clock in the morning, sleep eluding her.
The realization that she loved Luca.
Finally, she pushed away from Julien, tucking herself into the corner of her couch, hugging her knees to her chest. He sat gently beside her, laying his hands on top of hers, making small circles with his thumbs. They sat in silence as her tears dried and her hiccups subsided.
“Are we talking or are we ignoring?”
A mirthless smile curved her lips. For all his drama, for all his catty comments, for all his bitching, Julien was her rock. They spoke in their own language, understood each other and were there for each other uncompromisingly. She so needed him right now.
“Talking.” She took a deep breath and searched her brain for a place to start. “It was magical, like a fairy tale. I met some of his family and they are as charming as he is. The food, the wine, the music…” Her voice trailed off, remembering the feel of being held in his arms as they’d spun around the dance floor. “It was all so fucking perfect.”
Julien nodded along with each point. “So, if it was so fantastic�
�why are we day drinking on a Sunday afternoon?”
She’d battled the words all night, barely willing to acknowledge them to herself, not at all capable of speaking them out loud, even just into the void of her darkened bedroom. This wasn’t the agreement. This wasn’t the plan. This was never, ever meant to happen. “Because I fell in love with him.”
Julien frowned. “Right…and…he doesn’t love you back? You met his secret wife who is normally chained in the basement?” His eyes lit up. “He’s gay? Oh, Claire, if you love me, please tell me he confessed to being gay.”
She smacked his lean biceps with one hand. “I make an earth-shattering revelation to you and you turn it around to try to figure out a way to fuck my boyfriend?”
Julien chuckled and ran a hand down her cheek. “Sweetheart, I’ve watched you both for the past four months. He challenged you and frustrated you, but he also nurtured you and cared for you. He brought the light back to those baby blues that has been missing for over a year. Hell, I’m pretty sure they’ve never shone this bright. I’d be more shocked if you told me you didn’t love him.”
She rested her elbows on her knees and cradled her head in her hand. “But he doesn’t know. And he needs to know. His cousin went on and on and on about how much her daughter loves her Cuca and how he dotes on her and…” She swallowed back fresh tears as the image of Luca singing in Italian to the little girl on his phone danced through her head yet again. “I can’t even hint that I feel anything more toward him until he knows.”
Julien tapped her leg softly before standing, collecting the wine and crossing into the kitchen. “Yes, you can.” The release of the cork punctuated his words. Within minutes, he was pressing the cold glass stem into her palm and settling back in beside her. “And don’t assume you know what his reaction will be.”
“Gianna made it clear, Julien—”
He held his hand up. “Honey, I have called that man a whole host of names in my head, but Gianna was never one of them. Talk to Luca, not Gianna.”
