by Portia Moore
I scream out her name over and over, but the storm is too loud. My words are whipped away by the wind, and no matter how loudly I shout, how many times I yell, “Rain! Rain, please! Rain, where are you?” out into the storm, it doesn’t matter.
I can’t find her.
I’ve failed her all over again.
I’m jolted back to reality with Sonya looking over at me, concerned.
“Are you okay?” she asks, her brows furrowed together.
I run a hand down my face. “Yeah,” I say, pushing the sleep from my voice.
“What were you dreaming about?” She frowns. “It almost looked like a nightmare.”
I swallow down the anxiety that’s coursing through me. It was just a dream.
“I don’t remember,” I lie with a shrug.
I catch a hint of disbelief in her glare and push it away with a kiss.
18
Rain
The sun and wine leave me sleepy when we get back to the house, and I lie down for a nap while Vincent goes back downstairs with his father. The bed is huge and soft, and I sink into the down pillows, asleep before my eyes are hardly closed.
I’m woken up what feels like hours later by a maid, clearing her throat nervously as she steps into the room. “Signorina Rain?” She tiptoes closer as I blink awake, my eyes feeling sticky. “The Signores and Signora want me to tell you that you need to dress for dinner. Something formal, please.”
“Um, alright.” I sit up, slightly startled to hear myself called miss, and in Italian at that. It feels too elegant and stiff, like I’m a lady in an old-fashioned manor. And hearing Vincent called master makes me shudder a little. “Can you tell my sister?”
“Of course, signorina. Dinner is in an hour. You’re to meet Signore Vincent downstairs.” She gives a little nod of her head and quickly leaves the room.
An hour isn’t long, especially not to get myself fixed up the way I’m apparently expected to, but I do my best. I understand why Vincent insisted I pack a few long dresses now, even though I’d thought it was strange. Well, if I’m honest, I still think it’s strange…being expected to dress up as if we’re having dinner with the royal family.
But whatever Vincent and his family want, they get.
Blue is Vincent’s favorite color on me—he says it brings out my eyes—so I pick out the long navy-blue satin dress that I bought recently, with a sweetheart neckline and fluttery cap sleeves that make it look elegant and youthful instead of sexy, like some of the things in my closet that Vincent likes me to wear out to nightclub openings. It fits perfectly, highlighting my slim figure. I slip on a pair of nude Louboutin pumps and add the diamond studs Vincent gave me that look very much like the ones his mother has.
Erin bursts into the room just as I’m finishing up the last touches on my lipstick, wearing something similar, but in a light pink that makes the flush on her cheeks noticeable. “Now I feel like royalty!” she says, turning this way and that in front of the full-length mirror in my room.
“We’re not royalty,” I say, laughing.
“You might as well be.” She tosses her hair, which she’s let loose. “Vincent is as rich as a prince. And this will all be his one day! And yours too. You’re so lucky.”
“You should put your hair up. Here, I’ll help you.” I quickly help her pull it back into a French twist, pinning her silky blonde hair that’s so much like mine in place. Looking at us side by side in the mirror, we could almost be twins—I feel determined all over again to keep an eye on Erin and make sure she doesn’t make any mistakes while we’re here. As much as I love having her here with me, I want her safely back in Indiana sooner rather than later, with her feet planted firmly on the ground again, living a normal life.
Not this ridiculously extravagant lifestyle that comes with a price no one should pay.
Dinner is held in the dining room, which is magnificent, like everything else in the house. The dining table fills most of it, large enough for the biggest of dinner parties, and I feel ridiculous with the five of us at one end, the rest of it stretching out far down the room. There are glittering chandeliers spaced out evenly over the table and a long tapestried runner going down the center of the gleaming mahogany. The plates are fine china, the wine and water glasses crystal, and the silverware is real, old silver passed down through the family.
I feel my stomach tense as I wonder if Vincent still wants me to watch my diet while we’re here.
Screw it. I’m in Italy, about to eat a full-course dinner prepared by one of the best chefs the country has to offer.
I’m going to fucking eat.
I taste the soup, a little unsure about eating it cold, but it’s delicious. The flavor explodes in my mouth, rich and perfect, and I see Erin’s eyes widen a little as she tastes it. “I’ve never had cold soup,” she says with a laugh, and what would have seemed like a stupid comment from me is apparently cute coming from her because both Vincent and Gianna laugh. It’s not unkind, though.
“Gazpacho is my favorite,” Vincent says. “It never tastes as good as it does here, with fresh-grown tomatoes, though.”
A salad is brought out with crisp greens and flaked prosciutto with soft goat cheese and dried tangerine slices. I eat in small, mincing bites and catch Vincent’s approving glance when he looks over at me, pouring me a glass of wine attentively.
Even if it’s all for his mother’s benefit, so she can see what a gentleman he supposedly is, it’s nice to be doted on again. I smile at him as I take a sip of the dry red wine, and for a change, it doesn’t feel forced.
“Do you like wine, Rain?” Ezio asks.
I laugh a little. “Yes. I don’t like dry, normally. But this doesn’t taste like any wine I’ve ever had.”
“The best wine in the world is had here,” he says proudly. “There’s nothing else like it. You’ll be spoiled forever. But lucky for you, I’ll send crates of it back with Vincent, just for you.” He pats my hand. “Only the best for my future daughter.”
There it is, that small ache in my heart again. This time not for the nostalgia of what Vincent and I used to have, but for the father I never did. My father spent all of my childhood drunk and unemployed, rarely home, and passed out when he was. I don’t have fond memories of him, the way Vincent does of his childhood. And seeing the handsome, kind man on my left, patting my hand in a fatherly way as he promises to send me home with their estate’s wine, makes my heart ache for the father I never had. A father that I could have made memories with and brought Vincent home to—instead of needing Vincent to save him from himself.
It’s a new temptation to stay with Vincent. Gianna is hardly a warm and welcoming mother figure. Still, the idea that I could have a family here—another family and a father figure who might care about me—is hard to ignore.
“I’m going to the study for cigars,” Ezio says when the last of dessert has been cleared away. “Come with me, son? I have some documents from the last shipment to go over with you, if you don’t mind. I’ll return you to your lovely fiancée soon enough.”
“Of course.” Vincent gives me a quick peck on the cheek. “I’m sure Rain won’t mind. Will you?”
“No, of course not,” I tell him sweetly, returning the kiss. “I’ll see you later.”
“We’ll go to the living room,” Gianna says decisively, pushing her chair back. “Liana, bring us more wine, please,” she tells the maid, clearing away the last of the dishes, and then sweeps out of the room, leaving Erin and me to follow her.
There’s a fire built in the huge stone fireplace. Gianna settles into one of the antique wing chairs, taking a glass of wine from the maid as she brings it in. She hands me the next glass and a cup of cocoa for Erin, setting the tray and decanter on a side table before dipping her head quickly to Gianna and leaving the room.
“Has Vincent ever told you about growing up here?” Gianna asks, looking over at me, where I’m seated next to Erin on the sofa. She takes a sip of her wine, and I do the
same, stalling a little.
I’m sure that Vincent won’t want me to tell her that I didn’t even know his parents were still alive, that he’s never told me anything about either of them until the day he said she was sick and we were getting on a plane to Italy. But I also don’t want to lie outright. At least for this, I don’t have to.
“No, he’s never really talked about his childhood,” I tell her. That much, at least, is true.
“He loved it here. Even when he was in college in Rome, he would come back every weekend. Usually with a different girl every time,” Gianna says with a smirk, and I can see her watching me for signs of jealousy. I guess if things were the way they used to be between Vincent and me, I probably would have been.
But it’s hard to be jealous when you know your fiancé is sleeping with other women and demands you be okay with it.
“Why did he leave?” I ask curiously, wondering if maybe she’ll fill in some of the blanks.
“Well, that’s a story for him to tell you, I think,” Gianna says cagily, and I try to hide my disappointment. I don’t expect Vincent to fill me in on much of anything, “But we missed him very much. Both Ezio and I would be happy for him to stay as long as he wanted.” I can tell she wants to see what my reaction will be to that.
“It’s lovely here,” I say carefully. “I can see why he loved it so much. I’ve never been anywhere so beautiful, honestly.”
“Me either,” Erin chimes in, sipping at her cocoa. I can smell the rich chocolate scent of it, probably as luxurious and expensive as everything else here, and I’m a little jealous. I’d almost prefer that to the wine.
“I imagine Vincent’s taken you all over the world,” Gianna says, taking another sip of her wine. “Where did you say you were from, again?”
“Indiana.” I bite my lower lip, waiting for her reaction and knowing it’s probably not going to be good.
Instantly, her mouth turns down a little. “Well, this must have all been a big adventure for you, then. How lucky to meet a rich man like Vincent by accident like that.”
Fuck you, is what I want to say, but instead, I say, “I do feel very lucky.” The words practically burn my tongue as I say them; they’re so wrong. I don’t feel lucky at all. I feel trapped. “Vincent has been very good to me. And to my family.”
“And this estate. It must be new to you, to have something like this in the family. Something so grand and precious.”
I take a sip of my wine, trying to stop myself from rolling my eyes. “It’s all very new to me,” I admit because I know that’s what she wants to hear. “But I would be happy with Vincent with or without the money.”
Erin finishes her hot cocoa and sets the cup down, stifling a yawn. “I’m so tired,” she says. “Can I be excused to go upstairs?”
“Of course, dear,” Gianna says with a smile. “Rain, you can go too, if you like. I’m sure you’re both very tired from traveling.”
“I don’t mind keeping you company if you’d like.” I finish the last sip of my wine. Actually, staying down here with Gianna is the last thing I want to do. But I know I need to be in her good graces.
“I’m going to go to bed soon as well.” Gianna waves her hand. “Go upstairs, relax.”
She doesn’t have to convince me any more than that. I add my wine glass to the tray for Liana to take back to the kitchen, say goodnight, and follow Erin upstairs.
“I wonder what we’ll do tomorrow?” Erin says, pausing at her door, her face still shiny with excitement.
“I don’t know,” I tell her with a laugh. “But I’m sure it’ll be fun, no matter what.”
Vincent hasn’t come upstairs yet, so I’m able to relax. I get out of the long, uncomfortable dress and start to unbraid my hair, looking at myself in the mirror as I do. I don’t look as tired as I expected. I still feel achy from the tensions of the day, though, and the claw-foot bathtub looks incredibly inviting.
I can feel all of the tension draining out of me as I close my eyes and sip my wine, and it’s absolutely blissful. I stop listening for Vincent’s footsteps outside of the door and just let myself sink into the aromatic water, remembering that I’m in Italy, for fuck’s sake, in a centuries-old mansion. I deserve to enjoy it a little, just like I keep telling myself that Erin does.
It’s so relaxing that I almost fall asleep. I finish my first glass of wine and then another until the water starts to cool off. I regretfully get out of it, wrapping one of the plush towels around myself and getting a third glass of wine while I look for something to put on.
I know Vincent will expect me to be in lingerie for him. It’s our first night in Italy, and he made a point of saying how he couldn’t wait to make love to me here. The thought of it makes my stomach clench with nerves, not anticipation, but the alternative—his annoyance if he finds me in bed in boring pajamas—is much worse.
There’s a blue satin slip edged in lace in one of the drawers where the maid has unpacked our things, and I slip it on, brushing my hair out so that it falls in long blonde waves around my shoulders. I know Vincent will be up soon, and I take a deep breath as I perch on the edge of the bed, taking another sip of my wine.
The door opens then, and I sit up a little straighter, my pulse leaping in my throat as Vincent walks in with his tie loosened and the first two buttons of his shirt undone. I can see from the sway in his walk that he’s a little drunk, and when he looks at me, the irritation in his eyes is plain.
My stomach plummets. What is it now?
“What’s wrong?” I ask him as sweetly as I can as he shuts the door behind him with an audible thud. “Did you enjoy spending time with your dad?”
Vincent shrugs as he approaches the bed. “Port and cigars, business, the usual,” he says flatly. “It’s my mother that’s the problem.” He sits down next to me, running a hand through his hair, and I realize with relief that it’s not me he’s upset at. “I want to say that I can’t fucking believe she made up being sick, but the truth is I’m not really surprised at all.”
He touches my hand then, twisting my ring back and forth. “For what it’s worth, I like the ring I got you.”
“I do, too,” I tell him with a small smile—and for once, it’s real, not practiced. I do like the ring—I loved it when I thought it stood for something real. Now it’s just a beautiful piece of jewelry—but it’s still the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever owned.
“And it’ll be stressful enough having Sonya here,” he continues, his jaw tightening. “I should just fly all three of us back home tonight. But my father wants me to keep the peace.”
“Who is Sonya?” I ask curiously, taking advantage of his approachable mood. His face immediately hardens, however, and he pulls away from my hand, standing up.
Shit, shit, shit. I think rapidly, wondering if I can backtrack. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to….”
I think that he’s going to snap at me to drop it, to not ask him so many questions—even though I haven’t asked very many at all—but instead, he just undoes his tie the rest of the way, tossing it onto the bench at the end of the bed and walking to pour us both a glass of wine from the half-full decanter.
“You do like the wine here more, don’t you?” he says with a laugh, and for a second, I think he’s going to berate me for that too, but I realize that he’s teasing me.
Vincent, cracking a joke. Vincent, laughing with me the way he used to. It’s enough to make my eyes itch with the beginning of tears.
“It tastes different,” I insist as he walks back over to me and hands me my glass, sitting on the bed facing me as he takes a sip of his own.
“It does,” he agrees and then frowns, glancing out of the window by our bed. “Sonya is a sore topic, honestly.”
He licks his lips, looking away from me briefly while taking another deep drink of his wine. “Sonya and I used to be very close,” he says finally, looking back at me. “My parents adopted her when she was very young, and we grew up together, like brother and sis
ter.”
“She had a best friend since we were children, a beautiful girl named Lucinda.” His face twists a little as he says her name, a flash of pain in his eyes. I straighten a little, paying more attention. It’s hard to think of Vincent as loving someone without an ulterior motive or wanting to manipulate them. But it’s clear that he had deep feelings for her of some kind from the look on his face.
“We had a fling the first summer I came back from college. I hadn’t seen her since we graduated high school, and it was like she’d grown up overnight. She was geeky and awkward when we were younger but suddenly gorgeous. At nineteen…” He shrugs. “Well, you know how nineteen-year-old boys are, I’m sure.”
No, I don’t, I think ruefully to myself. I wasn’t dating when I was nineteen. I was just trying to survive…and then I met you.
“Anyway, it was just supposed to be casual. Just fun. We were careful. We took all the precautions.”
I suddenly have an inkling of where this story is going.
“Sonya suspected, I think, but we didn’t tell her. Not until…” He takes a deep breath, his jaw clenching. “Not until she found out that she was pregnant.”
I can’t really picture Vincent as a carefree teenager, having a reckless summer fling and accidentally getting a girl pregnant. The Vincent I know is always two steps ahead. Everyone and everything around him carefully managed to do whatever he wants most.
“Her family, like mine, were good Catholics,” he says with a long sigh. “So she was expected to have the baby. Her parents thought I should marry her; mine was less enthusiastic about that. I was the least enthusiastic of all about that idea.” He laughs shortly, and all I can think is, of course you were. Even at that age, Vincent wouldn’t have wanted to face the consequences of his mistakes.
