by Jane Porter
“You could have said ‘wedding and honeymoon’ and everyone would have been delighted, instead of worried.” He saw her expression and shrugged. “It’s the perception of things, isn’t it? One sounds as if you’re in the midst of struggle and sorrow, whereas ‘wedding and honeymoon’ sounds festive and celebratory.”
“I can’t tell my clients I’m getting married!”
“Why not? You are. Why not let them be happy for you?”
“But we don’t know when we’ll get married. It might not be for months.”
“Cara, we’re marrying soon. I’m determined we marry before our son is born, and since he seems to want to arrive early, I don’t think we should wait.”
She closed her laptop and pressed it to her chest. “How soon?”
“As soon as it can be arranged.”
Brando was still with her when Dr. Leonardi returned late afternoon to check on Charlotte but stepped out while the doctor examined her, returning when it was over.
“Everything still looks good. I think she’s out of the woods, but I want her on bed rest for the next few days, and then modified bed rest Friday.”
Charlotte glanced hopefully at Brando. “Does that mean I can leave?”
“Perhaps tomorrow.”
“But if everything looks good, can’t I just rest at home?” she pressed.
Brando’s gaze swept the sterile room. “I’d prefer for her to rest at my home. I’m not a fan of hospitals, and Charlotte is right, it’s not very restful here. It’s noisy and chaotic and I’m not sure how this is the best environment for her, or the baby.”
“But we have nurses here, staff here. Equipment here,” the doctor answered.
“Can’t I get the same equipment for the house? Couldn’t I hire a nurse to be with her at home?”
“That’s a huge expense—” The doctor broke off when he saw Brando’s expression. “But yes, she could be monitored at home. It’s essential, though, that she rest, or you’ll be right back here, and I don’t know if we would be successful stopping labor next time.”
“We have no intention of being back until the baby is full term,” Brandon said.
Dr. Leonardi nodded. “I’ll sign off on her leaving tomorrow. I still want her here tonight, but remember, no stress, no excitement. There isn’t to be any drama or pressure.”
“Understood.”
Charlotte had imagined they’d be going to Brando’s city house when she was discharged the next day. Instead the helicopter was waiting to whisk them back to the castello.
“There is more fresh air, more peace in the country,” Brando said as they made the fifteen-minute trip by air.
Now that she wasn’t in pain, Charlotte enjoyed the trip, thinking the Tuscan hills looked like a striking quilt from the air, patches of light green and dark green intermixed with squares of pale gold, which turned out to be villages and castellos like Brando’s.
On landing at his estate, Brando swept her into his arms and carried her back to the house, despite Charlotte insisting she could walk partway. He ignored her completely, and made short work of the distance, carrying her up two flights of stairs as if she weighed nothing at all.
She’d wondered about the third flight of stairs, and it wasn’t until they reached a different bedroom that she realized Brando wasn’t returning her to the bedroom she’d had before, but moving her into his room. “What are you doing?” she asked lowly as she was settled onto the enormous bed.
“Keeping you close,” he said. “Doctor’s orders.”
“I thought you were getting a professional.”
“I am, for the day. But at night, you’ll sleep with me so I can keep an eye on you.”
“And you don’t think that will be a source of stress or excitement?”
“I think it will be a greater source of stress and excitement if I come check on you three or four times a night.”
She pulled herself up, sitting a little taller. “You don’t need to do that. I can just shout.”
“Right.” But his lips twisted. He’d caught her attempt at humor.
She appreciated that, and him. More than he’d ever know. “I don’t know that I can sleep in here with you.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t sleep well with others.”
“Build a pillow wall.”
“Can I really?”
“No. I need to be able to see you—”
“Nothing is going to happen! I’m not going to disappear in the night or give birth in ten seconds. Everything is fine. I just need to stay put—”
“In my bed.”
“Brando, you’re causing me stress and excitement.”
“Bella, you’re causing stress and excitement by arguing with me. Accept the inevitable. You’re stuck with me.” And then he closed the distance, bent down and kissed her, in a long, tender, melting kiss that made the hair rise on the back of her neck and her nipples peak and tighten. By the time he lifted his head, she felt like he’d poured warm honey into her veins. “It won’t be all bad, though,” he murmured, his lips brushing across hers in another slow, maddening kiss that had her squirming and breathless. “You just have to relax,” he murmured, kissing her cheek and then just beneath her earlobe. He’d found an incredibly sensitive spot there, and then another one just beneath her jaw.
She sighed, and arched, pleasure suffusing her. “I’m not sure the doctor would approve,” she whispered.
“I promise not to give you an orgasm.”
She laughed softly, and the husky laugh turned to a smothered moan as his teeth scraped the side of her neck, setting her on fire, and sending hot sparks all the way down to her toes. She reached for him then, her hand wrapping around his nape as she buried her fingers into his thick, crisp hair. “If your kisses send me back to the hospital, I will—”
“Never forgive myself,” he answered, lifting his head, to gaze down into her eyes. He pushed back a heavy wave of her hair, tucking strands behind her ear. “I know you showered at the hospital earlier, but would you like a bath now that you’re home? I can send one of the girls up to draw you one.”
“I don’t need anyone to draw me a bath, and I don’t want you to fuss over me. It’s enough to know that you’re here in case something goes wrong, so please go do whatever it is you need to do, and you can relax knowing I’ll be here taking my first nap of the day.”
Charlotte was relieved when Brando left the room. Her luggage had already been moved from her bedroom into his, and one of the maids brought up her briefcase and bags from the hospital. Once she was alone, she locked the bathroom door, stripped off her clothes and took a long soak in the deep tub. She washed her hair, rinsed and conditioned it, before climbing out and patting herself dry. With her long hair still wrapped in a towel, she climbed back into bed and fell asleep, grateful to be in a quiet room. Charlotte slept for over an hour and when she woke up, she discovered someone had placed a water bottle and glass next to the bed for her, plus a bowl of fresh fruit and a small plate of biscotti. But that wasn’t all. Leaning against the lamp was a tall leather-bound book with a sticky note.
Charlotte, pick out your favorite.
She recognized the handwriting. Brando had written the note and she reached for the book and positioned it on her lap before opening the luxurious soft cream leather cover. The Ricci-Baldi Bridal Collection, the title page read.
Puzzled, Charlotte quickly flipped through the pages, from beginning to end. There were maybe twenty gowns in the book, and the entire book consisted of couture bridal gowns, exclusively designed by Livia, Brando’s sister, and Livia’s designer husband, Luca Baldi.
Brando wanted her to pick out her favorite bridal gown. Was this really happening?
She suddenly wasn’t sure she could go through with the wedding, at least, not like this. She was scared, and troubled.
Exhaling in a rush, she closed the design book, carefully replacing it where she’d found it, leaning against the glass lamp on the side table.
Intellectually she understood why marrying Brando was a good idea. But emotionally she couldn’t see herself wearing a formal white gown, never mind a couture gown from one of Italy’s top design teams. She wasn’t having a dream wedding. The wedding was business, and the ceremony was for legal purposes. She and Brando were choosing to be responsible, and practical, and she didn’t need a formal gown, or veil, or even flowers for that. She could wear a suit, or a smart dress, and Brando would wear one of his tailored suits, and they’d be married quietly, privately, by a government official without fuss.
It was better they not start their marriage under any illusions that this was a love marriage, because she had to manage her expectations, or beautiful, brilliant Brando Ricci would break her heart.
Brando returned from the winery to discover Charlotte had moved herself back to her bedroom.
He entered her bedroom with the briefest of knocks, annoyed that she’d go against his wishes. “What are you doing? Moving things around? Coming to rooms where you’ll be alone at night?”
Charlotte drew the duvet up higher, hiding her breasts and bump. “I don’t want or need constant supervision. I’m not a child. I’m having a child. Quite a significant distinction, Brando. And I didn’t move anything but myself. Your staff carried my things, and I just took my time and walked back here.”
He paced around the bed. “And what if something happens at night?”
“I’ll call you. We both have phones. We’re lucky to live in the age of technology.”
He glared down at her. “I’m not amused. You’re taking risks—”
“And you’re being hopelessly overbearing,” she interrupted, “as well as an alarmist. Dr. Leonardi said everything looked better, normal—”
“He never said ‘normal.’ He wanted you in the hospital. I was the one who insisted you would be able to rest better if you were at home. But I promised you’d be supervised.”
“And I am. The midwife starts coming daily tomorrow. I’ll have a quiet evening tonight. Just send a tray up for me and I’ll have an early dinner, and will make an early night of it, too. I think having some downtime would be good for both of us.”
Brando seemed about to protest when he thought better of it. He nodded shortly. “Fine.” He started to leave, then turned in the doorway. “Did you see anything in Livia’s designs that appealed to you? She’s offered to come this weekend for a fitting.”
The last thing Charlotte wanted to do was discuss the wedding, or a dress made for her by his famous sister, but she didn’t want to offend him tonight. “There are so many beautiful designs, I couldn’t even narrow the options down.”
“No problem. I can look through them with you tomorrow.”
“I don’t need help looking at bridal gowns.”
“Happy to give you my opinions.”
“I’m sure you are. Good night, Brando.”
“Buona notte, Charlotte.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
A BREEZE RUSTLED the leaves of the citrus trees in the ornate terra-cotta pots on the terrace, and the moon, even though only a quarter full, winked white in the purple-black sky.
Brando leaned back in his chair at the table and let the beauty of the night distract him from Charlotte’s lengthy explanation of why they didn’t need a proper wedding, never mind a reception after.
She’d spent the last ten minutes giving detailed reasons why a formal wedding was a bad idea, and he let her talk as he sipped his after-dinner coffee. It was his favorite kind of night, warm, fragrant, without summer’s sultry heat. He’d had a good day in the wineries, and Charlotte looked particularly beautiful tonight, too, wearing an ice-blue sleeveless blouse paired with crisp white silk trousers. Her long hair spilled over her shoulders, and she wore simple sapphire drop earrings that matched the blue of her eyes.
She was stunning and smart, and he felt fortunate that she was to be the mother of his children. She’d be a good mother, a good partner and wife. If she’d just stop fighting him on the wedding. His family celebrated marriages, just as they celebrated births and anniversaries and other special moments.
“I want a proper ceremony, followed by a proper dinner, and a proper cake,” he said. “This is our wedding. It should be special.”
“Do we need the fuss, as well as the expense?”
“As this is the only wedding I will ever have, yes. It should be beautiful. Music, flowers, table decorations, all of it.”
“A big wedding, Brando, really?”
“I didn’t say ‘big.’ In fact, I want a small, intimate ceremony here at the castello chapel, followed by a reception in the courtyard. That way there is no traveling, no fuss, nothing to stress over, nor would you have to be on your feet very long.”
Charlotte listened to his plans, and didn’t know how to argue against them, especially as he offered to handle most of the arrangements so she didn’t have to be stressed by anything. He did insist on her selecting a wedding dress, or at least, pointing out a few in the design book that she liked, and Livia and Luca would make up something special just for her.
“Your family knows, then?” she asked, careful to keep judgment from her voice.
“Only Livia so far. I will share the news with the rest once we have a wedding date.”
Charlotte toyed with her dessert spoon. “What are you telling them?”
“That we’re getting married and we’d love them to join us.”
“Nothing about the pregnancy?”
“It’s not the first thing I’ll tell them, no.” He lifted a brow, his expression slightly sardonic. “Would you prefer me to share the news about the baby first?”
“No.” She glared at him. “And I don’t want to wear a dress that screams ‘pregnant bride,’ either.”
“I’m sure some of Livia’s designs will flatter your figure. No matter what you’ll wear, you’ll look beautiful.”
Charlotte’s eyes suddenly smarted and she blinked, clearing her vision. “I feel rather lumpy at the moment, and I dread people talking. There will be gossip, you know. I know you don’t care, but I’m not there yet. I’m still trying to figure out how to navigate this new world. My success stems from my reputation as someone who doesn’t make mistakes. I fix other people’s mistakes. And yet look at me—” She broke off, and bit into her lower lip, holding back the flow of words.
“Starting a family is a beautiful thing. We’re excited. Remember that.”
“You don’t think your family will judge?”
“They’ll be happy for us. They know you. They like you. Livia is thrilled to be making your dress.”
“And your business associates? My clients?”
“They’ll think the best, not the worst.”
“Which is?”
“That we’re head over heels in love and eager to start our new lives together.” His silver gaze met hers and held. His voice dropped, and deepened. “And who is to say we’re not? Who is to say that this marriage isn’t something we both want?”
Her heart did a funny double beat, and butterflies filled her middle. She couldn’t look away from the flare of desire in his eyes, the heat radiating out, wrapping around her. “Marriage wasn’t on the agenda,” she said.
“Maybe not, but you know I want you. If I could have you now, I would. Desire is not an issue between us.”
She could see heat and interest shimmering in his stunning pewter eyes. She felt the intense physical pull. She craved it herself, feeling isolated in this strange new body of hers, facing a different future than she’d ever imagined. “Then kiss me,” she whispered. “Make me remember why I lost my head over you.”
He drew her from her seat, up into his arms, one hand sliding beneath her hair t
o cup her nape as the other settled low on her hip. His lips covered hers, claiming her, his mouth warm, and firm. He smelled of that spice he wore and as well as a hint of wine. She welcomed the pressure of his mouth, her lips parting beneath his, his tongue tasting, teasing, sending shivers of pleasure through her. He kissed her until she felt boneless and mindless, kissing her until she forgot to breathe and she ached between her thighs, wanting pressure there. His knee moved between her legs, his hard thigh pressed to that place where she was so very sensitive. His hand ran up the length of her, over her hip and waist to cup her breast and then play with the tight, tender nipple, strumming the peaked tip so that she arched, grinding herself against him.
Pleasure screamed through her, bright, hot, intense.
She was so close to climaxing. Just another pinch of her nipple, another rub against his thigh, and she’d come. She wanted to come, craved release, but an orgasm could set off the contractions again.
Panting, Charlotte pulled back, feeling shameless and frustrated all at the same time. “I want you,” she breathed, tears of vexation filling her eyes. “But I can’t have you.”
“You can, but not for a while.”
“This is awful.” She knocked away the tears, feeling wildly out of control. “We can marry but we can’t have sex.”
“We’ll have sex again, I promise you. But you’re right, we can’t take any chances now. It’s not worth the risk.”
Charlotte couldn’t fall asleep that night. She was spending so much time resting, so much time in bed, that she felt restless and trapped. The surging hormones didn’t help. The relentless desire didn’t help, either. She’d never felt sexual, but now, being so close to Brando, desire and awareness hummed through her night and day.
But what she felt for him was so much more than desire, and the feelings were growing stronger by the day. They hadn’t even married and yet she felt bonded. Wed. Was it the pregnancy making her feel so connected to him, or was it the way he was treating her...as if she were special...priceless...irreplaceable?
