Postcards From Rome: The Italian's Pregnant Virgin / A Proposal from the Italian Count / A Ring for Vincenzo's Heir
Lucy Gordon
JENNIE LUCAS
Maisey Yates
A Roman holiday with a twist!Esther Abbott was backpacking across Europe when she was approached about being a surrogate. Desperately in need of the money, she agreed. But when the deal falls apart, she’s left pregnant and alone, with no one to turn to…except the baby’s father – Italian billionaire Renzo Valenti!*Count Vittorio Martelli’s promise to repay his late father’s debt leads him to penniless and unemployed Jackie Benton. So, to start with he offers her a prestigious job in Rome working for him! He needs a convenient fiancée and feisty Jackie is the perfect candidate!*Scarlett Ravenwood takes an enormous risk interrupting Vincenzo Borgia’s wedding. He’s rich and powerful, whereas she’s penniless and alone but she needs his help… to protect their unborn child!
About the Authors (#u633deefd-4c0e-5d93-98af-310e7f0fd309)
MAISEY YATES is a New York Times bestselling author of more than thirty romance novels. She has a coffee habit she has no interest in kicking, and a slight Pinterest addiction. She lives with her husband and children in the Pacific Northwest. When Maisey isn’t writing she can be found singing in the grocery store, shopping for shoes online and probably not doing dishes. Check out her website: maiseyyates.com (http://www.maiseyyates.com).
LUCY GORDON cut her writing teeth on magazine journalism, interviewing many of the world’s most interesting men. She’s had many unusual experiences, which have often provided the background for her books. Once, while staying in Venice, she met a Venetian who proposed in two days. They were married for 45 happy years, until his sad death. Naturally this has affected her writing, in which romantic Italian men tend to feature strongly. Two of her books have won a Romance Writers of America RITA® Award. You can visit her website at lucy-gordon.com
USA Today-bestselling author JENNIE LUCAS’s parents owned a bookstore and she grew up surrounded by books, dreaming about faraway lands. A fourth-generation Westerner, she went east at 16 to boarding school on scholarship, wandered the world, got married, then finally worked her way through college before happily returning to her hometown. A 2010 RITA® finalist and 2005 Golden Heart® winner, she lives in Idaho with her husband and children.
Postcards from Rome
The Italian’s Pregnant Virgin
Maisey Yates
A Proposal from the Italian Count
Lucy Gordon
A Ring for Vincenzo’s Heir
Jennie Lucas
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-09516-7
POSTCARDS FROM ROME
The Italian’s Pregnant Virgin © 2017 Maisey Yates A Proposal from the Italian Count © 2017 Lucy Gordon A Ring for Vincenzo’s Heir © 2016 Jennie Lucas
Published in Great Britain 2019
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Table of Contents
Cover (#ue42bc872-877e-54b3-9605-6f9ffadbcf2c)
About the Author (#uf290c7e3-0b78-595f-96fe-cc6bea4cef05)
Title Page (#u0d5d6376-aa04-55e1-a354-58886e519f6b)
Copyright (#u2bbe9596-86fd-5d69-83a4-3918d76eaf7c)
The Italian’s Pregnant Virgin (#u9aed23a2-0164-537f-8bd5-aeef2848cdb2)
Back Cover Text (#uc2f9d51d-974f-5c58-8af5-540c60e3e9fd)
Dedication (#ud5f6dc85-0522-51c2-928e-67a18624af1b)
CHAPTER ONE (#u629a675b-9ae5-5f6b-8e8d-2c6d7226d9e2)
CHAPTER TWO (#u943361e7-ee35-5085-9a68-5eec2a731b49)
CHAPTER THREE (#ufb9455c4-ceb6-513b-96b4-021b82ffca39)
CHAPTER FOUR (#ub0e9098a-eaa4-5c56-a804-18de31cc9711)
CHAPTER FIVE (#u9f51baad-61bb-5883-9efd-8b8e40fde355)
CHAPTER SIX (#u5eae9cad-e791-500e-9d1f-638cfa1d1d0a)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#udaaf7b6c-448a-5cb6-acbb-7cb80aa0d956)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#u49bb1b6a-8da4-5625-8f7e-3529b47e2bc0)
CHAPTER NINE (#u21e22957-bc66-5f37-b824-6e2bcf326945)
CHAPTER TEN (#u418c18c4-dd2b-50f0-a0b0-b562ba5bc7a3)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
A Proposal from the Italian Count (#litres_trial_promo)
Back Cover Text (#litres_trial_promo)
Dedication (#litres_trial_promo)
PROLOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
A Ring for Vincenzo’s Heir (#litres_trial_promo)
Back Cover Text (#litres_trial_promo)
Dedication (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
The Italian’s Pregnant Virgin (#u633deefd-4c0e-5d93-98af-310e7f0fd309)
Maisey Yates
“You will be my wife...”
Esther Abbott was backpacking across Europe when she was approached about being a surrogate. Desperately in need of the money, Esther agreed. But when the deal falls apart, she’s left pregnant and alone, with no one to turn to...except the baby’s father!
Learning he is to have a child with a woman he’s never met is a scandal Italian billionaire Renzo Valenti can’t afford. Following his recent bitter divorce and with an impeccable reputation to maintain, Renzo has no choice but to claim the child...and Esther as his wife!
To my parents, who actually are great and have
always supported me. In spite of what 90%
of my characters’ parents might suggest.
CHAPTER ONE (#u633deefd-4c0e-5d93-98af-310e7f0fd309)
“THE THING IS, Mr. Valenti, I’m pregnant.”
Renzo Valenti, heir to the Valenti family real estate fortune, known womanizer and chronic overindulger, stared down at the stranger standing in his entryway.
He had never seen the woman before in his life. Of that he was nearly one hundred percent certain.
He did not associate with women like this. Women who looked like they had spent a hot, sweaty afternoon traipsing through the streets of Rome, rather than a hot, sweaty afternoon tangled in silk sheets.
She was red-cheeked and disheveled, her face void of makeup, long dark hair half falling out of a bun that looked like an afterthought.
She was dressed the same as many American college students who flooded the city in the summer. She was wearing a form-fitting black tank top and a long, ankle-length skirt that nearly covered her dusty feet and flat, unremarkable sandals that appeared to be falling apart.
Had she been walking by him outside, he would never have paid her any notice. Except she was in his home. And she had just said words to him no woman had said to him since he was sixteen years old.
But they meant nothing, as she meant nothing.
“Congratulations. Or condolences,” he said. “Depending.”
“You don’t understand.”
“No,” he said, his voice cutting through the relative silence of the grand antechamber. “I don’t. You practically burst into my home telling my housekeeper you had to see me, and now here you are, having pushed your way in.”
“I didn’t push my way in. Luciana was more than happy to let me in.”
He would never fire his housekeeper. And the unfortunate thing was, the older woman knew it. So when she had let a hysterical girl into his home, he had a feeling she considered it punishment for his notorious behavior with the opposite sex.
Which was not fair. This little creature—who looked as though she would be most at home sitting on a sidewalk in the vicinity of Haight-Ashbury, playing an acoustic guitar for coins—might well be some man’s unholy punishment. But she wasn’t his.
“Regardless, you’re not drawing this out and making a show, and I have no patience for either.”
“It’s your baby.”
He laughed. There was absolutely no other response for such an outrageous statement. And there was no other way to remove the strange weight, the strange tension that gripped him when she spoke the words.
He knew why it affected him. But it should not.
He could imagine no circumstance under which he would touch such a ridiculous little hippie. And even so, he had just spent the past six months devoted to the world’s most obscene farce of a marriage.
And though Ashley had been devoted to the pleasure of both herself—and other men—during their union, he had been faithful.
A woman with a small baby bump, barely showing beneath that skin-tight top, claiming to be carrying his child could be absolutely nothing but ridiculous to him.
He’d had nothing at all but six months of fights, dodging vases flung in a rage by his crazy wife—who seemed to do her best to demolish the stereotype that Canadians were a nice and polite people—and then days on end of ridiculous cooing like he was some kind of pet she was trying to tame again after a sound beating.
Little realizing that he was not a man to be tamed, and never had been. He had married Ashley to make a point to his parents, and for no other reason. As of yesterday, he was divorced and free again.
Free to take this little backpacker in any way he wanted to, if he so chose.
Though, she would find the only place he wanted to take her was out the front door, and back onto the streets she had come from.
“That, you will find, is impossible, cara mia.” Her eyes went round, liquid, shock and pain visible. What had she imagined would happen? That he would fall for this ruse? That she would find her salvation in him? “I can see how you would build some strange fantasy around the idea I might be your best bet for help,” he said, attempting to keep his tone calm. “I have a reputation with women. But I have also been married for the past six months. So whatever man is responsible for knocking you up in a bar crawling with tourists and never calling again? He is not me, nor will you ever con me into believing it is. I am divorced now, but in the time I was married I was faithful to my wife.”
“Ashley,” she said, blinking rapidly. “Ashley Bettencourt.”
He was stunned, but only momentarily, by her usage of his wife’s name. It was common knowledge, so of course if she knew about him, she would know about Ashley. But if she knew he was married, why not choose an easier target?
“Yes. Very good,” he said. “You’re up on your tabloid reading, I see.”
“No, I know Ashley. She’s actually the person I met in a bar crawling with tourists. She’s the one who knocked me up.”
Renzo felt like he’d been punched in the chest. “Excuse me? None of what you’re saying makes sense.”
The little woman growled, lifting her hands and gripping her head for a moment before throwing them back down at her sides, curling her fingers into fists. “I am... I am trying. But I thought you would know who I was!”
“Why would I know who you are?” he asked, feeling at a loss.
“I just... Oh, I should never have listened to her. But I was... I am just as stupid as my dad thinks I am!” She was practically wailing now, and he had to admit, this farce was inventive even if it was damned disruptive to his day.
“Right at this moment I’m on your father’s side, cara, and I will remain so until you have offered me an explanation that falls somewhere short of being as stupid as my ex-wife getting you pregnant.”
“Ashley hired me. I was working at a bar down by the Colosseum, and she and I started talking. She was telling me about the issues in your marriage and the trouble you were having conceiving...”
The words made his gut twist. He and Ashley had never attempted to conceive. By the time they’d gotten to a place where they might discuss giving him an heir to his empire, he’d already decided that no amount of shock value made her worth it as a wife.
“I thought it was weird, her talking to me like that. But she came back the next night, and the next. We talked about how I ended up in Italy and how I had no money...” She blinked. “And then she asked me if I would consider being her surrogate.”
Pressure built in Renzo’s chest until it exploded. English deserted him entirely, a string of vulgar Italian flowing from his lips like a foul river. “I don’t believe it. This is some trick that bitch has put you up to.”
“It’s not. I promise you it isn’t. I had no idea that you didn’t know. No idea at all. It was all very... What she said... It made sense. And...and she said it would be easy. Just a quick trip to Santa Firenze, where the procedure is legal, and then I just have to...be the oven. I was supposed to get paid to make the bread, so to speak, and then...well, give it to the person I...baked it for. Someone who wanted the baby desperately enough to ask for help from a stranger.”
Panic tore through Renzo like a wild beast, savaging his chest, his throat. Making it impossible to breathe. What she was saying was impossible. It had to be. Mostly.
Ashley was...unpredictable. And God knew how that might manifest. Especially since she’d been enraged by the divorce—made simple because of their marriage in Canada, which she had felt was calculated on his part. It was, of course.
But she wouldn’t have done this. She couldn’t have. Still, he pressed.
“It made sense to you that a woman pursued surrogacy, and claimed to have a husband whom you never saw?”
“She said that it would be impossible for you to come to the clinic. She could only do it because she wore large sunglasses and a hat. She said that you were far too recognizable. She said you were very tall.” She swept her hand up and down. “You are. Obviously. You don’t blend. Not even sunglasses would disguise... You know what I mean.”
“I know nothing. It has become apparent to me over the past few minutes that I know less than I thought. That snake talked you into this. How much did she pay you?”
“Well, she hasn’t given me everything yet.”
He laughed, the sound bitter. “Is that so? I hope that final price is a high one.”
“Well, the problem is that Ashley said she doesn’t want the baby anymore. Because of the problems that you’re having.”
“Problems?” The question was incredulous. “Does she mean our divorce?”
“I...I guess.”
“So, you did some cursory research on us, and then no more?”
“I don’t have internet at the hostel,” she said flatly.
“You live in a hostel?”
“Yes,” she said, her cheeks turning a darker shade of pink. “I was just passing through. And I ran out of money. Took a job at a bar, and I’ve been here longer than I anticipated. Then I met Ashley about three months ago.”
“How far along are you?”
“Only about eight weeks. I just... Ashley decided she didn’t want the baby anymore. And I don’t want to... I don’t want to end the pregnancy. And I thought that even though she said you didn’t want to handle any of this, because it damaged your view of the whole thing... I wanted to come to you. I needed to make sure.”
“Why is that? Because you fancy that you will raise the baby if I don’t want it?”
It was her turn to laugh. There was no humor in it, only hysteria. “No! I’m not going to raise a baby. Not now. Not ever. I don’t want children. I don’t want a husband. But I was involved in this. I agreed to it. And I feel like... I don’t know. How can I not feel responsible? She became a friend to me almost. I mean, she was one of the first people in forever who talked to me, told me about her life. She made sure I knew how much she wanted this baby and...now she doesn’t. She might have changed her mind, but I can’t change my feelings about it.”
“What will you do?” he asked. “What will you do if I tell you I don’t want the baby?”
“I’ll give it up for adoption,” she said, as though it were the most obvious thing. “I was going to give birth anyway. That was part of the agreement.”
“I see.” His thoughts were racing, trying to catch up with everything that the woman in front of him—the woman whose name he still didn’t know—was saying to him. “And was Ashley planning on paying you the rest of the fee if you continued with the pregnancy?”
The woman looked down. “No.”
“So, you had to make sure that you could still collect your fee? Is that why you came to speak to me?”
“No. I came to speak to you because it seemed like the right thing to do. Because I was becoming concerned about your lack of involvement in the whole thing.”
Anger built inside him, reaching its boiling point and bubbling over. “Allow me to paint a clear picture for you of what exactly happened. My ex-wife went behind my back to hire you. I still don’t understand how this happened. I don’t understand how she was able to manipulate both you and the doctor. I don’t understand how she was able to accomplish this without my knowing. I don’t understand what her endgame was, as she is now clearly backing out. Perhaps now that she has seen she will get no money from me, and I’m not worth the effort anyway, she does not wish to be saddled with my child for the rest of her shallow existence. Or, perhaps it is simply Ashley. Who decided to do something on a whim, thinking that something of this magnitude would be a delightful surprise she would drop in my lap like the purchase of a new handbag. And much like my ex feels about handbags, she has decided she is bored of this one and moved on to the next shiny thing. Regardless of her motivation, the end result is the same. I didn’t know. I did not want this baby.”
At that, she seemed to deflate. Her shoulders shrunk inward, some of her defiant posture diminishing. “Okay.” She blinked rapidly, lifting her chin and staring him down. “If you change your mind, I’m at the hostel Americana. You can find me there. Unless I’m working at the bar across the street.” She turned on her heel and began to walk away from him, toward the front door. Then she paused. “You claim you’ve been in the dark this whole time. I just didn’t want you to have that excuse anymore.”
Then she walked out of his house. And just like his ex-wife, he determined that he would think about her no more.
* * *
It nagged at him. There was no escaping it. For three days he’d attempted to ignore and dismiss the events that had occurred earlier. He did not know the woman’s name. He didn’t even really know if she was telling the truth. Or if she was another of his ex-wife’s games.
Knowing Ashley, that was it. Just a game. A weird attempt to try to draw him back into her web. She had been far too content with the dissolution of their union. Particularly after she had been so bitter about it in the first place. She had claimed he had always known it would end this way. Which was why they had sought marriage outside the country. Divorce in Italy was far too complicated. And, he supposed, the fact that he had covered his bases in such a manner was in some ways indicative of his commitment. Or at least, his faith in the mercurial Ashley.
But then, he imagined Ashley had gotten her revenge. Surrogacy was not legal in Italy. Undoubtedly why she had sought to have the procedure done in neighboring Santa Firenze.
More the pity that his sister, Allegra, had dissolved her agreement with the prince of that country and married Renzo’s friend—Spanish duke Cristian Acosta, who would be no help to him in this situation—instead.
He should let it go. Likely the woman was lying. Even if she weren’t...what should it matter to him?
A sharp pang in the vicinity of his heart told him he clearly hadn’t had enough to drink. So, he set out to remedy that. But for some reason, grabbing a hold of the bottle of Scotch reminded him of what the stranger had said before she’d left.
She worked at a bar. She worked at a bar near the Colosseum, and if he wanted to find her he could look there.
He took the stopper out of the Scotch bottle. That would all be very well and good if he in fact wanted to find her. He did not. There was no point in searching for a woman who was—in point of fact—probably only attempting to scam money out of him.
But the possibility lingered. It lingered inside him like an acrid smell that he couldn’t shake. One that remained long after the source of the odor was removed. He couldn’t let it go because of Jillian. Because of everything that had happened with her.
He gritted his teeth, setting the bottle back down. Then, he strode toward his closet, grabbing a pair of shoes and putting them on quickly. He would get his car, he would go down to the bar, and he would confront this woman. Then, he would be able to come back home and go to bed, sleeping well, knowing with full confidence that she was a liar and that there was no baby.
He paused for a moment, taking a deep breath. Perhaps he was being overly cautious. But given his history, he felt he had to be. He had lost one child, and he would not lose another one.
CHAPTER TWO (#u633deefd-4c0e-5d93-98af-310e7f0fd309)
ESTHER ABBOTT TOOK a deep breath as she cleared off the last table of her shift. Hopefully, she would have a decent amount of money in tips when she counted everything up, then, she would finally be able to rest easy. Her feet hurt. And she imagined that as early on as she was in the pregnancy, she couldn’t exactly blame it on that.
It was just the fact that she had been working for ten hours. But what other choice did she have? Renzo Valenti had sent her away. Ashley Bettencourt wanted nothing to do with her or the baby. And if Esther had any sense in her head she would probably have complied with the other woman’s wishes and pursued a termination. But she just couldn’t do it.
Apparently, she had no sense in her head. She had a lot of feelings inside her chest, though. Feelings that made all of this seem impossible, and painful, and just a bit too much.
She had come to Europe to pursue independence. To see something of the world. To try to gain perspective on life away from the iron fist of her father. That brick wall that she could no more reason with than she could break apart.
In her father’s world, a woman didn’t need an education that extended beyond homemaking. In her father’s world, a woman didn’t need to drive, not when her husband should accompany her everywhere at all times. In her father’s world a woman could have no free thought or independence. Esther had always longed for both.
And it was that longing that had gotten her into trouble. That had caused her father to kick her out of the commune. Oh, she’d had options, she supposed. To give up the “sinful” items she’d been collecting. Books, music. But she’d refused.
It had been so hard. To make that choice to leave. In many ways it had been her choice, even if it was an ultimatum. But the commune had been home, even if it had been oppressive.
A place filled with like-minded people who clung to their version of old ways and traditions they had twisted to suit them. If she had stayed any longer, her family would have married her off. Actually, they would have done it a long time ago if she hadn’t been such a problem. The kind of daughter nobody wanted their son to marry.
The kind of daughter her father eventually had to excommunicate to set an example to the others. His version of love. Which was really just control.
She huffed out a laugh. If they could see her now. Pregnant, alone, working in a den of sin and wearing a tank top that exposed a slim stretch of midriff whenever she bent over. All of those things would be deeply frowned upon.
She wasn’t sure if she approved of her situation either. But it was what it was.
Why had she ever listened to Ashley? Well, she knew why. Because she had been tempted by the money. Because she wanted to go to college. Because she wanted to extend her time in Europe, and because she found that waiting tables really was kind of awful.
There was nothing all that romantic about backpacking. About staying in grimy hostels.
It was more than that, though. Ashley had seemed so vulnerable when they’d met. And she had painted a picture of a desperate couple in a rocky place in their marriage, who needed a child to ease the pain that was slowly breaking them apart.
The child would be so loved. Ashley had been adamant about that. She had told Esther about all her plans for the baby. Esther hadn’t been loved like that. Not a day in her life.
She had wanted to be part of that. Even in just a small way.
Finding out that was a lie—the happy-family picture Ashley had painted—was the most wrenching part of it all.
She laughed and shook her head. Her father would say this was her punishment for being greedy. For being disobedient and headstrong.
Of course, he would probably also expect this would send her running back home. She wouldn’t do that. Not ever.
She looked up, looked at the view in front of her. Looked around her at the incredible clash of chaos that was Rome. How could she be regretful? It might be difficult to carry the baby to term with no help. But she would. And then after that she would make sure that the child found a suitable home.
Not one with her. But then, it wasn’t her baby, after all. It was Renzo’s. Renzo and Ashley’s. Her responsibilities did not extend beyond gestation. She felt pretty strongly about that.
The hair on the back of her neck seemed to stand on end, a rush of prickles moving down her spine. She straightened, then slowly turned. And through the crowd, across the bar that was teeming with people, tables crammed together, the dark lighting providing a sense of anonymity, he seemed to stand out like a beacon.
Tall, his dark hair combed back off his forehead, custom suit tailored perfectly to his physique. His hands were shoved in his pockets, his dark eyes searching. Renzo Valenti.
The father of this baby. The man who had so callously sent her away three days earlier. She hadn’t expected to see him again. Not when he had been so adamant about the fact that he would have nothing to do with the child. That he didn’t even believe her story.
But here he was.
A surge of hope went through her. Hope for the child. And—she had to confess internally, with no small amount of guilt—hope for her. Hope that she would be compensated for the surrogacy, as she had been promised.
She wiped her hands on her apron, stuffing a bar towel in the front pocket and striding across the room. She waved a hand, and the quick movement must have caught his attention, because just then, his gaze locked on to hers.
And everything slowed.
Something happened to her. A rush of heat flowed down through her body, pooling in her stomach, and slightly lower. Suddenly, her breasts felt heavy, her breath coming in short, harsh bursts. She was immobilized by that stare. By the fathomless, black depths that seemed to pin her there, like a butterfly in one of the collections her brothers had had.
She was trembling. And she had no idea why. Very few things intimidated her. Since she had stood there in front of her father—in front of the whole commune, like a bad movie or something—refusing to recant the “evil” things she had brought in from the outside, there wasn’t much that bothered her. She had clung to what she wanted, defying everything she had been taught, defying her father, leading to her expulsion from the only home she’d ever known. That moment made everything else seem mundane in many ways.
Perhaps, she had imagined, the world would turn out to be every bit as scary and dangerous as her mother and father had promised her it would be. But once she had purposed in herself that she was willing to take that chance to discover herself, to discover her freedom, she had made peace with it. With whatever might happen.
But she was shaking now. Was intimidated. Was maybe even a little bit afraid.
And then he began to close the space between them. And it felt as though there was a connection between the two of them. As though there was a string tied around her waist, one he was holding in his hands. And even though he was the one drawing nearer to her, she felt the pull to him.
It was loud in the bar, but when he spoke it cut through like a knife. Effortless, sharp and exceedingly clear. “I think you and I need to have a little chat.”
“We tried that,” she said, shocked at how foreign her voice sounded. How breathless. “It didn’t exactly go like I planned on it going.”
“Well, you walked into my home and dropped a bombshell on me. So, I’m not entirely certain how you expected it to go.”
“Well, I didn’t know it was a bombshell. I thought we were just going to discuss something you already knew. A bombshell you were complicit in.”
“Sadly for you, I was not complicit. But if what you’re saying is true, we definitely need to come to an agreement of some kind.”
“What I’m saying is absolutely true. I have the documentation back at the hostel.”
He narrowed his eyes. “And I’m supposed to believe that this documentation is factual?”
She laughed. “I wouldn’t know where to begin forging medical paperwork like that.”
“That means nothing to me. Your word means nothing to me. I don’t know who you are. I don’t know anything about you. All I know is that you showed up at my house earlier and are now asking me to believe the most fantastical of tales. Why should I?”
“Well,” she said, looking down at her sandaled feet, “I suppose because you’re here.” She looked back up at him, her breath catching in her throat when she met with his furious gaze. “That means you must think it could be true. And if it could be true, why wouldn’t it be? Why would I target you? Why would I... I don’t know. It’s just... Trust me. I would never have cooked this up on my own.”
“Take me back to your hostel.”
“I’m just off shift. I need to go write down my time.”
He reached out, grabbing hold of her bare arm. The contact between his fingers and her skin sent an electric crackle down through her body. She had to think. Really think if she had ever been touched like this by a man. Other than a doctor or her family members, she’d had very little physical contact with anyone. And this seemed... It seemed more than significant. It burned her all the way down to the soles of her feet. Made her feel like her shoes might melt.
Like she might melt.
“I will speak to your boss later if need be. But you’re coming with me now.”
“I shouldn’t.”
A smile curved his lips. It was not kind. It did nothing to dispel any of the tension in her chest. If anything, it made everything feel heavier. Tighter. “But you will, cara mia. You will.”
After that statement of declaration, she found herself being propelled out of the open-air bar and onto the busy street. It was still teeming with people, humidity hanging in the overly warm air. Her hair was sticking to the back of her neck, her tank top sticking to her skin, and his body was like a furnace beside her as they strode purposefully down the street.
“You don’t know where I live.”
“Yes I do. I am fully capable of looking up the name of a hostel and finding the directions. And I know the streets well.”
“This isn’t the way back,” she said, feeling the need to try to find some power in the situation. She despised feeling helpless. Despised feeling controlled.
“Yes,” he said, “it is.”
Much to her dismay, this alternate route seemed to put them back at the front door of the hostel much more quickly than the one she typically took. She pursed her lips together, frowning deeply.
“You’re welcome,” he said, pushing the door open, his entire posture and tone radiating a kind of arrogance she had never before come into contact with.
“For what?”
“I have just showed you a better route home. Likely I will save you time in the future. You’re welcome.”
She scowled, ducking her head and walking past him into the narrow hallway. She led him down the hall, to the small room that she had in the back. There were four bunk beds in it, with two other women currently occupying the space. It was fairly private, all things considered. Though, as Esther began to feel more symptomatic of her pregnancy, it began to feel more and more crowded.
She kicked her sandals off, making her way across the pale, uneven stone floor, and headed to the bottom bunk, where all of her things were kept when she wasn’t sleeping. Her backpack was shoved into the corner by the wall, and she grabbed hold of it, dragging it toward her.
When she didn’t hear footsteps following her, she turned to see Renzo standing in the doorway. His frame filled the space, and when he took that first step inside, he seemed to bring something with him. Tension. A presence that filled not only the room, but any empty space in her chest.
“Welcome,” she said, her tone flat.
“Thank you,” he responded, his words carrying a level of disdain that was almost comical. Except, it was difficult to find much of anything funny at the moment.
She tugged on the drawstring that kept her backpack cinched shut, then hunted around for the tightly folded papers that were down in the bottom. “This is it.” She held it out to him and he took it. His fingertips didn’t brush hers, and she found herself preoccupied by the realization that she had almost hoped they would.
“What is all of this?” he asked, unfolding the documents.
“Medical records of everything and the signed agreement. With both mine and Ashley’s signature. I suppose you would know if it looked different from your wife’s actual signature. And I think we can both agree that the likelihood of me randomly being able to forge it is slim.”
He frowned, deep lines forming between his dark brows. “This seems... It seems like perhaps there could be some truth.”
“Call Ashley. Call her. She’s mad at me. I’m sure she’ll be more than happy to yell at you, too.”
“Ashley wants you to end the pregnancy?”
Esther nodded, swallowing hard. “I can’t. I agreed to this. And even though the baby isn’t mine, without me, maybe it wouldn’t exist. And I just... I can’t.”
“Well, if this is in fact my child, that isn’t what I want either.”
“You want the baby?”
She tried to read his expression, but she found it impossible. Not that she was exceptionally adept at decoding what people were thinking. She had spent so many years growing up in a closed community. Seeing any faces at all that were unfamiliar was a shock. Going out into the wide world after an entire life being cloistered was... There were so many sights. So many sounds and smells. Different voices, different accents. Different ways of expressing happiness, sadness.
While she often felt at a disadvantage, sometimes she wondered if she actually read people a bit better than those who didn’t have to look as closely at the people around them. She always felt that if she released hold on her vigilance—even for a second—she would find herself lost in this endless sea of humanity.
But there were no clues at all on Renzo’s face. It was as though he were carved from granite. His lips pressed into a firm line, his black eyes flat. Endless.
“I will take responsibility for my child,” he said, which was not the same as wanting the child. But she supposed, it didn’t matter.
“Well...I suppose that’s...” She didn’t want to ask about payment. Except, she desperately wanted to ask about payment.
“But the first thing we must do is get you out of this...” He looked around the room, his lip curling slightly. “This place. You cannot stay here. Not while you are carrying the heir to the Valenti fortune.”
She blinked rapidly. The baby that she was carrying was the heir to a fortune? She knew that Renzo was rich. Of course she did. She had seen the way that Ashley was accustomed to living after their stay at the lavish hotel the other woman had insisted they stay in when they’d gone across the border for the procedure.
Still. This revelation seemed different. “But we’ve been fine for the past couple of months,” she said.
“Perhaps. Though, I imagine our definition of ‘fine’ may be sharply different from one another’s. You are not to work at that bar, not anymore. And you will come with me. Back to my villa.”
Esther felt like she had been punched in the chest. She found that she couldn’t breathe. She felt immobilized. Utterly and completely weighted down by that dark, uncompromising gaze.
“But what if I... What if I don’t want to?”
“You don’t have a choice,” he returned. “There is a clause in this agreement that says Ashley can choose to terminate it should she decide she no longer wants the pregnancy carried to term. That has happened. That means unless you comply with my demands, with my word, you will get nothing. And you will have no recourse. Not—I assure you—in Italy. I will pay you more than the sum my wife agreed on, but only if you do exactly as I say.”
Her head was spinning. She felt like she needed to sit down or she was going to fall down. She found herself doing exactly that before she even realized it, her weak legs folding, plopping her down roughly onto the edge of the thin mattress, the wood frame digging sharply into her thighs.
The noise from outside filtered through the single-pane windows, joining the thoughts in her head, swirling around, making her feel dizzy. “Okay,” she said, only because she could think of no discernible reason to refuse him.
She knew there were other consequences to consider. Concerns for her safety, perhaps? She didn’t know him. Didn’t know him in any way beyond a brief understanding of his reputation as a businessman.
She also knew that he had been married to Ashley. Ashley, who had proved to be untrustworthy. Manipulative and—if Renzo was to be believed—a liar.
So, she imagined that said something about his character.
But she didn’t see another option. Not one beyond putting herself through something that would undoubtedly be both physically and emotionally demanding without any kind of recourse. Not for the first time, she felt a deep sense of guilt and regret.
She tried not to traffic too much in guilt. Mostly because she had spent so much of her life neck deep in it. Every time she found a book at the local book exchange and slipped it into her bag—one she knew she shouldn’t have. Every time she figured out a way to smuggle in a CD she shouldn’t have had.
When she’d been kicked out after the discovery of her smuggled items, she’d become determined to live life on her own terms. To shamelessly adore pop music, and sugared cereal and movies. To read all the books she wanted, including books with dirty words and dirty scenes. And to feel not even a hint of shame.
But on this score, it was difficult for her to feel anything but a creeping sense of shame. She had seized this opportunity because it had seemed like a chance for her to make her dreams come true. To go to school. To continue to travel. To start a life that would remain completely separate from where she had come from.
She had been so single-minded, so focused, so determined to keep herself from ever returning to her family, to that small, claustrophobic existence, that she had ignored any and all twinges of discomfort over this arrangement.
But now, it was impossible to ignore. Impossible to wave her hand over the fact that she was carrying a baby. That she had some kind of responsibility in all of this. That it would be incredibly hard on her body. That it would likely wreck her emotionally. And that if she didn’t comply with what Renzo was asking her to do...
There was a very good chance she would come out of it diminished. That the strength she had gained, strength enough to strike out on her own, would be gone. And for what? For money she wouldn’t even be able to get.
So, she found herself cinching her backpack back up. Slipping her feet into her sandals, and turning to face Renzo.
“Okay,” she said, her lips feeling slightly numb. “I’m going with you.”
CHAPTER THREE (#u633deefd-4c0e-5d93-98af-310e7f0fd309)
ADRENALINE AND ANGER coursed through Renzo in equal measure on the car ride back to his villa. It did not escape him that the woman—whose name he had read in the documents, but whom he had yet to be formally introduced to—was looking around the Italian-made vehicle with an expression akin to a country mouse. But he found he could spare little thought to it.
Not when the reality of the situation was so sharp. When his pulse was beating a steady tattoo in his throat, when his blood was running hot and fast beneath his skin. A baby. Esther Abbott, this American backpacker, was pregnant with his baby. Yes, he would have to verify all of this with Ashley, but he was forced to believe Esther. Though he had no real reason to.
Nothing beyond gut instinct. The idea of trusting his gut nearly made him laugh. But then, he rarely trusted his gut. Usually, he trusted in parts lower. And his own quick intellect, which he often allowed himself to imagine was above reproach.
In matters of business, it was. When he was consulted on where a certain business should be built, when he was tasked with seeing to a major bit of real estate development, he never failed. Instincts, inherited from his father, drove him in that arena.
Apparently, in other matters he was not quite so discerning. Or so unerring. His ex-wife was one of the very prominent examples of that truth.
Jillian being another.
Women. It seemed he had a tendency to be a fool for women. No matter that he kept his heart out of any such entanglements, he seemed to have a knack for finding women who got him in other ways.
He looked sideways at Esther, then quickly turned his focus back to the road. He would have no such issues with her. She was plain. Pretty, he supposed. But her wide brown eyes were unlined, unenhanced in any way. Her dark eyebrows a bit heavier than he typically liked on a woman. There were vague bruised-looking circles beneath her eyes, and he couldn’t work out if that was because of exhaustion, or if it was simply part of her coloring.
He was so accustomed to seeing women with a full face of makeup that was near enough to airbrushing in real life that he found it very hard to say.
Her lips were full, dusky, and he thought probably the most attractive thing about her. Though, her body was also nice enough. Her breasts weren’t large, but they were beautiful shaped, and it was clear she wasn’t wearing a bra beneath that black tank top of hers.
But her breasts were immaterial. The only thing that mattered was her womb. And whether or not his child currently resided inside it.
He turned sharply into his driveway, leaving the gate wide open, and not particularly caring. Then, he got out of the car, rounding it and jerking open the passenger door. “Welcome to your new home,” he said, knowing that his tone sounded anything but welcoming.
She bit her bottom lip, gathering her backpack from the floor of the car, and getting out, holding the offensive canvas bag to her chest. She looked around, eyes wide, a sort of sickly pallor appearing beneath her tan skin.
“You were just here a couple of days ago,” he said. “You can stop looking so intimidated.”
“Well,” she said, directing her focus to him, “you’re intimidating. A house like this... One that is practically a castle... That’s intimidating.” She took a deep breath. “And I know I was here earlier. But this is different. I was focused on telling you about the baby. I wasn’t thinking I would stay here.”
“Are you going to pretend that you would prefer the hostel? There is no need to pretend with me. You agreed to carry a child for money. It isn’t as though you can suddenly make believe you have no interest in material things.”
She shook her head. “I don’t. I mean, not the way that you think. I want to go to college.”
He frowned. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-three.”
He held back a curse. She was the same age as his sister, Allegra. Possibly a bit younger. Had he been the sort of man who possessed the ability to feel sympathy for strangers, he thought he might feel some for her. But those softer feelings had been bled from him long ago, empathy replaced by a vague sense of concern.
“And you couldn’t access any scholarships?”
“No. I had to pay to take the SATs. I didn’t exactly go to high school. But my scores are good enough to get into a few places. I think. I just need to get my financial ducks in a row.”
“You didn’t go to high school?”
She pursed her lips together. “I was homeschooled. Kind of. Anyway, it isn’t like I was trying to get myself a yacht. And even if I was, nobody does surrogacy for free for a stranger.”
He lifted a shoulder. “I suppose not. Come this way.”
He led the way into the villa, suddenly completely at a loss. His housekeeper had already retired to her quarters, and here he was with an urchin whom he suddenly had to manage. “I imagine you’re tired,” he said.
“Hungry,” she replied.
He gritted his teeth. “The kitchen is this way.”
He led her through the expensive house, listening to the sound of her shuffling footsteps behind him as they made their way to the kitchen. The house itself was old. Stonework dating back centuries. But inside, all of the modern conveniences had been supplied. He made his way to the large stainless steel fridge and opened it. “You may have your pick of what’s inside.”
As soon as he said that, he realized that most of the food was still ingredients, and not exactly a meal. But surely, there would be something. Then he remembered that his housekeeper often left portions in the freezer for him just in case.
He didn’t often eat at home, and he would just as soon go out if there was no staff on hand to make him something. But he was not going back out tonight.
He looked until he found what looked to be a container of pasta. “Here you go,” he said, setting it down in front of a wide-eyed Esther.
He didn’t stay to see what she did after that. Instead, he strode from the room, taking the stairs two at a time and heading toward his office. He paced the length of the room for a moment, then turned to his desk, taking hold of his phone and dialing his ex-wife.
It took only two rings for Ashley to answer. That didn’t surprise him. If she was going to answer, of course she would do it quickly. Otherwise, had she intended to ignore him, she would have done so steadfastly. She was nothing if not extreme.
“Renzo,” she said, sounding bored. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“You may not find it such a pleasure to speak to me, Ashley. Not when you hear what I have to say.”
“I have not actually found it a pleasure to speak to you for quite a few months.”
“We were only married for six months, so I hope that’s an exaggeration.”
“It isn’t. Why do you think I had to find other men to satisfy me?”
“If you are talking about emotional satisfaction, I have several answers for that. However, if you mean to imply that I did not satisfy you physically, then I’m going to have to call you a liar.”
Ashley huffed. “There’s more to life than sex.”
“Yes indeed. There is, in fact, the small matter of the woman who is currently downstairs in my kitchen.”
“We’re divorced now,” Ashley said, her voice so sharp it could cut glass. “Who is or is not in your kitchen—or bed—is none of my concern.”
“It is when it’s Esther Abbott. A woman who claims that she had an agreement with you. For her to carry our child.”
There was a pause. He was almost satisfied that he had clearly succeeded in rendering Ashley speechless. It was such a difficult thing to do. Even when she had been caught in bed with someone else, she had done her best to talk, scream and cry her way out of it. She was not one to let it rest. She was never one to let someone else have the last word.
Her silence now was telling. Though, of her absolute surprise, or of her chagrin at being found out, he didn’t know.
“I thought it might save us. But that was before... Before the divorce was final. Before you found out about the others.”
“Right. The five other men that you were with during the course of our marriage?”
Ashley laughed. “Seven, I think.”
It didn’t matter to him. Five, seven or only the one he had actually witnessed. He had a feeling the truth didn’t matter to Ashley either. It was all about scoring points.
“So this is true,” he said, his tone harsh.
“Yes,” she replied, her voice tight.
“How?” he bit out.
She huffed out an impatient-sounding laugh. “Well, darling, the last time we were intimate you used a condom. I just...made use of it after you discarded it. It was enough for the doctor.”
He swore. At her. At himself. At his body. “Is there nothing too low for you?”
“I guess that remains to be seen,” she said, her tone brittle like glass. “I have a lot of living left to do, but don’t worry, Renzo, you won’t be part of it. My depths will not be of any concern to you.”
“This woman is pregnant with our child,” he said, trying to bring it back around to the topic at hand. To the reason he had some creature-ish backpacker in his home.
“Because she is stubborn. I told her she didn’t have to continue with it. In fact, I told her I refused to pay the remainder of the fee.”
“Yes,” he bit out. “I have had a discussion with her. I was only calling you to confirm.”
“What are you going to do?”
That was a good question. An excellent question. He was going to raise the child, naturally. But how was he going to explain it? To his parents. To the media. These would be headlines his child would read. Either he would have to be honest about Ashley’s deception, or he would have to concoct a story about a mother abandoning her child.
That would not do.
But surrogacy was not legal in Italy. No agreement would be binding within these borders. And he would use that to his advantage.
“There is nothing to be done,” he said, his tone swift, decisive. “Esther Abbott is pregnant with my child. And I will do the responsible thing.”
“Renzo,” she said, her voice fierce, “what do you intend to do?”
He knew. There was no question. He had been in a situation similar to this before. Only then, he had had no power. The woman involved, her husband, his parents, had all made the decisions around him. His ill-advised affair with Jillian costing much more than his virginity.
At sixteen, he had become a father for the first time. But he had been barred from having anything to do with the child. A story carefully constructed to protect her marriage, her family, that child and his reputation had been agreed on by all.
All except for Renzo.
He would not allow such a thing to happen again. He would not allow himself to be sidelined. He would not put him, or his child, in such a precarious position. There was only one thing to do. And he would see it done.
“I shall do what any responsible man would do in this situation. I intend to marry Esther Abbott.”
* * *
Esther had never seen anything quite like Renzo’s kitchen. It had taken her more than ten minutes to figure out how to use the microwave. And even then, the pasta had ended up having cold spots and spots that scalded her tongue. Still, it was one of the best things she had ever tasted.
That probably had more to do with exhaustion and how long she’d gone without eating than anything else. Pasta was one of her favorite newly discovered foods, though. Not that she’d never had noodles in some form. It was just that her mother typically made them for soups, and not the way she’d had it served in Italy.
Discovering new foods had been her favorite part of travel so far. Scones in England with clotted cream, macarons in France. She had greatly enjoyed the culinary adventure, nearly as much as the rest of it.
Though, sometimes she missed brown bread and stew. The kinds of simple foods her mother made from scratch at home.
A swift kick of loneliness, of homesickness, punched her low in the stomach. It was unusual, but it did happen sometimes. Most of her home life had been difficult. Had been nothing at all like the way she wanted to live. But it had been safe. And for most of her life, it had been the only thing she’d known.
She blinked, taking another bite of her pasta, and allowing the present moment to wash away the slow-burning ache of nostalgia.
She heard footsteps and looked up. Renzo strode into the kitchen, and that dark black gaze burned away the remaining bit of homesickness. There was no room for anything inside her, nothing beyond that sharp, cutting intensity.
“I just spoke to Ashley.”
Suddenly, the pasta felt like sawdust in Esther’s mouth. “I imagine she told you the thing you didn’t want to hear.”
“You are correct in your assessment.”
“I’m sorry. But it’s true. I really didn’t come here to take advantage of you, or to lie to you. And I really couldn’t have forged any kind of medical documents. I had never even been to a doctor until Ashley took me for the procedure.”
He frowned. She could tell that she had said something that had revealed her as being different. She did that a lot. Mostly because she didn’t exactly know the line. Cultures were different, after all, and sometimes she thought people might assume she was different only because she was American.
But she was different from typical Americans, too.
“I lived in a small town,” she said, the lie rolling off her tongue easily. She had always been a liar. Because if ever her parents asked her if she was content, if ever her mother had asked her about her plans for the future, she’d had to lie.
And so, covering up the extent of just how strange she was became easier and easier as she talked to more people and picked up more of what was expected.
“A town so small you did not have doctors?”
“He made house calls.” That part was true. There had been a physician in the commune.
“Regardless of your past history, it seems that you were telling the truth.”
“I said I was.”
“Yes, you did. It is an unenviable position you find yourself in—or perhaps it is enviable, depending on your perspective. Tell me, Esther, what are your goals in life?”
It was a strange question. And never once had she been asked. Not really. Her parents had spoken to her about what she would do. About what her duty was, about the purposes of women and what they had to do to be fulfilled. But no one had ever asked her if it would fulfill her. No one had ever asked her anything at all.
But he was asking. And that made something warm glow inside her.
It made her want to tell him.
“I want to travel. And I want to go to school. I want to get an education.”
“To what end?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“What do you wish to major in? Business? History? Art?”
“Everything.” She shrugged. “I just want to know things.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything I didn’t before.”
“That is an incredibly tall order. But one that is certainly possible. Is there a better city in the world to learn about history? Rome.”
“Paris and London might have differing opinions. But I definitely take your point. And yes, I agree I can get quite an education here simply by being here. But I want more.”
He began to pace, and there was something in that stride, attention, a purpose, that made her feel a bit like a small, twitchy little field mouse standing in front of a big cat. “Why shouldn’t you have more? Why shouldn’t you have everything? Look around you,” he said, sweeping his hand in a broad gesture. “I am a man in possession of most everything. For what reason? Simply because I was born into it. And yes, I have done all that I can to ensure I am worthy of the position. I assumed the helm of the family business and have continued to navigate it with proficiency.”
“That’s very nice for you,” she said, mostly because she had no idea what else she was supposed to say.
“It could be very nice for you,” he said, leveling his eyes on her. Her skin prickled, somewhere beneath the surface, where she couldn’t tamp it down, not even by grabbing hold of her elbows and rubbing her forearms vigorously.
“Could it?”
“I am not going to be coy. I am a billionaire, Ms. Abbott. A man with a limitless supply of resources. Ashley was not as generous with you as she might have been. But I intend to give you the world.”
She felt her face growing warm. She cleared her throat, reaching up and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, just so she had something to do with the reckless energy surging through her. “That’s very nice. But I only have the one backpack. I’m not sure the world would fit inside it.”
“That is the catch,” he said.
“What is?”
“You will have to give up the backpack.”
She blinked. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“I am a man with a great deal of power—that, I should think, is obvious. However, there are a few things I am bound by. Public perception is one of them. The extremely conservative ideals of my parents are another. My parents have gone to great lengths in my life to ensure that I became the man that I am today.” His jaw seemed to tighten when he said that, a muscle there twitching slightly. “And while I was certainly pushing the edges of propriety by marrying Ashley, I did marry her. Marriage, children, that is what is expected of me. What is not expected? To have a surrogacy scandal. To have it leak out to the public that my wife conspired against me. I will not be made a fool of, Esther,” he said, using her first name for the first time. “I will not have the Valenti name made foolish by my mistake.”
“I don’t understand what that has to do with me. You’re going to have to be very direct, because sometimes I’m a little bit slow with shorthand.”
He frowned. “Just how small is that town you’re from?”
“Very small. Very, very small.”
“Perhaps the size of the town makes no difference. Admittedly, we are in a bit of an unprecedented situation. Still, my course is clear.”
“Please do enlighten me.”
He paused, looking at her. Which shouldn’t have been significant. He had looked at her before. Lots of times. People looked at each other when they talked. Except, this time when he looked at her it felt different.
But this was different. Whether or not that made any sense, it was different. His gaze was assessing now, in a different way from what it had been before. As though he were looking deeper. Beneath her clothes, the thought of which made her feel hot all over, down beneath her skin. As though he were trying to see exactly what her substance was.
He looked over her entire body, and she felt herself begin to burn everywhere his gaze made contact. That strange, restless feeling was back between her thighs, an intense heaviness in her breasts.
She sucked in a sharp breath, trying to combat the sting of tears that were beginning to burn there. She didn’t know why she wanted to cry. Except that this felt big, new and completely unfamiliar. Whatever this was.
“Esther Abbott,” he said, his words sliding over her name like silk, “you are going to be my wife.”
CHAPTER FOUR (#u633deefd-4c0e-5d93-98af-310e7f0fd309)
ESTHER FELT LIKE she was dreaming. She had a strange sense of being detached from her body, of looking down on the scene below her, like it was happening to somebody else and not her. Because there was no way she was standing in the middle of a historic mansion, looking at the most beautiful man she had ever seen in her entire life, his proposal still ringing in her ears.
Beautiful was the wrong word for Renzo, she decided. He was too hard cut. His cheekbones sharp, his jaw like a blade. His dark eyes weren’t any softer. Just like the rest of him, they were enticing, but deadly. Like broken edges of obsidian. So tempting to run your fingers over the seemingly smooth surface, until you caught an edge and sliced into your own flesh.
It struck her just how ridiculous it was, fixating on her mental use of the word beautiful. Fixating on his appearance at all. He had just stated his intention to make her his wife. His wife.
That was her worst nightmare. Being owned by a man again. She couldn’t stand it. Never. Yes, Renzo was different from her father. Certainly this was a different situation. But it felt the same. It made her feel like her throat was closing up, like the walls were closing in around her.
“No,” she said, panic a clawing beast scurrying inside her. “That’s impossible. I can’t do that. I have goals. Goals that do not include being your... No.”
“There is not a single goal that you possess that I cannot enable you to meet with greater ease and better style.”
She shook her head. “But don’t you see? That isn’t the point. I don’t want to stay here in Rome. I want to see the world.”
“You have been seeing the world, have you not? Hostels, and dirty bars. How very romantic. I imagine it is difficult to do much sightseeing when you are tethered to whatever table you are waiting at any given time.”
“I have time off. I’m living in the city. I have what I want. Maybe you don’t understand, but as you said, you had very much of what you possess given to you. Inherited. My legacy is nothing. A tiny little house with absolutely no frills in the middle of the mountain range. And that’s not even mine. It’s just my father’s. And it never would’ve passed to me. It would’ve gone to one of my six brothers. Yes, six brothers. But not to any of my three sisters. You heard that number right, too. Because there was nothing for us. Nothing at all for women. Though, I’m not entirely certain that in that scenario the boys have it much better.” She took a deep breath. “I’m proud of this. Of what I have. I’m not going to allow you to make me feel like it’s lacking.”
“But it is lacking, cara.” The words cut her like a knife. “If it were not lacking, you would not have goals to transcend it. You wish to go to school. You wish to learn things. You wish to see the world. Come into my world. I guarantee you it is much more expansive than any that you might hope to enter on your own.”
The words reverberated through her, an echo. A promise. One that almost every fiber of her being wanted to run from. Almost. There must have been some part of her that was intrigued. That wanted to stay. Because there she was, as rooted to the spot as she had been when he entered the bar earlier that night. There was something about him that did that to her, and it seemed to be more powerful than every terrified, screaming cell in her brain that told her she should run.
“That’s insanity. I don’t need you, I just need the payment that was agreed upon, and then I can better my circumstances.”
“But why have a portion of my fortune when you can have access to the entire thing?”
“I wouldn’t have the first idea what to do with that. Frankly, having anything to call mine is something of a new experience. What you’re talking about seems a little bit beyond my scope.”
“Ah, but it does not have to be.” His words were like velvet, his voice wrapping itself around her. Her mother had been right. The devil wasn’t ugly. That wouldn’t work when it came to doling out temptation. The devil was beautiful. The devil—she was becoming more and more certain—was Renzo Valenti.
“I think you might be crazy. I think that I understand now why your wife left you.”
He chuckled. “Is that what she told you? One of her many lies. I was the one who threw that grasping, greedy shrew out onto the streets, after I caught her in bed with another man.”
Esther tried not to look shocked. She tried not to look as innocent and gauche as she was. The idea that somebody would violate their marriage vows so easily was foreign to her. Marriage was sacred, in her upbringing. Another reason that what Renzo was suggesting was completely beyond the pale for her.
“She cheated on you?”
“Yes, she did. As I said to you earlier, I, for my part, was faithful to my wife. I will not lie and say that I chose Ashley out of any deep love for her, but initially our connection was fun at least.”
Esther turned that over for a moment. “Fun?”
“In some rooms, yes.”
The exact meaning of what he was saying slipped past her slightly, but she knew that he was implying something lascivious, and it made her face get hot. “Well, that is... I don’t... I’m not the wife for you,” she finished. Because if she couldn’t exactly form a picture to go with what he was trying to imply here, she knew—beyond a shadow of a doubt—that she could never be in that kind of relationship with him.
She had never even been kissed. Being a wife... Well, she had no experience in that area. Not only that, she had no desire to be. Oh, probably eventually she would want to be with someone. It was on the list. Way far down.
Sex was a curiosity to her. She’d read love scenes in books, seen them in movies. But she knew she wasn’t ready for it herself, not so much because of the physical part, but the connecting-to-another-person part.
And for now, she was too busy exploring who she was. What she wanted from life. She had never seen a marriage where the man was not unquestionably in control. Had no experience of male and female relationships where the husband did not rule the wife with an iron fist.
She would never subject herself to that. Never.
“Why is that? Because you harbor some kind of childish fantasy of marrying for love?”
“No. Not at all. I harbor fantasies of never marrying, actually. And as for love? I have never seen it. Not the way that you’re talking about it. What I have seen is possession and control. And I have no interest in that.”
“I see. So, you are everything that you appear to be. Someone who changes with the wind and moves at will.”
He spoke with such disdain, and it rankled. “Yes. And I never pretended to be anything else. Why should I? I don’t have any obligation to you. I don’t have any obligation to anyone, and that’s how I like it. But I got myself into this situation, and I do intend to act with integrity. At least, as I see it. I wanted to make sure you knew about the baby, I wanted to make sure that your wishes were being met.”
“And yet, you saw no point in checking in with me in the first place?”
She let out a long, slow breath. “I know. I should have. But that was part of why I came to find you after Ashley said she no longer wanted the baby. Because she had made it so clear that you wanted a child desperately in the first place, and I could not believe that you would suddenly change your mind. Not based on everything she had said.”
“A convincing liar, is my ex-wife.”
“Clearly. But I don’t want to be tangled up in any of this. I just want to have the baby and go on my way.”
“That... That can be discussed. But for all intents and purposes, we are going to present you to the world as my lover. What happens after the birth of the child can be negotiated, but we will conduct ourselves as an engaged couple until then.”
“I don’t understand... I don’t want...”
“I am a very powerful man. The fact that I’m not throwing you over my shoulder and carrying you off to the nearest church, where I have no doubt I could bring the clergy around to my way of thinking, shows that I’m being somewhat magnanimous with you. I am also not overly enticed to jump back into marriage, not after what I have just been through. So, it is decided. You will play the part of my fiancée, at least until the birth of the child, at which point your freedom—and the parting price—can be negotiated.”
“We will be in the news?” The idea of her parents seeing her with him... It terrified her.
“Tabloids most likely. Perhaps some lifestyle sections of respectable papers. But that will mostly be contained to Europe.”
She let out a slow breath, releasing some of the tension that had built in her chest. “Okay. Maybe that isn’t so bad.”
He frowned. “Are you hiding from someone? Because I need to know. I need to know what might put my child in danger, cara.”
“I’m not hiding from anyone. And, trust me, I’m not in danger. I mean, I’m kind of hiding. But not because I’m afraid somebody will come after me. My parents were...strict. And they don’t approve of what I’m doing. I just don’t want them to see me written about in the paper, with a man. Pregnant. Not married.” In spite of the fact that she had long since given up hope of pleasing her parents—in fact, she had come to terms with the fact that her leaving home would mean cutting ties with them forever—she felt sick shame settle in her stomach.
“They are traditional then.”
“You have no idea.” The shame lingered, wouldn’t leave. “They never even wanted me to wear makeup or anything.”
“Well, I fear you will be defying that rule, as well.”
“Why?” She had the freedom to wear whatever she wanted now, but she hadn’t bought makeup yet. There had not been an occasion to.
“Because my women look a certain way.”
That forced a very specific image into her head. A certain kind of woman. The kind of woman her mother often talked about. Fallen, scarlet.
She had a difficult time wrapping her head around the idea that she would be presented to the world like that. Not because she felt ashamed, but because it just never occurred to her. The idea that she might be made up, and dressed up, on the arm of a man like Renzo Valenti.
“You go to... You go to a lot of events, don’t you?”
“A great many. As I said to you before, the world that I will show you is far beyond anything you could access on your own. If you want to experience, I can give you experiences you didn’t know to dream of.”
Those words made something hot take root at the base of her spine, wrap around low and tight inside her, making her feel both hot and empty somehow.
“All right,” she said, the words rushed, because they had to be. If she thought about it any longer, she would run away. “I’ll do it.”
“Do what exactly?” he said, his eyes hard on hers.
“I will play the part of your fiancée for as long as you want me to. And then after that... After the baby is born... I go.”
He took a step forward, reaching out and taking hold of her chin between his thumb and forefinger. His touch burned. Caught hold of her like a wildfire and raged straight through her body. “Excellent. Esther,” he said, her name like a caress on his lips, “you have yourself a fiancé.”
* * *
Renzo knew that he was going to have to tread extremely carefully over the next few weeks. That was one of the few things he knew. Everything else in his life was upended. He had a disheveled little street urchin staying in one of his spare rooms, and he had to present her to the world as his chosen bride soon. Very soon. The sooner the better. Before Ashley got a chance to drop any poison into the ear of the media.
He had already set a plan in motion to ensure she would not. A very generous payout that his lawyer would be offering to hers by the time the sun rose in Canada. She would not want to defy him. Not when—without this—she would be getting nothing from him due to the ironclad prenuptial agreement they had entered into before the marriage.
Ashley liked attention, that much was true. But she liked money even more. That would take care of her.
But then there was the small matter of his parents. And his parents were never actually a small matter.
He imagined that—regardless of the circumstances—they would be thrilled to learn that they were expecting a grandchild. Really, they would only be all the happier knowing that Ashley was out of the picture.
But Esther was most certainly a problem he would have to solve.
With great reluctance, he picked up his phone and dialed his mother’s number. She picked up on the first ring. “Renzo. You don’t call me enough.”
“Yes, so I hear. Every time I call.”
“And it is true every time. So, tell me, what is on your agenda? Because you never call just to make small talk.”
He couldn’t help but laugh at that. His mother knew him far too well. “Yes, as it happens, I was wondering if you had any plans for dinner.”
“Why yes, Renzo. I in fact have dinner plans every day. Tonight, we are having lamb, vegetables and a risotto.”
“Excellent, Mother. But do you have room at your table?”
“For?”
“Myself,” he said, amused at his mother’s obstinance. “And a date.”
“Dating already. So soon after your divorce.” His mother said that word as though it were anathema. But then, he supposed that was because for her it was.
“Yes, Mother. Actually, more than dating. I intend to introduce you to my fiancée, Esther Abbott.”
The line went silent. That concerned him much more than a tirade of angry Italian ever could. Then, his mother spoke. “Abbott? Who are her people?”
He thought of what she’d said about the mountain cabin her rather larger-than-usual family lived in, and he was tempted to laugh. “No one you would know.”
“Please tell me you have not chosen another Canadian, Renzo.”
“No, on that score you can relax. She is an American.”
The choking sound he heard on the other end of the line was not altogether unexpected. “That,” she said finally, “is even worse.”
“Even so, the decision is made.” He considered telling her about the pregnancy over the phone, but decided that it was one of those things his mother would insist on hearing about in person. She did like to divide her news into priorities like that. She had never gotten over Allegra’s pregnancy news filtering back to her through the gossip chain.
“So very typical of you.” There was no real condemnation or venom in her tone. Though, the simple statement forced him to think back to a time when it had not been true. When he had allowed other people to force his hand when it came to decision making. He tried very hard not to think about Jillian. About the daughter who was being raised by another man. A daughter he sometimes caught glimpses of at various functions.
Just one of the many reasons he worked so hard to keep his alcohol intake healthy at such things. It was much better to remember very little of it the next day, he found.
He had been sixteen when his parents had encouraged him to make that decision. And since then, he had changed the way he operated. Completely, utterly. He was not bitter at his mother and father. They had pushed him into making the best decision they could see.
And hell, it had been the best decision. He had proved that fifty times over in the years since. He had not been ready to be a father. But he was ready now.
“Yes, I am typical as ever. But will we be welcome at your table tonight, or not?”
“It will be an ordeal. We will have to purchase more ingredients.”
“When you say ‘we,’ you mean your staff, whom you pay handsomely. I imagine it can all be arranged?”
“Of course it will be. You will be there at eight. Do not be late. Because I will not wait, and the one thing you do not want, Renzo, is for me to be one glass of wine ahead of you.”
He felt his mouth turn upward. “That,” he said, “is very true, Mother, I have no doubt.”
He disconnected the call. Then, he made another call to the personal stylist his mother had used for years, asking that she clear her schedule and bring along a team of hair and makeup artists.
He was not sure if Esther had enough raw material to be salvageable. It was very difficult to say. The women whom he involved himself with tended to be either classic, polished pieces of architecture, or new constructions, as it were. He had no experience with full renovations.
Still, she was not unattractive. So, it seemed as though he should be able to fashion her into something that looked believable. The thought nearly made him laugh. She was pregnant. She was pregnant with his child. And while it may take a paternity test on his end to prove that to the world—or his parents—they would never ask for a test to prove maternity.
Therefore, by that very logic, people would believe their connection. But he would like to make it slightly easier.
When he went downstairs and found her sitting in the dining area, on the floor by the floor-to-ceiling windows, her face tilted up toward the sun, a bowl of cereal clutched tightly in her hands, he knew that he had made the right decision in bringing in an entire team.
“What are you doing?”
She squeaked, startling and sloshing a bit of milk over the edge of her bowl, onto the tile floor. “I was enjoying the morning,” she said.
“There is a table for you to sit at.” He gestured to the long, banquet-style piece of furniture, which had been carved from solid wood and was older than either of them, and was certainly more than good enough for this little hippie to sit and eat her cereal at.
“I know. But I wanted to sit by the window. And I could have moved a chair, but they’re very heavy. And I didn’t want to scuff the tile. And anyway, the floor is fine. It’s warm from the sun.”
“We are going to my parents’ house for dinner tonight,” he said, because it was as good a time as any to broach that subject. “And I trust you will not sit yourself on the floor then.” The image of her crouched in a corner gnawing on a lamb shank was nearly comical. That would upset his mother. Though, seeing as she had been prewarned that Esther was an American, she might not find the behavior all that strange.
He regarded her for a moment. Her hair was caught up in that same messy bun she’d had it in yesterday, and she had traded her black tank top for a brown one, and yesterday’s long, flowing skirt for one in a brighter color.
She frowned, her dark brows locking together. “Of course not.” He had thought her face plain yesterday, and now, for some reason, he thought of it as freshly scrubbed. Clean. There was something... Not wholesome, for this exotic creature could never be called something so mundane, but something natural. Organic. As if she had materialized in a garden somewhere rather than being born.
Which was a much more fanciful thought than he had ever had about a woman before. Typically, his thoughts were limited to whether or not he thought they would look good naked, whether or not they would like to get naked with him, and then, after they had, how he might get rid of them.
“Good. My parents are not flexible people. Neither are they overly friendly. They are extremely old, Italian money. They are very proud of their lineage, and of our name. I told them that we are getting married. And that you’re American. They are amused by neither. Or rather, my mother is amused by neither, and my father will follow suit.”
Her dark eyes went round, the expression on her face worried. It was comical to him that she might be concerned over what his parents thought. Someone like her didn’t seem as though she would concern herself with what other people thought.
“That doesn’t sound like a very pleasant evening,” she said, after a long pause.
“Oh, evenings with my parents are never what I would call pleasant. However, they are not fatal.”
“I have an aversion to being judged,” she said, her tone stiff.
“Oh, I quite enjoy it. I find it very liberating to lower people’s expectations.”
“You do not,” she said, “nobody does. Everybody cares about pleasing their parents.” She frowned. “Or, if not their parents, at least somebody.”
“You said yourself, you left your parents. And that they weren’t happy with you. Obviously, you don’t worry overly much about pleasing your parents.”
“But I did. For a long time. And the only reason I don’t now is out of necessity. I mean, I would’ve never had any freedom if I hadn’t let go of it.”
There was a strange feeling in his chest, her words catching hold of something that seemed to tug on him, down deep.
About freedom. About letting go.
“Well, on that same subject, there is some work to be done if we are going to present you at dinner tonight.”
“What sort of work?” She looked genuinely mystified at that statement, as though she had no idea what he might be referring to.
As he stood before her in his perfectly pressed custom suit, and she sat cross-legged on the floor looking like she would be more at home at a Renaissance fair than in his home, it occurred to him that she really was a strange creature. The differences between the two of them should be obvious, and yet, she did not seem to pick up on them on her own. Or rather, she didn’t seem to care.
“You, Esther.”
“What’s wrong with me?”
“What did you plan on wearing to dinner tonight?”
She looked down. “This, I suppose.”
“You do not see perhaps a small difference in the way that you are dressed, compared with the way that I am dressed?”
“Did you want me to wear a tux?”
“This is not a tux. It’s a suit. There is a difference.”
“Interesting. And good to know.”
He had a feeling she did not find it interesting at all. “I have taken the liberty of having some clothing ordered for you.” He lifted his hand and looked at his watch. “It should be here any moment.”
Just then, his housekeeper came walking into the room, a concerned expression on her face. “Mr. Valenti, Tierra is here.”
His stylist went by only one name. “Excellent.”
“Should I have her meet you upstairs with all of her items?”
“Yes. But in Esther’s room, if you don’t mind.”
Esther’s eyes widened. “What exactly are you providing me with?”
“Something that doesn’t look like it came out of the bottom of a bargain bin at some sort of rummage sale for mismatched fabrics.”
She frowned. “Is that your way of saying there’s something wrong with what I’m wearing?”
“No. My way of saying that is to say what you’re wearing isn’t suitable. Actually, it’s perfectly suitable if you intend to continue to wait tables at a dusty bar crawling with tourists. However, it is not acceptable if you wish to be presented to the world as my fiancée, and neither is it acceptable for you to wear on the night you are to meet my parents.”
At that, his housekeeper’s face contorted. She began to speak at him in angry, rapid Italian that he was only grateful Esther likely wouldn’t be able to decode. “She is pregnant with my child,” he said. “There is nothing else to be done.”
She shook her head. “You have become a bad man,” she huffed, walking out of the room. That last part she had said in English.
“Why is she mad at you?”
“Well, likely because she thinks I impregnated some poor American tourist while I was still married. You can see how she would find that upsetting.”
“I suppose.” She blinked. “But doesn’t she work for you?”
“Luciana practically came with the house, which I purchased more than a decade ago. It’s difficult to say sometimes who exactly works for whom.”
She frowned. “And now what? You’re going to...buy me new clothes?”
“Exactly. And take your old clothes and burn them.”
“That isn’t very nice.”
He raised his brows, affecting his expression into one of mock surprise. “Is it not? That is regrettable. I do so strive to be nice.”
“I doubt it.”
“Don’t snarl at me,” he said. “And, remember, you have to pretend to be my fiancée. In front of Luciana, and in front of Tierra.”
She scowled, but allowed him to direct her up the stairs, depositing her cereal bowl on the dining room table as she went. He watched the gentle sway of her hips as she began to ascend the staircase. When she was in motion, her clothing seemed less ridiculous. In fact, the effect was rather graceful.
There was an otherworldly quality to her that he couldn’t quite pin down. Something that he had difficulty describing, even to himself. She was very young, and simultaneously sometimes seemed quite old. Like a being who had been dropped down to earth, knowing very little about the customs of those around her, and yet, somehow knowing more than any human could in a lifetime.
And that was fanciful thinking that he never normally allowed himself.
So instead of that, he focused on the rounded curve of her rear. Because that, at least, he understood.
When they reached the bedroom, the stylist had already unveiled a rack of clothing. She was fussing around with the hanging garments, smoothing pleats and adjusting the long, complicated skirts on the various gowns.
“Oh, my,” she said, turning and getting her first look at Esther. “We do have our work cut out for us.”
CHAPTER FIVE (#u633deefd-4c0e-5d93-98af-310e7f0fd309)
FOR THE NEXT two hours, Esther was pulled, prodded, poked with pins and clucked at. Well and truly clucked at. As though this woman, Renzo’s stylist, was a chicken. And as though Esther was a naughty chick rather than a woman.
Renzo had left them to it, and she was thankful. Since the moment he had walked out, the other woman had begun stripping Esther’s clothes off her body and forcing new undergarments, new dresses and new shoes onto her.
Esther had never felt fabrics like this. She had never seen styles like this on her spare curves. She had been all about experiencing new things since she had left her home, but she hadn’t gotten around to the clothing and makeup. Or hair. That all required a disposable income that she simply didn’t possess. She was more concerned with keeping food in her belly. And clothing herself in the basics, rather than exploring the world of fashion.
But now she felt as though she had been well and truly educated in which colors looked best on her, which shapes best suited her figure. Of course, most of it had happened in abrupt Italian that Esther could understand only parts of, but still. She could see herself.
In fact, right at the moment, she couldn’t take her eyes off herself. She was wearing a dark green gown that had little cap sleeves and a plunging V neckline that showed off acres of skin around her neck and down farther. The kind of daring look that would never have been allowed in her family home.
The skirt was long, falling all the way down to the tops of the most beautiful pair of shoes Esther had ever seen. Of course, they were also the tallest pair of shoes she had ever worn, and she had serious doubts about her ability to walk in them.
Somewhere in the middle of the clothing frenzy, two men had arrived to work on her hair and makeup. And work they had. Her hair was tamed into a sleek, black curtain, a good half a foot cut off the near-unmanageable length.
Her eyes, which she had always thought were almost comically large, didn’t look comical now. Though, they still looked large. They had been rimmed with black liner, the corners of her eyes highlighted with gold. They had brushed something onto her cheeks, too, making them glow. And her lips... A bit of pale, burnished orange gloss colored them, just slightly, highlighting them, just enough.
She looked like a stranger. She couldn’t see so many of the defining features of her face, not the way she usually did. Those dark circles that had permanent residence beneath her eyes were diminished, her nose somehow appearing more narrow, her cheeks a bit more hollow, thanks to a technique they had called contouring.
And then there was her body. She had never thought much about it. She didn’t have overly large breasts, and for convenience, she typically opted not to wear a bra, sticking to plain, high-necked tops in dark colors that she always hoped concealed enough.
Even though this gown still didn’t allow for a bra, it created an entirely different effect on her bustline than the simple cotton tank tops she preferred. Her breasts looked rounder, fuller, her waist a bit more dramatically curved, rather than straight up and down. The shape of the skirt enhanced the appearance of her hips, making her look like she almost had an hourglass figure.
It was strange to see herself this way. With all her attributes enhanced, rather than downplayed.
The bedroom door opened and she froze when Renzo walked in. She felt hideously exposed in a way that she never had before. Because for the first time in her life she was aware that she might look beautiful, and that there was a man who was most certainly beautiful looking her over. Appraising her as he might a work of art.
“Well,” he said, turning his focus to the team of people who had accomplished the effect, and away from her, “this is a very pleasant surprise.”
“She is a dream to dress,” Tierra said. “Everything fits so nicely. And that golden skin of hers allows her to pull off some very difficult colors.”
“You know all of that is lost on me,” he said. “However, I can see that she is beautiful.”
Warmth flooded her. Such a stupid thing. To feel affected by this charade. But she wasn’t entirely sure if she cared at all that it was a charade. What did it matter, really? Even playing a game like this was new. Feeling like she was the center—the focus—of male attention was something that she had scarcely gotten around to dreaming about.
She had been grappling with freedom. Both the cost of it and the gains. With who she wanted to be, apart from everything she’d been taught. Apart from the small rebellions she’d waged hidden in the mountains behind her house, listening to contraband music while reading forbidden books.
To find it especially appealing to link herself up to a man, even in a temporary way. But now, beneath Renzo’s black gaze, she found something deliciously enticing in it.
A swift, low kick of temptation hit her hard, making it difficult for her to breathe. And she couldn’t even quite work out what the temptation was. It reminded her of walking past the bakery down in the town she’d grown up adjacent to, and seeing a row of sweets that looked delicious. Treats she knew she wouldn’t be allowed to have.
That same feeling. Of wanting, feeling empty. Of that intense, unfair sense of deprivation that always followed.
Except, no one controlled her life now. If she wanted a cake, she could buy it and then she could eat it.
Which made her deeply conscious of the fact that if she wanted Renzo, she supposed she could have him, too.
But for the love of cake, she didn’t know what she would do with him. Or what he would do with her if she reached out and tried to get a taste.
She took a deep breath, craning her neck, straightening her shoulders and doing her best to make herself look even more statuesque. She didn’t know why. Maybe to inject herself with a little bit more pride, so she wasn’t just standing there being subjected to the judgment of every person in the room.
It was so strange being the center of attention like this. She wasn’t entirely certain she disliked it.
“That dress is spectacular. However, it is a bit too formal for dinner,” Renzo said, sitting down in one of the armchairs that were placed up against the back wall. “What else is there?”
“Oh,” Tierra said, turning around and facing the rack, pulling out a short, coral-colored dress that Esther had tried on earlier. “How about this?”
Renzo settled even deeper into the chair, his posture like that of a particularly jaded monarch. “Let’s see it.”
“Of course.”
Esther found herself being turned so that she was facing away from Renzo, and then she felt the zipper on the gown give. She gasped, then froze, not quite sure what she was supposed to do next. If she should protest the fact that she was being undressed in front of a man who was a stranger to her, or if that would ruin the charade.
And then it didn’t matter, because the green dress was pulling down at her feet, and her bare back and barely covered bottom were now fully exposed to Renzo.
“Very nice,” he said, his voice rough. “Part of the new wardrobe?”
She knew he meant the black pair of lace panties she was wearing, and she wanted to turn around and tell him off for making this even more uncomfortable. Except, then she would have to turn around. And expose herself even further, and she wasn’t going to do that. Instead, she decided that she would do her best to show him that she wasn’t so easily toyed with.
“Yes,” she said simply.
A few moments later the next dress was on and firmly in place. Then, she turned back to face Renzo, and her heart crawled up into her throat. Because as intense as he always looked, as much impact as those dark eyes always had on her, it was magnified now.
“Come closer,” he said, his tone hard-edged, the command clearly nonnegotiable.
She swallowed hard, taking one unsteady step toward where Renzo was sitting. His dark gaze flicked away from Esther, landing on the style team. “Leave us,” he said.
They did so, quickly and without a word. And when they were gone, it felt as though they had taken all the air out of the room with them.
“Do people always do what you ask?”
“Always,” he said. “Closer.”
She took another step toward him, trying to disguise the fact that her legs were shaking and that she had no idea how she was supposed to walk in heels that were tantamount to stilts.
He rested his elbow on the arm of the chair, propping his chin on his knuckles. “Of course, some people obey more quickly than others.”
“Did you want me to break an ankle? Because I guarantee you if I walk any faster I’m going to.”
He moved swiftly, his movements liquid, his grace making a mockery of her own uncertain clumsiness. He stood, reaching across the space between them and sweeping her up into his arms. Then he turned, depositing her in the chair he had occupied only a moment ago.
She pressed her hand to her heart, feeling the rapid flutter beneath her palm. Her throat was dry, her head feeling dizzy. Her body felt warm. As though she had been burned all over. His arms had been wrapped around her, her shoulder blades pressed up against that hard, broad expanse of his chest.
That was what stunned her most of all. Just how hard he was. There was no give in him at all. His body was as unbending as the rest of him.
He turned away from her, facing the rack of clothing and the stack of shoes that was beneath it. “If you cannot walk then you will not present a very convincing picture. We don’t want you to look as though you were only polished today.”
“Why? Why does it matter?”
“Because I associate with a very particular kind of woman. I do not need my parents thinking that I swooped in and corrupted some innocent, naive backpacker.”
It took her a moment to process that. She wondered if he really believed that she was naive and innocent. She was. It was just that he had never seemed particularly sold on that version of her.
“They would believe that?”
He laughed, not turning to look at her. “Oh, yes. Easily.” Then he bent, picking up a pair of bejeweled, flat shoes before facing her again. He moved back to where she was sitting, dropping to his knees before her and making a seeming mockery of her earlier thought that he was unbending.
“What are you—”
He said nothing. Instead, he reached out, curling his fingers around the back of her knee. The warmth shocked her. Flooded her. He let his fingertips drift all the way down the length of her calf, the touch slow, much too slow. Something about it, about that methodical movement, seemed to catch her at the site of their contact and spark through the rest of her. Reckless. Uncontrollable.
She fought the urge to squirm in her seat. To do something to diffuse the strange energy that she was infused with. But she didn’t want to betray herself. To betray that his touch made her feel anything.
He grabbed hold of the heel on her shoe and pulled it off slowly, those searching fingertips dragging along the bottom of her foot then as he removed the shoe.
She shivered. She couldn’t help it.
He looked up then and a strange, knowing smile tilted the corner of his lips upward. It was the knowing that bothered her more than anything else. Because she was confused. Lost in a sea of swirling doubts and uncertainty, and he seemed to know exactly what she was feeling.
You do, too. You aren’t stupid.
She gritted her teeth. Maybe. She really wished she were a little bit more stupid. She had tried to be. From the first moment she had laid eyes on him, and he had looked back at her, she had done her very best to be mystified by what all of the feelings inside her meant.
She wasn’t going to give a name to them now. Not right now. Not when he was still touching her. Slipping the ornate flat shoe onto her foot, then moving on to the next. He repeated those same motions there. His fingertips hot and certain on her skin as he traced a line down to her ankle, removing the next stiletto and setting it aside.
“A little bit like Cinderella,” she said, forcing the words through her dry throat.
Not that she’d been allowed to read fairy tales growing up, but a volume of them had been one of her very first smuggled titles.
“Except,” he said, putting the second shoe in place, then straightening, “I am not Prince Charming.”
“I didn’t think you were.”
“Good,” he returned. “As long as you don’t begin believing that I might be something I’m not.”
“Why would I? I’m actually not just a stupid backpacker. I already told you that my family situation was difficult.” She took a deep breath, trying to open up her lungs, trying to ease the tension in her chest. She wasn’t bringing up her family for him. She was bringing them up for her. To remind her exactly why being bound to someone—anyone—was exactly what she didn’t want.
She wanted freedom. She needed it. And this was a detour. She wouldn’t allow herself to become convinced it was anything else.
She would enjoy this. The beautiful clothes, the expertly styled hair. She would enjoy his home. And maybe she would even allow herself to enjoy the strange twisting sensation that appeared in her stomach whenever he walked into a room. Because it was new. Because it was different. Because it was something so far removed from where she had come from.
But that was all it was. It was all it would ever be.
“But now,” he said, looking down at her feet, “you will be able to walk into my parents’ home tonight without falling on your face. That, I think, will be a much nicer effect.”
He stood completely and held his hand out. She hesitated, because she knew that touching him again would reignite that burning sensation in the pit of her stomach she had when he’d touched her leg. But resisting would only reveal herself more. And she didn’t want to do that.
And—she had to admit—she had perversely enjoyed it. Even though she knew it could never come to anything. Even though she knew there was nothing she could do beyond enjoying it as it was, as the start of a flame and nothing more, she sort of wanted to.
And so, she reached out, her fingertips brushing his palm. Then, his hand enveloped hers completely, and she found herself being pulled to her feet with shocking ease. In fact, he pulled her to her feet with such ease that she lost her footing, tipping forward and moving her hands up to brace herself, her palms pressing flat against that rock-hard chest.
He was so... He was so hot. And she could feel his heartbeat thundering beneath her touch. She hadn’t expected that. She wondered if it was normal for him. For his heart to beat so fast. For it to feel so pronounced.
And then she had to wonder if it was related to her. Because her own heartbeat was thundering out of control, like a boulder rolling down a hill. It wasn’t normal for her. It was because of him. And she couldn’t pretend otherwise, not even to herself.
Was that why? Was that why his heart was beating so fast? Because she was touching him? And if so, what did that mean?
It was that last question that had her pulling away from him as quickly as possible. She smoothed the front of her dress, doing her best to take care of any imaginary wrinkles that might be there, pouring her focus into that, because the alternative was looking at him.
“Yes,” he said, his voice hard, rough, infused with much less ease than seemed typical for him. “Tonight will go very well, I think.” And then he reached out, taking hold of her chin with his thumb and forefinger. He forced her to look at him, stealing that small respite she had attempted to take for herself. His eyes burned, and she wasn’t sure if she could still somehow sense his heartbeat, or if it was just her own, pounding heavily in her ears. “But you will have to find a way to keep yourself from flinching every time I touch you.”
Then, he dropped his hand, turning away from her and walking out of the room, leaving her alone. Leaving her to wonder if she had imagined that response in him because of the strength of her own reaction, or if—somehow—she had created movement in the mountain.
CHAPTER SIX (#u633deefd-4c0e-5d93-98af-310e7f0fd309)
DINNER AT HIS parents was always infused with a bit of dramatic flair. Tonight was no exception. They were greeted by his parents’ housekeeper, their coats taken by another member of staff and then led into the sitting room by yet another.
Of course, his mother would not make an appearance until it was time to sit down at the table. He had a feeling it was calculated this time, even more than usual. That she was preparing herself for the unveiling of Renzo’s new fiancée.
His father would go along with his mother’s plan. Mostly because he had no desire to have something thrown at his head. Not that his mother had behaved with such hysterics for a great many years. But everyone knew she possessed the capacity for such things, and so they tended to behave with a bit of deference for it.
He turned to look at Esther, who was regarding the massive, Baroque setting with unconcealed awe. “You will have to look a bit more inured to your surroundings. As far as my parents know you have been with me for at least a couple of months, which means you will have been at events like this with me before.”
“This place is like a museum,” she said, keeping her tone hushed, her dark eyes glittering with wonder. It did something to him. Something to his chest. Unlike earlier, when she had done something to him in parts much lower.
“Yes,” he said, “it is, really. A museum of my family’s achievements. Of all of the things they have managed to collect over the centuries. I told you, my parents were very proud of our name and our heritage. Of what it means to be Valentis.” He gritted his teeth. “Blood is everything to them.”
It was why they would accept Esther. Why they would accept the situation. Because except in extreme circumstances, they valued their bloodline in their heritage.
He deliberately kept himself from thinking of the one time they had not.
“Renzo.” He turned at the sound of his sister’s voice, surprised to see her standing there with her husband, Cristian, at her side, Renzo’s niece held securely in her father’s arms.
“Allegra,” he said, standing and walking across the room to drop a kiss on his younger sister’s cheek. He extended his hand for Cristian, shaking it firmly before touching his niece’s cheek. “I did not know you would be here.”
“Neither did we.”
“Did you fly from Spain for dinner?”
Cristian lifted a shoulder. “When your mother demands an audience, it is best not to refuse, as I’m sure you know.”
“Indeed.”
He turned and looked at Esther, who was still sitting on the settee, her hands folded in her lap, her shoulders curved inward, as though she were trying to disappear. “Allegra, Cristian, this is my fiancée, Esther Abbott.”
His words seemed to jolt Esther out of her internal reclusion.
“Hello,” she said, getting to her feet, stumbling slightly as she did. “You must be... Well, I’m not really sure.”
Allegra shot him a questioning glance. “Allegra Acosta. Formerly Valenti. I’m Renzo’s younger sister. This is my husband, Cristian.”
“Nice to meet you,” she said, keeping her hands folded firmly in front of her but nodding her head. He was hardly going to correct her, or direct her to do something different from what she had done, but he could see that coaching would be required in the future.
“It seems the family will all be here,” he said. “Such a surprise.”
“Engaged. You’re engaged. That’s why Mother called us and told us to get on Cristian’s private jet, I imagine.”
“Most definitely,” Renzo returned.
“You didn’t tell me,” Allegra said.
“In fairness to me, you did not tell me that you were expecting my best friend’s baby until it became unavoidable. You can hardly lecture me on not serving up a particular piece of news immediately.”
His sister’s face turned scarlet, and he looked back at Esther, who was watching the exchange with rapt attention. “Don’t pay attention to him,” Allegra said to Esther. “He very much likes to be shocking. And he likes to make me mad.”
“That seems in keeping with what I know about him,” Esther said.
Cristian laughed at that. “You two can’t have been together very long,” he said. “But it does seem you have a handle on him.”
Esther looked down. “I wouldn’t say that.”
Renzo poured himself a drink, feeling slightly sorry for Esther that he could not offer her the same. Especially given what he was about to do. “Since Mother didn’t tell you the great news of my engagement, I imagine she didn’t tell you I have other news.”
“No,” Allegra and Cristian said together.
“Esther and I are expecting a baby.” He reached out, putting his arm around Esther’s shoulders, rubbing his thumb up and down her arm when he felt her go stiff. That didn’t help, but he knew that it needled her. So, he would have to take that as consolation.
Allegra said nothing, Cristian’s expression one of almost comedic stillness. Finally, it was Cristian who spoke. “Congratulations. Start catching up on your sleep now.”
Allegra still said nothing.
“I can see you’re completely stunned by the good news,” he said.
“Well, yes. I know you’ve made many declarations to me about how you intend to be shocking at all times, so I don’t know why I’m surprised. Actually, I heavily resent my surprise. I should be immune to any sort of shock where you’re concerned.”
Of course, she wasn’t. Being his younger sister, Allegra always seemed to want to believe the best of him. Which was a very nice thing, in its way. But he was a constant disappointment to her. He knew that his marriage to Ashley had been something more than a shock. Although, why, he didn’t know. He had told her, in no uncertain terms, that he intended to marry the most unsuitable, shocking woman that he could find.
That was one that had backfired on him.
“Truly, little sister, you should know me better than that by now. Anyway, let us refrain from speaking of the other ways in which I’ve shocked you in front of Esther. She’s still under the illusion that I’m something of a gentleman.”
Esther looked at him, her expression bland. “I can assure you I’m not.”
Cristian and Allegra seemed to find that riotously amusing. Mostly, he imagined, because they thought she was being dry. In fact, he had a feeling Esther was being perfectly sincere. She was sincere. That was something he was grappling with. Because he didn’t know very many sincere people.
He was much more accustomed to those who were cynical. Who approached the world with a healthy bit of opportunism. It was the sincere people who dumbfounded him. Mostly, because he couldn’t figure out a way to relate to them. He couldn’t anticipate them.
Seeing her earlier today trying on all of those clothes, the way she had looked at him when he had touched her leg, when he had bent down to change her shoes, had been something of a revelation. Until then he had still been skeptical of her. Of her story, of who she claimed to be.
But who she seemed to present was exactly who she was. A somewhat naive creature who was from a world entirely apart from the one she was in now. Her reaction to his parents’ house only reinforced that. He had watched her closely upon entry. If she were a gold digger, he felt he would have seen a moment—even if it was only a moment—where she had looked triumphant. Where she had fully understood the prize that she was inheriting.
Frankly, the position he had put her in gave her quite a bit of leverage for taking advantage. Yes, DNA tests would prove that the child wasn’t hers, but who knew how a ruling might go in Italy where there were no laws to support surrogacy. She was the woman who carried the child, and she would give birth to the child. He imagined that legally there was no way she would walk away with nothing.
And he had offered to marry her. Another way in which she could take advantage of him and his money. And yet she had not seemed excited by that either.
That didn’t mean things wouldn’t change, but for now, he was forced to reconcile with the fact that she might be the rarest of all creatures. Someone who was what she said.
“Excellent,” Allegra said to Esther. “I would hate for you to marry my brother while thinking he was well behaved.”
Spurred on by his earlier ruminations, he turned his head, nuzzling the tender skin on Esther’s neck, just beneath her jawline. “Of course,” he said, allowing his lips to brush against her, “Esther is well aware of how wicked I can be.”
He looked up, trying to gauge her response. Her burnished skin was dark pink beneath, a wild, fevered look in her eye. “Yes,” she said, her voice higher than usual. “We do know each other. Quite well. We are... We’re having a baby. So...”
“Right,” Allegra said.
Just then, a servant came in, interrupting the awkward exchange. “Excuse me,” the man said. “Your mother has asked me to ‘come and fetch you for dinner.’”
Likely, those were his mother’s exact words.
Keeping his hand on Esther’s lower back, he led the charge out of the room and toward the dining hall. He could feel her growing stiffer and stiffer beneath his touch the closer they got, almost as if she could sense his mother. He wouldn’t be surprised. His mother radiated ice, and openly telegraphed her difficulty to be pleased.
“Take a breath,” he whispered in her ear just before they walked in. She complied, her shoulders lifting with a great gasp. “See that you don’t die before dessert.”
And then he propelled her inside.
His mother was there, dressed in sequins, looking far too young to have two grown children, one grandchild and another on the way. His father was there, looking every bit his age, stern-faced and distinguished, and likely a portrait of Renzo’s own fate in thirty years.
“Hello,” his mother said, not standing, which Renzo knew was calculated in some way or another. “So nice to meet you, Esther,” his mother said, using Esther’s first name, which he had no doubt was as calculated as the rest. “Allegra, Cristian, so glad you could come. And that you brought my favorite grandchild.”
“Your only grandchild,” Allegra said, taking her seat while Cristian set about to setting their daughter in a booster seat that had already been put in place for her.
All of this was like salt in a wound. He loved his niece, but there was a particular kind of pain that always came when he was around small children. And when his parents said things like this...about their only grandchild...that pain seemed insurmountable.
“Not for long, though,” Allegra continued. “Unless Renzo hasn’t told you?”
“He has not. Good. Well, at least now we’re all up to speed.” His mother gave Renzo a very pointed look. “Do you have any other surprises for us?”
“Not at the moment,” he said.
Dinner went on smoothly, their mother and father filling up most of the conversation, and Renzo allowing his brother-in-law to take any of the gaps that appeared. Cristian was a duke, and his title made him extremely interesting to Renzo and Allegra’s parents.
Then suddenly, his father’s focus turned to Renzo. “I suppose we will see both you and Esther at the charity art exhibit in New York in two weeks?”
Damn. He had forgotten about that. His father was a big one for philanthropy, and he insisted that Renzo make appearances at these types of events. Not because his father believed firmly in charity in a philosophical sense, but because he believed in being seen as someone who did. Oh, he wasn’t completely cold-blooded, and truly, it didn’t matter either way. A good amount of money made it into needy hands regardless.
But bringing Esther to New York, having her prepared to attend such a land mine–laden event with very little preparation was... Well, just thinking about it was difficult.
More than just the Esther complication, there was always the Jillian complication. Or worse, Samantha. They split their time between Italy and the States, so the probability of seeing them was...high.
But he’d weathered that countless times. Esther was his chief concern. She would probably end up hiding under one of the buffet tables, or perhaps eating a bowl of chocolate mousse on the floor. Thankfully, it would be at night, so there would be no sunbeams for her to warm herself beneath.
“Of course,” he said, answering as quickly as possible, before Esther opened her mouth. He had to make it seem as though they had discussed this. That he had not in fact forgotten about the existence of this event—one that he attended every year—due to the fact that he had been shocked by the news of a stranger carrying his child.
“Excellent,” his father said. “I do find that it’s much better for a man such as yourself to attend with a date.”
“Why is that?”
“So you aren’t on the prowl for women when you should be on the prowl for business connections.”
That shot from his father surprised him. Especially in front of Esther. His father was typically the more restrained of his two parents. Still, he was hardly going to let the old man see that it had surprised him. “You live in the Dark Ages, Father,” he said. “Sometimes, women are in high-powered positions of business, in which case, my being single helps quite a bit. However, Esther will not be an impediment, on that you are correct.”
“Certainly not,” his father said. “If anything, she will be something of an attraction to those jaded big fish you intend to catch.”
“Are you going to be there, Father?”
“No. When I said I hoped to see you there, I meant only that I hope to see your photograph in the newspaper.”
Renzo couldn’t help but laugh at that. And after that, conversation went smoothly through dessert. At least, until they were getting ready to go. A staff member waylaid Esther, a maneuver that Renzo fully took notice of only when his father cornered him near the front door.
“I do hope this isn’t some sort of elaborate joke like your last relationship seems to have been,” his father said.
“Why would it be?”
“She is a lovely girl. She’s a far cry from the usual vacuous model types you choose to associate yourself with. I had to cut ties with one of my grandchildren already, Renzo, lest you forget.”
“You didn’t have to. You felt it was necessary at the time and you convinced me the same was true. Don’t pretend that you have regrets now, old man,” Renzo said, his tone hard. “Not when you were so emphatic about the need for it all those years ago.”
“What I’m saying is that you best marry this girl. And that marriage best stick. A divorce, Renzo. You had a divorce. And a child outside of wedlock that none of us can ever acknowledge.”
“What will you do if I disappoint you again, Father? Find the secret to immortality and deny me my inheritance?”
“Your brother-in-law is more than able to take over the remainder of the business that is not yet under your control. If you don’t want to lose dominion over the Valenti Empire upon the event of my death, I suggest you don’t disappoint me.”
His father moved away from him swiftly then, and Esther came to join him standing by the door. She looked like a deer caught in the headlights, blindsided completely by the entire evening.
And he knew he now had no choice in the matter. This farce would not be enough. It had to be more. His father was threatening his future, and not just his, that of his child.
Esther Abbott was going to have to become his wife, whether she wanted to or not.
And he knew exactly how to accomplish it. He had seen the way she had reacted to his touch back at his villa. He knew that she wasn’t immune to him. And a woman like her, naive, vulnerable, would not be immune to the emotions that would come with the physical seduction.
It was ruthless, even for him. He preferred honesty. Preferred to let the women he got involved with know exactly what they were in for. Preferred to let them know that emotion was never going to be on the table. That love was never going to be a factor.
But he would offer her marriage, and she could hardly ask for more than that. In this instance, what would the harm be?
There was no other option. He was going to have to make Esther Abbott fall in love with him. And the only way to accomplish that would be seduction.
“Come on, Esther,” he said, holding out his arm, “it is time for us to go home.”
CHAPTER SEVEN (#u633deefd-4c0e-5d93-98af-310e7f0fd309)
ESTHER WAS USED to the breakneck pace of working in the bar. Going out every night and working until closing time was demanding. But the routine of getting ready, polishing herself from head to toe, so that she could go out with Renzo for a dinner in Rome, was something else entirely. And it was almost no less exhausting.
Being on show was such a strange thing. She was used to being ignored. Invisible.
But two nights ago they had gone to his parents’ house, and the scrutiny she had been put under there had been unlike anything she’d experienced since she’d lived at home and it had always seemed as though her father was trying to look beneath her skin for evidence of defiance, sin or vice.
Then, last night they had gone out again to a very nice restaurant, and Renzo had explained to her exactly what the charity event in New York was, and how she would be accompanying him.
Tonight, they were going to another dinner, though Renzo had not explained the purpose of this one. And it made her slightly nervous. He had also made her a doctor’s appointment at a private clinic, not the one that Ashley had used. But one that he had chosen himself. Based on, he claimed, the doctor’s reputation for discretion.
It seemed ridiculous to have to get dressed up for a doctor’s appointment, but Renzo had explained that they would be going out afterward, so she would have to dress appropriately for dinner beforehand.
So, here she was now, sitting in the back of a limousine, being driven out to her appointment where Renzo was supposed to meet her. She was wearing lipstick.
The limo came to a stop, and she was deposited in front of a building that seemed far too polished to be a simple medical clinic. But then, Ashley had been aiming for a different kind of discretion when they had gone to the surrogacy clinic.
The driver opened the door for her, and she realized that she had to get out. Even though she just wanted to keep sitting there. For one horrifying second she wondered if she was going to go into the clinic, lie down on the doctor’s table, and he was going to tell her the baby was gone.
For some reason, in that moment, the thought made her feel bereft. She wasn’t sure why it should. Maybe for Renzo? Because he was rearranging his life for this child?
Or maybe, it’s because you aren’t ready to let go of the baby?
No, that was unthinkable. She wasn’t attached to this. She just felt natural protectiveness. It was a hormone thing. She was sure of that. But she couldn’t remember feeling sick for the last couple of days, not even a little bit of nausea, and she wondered if that was indicative of something bad. She wondered that even while she spoke to the woman at the front desk and was ushered into a private waiting room.
She wrung her hands, jiggling her leg, barely able to enjoy the opulence of the surroundings. She tried. She really did. Because she had purposed to be on this journey. To enjoy this little window into something that would always and forever be outside her daily experiences.
She didn’t know when she had started to care. At least not in a way that extended beyond the philosophical. That extended past her feeling like she had to preserve the life inside her out of a sense of duty. She only knew that it had.
Thankfully, she didn’t have a whole lot of time to ruminate on that, because just then, Renzo entered the room. There was something wild and stormy in his gaze that she couldn’t guess at. But then, that was nothing new. She didn’t feel like she could ever guess what he was thinking.
“Where is the doctor?” He didn’t waste any time assessing the situation and deciding it was lacking.
“I don’t know. But I imagine it won’t be much longer.”
“It is a crime that you have been kept waiting at all,” he said, his tone terse.
She hugged herself just a little bit more tightly, anxiety winding itself around her stomach. “You weren’t here anyway. It didn’t matter particularly whether or not the doctor materialized before you, did it?”
“You could have been preparing for the exam.”
Esther didn’t say anything. She could only wonder if Renzo was experiencing similar feelings to hers. It seemed strange to think that he would, but then, also not so strange. It was his baby. It actually made more sense than her being nervous.
“Ms. Abbott,” a woman said, sticking her head through the door. “The doctor is ready to see you now.”
Esther took a deep breath, pushing herself into a standing position. She was aware of walking toward the door on unsteady legs, and then hyperaware of Renzo reaching out and cupping her elbow, steadying her. “I’m fine,” she said.
“You look like a very light breeze could knock you over.”
“I’m fine,” she reiterated. Even though she wasn’t certain if she was.
Renzo let the line of conversation go, but he did not let go of her arm. Instead, he held on to her all the way down the private hallway and into the exam room.
“Remove your clothing and put on this gown,” the nurse said. “The doctor will be in in just a few moments.”
Esther looked at Renzo, her gaze pointed. But he didn’t seem to take the hint.
“Can you leave?” she asked, the moment the nurse was out of sight.
“Why should I leave? You are my fiancée, after all.”
“Your fiancée in name only. You and I both know that this child was not conceived in the...in the...the usual way that children are conceived. You don’t have any right to look at me while I’m undressing. I couldn’t say that in front of the stylist the other day, but I will say it now.”
“I will turn,” he said, his tone dry. And he did.
She took a deep breath, her eyes glued to his broad back, and she began to remove her clothing. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t see her. The feeling of undressing in the same room as a man was so shockingly intimate.
Everything had happened so quickly during her little makeover the other day. And while she had been embarrassed that he was looking at her body, she hadn’t fully processed all of her feelings. Right now, she could process them all a bit too well.
From the dull thud of her heart, to the fluttering of her pulse at the base of her throat. The way that her fingers felt clumsy, numb, but everything else on her body felt hypersensitive and so very warm, tingly.
She could sense him. More than just seeing him standing in front of her, he felt all around her. As though he took up every corner of the room, even though she knew such a thing wasn’t possible.
Finally, she got all of her clothes off, and stood there for a moment. Just a moment. Long enough to process the fact that she was standing naked in a room with this powerful man, who was dressed in a perfectly tailored suit.
It was such a strange contrast. She had never felt more vulnerable, more exposed or...stronger, than she did in that moment. And she could not understand all of those contrasting things coming together to create one feeling.
She picked up the hospital gown and slipped it onto her shoulders, then got up onto the plush table that was so very different from the other table she had been on just a few months ago. “This is different,” she said. “From the clinic in Santa Firenze.”
He turned then, not asking if he could. But she had a feeling that Renzo was not a man accustomed to asking for much. “In what way?”
“Well, I get the feeling that Ashley was doing her best to keep all of this from getting back to you. So, she opted for discreet. But not like this. It was...rustic?”
His lip curled. “Excellent. She took you to a bargain fertility clinic.” His hands curled into fists. “If I ever get my hands on her...”
“Don’t. The fact that she is who she is is punishment enough, isn’t it?”
He laughed. “I suppose it is.”
There was a firm knock on the door, followed by the door opening quickly. Then, the doctor—a small woman with her hair pulled back into a tight bun—walked into the room. “Ms. Abbott, Mr. Valenti, it’s very nice to meet you. I’m very pleased to be helping you along with your pregnancy.”
After introductions were made, and Esther’s vitals were taken, the woman had Esther lie down on the table, then she placed a towel over Esther’s lap and pushed the hospital gown up to the bottom of her rib cage.
“We’re going to do an ultrasound. To establish viability, listen to the heartbeat and get a look at the baby.”
Anxiety gripped her. This was the moment of truth, she supposed. The moment where she found out if those prickling fears she’d had in the waiting room were in any way factual. Or if they were just vague waves of anxiety, connected to nothing more but her general distrust of the situation.
She really hoped it was the second.
The doctor squirted some warm gel onto her stomach, then placed the Doppler on her skin. She moved the wand around until Esther caught sight of a vague fluttering on the monitor next to her. Her breath left her body in a great gust, relief washing over her. “That’s the heart,” she asked, “isn’t it?”
“Yes,” the doctor said, flipping a switch and letting a steady thumping sound fill the room. “There it is.”
It was strange, like a rhythmic swishing, combined with a watery sound in the back. The Doppler moved, and the sound faded slightly.
“I’m just trying to get a good look.” She kept on moving the Doppler around, and new images flashed onto the screen, new angles of the baby that she carried. But Esther couldn’t make heads or tails of any of it. She had no experience with ultrasounds.
“Do either of you have a history of twins in your family?”
The question hit Esther square in the chest, and she struggled to come up with any response that wasn’t simply why.
She didn’t. But she knew that the question didn’t actually pertain to her, since the child she was carrying wasn’t hers. “I...”
“No,” Renzo said, his tone definitive. “However... The baby was conceived elsewhere through artificial means. If that has any impact on what you’re about to say.”
“Well, that does increase the odds of such things,” the doctor said. “And that is in fact what it looks like here. Twins.”
All of the relief that had just washed through Esther was gone now, replaced by wave after wave of thundering terror. Twins? There was no way she could be carrying twins. That was absurd.
Here she had been worried that she had lost one baby, that they would look inside her womb and see nothing, when they had actually found an extra baby.
“I don’t understand,” Esther said. “I don’t understand at all. I don’t understand how it could be twins. I’ve been to the doctor before to have the pregnancy checked on...”
“These things are easy to miss early on. Especially if they were just looking at heartbeats with the Doppler.”
She felt heat rush through her face. “Yes,” she confirmed.
“I understand that it’s a bit of a shock.”
“It’s fine,” Renzo said, his tone hard, belying that calm statement. “I have more than enough means to handle such things. I’m not at all concerned. Of course we are able to care for twins.”
“Everything looks good,” the doctor said, pulling the Doppler off Esther’s stomach and wiping her skin free of gel. “Of course, we will want to monitor you closely as twins are considered a more high-risk pregnancy. You’re young. And all of your vitals look good. I don’t see why you shouldn’t have a very successful pregnancy.”
Esther was vaguely aware of nodding, while Renzo simply stood there. Like a statue straight from a Roman temple.
Seeing that neither of them had anything to say, the doctor nodded. “I’ll leave you two to discuss.”
As soon as the doctor left, Esther sagged back onto the table, flattening herself entirely, going utterly limp. “I can’t believe it.”
“You can’t believe it? You’re the one who intends to leave. Why would it concern you?”
“I’m the one who has to carry a litter,” she shot back.
“Twins are hardly a litter.”
“Well, that’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one gestating them.”
He looked stunned. Pale beneath his burnished skin. “Indeed not.” He turned away from her. “Get dressed. We have reservations.”
“I know I do. I have several reservations!”
“For dinner.”
“You’re not seriously suggesting that we just go out to dinner as though nothing’s happened?”
“I am suggesting exactly that,” he said through gritted teeth. “Get dressed. We are leaving to go to dinner.”
She growled and got off the table, moving back over to her clothes on unsteady legs. She picked up the lacy underwear that had been provided by Renzo’s stylist and slipped them up her legs, not even bothering to enjoy the lush feel of the fabric as she had been doing every other time before.
There was no pausing for lushness when you’d just found out you were carrying not one, but two babies.
She made quick work of the rest of her clothes. At least, as quick work as she could possibly make of them with her trembling fingers. “I’m ready,” she snapped.
“Very good. Now, let us cease with the dramatics and go to dinner.”
He all but hauled her out of the office, taking her to his sports car, where he yanked open the passenger-side door and held it for her.
She looked up at him, at his inscrutable face that was very much like a cloudy sky. She could tell a storm was gathering there, but she couldn’t quite make out why. Then, she jerked her focus away from him and got into the car, clasping her hands tightly in her lap and staring straight ahead.
He closed the door, then got in on his side, bringing the engine to life with an angry roar and tearing out of the parking lot like the hounds of hell were on his heels.
“You dare call me dramatic?” she asked. “If this isn’t dramatic, I don’t know what is.”
“I only just found out that I’m having two children, not one. If any of us is entitled to a bit of drama...”
“You seem to discount my role in this,” she fired back. “At every turn, in fact, you treat me as nothing more than a vessel. Not understanding at all that there is a bit of work that goes into this. Some labor, if you will.”
“Modern medicine makes it all quite simple.”
“That is...well and truly spoken only like a man. What about what this is going to do to my body? It’s going to leave me with stretch marks and then some.” She didn’t actually care about that, but she felt like poking him. Goading him. She wanted to make him feel something. Because for whatever reason this revelation had rocked her entire world, made her feel as though she herself had been tilted on her very axis. She didn’t think he had a right to be more upset than she was. And maybe that wasn’t fair. Maybe it was hormones. But she didn’t particularly care.
“I will get you whatever surgery you want in order to return your body to its former glory. If you’re concerned about what lovers will be able to get afterward, don’t be.”
That statement was almost laughable.
“I am not concerned about lovers,” she said. “My life is not dependent on what other people think. Been there, done that, got rid of the overly starched ankle-length dresses. But what about what I think?”
“You are impossible. And a contradiction.”
He drove on with a bit too much fervor through the narrow streets, practically careening around every corner, forcing her to grip the door handle as they made their way through town.
They stopped in front of a small café, and he got out, handing the keys to a valet in front of the door. It took her a moment to realize that he was not coming around to open the door for her. She huffed, doing it herself and getting out, gathering the fabric of her skirt and getting herself in order once she was fully straightened.
“That was not very gentlemanly,” she said, rounding the front of the car and taking as big a step as her skirt would allow.
“I am very sorry. It has been said that I am perhaps not very gentlemanly. In fact, I believe it was said recently by you.”
“Perhaps you should listen to the feedback.”
He wrapped his arm around her waist, the heat from his hand shocking. His fingertips rested just beneath the curve of her breast, making her heart beat faster, stronger.
“I’m very sorry,” he said, his voice husky. “Please say you’ll forgive me. At least in time for the paparazzi to catch up with us. I would not want pictures of our dinner to go into the paper with you looking stormy.”
“Oh, perish the thought. We cannot have anything damaging your precious reputation.”
“Our association is entirely for my reputation. You will not ruin this. If you do, I promise I will make you pay. I will take money out of our agreement so quickly it will make your head spin. You do not want to play games with me, Esther.”
He whispered those words in her ear, and for all the world he would look like a lover telling secrets. They would never guess that it was a man on the brink issuing threats.
It galled her that they worked.
He walked them inside, without being stopped by anyone, and went to a table that he had undoubtedly sat at many times before. He did pull her chair out for her, making a gentlemanly show there as he had failed to do at the car.
“Sparkling water,” he said to the waiter when he came by.
“What if I wanted something else?” she asked, just to continue prodding at him.
“Your options are limited, as you cannot drink alcohol.”
“Still. Maybe I wanted juice.”
“Did you want juice?” he asked, his tone inflexible.
“No,” she said, feeling defeated by that.
“Then behave yourself.”
He took control like that with the rest of the dinner, proceeding to order her food—because he knew what the best dishes were at the restaurant—and not listening to any of her protestations.
She didn’t know why she should find that particularly surprising. He had done that from the beginning. She had tried to come to him, had tried to do things on her own terms, but he had taken the reins at almost every turn.
Suddenly, sitting there in this restaurant that was so far outside her experience—would have been outside her scope for imagination only a few weeks earlier—she had the sensation that she was being pulled down beneath the surface. That she was out in the middle of the sea, unable to grab hold of anything that might anchor her.
She was afraid she might drown.
She took a deep breath, tried to disguise the fact that it was just short of a gasp.
Finally, their dessert plates were cleared, and Esther felt like she might be able to approach breathing normally again. Soon, they would be back at the villa. And while she still found his palatial home overwhelming, it was at least a familiar sort of overwhelming. Or rather, it had become so over the past few days.
Then, she looked up at him, and that brief moment of sanity melted into nothing. There was a strange look in his eye, one of purpose and determination. And if there was one thing she knew about Renzo it was that he was immovable at the best of times. Infused with an extra sense of purpose and he would be all-consuming.
She didn’t want to be consumed by him. Not in any capacity. Looking into his dark eyes now, an answering twist low in her stomach, she wasn’t certain she could avoid it.
He reached into the interior pocket of his jacket then, his dark eyes never wavering from hers, and then he got out of his chair, kneeling in front of her. She couldn’t breathe. If she had had the sensation of drowning before, it had become something even more profound now. Like being swept up in a tide that she couldn’t swim against. The effect those eyes always had on her.
The effect he seemed to have on her.
She was supposed to be stronger than this. Smarter than this. Immune to the charms of men. Especially men like him. Men who sought to control the world around them, from the people who populated their surroundings, to the homes they lived in, all the way down to the elements. She imagined that if a weather report disagreed with Renzo, he would rail at that until it changed its mind.
She knew all about men like that. Knew all about the importance of staying away from them.
Her mother had been normal once. That was something Esther wasn’t supposed to know. But she had found the pictures. Had seen photographs of her mother as a young girl, dressed in the trends of the day, looking very much like any average girl might have.
She had never been able to reconcile those photographs of the past with the woman she had grown up with. Quiet. Dowdy. So firmly under the command of her husband that she never dared to oppose him in any way at all.
It had been a mystery both to her father and her mother that Esther had possessed any bit of rebelliousness at all. But she had. She did. And if there was one thing Esther feared at all in the world, it was losing that. Becoming that drawn, colorless woman who had raised her.
Love had done it to her. Or more truthfully, control carefully disguised as love.
It was so easy to confuse the two, she knew. She knew because she’d done it. Because she’d imagined her father had been overbearing out of a sense of protectiveness.
Those thoughts flashed through her mind like a strobe light. Fast, confusing, blinding, obscuring what was happening in front of her.
She blinked, trying to get a grip on herself. Trying to get a grip on the moment. It wouldn’t benefit her at all to lose it now.
“Esther,” he said, his voice transforming itself into something velvet, softening the command that had been in it only moments before. Brushing itself against her skin, a lush seduction rather than a hard demand.
He was dangerous. Looking at him now, she was reminded of that. She told herself over and over again as he opened the box he had taken out of his coat pocket and held it out to her. As he revealed the diamond ring inside.
He was dangerous. This wasn’t real. This was something else. A window into a life she would never have. This was experience. Experience without consequence. She was pregnant. She was having twins. And she was playing at being rich and fancy with the father of those twins. But they weren’t her babies. Not really. And he wasn’t her fiancé. Wasn’t her man at all.
That was a good thing. A very good thing. She didn’t want anything else. Not from him. Not from anyone. She couldn’t sustain this.
But she had to go along with this. And she had to remember exactly what it was, all the while smiling and doing nothing to disrupt the facade. Which, he had reminded her, was the most important thing. She could understand it. On a surface level, she could understand. But right now, she felt jumbled up. And she hated it.
Still, when he took the ring out of the box and then took her hand in his, sliding the piece of jewelry onto her fourth finger, she felt breathless. Felt like it was something more than a show, which proved all the weakness inside her. All the weakness she had long been afraid was there.
“Will you marry me?” he finished finally, those last words the darkest, the softest of all.
This was a moment she had never even fantasized about. Ever. She had never seen marriage or relationships as anything to aspire to. But this felt... This felt like nothing she had ever known before. And the question Renzo was asking seemed to be completely different from the one her father had undoubtedly asked her mother more than twenty years ago.
Of course it was. Because it was a ruse. But more than that, this whole world might as well exist on another planet entirely.
But that doesn’t make him less dangerous. It doesn’t make him a different creature. He’s still controlling. Still hard.
And he doesn’t love you.
Her heart slammed hard against her rib cage. “Yes,” she said, both to him and to the voice inside her.
She knew Renzo didn’t love her. She didn’t want Renzo to love her. Not like that. Love like that wasn’t freedom. It was oppression.
She was confused. All messed up because of the doctor’s appointment today. Because of the revelations that had resulted. Because of her hormones and because she was—frankly—in over her head.
That was the truth of it. She, Esther Abbott, long-cloistered weirdo who knew very little about the outside world and a very definite virgin, had no business being here with a man like Renzo. She had absolutely no business being pregnant at all, and she really shouldn’t be on the receiving end of a proposal.
It was no great mystery that she felt like a jumble of feelings and pain while her head logically knew exactly what was happening. Her brain wasn’t confused at all. Not at all.
But there was something weighty about the diamond on her finger. Something substantial about her yes that she couldn’t quite quantify, and didn’t especially want to.
It was the confusion inside her, tumbling around like clothes in that rickety old dryer at the hostel, that kept her from preparing herself for what happened next. At least, that was what she told herself later.
Because before she could react, before she could catch her breath, move or prepare herself in any way, Renzo brought his hand up and cupped her cheek, sliding his thumb over her cheekbone. It was like putting a lit match up against a pool of gasoline. It set off a trail of fire from that point of contact down to the center of her body.
And while she was grappling with that, added to everything else, he closed the distance between them and his mouth met hers.
Everything burned to ash then, bright white and cleansing. Every concern, every thought, everything gone from her mind in a flash as his lips moved over hers. That was what surprised her the most. The movement.
She hadn’t imagined there was quite so much activity to being kissed. But there was. The shift of his hand against her face, sliding back to her hair, his lips learning the shape of hers and giving to accommodate that.
Then, his lips, lips she had never imagined could soften, did. And after that they parted, the shocking, wet slide of his tongue at the seam of her mouth undoing her completely. It set off an earthquake in her midsection that battled through her, leaving her devastated, hollowed out, an aching sense of being unfulfilled making her feel scraped raw.
She didn’t know what to do. And so, she did the one thing she had always feared she might do when facing down a man like this. She gave. She allowed him to part her lips, allowed him to take it deeper.
Another tremor shook her, skating down her spine and rattling her frame. She didn’t even fight it. She didn’t even hate it.
When she had left home, when she had decided that she was going to go out into the world and see everything that was there for her to take. When she had decided finally to sort through what her parents had taught her and what was true, when she had decided to find out who she was, not who she had been commanded to be, this had never factored in.
She had never imagined herself in a situation like this. In the back of her mind she had imagined that someday she would want to explore physical desire. But it had been shoved way, way to the back of her mind. It had been a priority. Because so much of her life had been about being bound to a group of people. Being underneath the authority of someone else.
So, she had wanted to remain solitary. And at some point, she had imagined she might make a group of friends. When she decided to settle. At some point, she had imagined she might want to find a man for a romance. But it had been so far out ahead of what she had wanted in the immediate.
Freedom. A taste of the world that had always been hidden from her. Strange food and strange air. Strange sun on skin that had always been covered before.
Suddenly, all of that was obscured. Suddenly, all of it paled in comparison to this. Which was hotter than any sun, more powerful than any air she’d ever tasted—from the salted tang of the Mediterranean to the damp grit of London—and brighter than any flavor she’d ever had on her tongue.
It was Renzo. Pure, undiluted. Everything that gaze had promised her from the moment she had first seen him. The way he had immobilized her with just a glance had been only a hint. Like when a sliver of sun was just barely visible behind a dark cloud.
The cloud had just moved. Revealing all of the brilliance behind it. Brilliance that, she had a feeling, would be permanently damaging if she allowed herself to linger in it for too long.
But just a little while longer. Just a moment. One more breath. She could skip one more breath for another taste of Renzo’s mouth.
He pulled back then, dropping one more kiss on her lips before separating from her completely. And then he curled his fingers around hers, pulling her from her chair and up against his chest. “I think,” he said, a roughness in his voice that had been absent only a moment ago, “that it is time for us to go home, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she said. Because there was nothing else to say. Because anything more intelligent would require three times the brain cells than she currently possessed.
And then he took her hand and led her from the restaurant. The car was waiting against the curb when they got back, and she didn’t even ask how he had made sure they wouldn’t have to wait.
He hadn’t made a phone call. She hadn’t caught any sort of signal between himself and a member of the restaurant staff. It looked like magic. More of the magic that seemed to shimmer from Renzo, that seemed to have a way of obscuring things. At least, as she saw them.
She had to get herself together. She told herself that, all the way home from the restaurant, and as she stepped into the house. And then she told herself that again when she realized that she had just referred to Renzo’s home as her own in her mind.
She wanted to look at the ring on her finger. To examine the way the landscape of her own body had changed since he had put it on. She had never owned a piece of jewelry like that. She had bought a few fake, funky pieces when she had left home. Because she liked the way they jingled, and she liked the little bit of flash. Something to remind her of her freedom.
But diamonds had been a bit outside her purview.
She stole a quick glance down, the gem glittering in the light.
Then, it was as though a bucket of water had been dumped over her head. Suddenly, the haze that she had been under diminished. And once it did, she was angry.
“What were you thinking? Why didn’t you warn me?”
CHAPTER EIGHT (#u633deefd-4c0e-5d93-98af-310e7f0fd309)
RENZO DID NOT have the patience to deal with Esther and her pique right at the moment. His world felt like it had been completely turned on end. He was not having one child, but two. He could hardly sort through that.
He had opted to carry on with his plan, as though there had been no surprises at the doctor’s today. He had continued on with his plan to propose to her at one of the more high-profile restaurants in Rome, where they would be sure to have their picture taken, so they could be splashed out on the tabloids. The same tabloids that had covered his incredibly public divorce from Ashley just recently.
It had been calculated. Very specifically. To set the stage so the people would believe this relationship was real. So that they would believe this pregnancy had come about in a natural way.
What he had not counted on was the kiss. Or more specifically, how it had affected him. Yes, he had known that Esther was beautiful. He had also known that he was not immune to that beauty. When he had watched Tierra dress her just the other day, he had been captivated by the smooth curve of her waist, her hip, the way that black lace underwear had barely covered her shapely rear.
But that big attraction still hadn’t prepared him for what had transpired in the restaurant. She was unpracticed. Much less experienced than he had even imagined, judging by that kiss. She had barely moved.
But somehow, she had lit him on fire inside. He had tasted every female delicacy the world had to offer. Had delighted himself in feminine company after his first heartbreak. Seeing no reason he could not satisfy his body since he was bound and determined never to involve his heart again.
But she had broken through that jaded wall that surrounded him. She had done something to him. And now, she was yelling at him.
“I could not warn you, cara,” he said. “That would have spoiled the surprise.”
“I didn’t like the surprise,” she said.
“Still, I needed you to look surprised. You are aware that most women do not know when they’re going to be proposed to, are you not?”
She sniffed audibly. “Maybe I’m not.”
“I think you are. I needed it to look real.”
“Is that why you...pawed at me afterward?”
“That’s a very elegant way to describe what transpired between us. Though I do believe, you did some pawing of your own.”
She huffed. “I did not. Like I said, you surprised me. I feel as though you could have warned me. About all of it. And you would not have lost the element of surprise. I could have acted.”
“Sadly, you’re a terrible actress. I hate to be insulting, but it’s true. You have no artifice.” As he said it, he realized how very true it was.
“You were trying to control me,” she said, her tone hard, the anger behind it indicative of a deeper wound. One that had existed long before he’d arrived in her life.
“That wasn’t it,” he said, although he imagined it was semantics at this point. “You have no... You’re very soft. You seem to have no way of protecting yourself from any of this at all. You sit in sunbeams with bowls of cereal. And I do not know what to do with you. I do not know what you might do next. I do not like it.”
She breathed in deeply, and if a breath could be called triumphant, then this one certainly was. “Good. I don’t live my life to please people anymore. I am my own person.”
“Yes. So you’ve said.”
“It’s the truth. I know that I told you my parents were difficult. But you have no idea.”
“Well, you have met my parents. Assume I have some idea of difficult parents.”
She snorted. “Trust me. Your parents seemed delightful to me.”
“Your frame of reference is off.”
“Undoubtedly.” He began to pace the length of the room, all of the unquenched fire and unspent energy inside him threatening to boil over. “You must remember that you are not in charge here. This thing that we’re doing is important only to me. Therefore, I will direct all actions. If I decided that this was the best way to go about confirming our engagement for the public, then you must accept that my way is law.”
“You keep saying this is only important to you. But that isn’t the case. I care. You may not understand it—I don’t even understand it. But it matters. I’m linked to it. Physically. I know that these babies aren’t mine, but it’s all jumbled up. Biology and ownership, what it means... I don’t know. I just know that I don’t feel like a womb for rent. I feel like a person, a person who is going through something big and terrifying. A person who is carrying a baby. Babies, even. There is no divorcing my emotions from it. There is no detaching myself, not completely.”
He regarded her closely. “Have you changed your mind about leaving?” She would. He would make sure of it. But if she was leaning toward a change of heart now, that would make his job all the easier.
Her reaction to that kiss would seal things completely.
“No,” she said, her tone muted. She looked away, biting that lush lower lip that he had tasted less than an hour ago. “I can’t. I have too much to do. I know that... I know that. But stop telling me that what I want doesn’t matter. That what I feel isn’t like what you feel.”
“But,” he said, unable to let that comment slide, even if he should for the sake of harmony. For the sake of manipulation. “It is the truth. I’m going to be a father to these babies. To these children. I’m going to be the one who raises them. I know what that entails. It is going to require sacrifice. Change.” Until he spoke those words he had not realized that he intended to change it all. Somewhere in the back of his mind he had imagined that he would throw the raising of these children over to nannies. But now, he realized that was not the case.
He thought of his daughter. The daughter whose name he could barely stand to think, even after all these years. The daughter he sometimes saw across the room, through crowds of people, growing from a child into a young woman. Without him. Without ever knowing.
The idea of being a distant father again, even if his children were in the nursery and he was downstairs seeing to his routine while they were cared for by others, was too much.
“My life will change.” He reiterated that, as much for himself as for her.
“I have a feeling mine will, too.”
“Yes. Because of all the money that I will pay you.”
“No,” she said, her tone fierce now. “Because I was naive. Because I was foolish to think that I could do this and feel nothing. That I could do this and simply walk away with a check at the end. This experience is never going to go away. I... I’m going to be changed,” she said, sounding sad now, broken. “I thought that everything would be fine because I was committed to having this life or I didn’t have ties and strings and any of those things that I was trying to avoid. But that’s not true. Everything has consequences.” She laughed. “I think I pushed that out of my mind. Because it was something that my father used to talk about. Consequences for actions. How everything you do will come back to you. How distressing to find out that not everything my parents taught me is wrong.”
“That is usually the case,” he said, her words hitting him in an uncomfortable place yet again. “Tragic though it may seem, no matter how difficult the situation, no matter how unreasonable your parents can be at times, they are often not entirely incorrect.”
She shook her head. “I’m going to bed.”
She turned away from him, and he reached out, grabbing hold of her arm and stopping her from going. “Remember,” he said, not quite sure what he was going to say. For a moment, he just stood there holding on to her, not certain of why he had prevented her from leaving. “Remember that we have to go to New York in two weeks. If you thought tonight was public, then what you encounter there will surprise you. If you need any kind of preparation in advance, I suggest you speak to me about it. Otherwise, I will assume that you know what you’re getting yourself into and I will expect you to behave accordingly.”
He released his hold on her. He knew he was being an ass, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to correct the behavior. Why should he?
Seduction, perhaps?
He gritted his teeth. Yes, that might have been the better path. To kiss her again, to soften her fears while he claimed that soft mouth of hers. And yet, he found he needed more distance from that initial kiss than another. More than he would like to admit.
“I think I can figure it out,” she said, her tone soft.
“See that you do.”
There were only a couple of weeks left until he would present her to the world as his fiancée. And at that point—his father was correct—it needed to be permanent. But Esther was hungry for experience. To see the world, to see all that life had to offer. And if there was anything that he possessed, it was access to what she craved.
He could give her glamour. He could give her excitement. He could—quite literally—show her the world.
And there was one more thing. Yet another that she would get from no other man, not in the way that he could give it. Passion. The two of them were combustible, there was no denying that after the kiss they had shared tonight. It was not a common kind of chemistry. He was a connoisseur of such things, and he should know.
Yes. New York would be the perfect place to spring his trap.
He would take her to the finest hotel, show her the finest art, take her to unsurpassed restaurants. And then when he took her back to that plush hotel and laid her on that big bed... He would make her his.
* * *
In the weeks since their engagement, they had settled into an odd sort of routine. They ate meals together—and she had none of them on the floor—and they shared polite conversation where he never once tried to kiss her.
He was interesting, and that was perplexing, because she found herself seeking him out in the evenings just so she could talk to him.
Then there were the books. Every day after work he brought her a new one. Small, hardbound travel guides. Paperback novels. Extremely strange history books that focused on odd subjects such as uniforms for different armies and the types of women’s clothing through the ages.
She’d asked him why, and he’d responded that it was so she could learn all the things she didn’t know. Just as she’d said she wanted to.
It made her feel...soft. She wasn’t sure she wanted that. She also wanted things to stay the same. In this strange, quiet lull where she felt like they were poised on the brink of something.
She liked being on the brink. It felt safe. Nothing too big, or too outside her experience.
Of course, it had to end. And she got her big shove over the brink when he came home from his office one day and swept her and all of her clothing up in a whirlwind of commands, packed her into his car and then summarily unpacked her on his private plane.
A private plane. Now, that she had not managed to imagine with any kind of accuracy. The horrors of traveling economy over the Atlantic had been something she hadn’t quite anticipated, but on the opposite end of the spectrum.
The long flight to New York seemed to pass quickly with her enveloped in the butter-soft leather of the recliner in the living area of Renzo’s plane. There was food that bore absolutely no resemblance to the meal she had been served on her crossing from the United States, and all manner of fresh juice and sparkling water.
Then, there was some kind of light, sweet cream cake that she could have eaten her weight in if she hadn’t been stopped by the landing preparation.
Renzo had spent the entire flight buried in work. That was neither completely surprising nor unwelcome. At least, it shouldn’t have been unwelcome. Except she had craved conversation but had instead settled for reading the book he’d gotten her for the flight, which strangely felt like him talking to her in some way.
She didn’t know why she was being weird about it. They were connected by the babies she was carrying, and that was it. They didn’t need to form more of a personal connection than they already had. More than that, it was probably best if they didn’t.
She did her best not to think about that kiss. She did her best not to think of it as she was ushered off the plane and into another limousine. She did her best not to think of it as they made their way down the freeway, the famous Manhattan skyline coming into view.
That helped take her focus off Renzo and the strange ache in her chest.
New York. She had never been to New York. She had hoped to make it there someday, but her first inclination had been to get as far away from her parents as she possibly could, and that had meant taking a little sojourn around Europe.
But this was amazing. The kind of amazing that she hadn’t imagined she would experience in her lifetime. At least, not when you combined it with the flight over. In some ways it was a relief to see that Renzo was making good on his promise. To show her a part of the world that she couldn’t have seen without him. The way that people with money lived. The way that they traveled, the sorts of sights and foods that they saw and ate.
In another way, it was disquieting.
Because it was just another way Renzo might have changed her. What if she got used to this? What if she missed it? She didn’t want that.
She shook that thought off immediately as the city drew closer.
This was what mattered. The experience. Not the lushness of the car. But where she was. She wasn’t going to change in that regard. Not that much. She had been sort of distressed when she had realized fully that her parents might have had some points when they’d lectured her about consequences.
And what she had already known was that the way they had instilled the lack of materialism in her really had mattered. It really had made a difference. And it made it a lot easier for her to pick up and travel around. While a lot of her various roommates in the different hostels had been dismayed by conditions, she had been grateful for a space of her own.
Independence was the luxury. She would remember that.
She and Renzo completed the ride down into Manhattan in silence. She remained silent all through their arrival at the hotel. It was incredible, with broad stone steps leading up to the entry. The lobby was tiled in a caramel-color stone, shot through with veins of deeper gold. It wasn’t a large room. In fact, the hotel itself had a small, exclusive quality to it. But it was made to feel even more special as a result.
As though only a handful of people could ever hope to experience it.
The room, however, that had been reserved for herself and Renzo was not small. It took up the entire top of the building, bedrooms on one end and a large common living area in the center. The windows looked out over Central Park, and she stood there transfixed, gazing at the green square surrounded by all of the man-made grit and gray.
“This is amazing,” she said, turning back to face him, her throat constricting when she saw him.
He was standing there, deft fingers loosening the knot on his black tie. He pulled it through his shirt collar, then undid the top button. And she found herself more transfixed by the view before her than by the one that was now behind her.
The city. She was supposed to be focusing on the city. On the hotel. On the fact that it was a new experience. She was not supposed to be obsessing on the man before her. She was not supposed to be transfixed by the strong, bronzed column of his throat. By the wedge of golden skin he revealed when he undid that top button. And not just skin. Hair. Dark chest hair that was just barely visible and captured her imagination in a way that stunned her.
It was just very male. And she knew from experience that so was he. His kiss had been like that. Very like a man. So different to her. Conquering, hard. While she had softened, yielded.
No. She would not think about that. She wouldn’t think about yielding to him.
“What do you think of your first sight of New York?”
“Amazing,” she said, grateful that he was asking about the city and not about his chest. “Like I said. It’s big and busy like London, but different, too. The energy is different.”
He frowned slightly, tilting his head to the side. “The energy is different.” He nodded slowly. “I suppose that’s true. Though, I had never thought of it quite that way.”
“Well, you’ve never sat on the floor and eaten your cereal in a sunbeam either.”
“Correct.”
“Noticing energy is more the sort of thing someone who’d eat their cereal on the floor in a sunbeam would do.”
“I would imagine that’s true.”
“You’re too busy to notice things like that. The real estate development business is...busy, I guess.”
“Yes. Even during slow times in the economy, it’s comparably busy if you’ve already got a massive empire.”
“And you do,” she said.
“I would think that was obvious by now.”
“Yes. Pretty obvious.” She forced herself to turn away from him, forced herself to look back at the view again. “I find cities so very interesting. The anonymity of them. You can be surrounded by people and still be completely alone. Where I grew up, there were less people. By far there were less people. But it felt like you were never alone. And not just because I lived in the house with so many other people. But because every time you stepped outside you would meet somebody you knew. You could never just have a bad day.”
He lifted a shoulder. “I am rarely anonymous when I go out.”
She frowned. “I suppose you aren’t. I mean, I would never have known who you were. I’m not metropolitan enough.”
“You’re certainly working on it.”
She looked down at the outfit that had been chosen for her to travel in. Dark jeans and a white top. She supposed she looked much more metropolitan than she had only a few weeks ago. But it wasn’t her. And none of this belonged to her either.
“The appearance of it at least.” She regarded him more closely. “I suppose you can’t exactly have a public bad day either.”
He chuckled, the sound dark, rolling over her like a thick summer night. “Of course I can. I can do whatever I like, behave as badly as I like. I’m Renzo Valenti, and no one is going to lecture me on decorum.”
“Except maybe your mother.”
He laughed again. “Oh, yes, she most definitely would. But there is nothing my parents can do to me.” He looked past her, at the city visible through the large windows. “They gave me too much freedom for too long, and now I have too much power. All they can do is direct their disapproval at me with as much fervor as humanly possible. A pity for them, but rather a win for me, don’t you think?”
“In some ways approval and disapproval is power, isn’t it?” She thought of her own family. Of the fact that what had kept her rooted in her childhood home for so long was the knowledge that if she should ever leave she would never be able to go back. That if she ever stepped foot out of line her father would disown her. Would turn all of her siblings against her, would forbid her mother from having any contact with her. It was the knowledge that the disapproval would carry so much weight she would be cut off completely, and in order to make even one decision of her own she would have to be willing to accept that as a consequence.
“I suppose.”
“You don’t believe me. But that just means that your parents’ approval doesn’t come with strings.”
That made him laugh again, and he wandered over to the bar, taking out a bottle of Scotch and pouring himself a drink. She wouldn’t have known what the amber-colored alcohol was only a few months ago, but waiting tables had educated her.
“Now, that isn’t true. It’s only that I possess a certain amount of string-pulling power myself. So what you have is a power struggle more than a fait accompli.”
“That’s what I needed,” she said, “strings.”
Of course, that was what actually hurt, she concluded, standing there and turning over what he said. The fact that she wasn’t a string. Her presence in their life wasn’t a string. Control mattered to her father, not love. And he couldn’t have anyone around to challenge that control because it might inspire the other people in his household to do the same.
Parental love wasn’t strong enough to combat that. If there was any parental love coming from his direction at all.
“You should probably get some rest. You will have to start getting ready for the gala tonight as soon as possible. So a short nap might be in your best interest.”
She wasn’t exactly sure what had inspired the abrupt comment, but she would be grateful for some distance. Grateful for a little bit of time away from Renzo and his magnetic presence, and all of the feelings and emotions he stirred up inside her.
“I think I will have a nap. Is... Is someone going to come and help with my makeup and hair?”
“Of course. I’m hardly going to leave that to chance on the night of the most important professional event of the year.”
“Good. I’m too relieved to be offended.” And then she turned and walked away from him, heading into the first bedroom that she saw. Without another thought, she threw herself across the plush mattress and closed her eyes.
And if it was Renzo she saw behind her closed lids rather than the brilliant city skyline, she chose to ignore that.
* * *
Renzo had a plan. And he had a feeling it would be one that was quite simple to complete. He was intent on seducing Esther tonight. Judging by the way she had looked at him this afternoon, the seduction was halfway complete. He was not a vain man, but he was also not a man given to false modesty.
Esther was attracted to him. She had been affected by that kiss, and he would be able to overtake her senses yet again when he touched her tonight. More than that, she was affected by all of this. By the luxury of the travel, by the places in the world that he brought to her fingertips by virtue of his money and connections.
He wasn’t angry that she had an interest in these things; rather, he found it to be a boon to his cause.
If she had been as unaffected by these things as she had claimed that she would be, then he would have lost some leverage. But she wanted to go to school, she wanted to see the world, and whether she knew it or not, she craved his touch. He could give her all of those things. He could satisfy her in a way that no other man could, in a way no other man had.
All she would have to do was agree to marry him. Beyond that, she would have to present a respectable front in public. But that was it. He could see no reason she would find that objectionable.
He had lied to her, of course, when he said that his parents had no leverage with him. His father had presented incredibly hard leverage at his home only two weeks ago. And dammit all, Renzo was not immune. He would not have control in his stake of the family business given up to his brother-in-law. He would not have it given to anyone. He had given up enough.
In order to maintain the status quo, he had already given up a child. He would not lose anything more.
Rage burned in his chest, the kind of rage he had not felt for years. He hadn’t realized it was quite so strong still. He had thought he had accepted that decision. His parents had been acting in his best interest. But it burned. In fact, the more the years passed, it seemed to burn even brighter.
The older he got, the more control he assumed of his life, the angrier he was about the lack of control he’d had at sixteen.
His line of thinking was cut off completely when the door to Esther’s room opened and a flash of slender leg caught his gaze. He turned his focus to her, a hot slug of lead landing in his gut and making his body feel heavy.
Her dark hair was hanging loose, in glossy waves around her shoulders. The bright blue dress she had in place showed off her curves, enhancing her modest bust with the heart-shaped line.
The shimmering, fluttering fabric hung loose over her stomach, a stomach that was showing subtle changes brought about by the pregnancy.
Gold shadow enhanced her eyes, and her cheeks were the color of poppies, matching her full lips.
She was an explosion of color, of shimmering light, and he could not take his eyes off her. Not for the first time, he wondered who might be seducing whom. Perhaps the idea of staying with him was in her plans already. Perhaps all of this was an elaborate ruse to gain access to his wealth and power.
Looking at her now, combined with the incontrovertible evidence of her pregnancy from the scan, he wasn’t sure if it mattered. If she was every bit as innocent as she claimed, and appeared to be, or if she was calculating.
He should care. He just found that he didn’t.
“You look amazing,” he said, closing the space between them and curving his arm around her waist. The stylist he had hired was behind her in the room, and he knew that he could use that as an excuse later for what he was about to do.
He leaned in, brushing his lips against hers. A taste, a tease for them both.
It became apparent immediately that he had not imagined the heat and fire between them. In fact, just that brief touch ignited something inside him that was hotter than anything he’d felt in his memory.
It was nothing. Just lips. Just a hand on the curve of her waist.
And it left him shaken.
“Come,” he said, his voice rough, “cara, let us go to the ball.”
CHAPTER NINE (#u633deefd-4c0e-5d93-98af-310e7f0fd309)
THE VENUE WAS packed full of people, lavish and expensive, money dripping from every corner of the place. From the diamonds that hung in women’s ears, to the chandelier that hung overhead. It was the perfect example of the kind of opulent lifestyle that Renzo could offer her if she chose to stay with him. The perfect piece of manipulation, and one he had not even planned for.
But it would do. It would do nicely. Esther clung to his side, her delicate fingers curved around his biceps. And even though there were layers between them—his coat and his shirt—he could still feel the heat from her skin.
Yes, this was a very nice diversion, and one that would work to his advantage, but he couldn’t wait till after. Till he would finally strip her bare and hold her in his arms. It had become a madness over the past few weeks. To resist her, to wait.
To speak to her over dinner when he’d wanted to pull her over the table and have her there. To bring her books to read in bed, when he wanted to keep her occupied with other things in bed.
He had thought so many times of going into her room and breaking the door down, laying his body over hers and kissing her until neither of them could breathe.
Of taking full possession of her without any of this pretense. Without any of this delicacy. Because he had a feeling that it wasn’t needed. He had a feeling that the fire burned as hot in her as it did in him. And he desperately wanted to find out if that was true.
However, he could not afford to allow impetuousness to make his decisions for him. He could not afford to make a wrong move simply because his libido was ratcheted up several notches.
He shifted, her hip brushing against him. The reaction was immediate. Primal.
He wanted to hold on to those hips, hold her steady as he thrust into her. As he made her cry out. Thankfully, he had thought to call the doctor before they left Rome. Under the guise of discussing safe travel. And he had of course asked her about what sort of intimacy would be all right, given that the pregnancy was considered a slightly higher risk.
She said that normal intercourse would be fine.
A smile curved his lips. Yes, he was going to have her. Tonight.
“There are so many people here,” Esther said, “and they all seem to know you.”
“Yes, but I do not know them.”
“What must that be like?” she asked, as though he hadn’t spoken. “To be...famous.”
“Infamous, more like. I’m not going to lie to you, I’m mostly well-known because men know they have to watch their women around me.” Now she stiffened, and he was pleased with himself for that well-timed comment. It was a risk, but there was no hiding his reputation from her. However, using it to fire up a little jealousy in her couldn’t hurt, certainly.
“Is that so?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said. “I was single for a very long time, Esther. And I didn’t see any point in living with restraint. As I told you earlier, I don’t have to watch the way that I behave. I have a certain amount of immunity granted to me because I am both male and very rich.”
“That must be nice.”
“I don’t know any differently.”
“My father was big on the men-having-whatever-they-wanted thing,” she said, the tone of her voice disinterested, casual, but he sensed something deep beneath the surface.
“Traditional, was he?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe that’s one word for it. One of the things I’ve been working on is recognizing that whatever my father and the other men like him believed, it isn’t necessarily connected to anything real. It’s not about other people who believe similarly to them. They took something that was all right and twisted it to suit their own ends. And I do understand that.”
“You had...a religious upbringing?”
She shrugged. “I’m hesitant to call it that. I’m not going to put the blame on religion. Just the people involved.”
“Very progressive of you.”
She shrugged both shoulders this time. “Isn’t that the point of life? To progress? That’s what I’m trying to do. Move forward. Not live underneath the cloud of all of that.” She looked up, refracted light shimmering across her face from the chandelier above them as she did. “I’m not under a cloud at all right now.” She smiled then, and all of the thoughts he had earlier about her potentially calculated behavior faded. It was difficult for him to imagine somebody who was simply genuine. Because it was outside his experience. Yet, Esther seemed to be, and if he looked at her from that angle, if you looked at her now, he felt slightly guilty about what he intended to do. Because that really did make it a manipulation, rather than a simple seduction.
But still, she would get everything that she wanted in the end, just in a slightly different format. So, he should not feel guilt.
He turned, and suddenly it felt as though the chandelier had detached from the ceiling and come crashing down around him. It was everything he’d been afraid of, and yet no amount of forward thinking could ever prepare him for it.
There she was.
Samantha.
His daughter.
Seeing her like this, closer to being a woman than a girl, always shocked him. But then, everything about this had always been shocking, horrifying. Seeing her was always something like having his guts torn out straight through his stomach. Having his heart pulled out of his mouth.
It was a pain that never healed, and for a man who avoided strong emotion at all cost it was anathema. He controlled the world. He controlled more money than most people could fathom. He had more—would have more—than many small countries ever would. And yet he did not have her, and there was nothing he could do about it. Nothing he could do short of destroying what she thought her life was. Who she thought she was.
In this, he was helpless. And he despised it.
But there was very little that could be done. In order to be a good man in this situation, in order to be a controlled man, he had to go against everything his instincts told him to do. He had to honor the life that he had chosen to give to his daughter. Even if he had been coerced into it, the ultimate result was the same. There were things she believed about herself and her parents that he could not shake, not now.
He knew it. He knew it, but he despised it.
Fire burned inside him, rage, intensity. He couldn’t go to her. All he could do was hold even more tightly to Esther. And as he did, he held even more tightly to his conviction. He had to make her his. At all costs. Because he would never take a chance that he might lose his children, not again.
He had lost one daughter. And the pain never faded. He doubted it ever would. There was nothing that could be done about it. It was a red slash across his life that could never heal. A mistake that would not be undone.
Oh, her existence wasn’t a mistake. It never could be. The mixture of grief and pride that filled him when he saw Samantha was something that defied description. It was all-encompassing, overwhelming. She was not a mistake. She was destined for a life that was better than the one he could have given her at the time. Than the one she would have had if she had been raised by an angry, bitter woman whose marriage was destroyed because of her existence and a sixteen-year-old boy who could scarcely take care of himself, let alone a little girl.
Yes, there was no doubt she was living a better life than he could have given at the time.
But now... Now he had no excuses. Now he had resources, he had experience, maturity. He had already lived an entire existence trying to prove that he was unsuitable to raise the child he’d had at far too young an age.
Now he was going to have to fashion a new existence. One where he became everything these children would need.
He would give them everything. Starting with a family. One with no room for Ashley, who had engineered their existence for the sole purpose of manipulating him. One that consisted of a mother and a father. Esther. She was the one. She was going to give birth to them. She was the one the public would consider theirs, and so, too, would they.
He was renewed in his purpose. As he stood there, his insides being torn to shreds piece by piece as he looked at the beautiful young woman whom he would never know, who shared his DNA but would always remain a stranger, his purpose was renewed.
He turned away from Samantha. He turned back to Esther. “Dance with me,” he said.
She blinked. “I don’t know how to dance.”
“Don’t tell me, dancing was forbidden?”
She laughed, but the sound was uncomfortable, and it made him feel guilty. “Yes,” she said. “Dancing was definitely something that was off the table. But...I did a lot of things I wasn’t supposed to.”
Something about that admission made his stomach tight, made his blood run hotter. “Is that right?”
“Yes,” she said, her cheeks turning pink. “But I didn’t dance. I might embarrass you.”
“You’re the most beautiful woman in the room. Even if you step all over my feet I will not be embarrassed to be seen with you.”
A warm flush of color spread up her cheeks, her dark eyes bright. She liked that. This attention, the compliments. He reached out, sliding his thumb over her cheekbone, tracing that wash of color that had appeared there. “Do you know that you’re beautiful?”
“It’s nothing that I ever gave much thought to. I mean, I’ve probably given it much more thought ever since I met you.”
He drew her close to him, guiding her to the dance floor, curving his arm around her waist and taking her hand in his. “In a good way, I hope?”
She looked down. “Meeting you has made me think a lot about people.”
“I’m not sure I follow you.”
She moved easily along with him as he guided her in time with the music. But she kept her eyes downcast. “Just...people. Men, women.” She looked up then, something open and naked in her gaze. It held him fast, hit him square in the chest. “How different we are. What it means. Why it matters. My beauty never mattered until I wanted you to see it. And then, well, since then I’ve wondered about it. If I had it, and if I did, if it was the kind that you noticed. It’s a weird way to think about it, maybe. But I never spent much of my life thinking about how I looked except in the context that being vain about it was wrong.” She shook her head, her dark hair rippling over her shoulders. “That’s quite liberating in a way. If vanity is wrong, then you simply push thoughts of your appearance out of your mind. You don’t worry about it, and neither does anyone around you. But that isn’t the way the rest of the world works.”
“Sadly not.”
“I guess that’s another thing about how I was raised that maybe isn’t so bad. Because now I have worried about it. How my dresses fit, how they look, what you think. But then... Feeling beautiful isn’t so bad. And when you tell me that I am...”
“You like it,” he said.
“I do.”
His stomach tightened, and a smile curved his lips, a feeling of anticipation lancing him. He was very close to having her in the palm of his hand. To having all that glorious skin under his hands. “Vain creature,” he said, injecting a note of levity into his voice.
“Is that a bad thing?” she asked, her tone tentative.
“I find it somewhat charming. Though, I have to ask you now... What have you been thinking about me? You said you had been thinking about our differences.”
The undertone of pink in her cheeks turned scarlet. “That’s silly. Juvenile. You don’t want to hear about that.”
“Oh, I assure you I do.”
He examined the lush curve of her mouth, the dramatic high cheekbones and her dark lashes. She was the epitome of glorious feminine beauty, but there was an innocence there, and part of him wondered just how much.
“You’re just very...” Her lashes fluttered “...big. I’m small. I feel like you could overpower me if you wanted to, and yet, you never have. There’s something incredibly powerful about that. It feels dangerous to be near you sometimes, and yet I know you won’t hurt me. I don’t how to describe that. But sometimes the realization washes over me and it makes me shiver.”
He did something then that he could not quite fully reason out. He released his hold on her hand, sliding his fingertips up her arm and resting his thumb against the hollow at the base of her throat as he curved his fingers around the back of her neck. Demonstrating that power, perhaps.
He could feel her pulse beginning to throb faster beneath his touch, and he felt an answering pounding within his own body.
“What else?” he asked, keeping his tone soft and his touch firm.
“You’re very...hard.”
“Am I?” he asked, lowering his voice further.
She had no idea. He was getting harder by the second. This little flirtation, something he hadn’t quite anticipated enjoying, was adding fuel to the fire of his determination.
“Yes,” she said, doing something completely unexpected, taking her free hand and pressing it against his chest, sliding her palm down to his stomach. “Much harder than I am.”
“You seem like you would benefit from the chance to explore that.”
Her breath caught in her throat. “I don’t...”
He reached down, catching hold of her wrist and pressing her hand more firmly against his chest. “I want you.”
He wanted her. Needed her. And not just because he needed her to marry him, because he needed to ensure that she was bound to him. But because he needed something to blot out the unending pain that was coursing through him—had been coursing through him for sixteen years.
Her eyes widened, an innocent stain spreading across her cheeks. “Want me to...what?”
He pulled her even closer, pressing his lips against her ear. “I want you naked,” he said, feeling her shiver against him. “I want to lay you down in my bed and strip that dress from your body. Then I want to touch every inch of you. And then I want to taste you.”
He barely recognized his own voice. It was rough, hard. And he was somewhere past control.
Esther trembled, and he could feel her shaking her head. “No, you don’t.”
“Of course I do. I said you were beautiful. I meant it.”
“But that doesn’t mean...” Her cheeks looked like they were on fire beneath her golden skin. “There are plenty of other women you could have. You don’t have an obligation to me. We might be engaged publicly, but we both know that privately...”
“Of course I can be seen with no other woman but you,” he said, “but that is beside the point. You’re the one that I want. You, Esther Abbott. Not anyone else.”
“But I’m not... I don’t know... You can’t. Not me.”
The fire in him burned even hotter, and he was surprised by the strength of his conviction. Yes, it was all tangled up in the need to keep possession of his children, the need to give them the best life possible, and he believed he needed Esther for that, but there was more. In this moment, there was more. It would not be a hardship to convince her that he wanted her. Because he did.
“Yes,” he returned, “you. I love your skin. I want to know if it’s smooth like this all over.” He moved a fingertip over her arm, relishing the tremor that racked her frame. “Your lips.” He moved his fingertip around the lush line of her mouth then, that softness doing something to all of the hard, jagged places inside him. The seduction working better on him than he had intended. This was supposed to be about an end goal, one that extended far beyond finding himself between her beautiful thighs tonight. But it was difficult to remember that with lust pounding through him like a drumbeat.
“Your hands,” he said, moving to curve his fingers around her wrist, caressing her palm slowly. “I want to feel them all over my body. And yes, I could have another woman. I have had them. More than I can count, I won’t lie to you. But I don’t want them now. I couldn’t.” It was the truth in his words that surprised him more than anything else. The fact that this wasn’t simply a calculated statement. The fact that the strange creature in front of him had bewitched him in some way.
That she had compelled him to give her books, of all the ridiculous things. A new one every day because he passed a shop on his way home from work, and he thought of her every time he did. Because she wanted to learn and he wanted her to.
And, Dio, what he would teach her tonight.
“You haunt me,” he ground out, losing hold of the carefully scripted line of compliments that he had put together moments before, going off into the dark parts of himself, where he could scarcely see an inch in front of him, much less guess at what might come out of his mouth next. “My dreams,” he said, the words rough, “and every moment I lay in bed not dreaming because I’m thinking about you.”
Her entire body was shaking like a leaf in a storm, and he felt nothing but triumph. His vision was a blur, a haze of everything but Esther. His mind blank of everything except what would happen in the moments immediately following this one.
She would say yes. She had to.
She pulled away slightly, and he wondered if he had gone too far. If he had been too intense, if he had been too honest.
He made a decision then.
He took firm hold of her arms and dragged her forward, closing the distance between them and claiming her mouth with his own. He wrapped her up in him then, folding her in his arms, gripping her chin tightly as he braced her firmly against him and forged a new, intimate territory between them.
He had kissed her before. But not like this. This wasn’t a show for the people around them. It was not designed for cameras. And it wasn’t designed to end here.
It was a beginning. A promise. A precursor of what was to come. An echo of the act that he intended to follow.
As he thrust his tongue in and out of the sweet, hot depths, as he felt her moan and shake beneath him, he knew that he had won. Because if he could reduce her to this—reduce them both to this—here in the presence of all these other people, then there would be no resisting him once he had her alone.
His father would be angry. Because Renzo had not taken this opportunity to forge new business deals as he had promised. But his father had no idea about the other war that was being raged. The war to keep Esther close, the war to defend the family that was growing inside her even now.
It took all the strength that he possessed to pull away from her. To keep himself from pushing her into the nearest alcove, shoving her dress up her hips and taking her then and there. Claiming her. But that would only further the cause of satisfying his desire. It would not further the cause of seduction.
He doubted if Esther had ever been taken up against a wall in a public place. And he also doubted if she would find that overly romantic.
As much as his body didn’t care, the rest of him had to. He managed to find his focus in that. And when he turned back around and saw his daughter standing at the back of the room chatting with friends and taking no notice of what had been happening with him—why would she? She had no idea who he even was—it brought him crashing down to reality with an extreme sense of purpose.
“Come,” he said.
She blinked. “We haven’t been here that long. We came all the way to New York for this.”
He laughed, every jagged thing inside him brought to the surface because of what had happened tonight stabbing through him. “No, cara. I came all the way to New York for you. To seduce you. To have you.”
She looked shaken by that, her dark eyes filled with confusion. “You could have had me in Rome,” she said finally, her tone muted.
“But I will have you here,” he said, smoothing his thumb over her swollen lower lip. “With this city in the background, on that big bed in a beautiful hotel. In this place that you’ve never been before, where no other man has ever had you. And I swear to you, you will never forget it.”
She looked away from him, hesitating for a moment as though she were about to say something. But then, she didn’t. Instead, she simply nodded and took his hand.
CHAPTER TEN (#u633deefd-4c0e-5d93-98af-310e7f0fd309)
THERE WAS A wild thing inside Esther. She had always been afraid of it. From the moment she had first suspected that it was there. Of course, it was that very wild thing that had inspired her to rebel against her family in the first place. That had inspired her to break the strict code she’d been raised in to seek out other things.
That had gotten her thrown out of the only home she’d ever known.
But even when she’d left, she’d hoped to control it in some way. Had never imagined she would give it free rein.
She had told herself that she wasn’t going to find a man, because she needed freedom. She had told herself she didn’t care about making herself look more beautiful, because she had a world to see, and who cared what it saw when it looked back at her.
But there was more to it than that. This was what she had always been afraid of. That the moment she met a beautiful man, the moment that he touched her, she would be lost. Because that wild thing inside her wasn’t simply hungry for the beauty of the world, wasn’t simply hungry for a taste of food.
It was hungry for the carnal things. For the sensual things. For the touch of a man’s hands on her bare skin. For the hot press of his lips against hers, and on her neck, and down lower.
Renzo had ripped the cover off all her pretense. He had exposed her. Not to him—she had a feeling she had been exposed to him from the moment she’d seen him. It was the fact he had exposed her so effectively to herself that had her shaken.
But she wasn’t turning back. Not now. There was no way. Not now that she knew. Not now that she wanted. With such a sharp keenness that it could not be denied.
She didn’t want to deny it.
There was a conversation they would have to have. After this. They would have it after. She didn’t want to say anything that would make him stop now. She had a feeling that he had some suspicions about her lack of experience, but what he had said just a few moments earlier about having her in the city where no other man had ever been with her before made her think that he perhaps didn’t know just how inexperienced she was.
That he hadn’t guessed yet that he was the first man to kiss her. That he would most certainly be the first man to...
She shivered as the limousine pulled up in front of the hotel. She could tell him no. She knew she could. And he would stop.
She thought back to the fierce way he had taken her mouth in that room full of people. It had been something more than a kiss, something so intimate it made her catch fire inside to think about other people seeing it.
He had been beyond himself then, all of that icy control that she had witnessed in him from the first time she’d seen him burned away. Scorched by the fire of the attraction between them.
She swallowed hard, looking over at him, at the hard carved lines of his face that seemed to look even more intimidating now than they ever had. She was fairly certain that he would stop if she asked him to.
Yes, of course he would. He was a man, not a monster. Even if he was a man she could scarcely recognize now. There was an intensity to him that she had never witnessed before. A desperation, a hunger. It mirrored her own and stoked the flames inside her so that they burned brighter, hotter.
He didn’t touch her during the elevator ride up to the penthouse. She was afraid, for a moment, that it might give her too much time to think. That it might allow the heated passion inside her to begin to cool.
But once the doors closed behind them and they were ensconced in the tight space, she found it to be entirely the opposite. She could scarcely breathe for wanting him. For needing him.
The seconds in the elevator stretched between them tight and thick, wrapping around her neck, constricting her throat. By the time the doors opened into the hall, she let out a great gasp, a sigh of relief that she knew he had heard.
He still didn’t touch her as they approached the door and he used the key card to undo the lock. But then he placed his palm on her lower back, ushering her in, the contact burning through the thin fabric of her dress.
And when he closed the door behind them, she was the one who closed the remaining distance between them. She was the one to kiss him. Because she didn’t want him to change his mind. Didn’t want whatever madness he was beholden to to fade. She kissed him with all of that desperation. That need for satisfaction.
She began to frantically work at the knot on his tie, clumsy fingers then moving to the buttons on his shirt.
“Slow down,” he said, his voice a low, gravelly command.
“No,” she said, between kisses, between desperate grabs for his shirt fabric. “No,” she said again, “I can’t.”
He reached up, taking hold of her wrists, his hold on her like irons. “There is no rush,” he said, leaning in slowly, brushing his cheek against hers. It was much more innocuous contact than the kiss from before, and yet it affected her no less profoundly. “Some things are best when they’re taken slowly.”
Taken slowly? She felt like there was a wild creature inside her trying to break out, desperate for release, and he wanted to talk about taking it slowly? She had waited twenty-three years for this moment. To be with a man. To want a man like this. And now, with satisfaction so close, he wanted to take it slowly.
She wanted it done now.
That certainty surprised her, especially after the small attack of nerves that she’d had right before coming into the hotel. There were no nerves now, not in here.
What she said to him out on the dance floor, it had been true. His strength, the way that he kept it leashed, all the while with her totally conscious of how easily he could overpower her, was a powerful aphrodisiac.
“I don’t want slow,” she said, leaning back into him.
And now, he used that strength against her, holding her fast, not allowing her to kiss him again. “Wait,” he said, his tone firm.
He shifted his hold, gathering both of her wrists into one hand, then lowering his free hand to her back, grabbing hold of her dress’s zipper tab and pulling it down slowly. The filmy fabric fell away from her curves, leaving her standing there in nothing more than a pair of lace panties.
It was similar to what had happened that day he’d come to her fitting. But also, like something completely different. She had been facing away from him then, and though she had been able to feel his eyes on her, she had not seen the expression on his face. She could see it now.
All of that lean hunger directed at her, the intensity of a predator gleaming in those dark eyes. He looked her over slowly, making no effort to hide his appreciation for her breasts as he allowed himself a long moment to stare openly at them.
They felt heavier all of a sudden. Her nipples tightening beneath his close inspection. An answering ache started between her thighs, and she felt herself getting slicker, felt her need ratcheting up several notches without him putting a hand on her.
“See?” he asked, the knowing look in his eye borderline humiliating. “Slow is good. It will be better for you. I don’t know what kind of experiences you’ve had before, but I can guess at the sort of men a woman traveling alone and staying in hostels meets. I can guess the sort of sex those kinds of semipublic quarters necessitate. But we have all night, and we have this room, we have a very big bed. And you have me. I am not a man who rushes his vices, cara. Rather, I prefer to linger over them.”
“Am I a vice?” she asked, her voice trembling.
“The very best kind.”
He leaned in, scraping his teeth across her chin before moving upward, kissing her mouth lightly before catching her lip in a sharp bite. The sensation hit her low and deep, unexpected and sharp, and not unpleasant at all.
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