Ultimate Heroes Collection

by Various Authors

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Her tone was concerned. ‘You seem really tense.’

  She hadn’t even noticed, he thought moodily. She was so innocent that she didn’t even know when men were looking at her. ‘I’m just wondering whether we should leave and go somewhere else.’

  ‘Leave?’ She looked genuinely astonished, and then her face fell. ‘Why? This is perfect. It’s beautiful here. I love it.’

  Reflecting on the fact that most women of his acquaintance would have considered it seriously uncool to show such enthusiasm, Rocco forced himself to relax and examine his own behaviour. Why did it bother him that another man was looking at Chessie? He’d always dated women that other men wanted, so it was hardly a new experience.

  But he’d never before experienced such a powerful desire to lock one of them away, and before today he’d never in his life thought of himself as truly possessive.

  She was his wife, he reasoned as he uncurled his fists and it was perfectly natural to be possessive about one’s wife.

  It didn’t mean he was repeating mistakes of the past.

  ‘All right, we’ll stay. The fish in this restaurant is excellent,’ he said shortly, and Chessie turned her head from her study of the view.

  ‘Are you angry? You sound angry.’

  ‘I’m not angry.’ It was fine to be attracted to her. There was nothing wrong with that, and there was certainly no reason for him to feel uncomfortable about it.

  Chessie was frowning at him as she sat back to allow the waiter to pour their drinks. ‘Tense, then. Are you worried because you’re missing a day of work?’

  ‘I’m not tense.’ He reached for his glass and drank deeply. A sideways glance told him that the man was still staring at Chessie, and he was about to stand up and resort to violence when she leaned forward and touched his hand with her fingers, the gesture almost timid.

  ‘I know this wasn’t exactly what you planned to do with your day, but thank you,’ she said softly, and he frowned.

  ‘For what?’

  ‘For bringing me here. For taking me out.’ She gave a hesitant smile and glanced towards the view that stretched beneath them. ‘It’s spectacular. You couldn’t have made a better choice for my first restaurant. I can’t tell you how exciting it feels. Sitting up here with the view, and the sun on my face, and being with you—’ She broke off and took a breath. ‘It feels like being free. So, thank you.’

  Her words shocked him so much he momentarily forgot about the man seated next to them. ‘Your first restaurant? Are you seriously telling me that you’ve never been to a restaurant before? That isn’t possible.’

  Her smile faltered. ‘When would I have been? You’ve never taken me.’

  ‘But I’ve only known you for the past nine months. What about your life before that? And then you were on your own for six months.’

  ‘I didn’t go out then. I didn’t dare.’ She studied her plate and then lifted her eyes to his. ‘I suppose there’s no reason not to tell you now. I stayed with a family on a farm, near Naples. I met them on the ferry and they offered me a job and somewhere to live. Until the night I flew to Sicily I never left their farm.’

  ‘Which is why my security team made such a dismal failure of finding you,’ Rocco drawled, passing her some bread. ‘And they were a nice family?’

  ‘They were amazing. So different from mine.’ Her tone was envious. ‘They had six children, and each one was encouraged to be independent and free-thinking. And the parents were interested in everything they had to say. They liked the fact that they were individuals. It took me a while to fit in.’

  ‘Because you were shy?’

  ‘Because I wasn’t used to having my own thoughts, let alone expressing them.’ Her voice was soft, and then she smiled. ‘But they were great. They used to fire questions at me, and they were always asking my opinion. They made me feel as though I was strong enough to do anything. I learned to speak up.’

  Rocco smiled. ‘So I have them to thank for the transformation in my previously tongue-tied wife?’

  ‘Probably. But this is the real me.’

  He nodded. ‘Your life at home was obviously extremely restricted. I had no idea how bad. Did you never go out with your father and mother? Family meals? Celebrations?’

  The waiter placed their starters in front of them and Chessie picked up her fork. ‘I don’t think my father thought he had much to celebrate,’ she said flatly, and Rocco watched her, wondering why he hadn’t picked up on any of the clues before.

  At what point had he developed such a pitiful lack of insight?

  ‘I have several questions about your relationship with your father.’

  ‘That’s a topic designed to give me indigestion.’ Chessie studied the food on her plate. ‘Can we talk about something more interesting? Like why you work so hard?’

  ‘I like working hard.’ He frowned. ‘Stop changing the subject and tell me about your father.’

  ‘Only you can turn conversation into a series of orders. Why should I tell you?’

  ‘Because you want me to understand you,’ Rocco replied silkily, and had the satisfaction of seeing colour seep into her cheeks.

  ‘True.’ She gave a tiny shrug. ‘Well, what exactly do you want to know?’

  ‘Everything. Start with why your father didn’t ever take you out, and then move on to why you think you’re a useless artist when you’re clearly extremely talented. And while you’re at it you might as well cover the various ways in which he attacked your self-esteem.’ He watched while she hesitated, and then put her fork down.

  ‘Let’s just say that my father and I weren’t close,’ she said quietly, reaching for her glass of water. ‘You must have gathered that by now. He didn’t want to spend time with me, but he had very strong views about my upbringing. He was very strict. Apart from school and during the olive-picking season, he didn’t let me go out much.’

  Rocco recalled the little he knew of Bruno Mendozo and decided that her story made sense. Certainly the older man had shown little respect or affection towards his daughter in public. ‘But what about your teenage years? You must have gone out with friends?’

  She picked up her fork and started to eat. ‘He didn’t allow it. I went to school. That was it. I did pretty well, but he didn’t care about that because he didn’t think education was important for a woman. He just wanted me to pick the olives and help behind the scenes in the office.’

  Rocco sat back in his chair, his eyes narrowed. ‘Are you trying to convince me that you meekly accepted the restrictions your father imposed on you? Because frankly, having seen you in action, I find it hard to believe that you didn’t stand up to him.’

  ‘I did.’ Her gaze lifted, and her blue eyes were huge and shadowed. ‘Just the once. Never again.’

  There was something in her tone that sent a chill down Rocco’s spine. ‘What did he do?’ His gaze burned into hers, demanding an answer, but she immediately looked away.

  ‘It just didn’t turn out to be a good idea, that’s all. This fish is delicious.’

  Deciding that a restaurant wasn’t the most appropriate venue for in-depth questions about her childhood, Rocco moved on. ‘So, if you didn’t go out, how did you spend your time?’

  ‘I drew. And I read.’ She examined the piece of fish on her fork and then popped it into her mouth. ‘I was an obsessive reader. In real life I’ve never travelled anywhere, but in my mind I’ve been everywhere. Take Florence, for example. I’ve visited the Duomo and the Baptistery. I’ve seen the frescoed chapel at the Palazzo Medici Riccardi. I’ve walked over the Ponte Vecchio and I’ve seen the statue of David. I’m very good at picturing things in my head.’

  He found himself watching every movement of her face, noticing the way her mouth curved and her eyes gleamed with enthusiasm. ‘You read about Florence?’

  ‘At length. I lay in my bed, trying to imagine what it must have been like to live in Renaissance Florence. Then I read about Rome …’ H
er voice trailed on as she described with almost breathless enthusiasm, all the things that had interested her, and it was only when she finally stopped talking and blushed slightly that he realised he’d completely forgotten the existence of other people in the restaurant and had eaten a meal that he hadn’t even tasted.

  He glanced around him to find the other tables empty.

  ‘I’ve been talking too much, but I just love it here.’ She gazed down over the city. ‘If there’s a better view in the world than that then I certainly can’t imagine it. It’s the colours, I think, that make it so special. The red of the roofs and the buttery vanilla colour of the houses—it’s as if someone stood up here and decided how the city should look as a whole.’

  Rocco followed her gaze, trying to see the city through her eyes. ‘Florence has been one of my homes for so long perhaps I don’t see it properly any more,’ he said softly. ‘But I think perhaps it’s time to do so again.’ He shifted his gaze to the waiter, who gave a swift nod of understanding and produced the bill. ‘Let’s go, angelo mio. I have something to show you.’

  He took her to all the sights, on foot, like the tourist she’d always wanted to be.

  They wandered through narrow streets, making the most of the shade created by overhanging roofs, and occasionally forced to leap to safety to avoid being hit by one of the seemingly endless scooters that buzzed noisily around the city.

  ‘Look up—’ He caught her arm and pointed. ‘This is one of the oldest parts of the city. That’s a house tower. In the Middle Ages people used to fortify their homes so that they could defend themselves from attack.’

  ‘Who attacked them?’

  ‘Mostly the neighbours,’ Rocco said dryly, pulling her further back onto the pavement as another scooter shot past with an apparent death wish. ‘In medieval Florence everyone was always fighting with each other.’

  Chessie laughed. ‘So the hot Latin temperament hasn’t changed much, then?’

  They carried on walking, and it seemed to Chessie that every time they turned a corner they were given a different view of the famous red brick and white marble dome that formed part of the cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore.

  ‘I can’t believe they managed to build something like this so long ago,’ she breathed, as they finally walked into the Piazza del Duomo. Avoiding a chattering group of tourists, she stepped to one side and tilted her head back so that she could admire the sheer magnitude of the building.

  ‘I suppose the Florentines were pretty impressed, too.’ Rocco smiled at her, clearly amused by her fascination. ‘Do you want to go inside?’

  ‘Of course.’ She glanced at him uncertainly. ‘If that’s all right? I don’t suppose this is very interesting for you, is it? Seeing as you come here so often. Are you bored?’

  He looked down at her for a moment, and a strange expression flickered across his handsome face. ‘Not bored,’ he assured her softly. ‘Not bored at all.’

  Chessie felt warmth touch her cheeks, and knew it was nothing to do with the sun. No, she told herself firmly. She wasn’t going to make the mistake of thinking that he cared about her. She’d been there before, and it was a fast road to misery.

  They enjoyed the cool silence of the cathedral, and then walked through the streets to the Foundling Hospital.

  ‘It used to be an orphanage,’ Rocco told her as he led her inside. ‘There’s a painting that I want to show you.’

  They walked past a sleepy courtyard, up some stairs, and into a narrow gallery that overlooked another piazza.

  The painting was at the far end of the room, and yet it dominated the space with the sheer vibrancy of its colour.

  ‘I thought you’d like it,’ Rocco said as he guided her towards it.

  ‘It’s beautiful.’ She listened while he told her about the painting, and then they moved through the gallery and she paused by a smaller painting that caught her eye.

  ‘How do you know so much about Renaissance art?’ She dragged her eyes away from the painting and tried not to think about the fact that any of those artists would have wept to be given the opportunity of recording the masculine perfection of Rocco’s features. ‘Did you go to university?’

  He gave a faint smile. ‘I have a degree in law from Cambridge and an MBA from Harvard, so the answer to your question is yes. But I’m afraid I didn’t study art. My ambition at the time was to earn enough money to allow me to collect art. I have a number of pieces in the palazzo that will probably interest you.’ He named a couple of paintings and her eyes widened.

  ‘But those paintings are in a private collection. I’ve read about them.’

  ‘Yes.’ His tone was amused. ‘They’re in my private collection.’

  ‘Oh.’ For a moment she was silent, digesting the implications of that announcement. ‘I never really saw the point of money before now, but being able to actually own something so beautiful and look at it every day whenever you like …’ she breathed. ‘You’re extremely lucky.’

  He laughed. ‘Do I need to point out that you also own them? And certainly you can look whenever you wish. They’re in the library on the second floor. Just don’t touch, or you’ll have the entire Florence police force descending on us.’

  ‘Can I ask you something?’ They walked out of the building and she lifted a hand to shield her eyes from the sudden glare of the sun. ‘Did you buy them because you loved them, or because you thought they’d be a good investment?’

  ‘Both,’ he said instantly. ‘Art is always a sound investment, but I refuse to have something on my walls that doesn’t give me pleasure to look at. Your skills with a pencil are incredible. How are you in watercolours and oils?’

  She blushed. ‘I did a little at school, but not much. My father didn’t encourage me to paint at home.’

  ‘You should have gone to university. Studied.’

  ‘That would have required a degree of freedom I was never allowed.’ She walked down the steps into the piazza and wandered over to the fountain decorated with sea monsters. ‘I went to the convent school in the village, but that was about the limit of his tolerance—and even that stretched it sometimes.’

  ‘I can’t believe your life was so restricted.’ He slipped an arm round her waist and guided her past a group of tourists. ‘What about your friends?’

  ‘I didn’t have any friends. I was tall and gawky and a completely different shape to all the other girls, and I was horribly shy. To be honest, I probably wasn’t a very interesting person to be friends with.’

  They left the piazza and walked up a narrow street. ‘You’re very open and honest, so I find that hard to believe.’

  ‘Well, it’s true. What about you? Tell me something about your childhood.’

  She felt the instant change in him. Felt the tension in his body and saw the lines of his face harden. ‘There’s nothing to tell.’

  ‘Of course there’s something to tell!’ She stopped and grabbed his arm, frustrated by his lack of response. ‘According to the papers you made your first million when you were only nineteen.’

  ‘I was seventeen, and it was four million,’ he drawled, and she gave a little shrug and smiled.

  ‘So why did you do it?’

  He looked down at her and then gave a short laugh. ‘Isn’t that typical of you? Every other person I know would ask how I did it, trying to work out whether they had the skills to do it too. Only you would ask why I did it.’

  ‘So?’ Chessie prompted him, undaunted by the faint sarcasm in his tone. ‘Why?’

  ‘Doesn’t everyone want money?’

  ‘Enough money to live comfortably, of course. But you must have been driven to make that money at seventeen. And you’re still driven. I’d like to understand why.’

  ‘Well, you’ve just put your finger on one of the major differences between us. You want me to understand you, but I don’t need you to understand me.’

  ‘But I want to understand you,’ she said breathlessly, struggling to keep up wit
h his long stride.

  ‘I like work.’ He gave a dismissive shrug. ‘I’m driven. End of story.’

  Chessie frowned. It wasn’t the end of the story, but it was obviously all he was prepared to tell her.

  But there was time. Their relationship was still quite new, she reasoned. Perhaps he’d open up in time.

  ‘I’ve always wanted to see the monastery at San Marco. Can we go?’

  ‘Tomorrow.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Walking round Florence can be exhausting, and you need a rest before tonight.’

  ‘Why? What’s happening tonight?’

  ‘We’re going to a nightclub.’

  ‘You said you wouldn’t ever take me to a nightclub,’

  ‘That was before I discovered that you’ve never been to one.’ He glared at her. ‘Don’t look so delighted. You’re not dancing with anyone but me.’

  ‘I wouldn’t want to.’ Chessie clapped her hands and on impulse stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. ‘Thank you. That’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever done.’

  ‘Taking you to a nightclub is romantic?’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘I filled your bedroom full of flowers. That was romantic.’

  ‘No,’ she said gently as she slipped her arm through his. ‘Your assistant filled our bedroom full of flowers, so it wasn’t romantic at all. But taking me to a nightclub because I’ve never been, even though it isn’t what you want to do yourself. That’s romantic.’

  He studied her for a moment, his eyes narrowed. ‘You’re extremely complicated.’

  ‘No, I’m very straightforward.’ She hesitated. ‘Will you help me find a job, Rocco?’

  She felt his withdrawal. ‘You don’t need a job.’

  ‘Not everything is about money, Rocco. I want to go out and work. Meet people.’

  ‘By all means draw. I’ve already decided to have one of the upstairs rooms converted into a studio for you—it faces north, so the light is perfect. There is absolutely no reason for you to have a job.’

  ‘Except that I want one.’ She struggled to make him understand. ‘I want to be independent.’