by Dani Collins
They had just arrived at a hotel ballroom to be informed by a greeter they weren’t on the list.
Angelo’s brothers were keeping a low profile, probably not even here, but that was what made this worse. They were getting the word out that Angelo was persona non grata and it was working.
“This is exactly what happened to my mother,” Angelo said as they stepped away from the entrance to a nearby alcove. “Any friends she might have made in her early years disappeared, not standing by her at all. They preferred to suck onto my father like lampreys and continue to benefit from his influence. They’re still doing it. How can you want to be counted among these blue-blooded parasites?”
“I don’t,” Pia said stiffly. “You know my feelings on parties. These weeks of making appearances, providing nothing but fodder for gossip, have been hell. I’m here for you.”
“For your parents, you mean,” he shot back. “And your father’s delicate reputation.”
“If you and I slink off, never to be seen or heard from again, my parents will be better than fine. My mother would prefer our notoriety die a quick and permanent death. No, I’m dragging myself through all of this for you. I don’t agree with your methods, but I do agree that people are backing the wrong horse. Even more, this is about how our child will be accepted in the future. That starts with us staking our right to be here now.”
She had pulled out her phone and was scrolling through her contacts as they spoke. She tapped out a text, throwing her phone back into her clutch.
“Who was that?”
“Someone who had better remember the numerous alibis her cerebral roommate provided in a desperate effort to fit in.”
“To hell with that.” Her words about their child had struck home. He took her hand and glared down the greeter as he drew Pia into the party. If this crowd thought they could ostracize him, they could try saying it to his face.
Inside, the decor marked the year change with balloons and streamers. Champagne cascaded down a pyramid of glasses. Hundreds of vintage clocks littered the ballroom, meant to be taken home as swag. A chanteuse presided over a dance floor, crooning a modern pop tune, but she was barely audible over the din of convivial guests.
The chattering voices slowly petered off as heads turned to stare, leaving the breathy singer sounding overloud. She was a professional, however, and didn’t miss a beat as she transitioned into a rendition of something from a film soundtrack.
Pia, however, wasn’t as unaffected. She dug her nails into the back of his hand.
Angelo was genuinely sorry to put her on the spot this way, but he would be damned if he would back out now.
“As usual, mi sirenita, your beauty is turning heads.” He lifted her hand to kiss her knuckles.
In the last few weeks, she had begun embracing bolder colors and styles. Tonight, she was stunning in an aqua gown with a mermaid skirt that inspired his endearment.
Predictably, a composed Mona Lisa smile was her only response.
“You have a nerve,” a man said, weaving forward through the crowd.
Darius. Angelo recognized him with a lurch in his chest. Drunk and mean, as usual.
Angelo felt both sickened and murderous. He was fourteen and helpless again, yet mature and powerful and cold-bloodedly willing to fight this man to the death.
He instinctively tried to draw Pia behind him, but she set her cool hand over his knuckles and wiggled her fingers, drawing his attention to the fact he was crushing her hand in his grip. His lungs burned and he would have shoved forward to confront Darius, but a scantily clad redhead emerged from the crowd.
“Pia!” She waved off the security guard who had been about to put his hand on Angelo’s shoulder. There really would have been bloodshed if he’d managed it.
“I’m so glad you could come!” The woman air-kissed Pia’s pale cheeks. “You all know Pia Montero,” she announced to the crowd at large. “One of my dearest friends from my misspent youth. Don’t say a word about our exploits,” she warned Pia with a girlish laugh. “And this is your infamous fiancé.” She batted her lashes at Angelo. “We’ve been hearing so much about you. Please let me introduce you around.”
* * *
As hideous evenings went, this one took the prize, but Pia recognized a turning point when she stood on one, mostly because it twisted her stomach into knots.
This had been the most blatant attempt to snub them yet, and she’d had to gather every shred of courage she possessed to tackle it. She had hated leaning on one of the very connections Angelo found so contemptuous, but it had worked. Much to her astonishment. She rarely reached out to any of her acquaintances, especially young women from boarding school. They might as well have been a different species, she’d had so little in common with them.
But along with understanding how difficult it would be to come back from any sort of retreat, she had wanted to make Angelo see that not everything in her family’s titled life was a false front for dark acts. Maybe this wasn’t “their” type of people, but that didn’t make every single person here a terrible one.
Of course, there were definitely some awful examples, she noted with an inward groan as a drunk staggered up and poked his finger into Angelo’s ruffled tuxedo shirt.
“You—”
Angelo grabbed the man’s hand in what looked like a warm, thumb-grabbing handshake that drew the man in close. Only Pia saw that he squeezed tightly enough his knuckles went white and so did the man’s face. Angelo used his other hand to grip the man’s bent arm. His thumb dug into the soft flesh above his elbow as he said, “Darius,” through gritted teeth.
Dios mio. She saw the resemblance, but only vaguely. Any good looks Darius had once possessed had been sacrificed on the altar of poor life choices.
“Angelo,” she murmured, affecting a calm smile as she glanced around.
Most people had lost interest in them now that they’d been introduced as the latest celebrity couple. A few stared unabashedly, though.
“You black sheep bastard. You knew where it was all along,” Darius choked.
“I know where it is now. Shall I tell the auction house you’d like a catalog? So you can purchase what you’ve wanted to get your filthy hands on for so long? Proceeds will go to a charity for pregnant teenagers. A worthy cause you’ll want to support, I’m sure.”
Darius snorted dismissively only to stiffen and make a strangled noise, telling Pia that Angelo had exerted an extra pulse of pressure.
“I’m reporting this to the police,” Darius threatened, voice straining with agony. “Theft. Assault.”
“You go right ahead,” Angelo said, staring with dead eyes into his brother’s. “You tell your story. I’ll tell mine.”
“You’re proving what an animal you are.”
“Keep pushing me, Darius. See what happens.”
Sweat broke in beads on Darius’s upper lip.
“You don’t look well, hermano. Go home,” Angelo advised in a voice that raised the hair on the back of Pia’s neck. “Never let me see you again.”
He released him and Darius staggered away.
Angelo gave his hands a quick wipe on his thighs.
Pia pasted on her most unruffled smile and took his hand, leading him onto the dance floor. It was the last thing she wanted to do. They were both stiff and uncoordinated as he took her in his arms. She felt the clash of his heart battering in his rib cage through the layers of their clothes. Her own heart was falling down a perpetual flight of stairs, but she hid it with a stock expression of serenity.
Concern for Angelo had her scanning his granite features. He was a million miles away, his mind in some dark place that prevented him from finding the beat in the music and dancing as smoothly as he usually did.
When it came to physical contact, she usually let him initiate it. She only ever felt comfortable touching him freel
y when they were in bed, naked and entwined, shields on the floor with their clothes.
She slid light fingers against the side of his neck, though, caressing to get his attention.
“It’s a worthy cause,” she said. “I didn’t know that was what you were doing with the proceeds. I think any mother would be proud of a son who was doing everything he could to right such a wrong done to her. I’m very sorry I will never meet her.”
“Me, too,” he said, drawing her in tighter with a firm touch that crashed her into his taut frame. He was still gripped by rage.
She let her head settle onto his shoulder, wholly unfamiliar with trying to offer comfort, but she ignored the music and the lively people surrounding them. She slipped her arms around his waist and tried to radiate strength and acceptance. Tried to heal him in some small way.
After a few moments, his hold on her changed. His hands moved across her back, settling her more securely against him. The tension gripping him eased. His lips touched her temple.
“Thank you,” he murmured.
She wasn’t sure what she’d done, but she closed her eyes, pleased to have helped him in some small way, hoping with all her heart he was finding the closure he needed.
* * *
For the first time, they didn’t make love when they came home. Granted, it was well past midnight. Pia barely bothered to remove her makeup, while Angelo insisted he needed a shower. She didn’t remember him coming to bed. She fell asleep hard and fast, but they made love in the morning.
He rose so abruptly afterward, however, she was compelled to ask, “Is everything all right?”
“Of course.” He stood there in all his naked glory, the flush of their lovemaking fading on his chest. His abdominal muscles were stacked and tense, though, his jaw shadowed by midnight stubble, his gaze flinty. “Thank you for having my back last night. Every night, lately. I hadn’t realized, but now I do.”
“Of course. That’s what marriage is for.”
“Is it?” His inscrutable gaze didn’t waver from hers, making her self-conscious.
“From what I can tell.” Her shrug nearly caused the sheet to slip. She wasn’t sure why she was hiding behind it, but she felt awfully insecure despite their scorching connection moments ago.
He seemed very far away. Distant and watchful and displeased.
“I’ve judged my parents’ loveless marriage more harshly than it deserves, I think,” she said pensively, reevaluating something she’d only ever seen as coldly practical and lacking in personal regard. “There’s value in a dedicated partnership where you can trust in the other and lean on their strength. You can become more than the sum of the parts. That’s a relationship worth pursuing, I think.”
He snorted, incredibly intimidating as he drilled her with his unwavering gaze. “You’re still willing to marry me?”
Her heart leaped in alarm. He wanted to back out? Because he’d achieved acceptance? He didn’t want her after all?
“Knowing what a black sheep bastard I am?” he continued.
“Don’t,” she murmured, recoiling at the depth of angry hurt that coated his tone.
“How are you going to balance that out?” He sounded both appalled and tortured. “How will you compensate for it? You can’t. And they may yet force it to light, Pia.”
“I don’t know how I’ll react.” She curled her fingers into the edge of the sheet, her toes into the mattress. “But it won’t change my commitment to you and our marriage. Not if we’re both faithful and sincerely trying to make a life together.”
He didn’t seem particularly appeased. His jaw pulsed as he ground his teeth, his brooding gaze cast into the middle distance.
“We don’t have to discuss any of this unless it becomes necessary.” It was a cowardly avoidance of a hard subject, but she was terrified that the tentative bond they’d formed was disintegrating. It wasn’t strong enough to withstand hard examination.
His cheek ticked and he nodded once, jerkily, and went to dress.
She slipped into the shower. She could have invited him to join her and wished she had, but she didn’t know how to extend herself that way. It felt weak to want to touch him when they’d just been physically close.
She was afraid of rejection—that was the real issue. It didn’t help that Angelo remained withdrawn and she didn’t know how to bridge that gap.
At least their New Year’s Eve appearance clinched their position as the couple to support. Acceptances to their wedding poured in.
Pia couldn’t say she was relieved exactly, but for the sake of everyone involved she was thankful they had overcome whatever hurdle Angelo’s brothers had posed.
Which freed her up to panic about the new life upon which she was embarking.
Angelo had spent the last weeks making inroads into the society that should have been his by birthright. Now she would take her place next to him on his turf, a global stage focused on the technology sector. She would have to become what she had always felt would make her a square peg in a round hole—the wife of a powerful man.
Angelo willingly stayed in her home in Valencia while they rode out these turbulent weeks into their shotgun wedding, but after their honeymoon in Australia, he intended to take her to America until her third trimester reduced her ability to travel. They would return to Spain until the baby was born, after which he expected they would divide their time between a handful of his preferred homes.
Along with learning the ropes of motherhood, which Pia looked forward to, she would continue decorating his arm and joining him at networking events. She would have to begin entertaining. Host functions.
So even though Angelo frowned with concern when she reported the final number was nine hundred and fifty guests, and said, “It’s only one day,” she knew it wasn’t. It was a daunting lifetime of feeling isolated in a crowd.
“What have you done in the past to cope?” he asked, seeing something in her expression that made him set aside the tablet he was working on.
“Mostly I ran away,” she joked, trying to dismiss her character deficiency even though he wasn’t teasing or mocking her for it.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, they were legitimate field studies, but I might have left early for them.” She looked at her nails. “Or stayed longer than strictly necessary. Or collected data for other researchers.”
For the first time in days, he seemed to relax as he tilted a look at her that was both empathetic and indulgent. “Would you feel more comfortable holding a clipboard than a bouquet? Because I’m open to it.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I’ll try imagining it while I’m walking down the aisle. Maybe it will help.”
“What have you decided with regards to research?” He pulled his earbuds out completely and left them atop his tablet, giving her his full attention. That always disconcerted her, but made her insides squirm today when she was trying to hide how disheartened she felt at the life she faced.
“I don’t know that I’ll have time to pursue any.” She set aside her own tablet and the calendar that was being synced to his. Eaten up and overwhelmed.
“Because of the baby?”
“And your work. I’m looking at all these events you have scheduled and now your assistant is asking if I want to take an active role in some of your charities. That’s the sort of thing my mother always did and—”
“You are not your mother,” he cut in. “There are only a handful of events where your presence is important to me. I’ll mark them and the rest are up to you. My people have done all my organizing until this point and can continue to do so. Our baby won’t be as accommodating, though,” he said wryly.
“I know,” she said on a little sigh. “Fieldwork is out for several years, so I might as well take on charity work.”
“We’ll travel with you.” He shrugged.
She choked out a dismissive laugh.
He frowned. “I’ll help as much as possible from day one, Pia. That’s why I want us to be a family. I realize it won’t be easy to carve out time in the beginning, but I don’t expect you to sacrifice that brain of yours to my photo ops. Is there something you can work on in the short term that’s more piecemeal and can be done from home?”
She hesitated, rather stunned by his attitude. “This is weird for me. I’ve always had to work really hard to justify wanting to study. Mother thought it was a waste of time since she expected me to live a role like hers once I was married. I made a strong case for at least getting my doctorate, but my father and brothers have always questioned my interest in biology. The family business is alloys so they thought I should follow in their footsteps. Even when I fund from my own pocket, some professor is always quick to weigh in on whether my pursuit has merit or tell me my time and money could be better spent elsewhere. It’s exhausting.”
“Do I need to put on a cardigan and throw a research fund-raiser to get your idea approved? I can do that. I can talk just about anyone into just about anything.”
She’d noticed. She told him things she’d never told anyone.
“I’ve been contributing some of my data to a pregnancy study,” she admitted. “It’s a surprisingly understudied area. Women are considered to be vulnerable in this state, physically and mentally.” She dismissed that with a roll of her eyes. “Obviously, we’re not a testing ground for new drugs, but there are a lot of things that aren’t known. I’ve been thinking about how to structure a few studies of my own—”
“Done. What do you need?”
“More pregnant women?” she suggested tartly, suppressing an astonished chuckle that he was so quick and unquestioning in his support.
He came to take her chin in a light pinch. “I will proceed with caution on producing more of those. I’m discovering they can be quite a handful. If there was some decent data warning of the real danger they pose, we men might show some restraint in making them.”