Sarah & Vittorio

by Marianne Knightly

  Nanny had saved his life but had lost hers in the process.

  God, he missed Nanny.

  “What are you thinking about?”

  He turned to Sarah, who was gazing curiously at him. “Memories.”

  He took in the wrought iron gates as they opened for them, and the silhouette of his childhood home of horrors in the background, hidden behind lush trees and decadence. “Nightmares, really.”

  Her hand reached over to his. “I’m sorry.”

  His hand opened palm up on the seat between them, and she placed her hand in his. A small squeeze of her slim, strong fingers felt like a lifeline. “It’s not your fault.”

  He took a long beat to look at her. Classy and sophisticated, charming as hell. A blonde bombshell people often underestimated.

  Yet, it was the worry in her eyes—worry for him—that he felt deep in his bones, the pity in her voice he felt like an itch that wouldn’t go away…it was those things that brought her big, bold heart front and center, above all else.

  How long had it been since someone had worried for him? Worried about him? Pity he’d had in spades. Disappointment in droves. But caring and gentleness? Not since Nanny, really.

  Sex he’d had a lot of, sure, but sex wasn’t caring. During long nights when he lost himself in someone, he could pretend it meant more, could pretend he was more than just a cock, but in the harsh dark of early morning, when half his bed was cold again, he couldn’t deny it meant nothing.

  Sarah was different. Perhaps they’d started out in bed together, but she was not like the others that came before her. He could safely say there was no one else remotely like Sarah.

  He was still worried about her coming here with him. Still had the clawing need to shield her, to take her away from this beautiful, terrible place and to somewhere happy. She deserved happy; she didn’t deserve this.

  He had a sudden, desperate need to tell her, before she met his family, just how much she meant to him. They’d said a lot at breakfast, but she deserved more.

  He leaned over and whispered against her ear. “You should know that I don’t regret meeting you, nor our first night together, nor any night or day since. How could I possibly regret meeting you?”

  She inhaled sharply and squeezed his hand tight.

  He nuzzled her temple for a moment, then pressed a soft kiss there before sitting back, though not as far away as he had been before.

  “Rio, I don’t regret meeting you, either.”

  A sense of warmth and comfort filled him, warring with the unease he had about his family. She was already chasing the dark of his memories away, and they’d barely arrived.

  In this moment, he was glad he’d brought her. He hoped in the next moment he wouldn’t regret the decision.

  She kissed his hand, a gesture he found unexpectedly touching.

  “Whatever happens, Rio, we’ll go through it together.”

  Pretty words now, but whether she’d still want to know him after this visit, well, that was a different story.

  The car approached the main entrance to the house. “You can see both my parents and brothers have come to greet us.”

  An agent turned from the front seat towards them. “Sir, as discussed, we’ll need to sweep the premises.”

  He nodded; they’d talked logistics along the journey. “Yes. As I showed you on the blueprints, my rooms are on the top floor, the attic if you will, accessible at the end of the topmost hall.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He turned to Sarah and gestured to the pen in his suit pocket. “This will be very handy. Ready to face the fire?”

  She steeled her face, then eased into a more amiable expression, a politician’s face that gave nothing away. “Always, dear Rio. I’ll bring an extra blanket to smother the fire, in case it gets out of hand.”

  He fought the grin threatening to break free. “If anyone gets to smother my family, it’s me, bella, but thank you for the assistance.”

  He nodded, and the agent outside the car opened the door.

  His mother didn’t waste any time. “For a moment, we thought you might sit in that car all afternoon.”

  He stepped out, his body blocking the door to protect Sarah. Sarcasm tinged his every word. “How kind of you all to greet us personally.”

  It was, unfortunately, easy to see that the group standing on the steps were related. They all bore similar features: olive skin, dark brown hair, and a layer of evil underneath the high society sheen they couldn’t quite hide.

  He was the only one who stood out. Though they had similar coloring, that’s where the resemblances ended—his body type, his stance, hell, even the way he walked was different. He certainly acted differently from them as well. As a child, he’d convinced himself he’d been adopted, or that one of his parents weren’t really his parents. Eventually, he’d been forced to accept that this—that they—were his family, in the loosest, purely biological sense of the term, anyway.

  Rio turned back to help Sarah out of the car. If he were a fanciful man, he would have said that when she stepped out a light so bright filled the space that it blinded everyone around her. If he were a practical man, he would have said the sunlight had caught her hair and white jacket just so and reflected around her.

  Though it paid to be practical around his family, he chose, in that moment at least, to be fanciful.

  Sarah gave a bland smile and extended a hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet Rio’s family.”

  His brother, Gianluca, who had a wife and two mistresses at last count, greeted her first. He kissed her hand, lingering his lips over her skin.

  Rio had to hand it to Sarah. She never cringed, though he felt her body slightly stiffen next to him. His brother, for all the attention he gave women, wouldn’t have noticed; he never paid attention to women, he just fucked them and then fucked them over.

  Rio’s arm slid around Sarah’s waist and tugged her slightly back and against his side. Luca’s hold fell away. “Princess Sarah of Valleria, allow me to introduce the Bazianos. My lech of a brother, Gianluca. My other brother—still a lech, but slightly less of one—Giancarlo. My father and more of a lech than either of my brothers, Gianfranco. Any my conceited mother, Giulia.”

  Franco scowled. “Really, Vittorio? You dare call us a lech with your track record?”

  Rio maintained the ease he’d trained himself to have around his family; if they sensed weakness, they pounced on it. “Really, Franco? I treat women with respect. How many mistresses do you have now? How many do Luca and Carlo have?”

  Giulia spoke up, likely because one minute of conversation had gone by without her being mentioned or included. “Enough. Speaking of mistresses, Vittorio? Very distasteful.”

  “Oh? Perhaps I should then speak about the ‘mister’ you’re currently having an affair with. I ran into him at the ball and he wasted no time telling me all about your preferences in bed.” It was the reason Rio had started drinking that night in the first place. And it had also been the reason he’d gravitated towards Sarah. She was so bright and clean…nothing like his family. He’d needed her bright after that conversation.

  Franco’s hands tightened into fists. He may shout his affairs to anyone who’d listen, but he never cared to hear about his wife’s. He didn’t mind that she had them, he just didn’t want to know about them. “Vittorio! You dare speak of this in front of the princess?”

  Rio shrugged. “Sarah should know what you are all really like. We’re a couple after all. She was bound to find out sooner or later.”

  It was glorious to see the shock on his family’s faces. They thought it wasn’t real between himself and Sarah. Maybe two days ago they would have been right. Hell, maybe even yesterday that would have been right.

  Not anymore.

  Carlo spoke first. “You? With her?”

  Luca next, his lip curled in disgust. “Is she desperate? Is that why?”

  Giulia’s eyes narrowed. “You mean that this hasn’t just been a ruse
for the press? How long has this been going on?”

  Rio sighed. “Loathe as I am to enter this hellhole again, perhaps we should take this inside?”

  Franco nodded and pivoted, leading them all indoors.

  Sarah turned to speak but he shook his head. It wasn’t safe yet, even with the jammers.

  He leaned over to whisper into her ear. “The walls have ears. If you need something, complain of a headache and I’ll get us away.”

  She pursed her lips and nodded.

  He took her hand. Manners would dictate he let her enter first, but now was not the time for gentlemanly behavior. He led first, protecting her in what little way he could. His sharp eyes took in all around him, his senses tuned for any danger. He didn’t suspect any physical harm, but it paid to prepare for the worst and hope it didn’t happen.

  “Sarah’s security needs to sweep the house and grounds.”

  Franco stiffened. “That isn’t necessary, surely.”

  “Surely, it is. If I don’t trust any of you, there’s no reason for Sarah to. Not to mention, it’s protocol for her security to sweep anywhere she goes. If there’s a problem, we can easily leave.”

  His parents and brothers all stared at each other, some silent communication running between them. Yes, they all obviously wanted him to stay for some reason. He could guess what that was—and that it likely involved Sarah or her family or both—but he didn’t know exactly what they had in mind.

  Franco straightened his tie. “Fine. Of course, her security must follow protocol. Come then. We’ll have a drink.”

  “How many drinks have you had already? You usually start drinking with breakfast, if I recall.”

  “So what?” Franco snapped. “If that’s your attitude, get your own drink.”

  As if he’d drink anything in this place.

  Giulia seemed to ignore all threads of conversation and gestured with a queenly wave. “As you can see, we’re doing very well. We’ve renovated the foyer and main sitting rooms. We’re on to the dining room and offices next.”

  Frustration tightened within Rio. “And from which magical money tree did those funds fall?”

  “Discussing money is so gauche. Really, Vittorio.”

  “Did you embezzle again?”

  Everyone stopped in the hall outside a sitting room, and Franco whirled on them. “That is enough! You will respect me in my home or—”

  Rio stepped completely in front of Sarah, blocking her from his father’s wrath. “Or what? You’ll throw me out? You don’t own this property anymore, or have you forgotten? The government owns the majority over these lands. We’re simply allowed to live here. Did you even get approval from the Cultural Ministry to renovate any part of this structure?”

  His father bristled. “That is none of your concern. I’m the head of this family and—”

  “Just shut it.”

  His mother gasped, a dramatic hand going to her chest. “Vittorio!”

  He’d been in their presence for mere minutes and even that was too much. He had to get away and, more importantly, he had to get Sarah away. “We’re going to my rooms. We’ll be back later to discuss business.”

  As he made to move, Carlo stepped towards them. “Don’t be so hasty. We have much to discuss right now.”

  “Oh? Like what?”

  Carlo nodded his head at Sarah, a devious smile on his face. “The princess for one. I haven’t had a chance to greet her yet. Not to mention, you should have introduced us using our titles.”

  “Who gives a shit?”

  Carlo’s smile fell away. “You should. You know we can make your life very difficult. We can make the princess’s life more difficult, too, come to that. We’d very much enjoy ruining her life, actually.”

  They wanted him to lose control, to punch his brother in the face, in front of the princess. In the span of a second, his brain weighed the pros and cons of doing so.

  The pros won.

  So, he punched his fucking brother right in the goddamn face.

  It felt fucking amazing.

  His right hand still held Sarah’s, and he didn’t want to let her go, so he’d punched with his left.

  His right hook was better. However, considering Carlo’s head had whipped up and he’d staggered back two steps, his left wasn’t too shabby, either.

  Carlo’s voice was muffled as his hands covered his nose. “You little prick!”

  Prick, was he?

  Well, then.

  This time, he reared his fist back and socked his brother in the stomach.

  Carlo let out a high-pitched whine and doubled over. “I’m dying! I’m dying!”

  Fuck, he was such an annoying twat.

  Giulia rushed over to comfort Carlo. “Oh, my son. My poor baby.”

  Rio leaned down, his voice low but clear and carrying through the hall. “Do not ever threaten me or Sarah again. Have you forgotten her security team is here? That they heard every word you said? They’ll kill you where you stand and leave no evidence of it.”

  Franco gripped his shoulder, forcing him to straighten and turn. “You dare threaten your brother?”

  “That’s not a threat. It’s a promise, for all of you.”

  Luca glared. “As if they could get away with it. They’d have to kill us all to keep us silent.”

  Rio chuckled. “As if anyone would believe you. Any of you. The world loves Sarah and her family. They couldn’t care less about any of you.”

  Carlo sneered, his voice thick. “They don’t give a shit about you, either.”

  “Perhaps. But they care more about me—the other half of the world’s latest royal romance—than they do about you. Do you doubt that?”

  The room was silent.

  “I thought not. You’ve all made far too many enemies over the years, myself included.”

  Franco pointed at him. “You’re our son. You’re bound to us by blood. Don’t forget that.”

  “As if you’d let me,” he muttered.

  One of the agents stepped into the hall, caught his eye, and nodded.

  Thank fuck; his rooms were clear. “We’re going to my rooms. We’re not to be disturbed.”

  With his family cursing after him, and without a backward glance, he tugged Sarah in front of him. He gave her a gentle push towards the stairs and she led the way.

  He was close to her back, his hand now around the curve of her waist, against her belly in front. He brushed his nose against her hair, pushing it slightly away from her ear. “End of the hall, bella.”

  She nodded and kept walking. Her head was turning this way and that, taking in the peeling wallpaper and faded gilding on the molding. The paintings—filled with scenes of his family’s past and Italian history—needed restoring.

  It wasn’t desolate, beyond repair. A little love and the place would blossom, he knew it. Yet, no love would grow here while the vileness of his parents infested the place. He cringed at the thought of renovations managed by his mother’s eye; her taste wasn’t so much classic as…revolting. It was garish, gaudy, and featured gold; there was always lots and lots and lots of gold.

  His father’s taste was similarly revolting and favored blood red and pitch black.

  He shuddered.

  Sarah gave him a curious look. “Are you all right?”

  An agent opened the door for them and Rio ushered Sarah through it. “As well as can be expected. Che cavolo! What have they done?”

  She stifled a giggle unsuccessfully, so the sound came out as a snort. “So, um, this was your bedroom?”

  He clapped a hand to his forehead, then pushed his hand through his hair. “Definitely not.”

  She sauntered over, a slight spring in her step, as her fingers whispered over the black silk sheets on the bed. “No?”

  He shook his head. “This was the room, but these were definitely not my…furnishings.”

  Her hand grazed up the bedpost—which was lined in red silk lace—and used it to twirl around the post. “Fan o
f red silk?”

  He considered that. “If it’s on your body, very much. What good is lace on a bedpost?”

  She waggled her eyebrows. “I’m sure I could find an interesting use for it.” She gave him a heated look over her shoulder and continued around the room.

  Goddamn it. He was getting turned on, in this monstrosity of a room, at the same time he couldn’t help smiling. All because of her.

  His light.

  She batted at the black fringe of the bed canopy and blinked at the mirrors on the ceiling just over the bed. “So tasteful.”

  “Mmm-hmm. I never expected the room to stay the same, but this? I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.” When he’d left at eighteen, no one had ever come to this part of the house. He’d just assumed they wouldn’t bother with it. He’d never had a chance to come back up here in the times he’d visited the house since. When had it became this monstrosity?

  Sarah skipped along the room, and picked up a red, heart-shaped ashtray and held it up for him to see, as if she were a model trying to sell it. Then she put it down and picked up a bowl of weary rose petals and flung them around the room like an enthusiastic flower girl.

  She tossed some at him, and he closed his eyes at the onslaught. Her giggle forced his eyes back open.

  She’d set the bowl down and had found the closet. With a gasp, she opened both doors wide with each hand, shot him another smile over her shoulder, then strode in.

  “There is an awful lot of…um…”

  “Disgusting lingerie?”

  She came back out, a grimace on her face. “Let’s just say it’s not my taste.”

  “It’s not mine, either.”

  “You haven’t seen it.”

  “I don’t need to see it.” He nodded to the rest of the room. “My father or my brothers have obviously converted my bedroom into one for their mistress.” He sniffed the room, smelled a thick, cloying perfume. “It’s been used recently, too, would be my guess.”

  She held her hands up, her mouth turned down in disgust. “Ugh. That is unbelievably gross. How long since you’ve been back here?”