The Real Rio D'Aquila

by Sandra Marton

  “Yes,” she said gently, “I do understand. But you’re leaving something out, honey. He lied to you. And it was one hell of a lie, pretending he was someone he wasn’t.”

  Isabella shook her head. “He didn’t.”

  “He did! He’s Rio D’Aquila but he told you he was Matteo Rossi.”

  “He’s both. Matteo Rossi was the name the orphanage gave him.” Isabella’s eyes glittered with sorrow. “Can you imagine being raised in an orphanage?”

  Anna could come close. Her own husband had been raised in a boarding school that seemed, each time she thought about it, straight out of a Dickens novel.

  “He never lied, Anna. Not about what mattered, not after we’d become lovers. He told me the villa was his, and it was. He told me about his life as Matteo Rossi, and what he told me was the truth. And—and he would have told me the rest, if we’d had time.”

  “You had plenty of time. Three days—”

  “Two days. And two nights. And that last night, he kept saying we had to talk, that it was important, but I wouldn’t listen. I just wanted to—to be in his arms, to be with him because I—because I loved him, God, I loved him—”

  Isabella began to weep. Anna came around the table, knelt beside her and took her in her arms.

  “Oh, honey,” she said softly.

  “I still love him,” Isabella said. “I always will. And sometimes—sometimes I think he was starting to fall in love with me. Oh, God, Anna, if I’d let him talk to me. If I’d said ‘yes’ when he asked Dante to give us time alone.” Her voice broke. “If I hadn’t lied to him because I’ll never forget how he looked when I said those terrible things …”

  “What terrible things?”

  “I was so hurt. I was in agony.” Isabella drew a shuddering breath. “So I lied. I said I’d never have bothered with him if I knew who he was. I made it clear that I’d been slumming by—by sleeping with a man I thought was—was socially beneath me.”

  “Oh, Iz!”

  “And I said—I said I’d let him think I was—I was sexually naive but that I wasn’t.”

  “Oh, Iz!”

  “I hurt him. I could see it. His feelings, his pride, the whole male thing. You know that whole male thing?”

  Anna thought of her husband, the man she’d thought of as the Ice Prince. She thought of her brothers, the strength of their characters—and the fragility of their male egos.

  “Oh, Iz!”

  Isabella drew back and looked at Anna.

  “I told you not to call me that,” she said on a sad little laugh, and Anna burst into tears and wept with her.

  That was how Draco found them a little while later.

  “What happened?” he asked in bewilderment, and his beautiful wife said he would never understand, and then she relented and said okay, they’d tell him. And they did—well, not everything, not about the possibility of Isabella being pregnant.

  But they told him all the rest, that Isabella hated Rio D’Aquila except she didn’t hate him, and they were right. He didn’t understand.

  All he understood was that men were helpless at moments like this, which was when he went to the phone and called his brother-in-law, Dante Orsini.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  THE four Orsini brothers were sitting in their favorite booth at The Bar, their place in SoHo. Their brother-in-law, Prince Draco Valenti, was with them.

  The booths at The Bar were big, easily accommodating six adults, but the men of the Orsini clan were all tall, broad-shouldered and long-legged. The result was that they were crammed into what should have been a sufficient space but wasn’t.

  It would have been nice to think that was why they were all glowering at each other, but they knew better.

  They had a problem to deal with, and not one of them wanted to touch it.

  So they ordered hamburgers and beer, but the burgers remained untouched.

  The beer, on the other hand, was getting a good workout.

  And the silence was almost deafening.

  Raffaele and Falco seated at the ends of the booth, finally got to their feet, took away the hamburgers, the empty beer mugs and bottles, and came back with fresh liquid supplies.

  Dante took that as a signal.

  “Okay,” he said, as his brothers slid back into the booth. “Let’s get this over with.”

  Nicolo nodded. “Damned right. Not that it’s gonna take very long. What I think is that Izzy’s kind of dealing with post traumatic shock. She just needs time, is all.”

  “I agree,” Rafe said. “Hell, when you think of what she went through—”

  “Think all you like,” Dante said. “The bottom line is that Anna suspects we may have overreacted.”

  There were snorts of disbelief all around the big, scarred wooden table.

  “We sure as hell underreacted,” Falco said coldly. “We should have all flown to Mustique with you and beaten the crap out of D’Aquila.” His dark eyes narrowed. “It’s still not too late for that.”

  There were murmurs of agreement, but Nick held up his hand.

  “We agreed to leave him alone, remember? For Izzy’s sake. She said she just wanted to forget he existed.”

  “Well, what’s changed?”

  Dante shrugged.

  “Anna and Izzy had a talk. Draco came in on the tail end of it.”

  Draco nodded.

  “And? What did Izzy tell you?”

  Draco laughed, though it was not a happy sound.

  “You ever try and get a woman who doesn’t want to tell you something to tell it to you?”

  Sighs all around the table.

  “Okay,” Rafe said. “Then, how did Iz seem to you? Like she was still carrying the torch for this guy?”

  Draco looked at his brothers-in-law. He had been accepted as one of them and he knew it was an honor. They were smart, tough, successful men who adored their wives as much as he adored his.

  Until last night, he’d felt as they did, that the man who’d broken Isabella’s heart should have been drawn and quartered.

  But what he’d seen in his sister-in-law’s face the prior evening had been raw emotion, and what his wife had told him afterward had given him pause.

  There’d been a time he, too, had believed the woman he loved despised him, a time he’d come to this very place with his heart on display, knowing that he had to make the Orsini brothers understand that he loved his Anna, that nothing would keep him from loving her, no matter what they did to him.

  “Draco? What do you think?”

  Draco cleared his throat.

  “I think Isabella is deeply in love with Rio D’Aquila or Matteo Rossi or whatever you want to call him,” he said quietly.

  “I know what to call him,” Falco said. “He’s nothing but a scheming, lying—”

  “What you mean is,” Rafe said, “is that she’s infatuated with him. Okay. I guess that’s understandable. She’s just a baby and—”

  “She’s a grown woman,” Draco said. “She made that point to Anna.” He grinned. “With enough fervor that Anna was still apologizing for treating her as if she wasn’t when they shooed me out of the room.”

  “Anna, apologizing?” Dante grinned, too. “I’d have paid to see that.”

  “Yeah,” Falco said, “well, even if Iz thinks she loves the bastard, he’s still a bastard.”

  “You really have a way with words,” Nick said drily.

  “Come on, dude, you know what I mean. Besides, D’Aquila or Rossi or whoever he is, doesn’t give a damn for our Izzy.”

  “And you know this because …?” Rafe said.

  “Well,” Falco said, “where is he? A man who cares about a woman doesn’t just let her go.”

  Falco’s brothers looked at him.

  “Okay,” he said, the color rising in his face, “but it was different with Elle and me.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “It was. Besides, we’re talking about a whole other situation. The fact is, the bastard hasn’t ma
de any attempt to contact Iz, and—”

  “You’re right, he hasn’t,” a husky, slightly accented male voice said. “He’s been much too busy nursing his wounded pride.”

  Startled, Rafe, Dante, Nick, Falco and Draco turned toward the man who’d appeared beside their booth. He was tall, same as them. Powerfully built, same as them. Dark-haired, same as them. He wore a custom-tailored suit, same as them.

  And, in a heartbeat, they knew who he was.

  Falco shot to his feet.

  “D’Aquila,” he snarled.

  Rio nodded. “Yes.”

  The others rose, jostling each other as they got to their feet in the crowded booth.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Dante said coldly.

  “I’m here to talk to you. All of you.”

  Cristo, Rio could almost smell the adrenaline in the air. Every muscle in his body was on alert.

  “Back there,” Nick growled, jerking his head toward the rear of The Bar.

  The men surrounded Rio and led him to a door. Dead man walking, he thought, and knew that could end up pretty close to the truth.

  If Isabella’s brothers, plus the one additional guy he vaguely recognized as some sort of financial guru with a title, wanted to beat the crap out of him and leave him in the alley he figured was beyond that door, so be it.

  He deserved it.

  But the door opened into a small, very plain office. A hand shoved him forward, the door slammed behind him, and then the five men faced him, faces like stone, arms folded, legs planted slightly apart.

  Rio stood with his hands at his sides.

  “So, this is the SOB, Rio D’Aquila,” one of the men growled.

  “Maybe he prefers his alias,” another man snarled.

  “Not that it matters,” a third added.

  “It damned well doesn’t,” a fourth said, “because he’s going to be hurting really bad, whatever he calls himself.”

  Rio nodded. “Fists first, facts later? That’s fine, if that’s what you want, but at least leave me conscious long enough so I can tell you why I’m here.”

  Nobody laughed but then, Rio hadn’t meant it as a joke.

  It had taken him three weeks to get past his rage at being used by Isabella, another week before he’d let himself feel the pain of what had happened—

  And then, finally, a couple of days ago, he’d come to his senses.

  He didn’t believe a word she’d said about sleeping with him because he was socially beneath her. That absolutely was not his Isabella.

  As for her having pretended to be inexperienced—he didn’t believe that, either. And even if she had been sexually experienced, it wouldn’t have mattered.

  He loved her. He adored her.

  And she loved him.

  What else could possibly matter?

  Her love for him had been in her smile, her touch, her voice, her kisses. She loved him, he loved her, and they were apart because he’d been a stupid, arrogant ass.

  He’d told himself she had to give him a second chance.

  Really? a sly voice within him had whispered. Just think of how you hurt her. She doesn’t “have” to give you anything.

  By last night, he’d been close to crazy. He needed a plan. A logical plan. Logic was what had built him a fortune. Surely, it could win back a woman’s heart.

  And suddenly, late this afternoon, it had come to him. A plan. Logical, imaginative, one that would surely work.

  He’d headed straight for Tiffany’s.

  A gift a day. A heart a day. Diamonds, rubies, sapphires. Yellow gold. White gold. Platinum. All with notes saying he loved her. What woman would resist?

  His Isabella. That was who.

  The realization hit him as he looked at an exquisite array of jeweled hearts. Pendants. Earrings. Bracelets. Beautiful, all of them—but nothing like this would win Isabella.

  Flowers, perhaps. Something simple and beautiful, flowers every day for a week, for a month …

  Flowers? For a woman whose life was filled with them?

  Rio had thanked the sales clerk. He said he’d look around a little more and he strolled slowly through the store, hoping some brilliant idea would come to him.

  A couple was standing near a display case. Rio barely noticed them—but he overheard them.

  “Someday,” the man said softly, “someday, babe, I’ll buy you everything in this case. I love you, you know. You—and our baby, growing inside you.”

  Our baby, growing inside you …

  Rio damned near stopped breathing. He swung toward the couple. The man had his arm around his wife.

  His very, very pregnant wife.

  Dio! How could he have forgotten that night he’d made love to Isabella without a condom? For all he knew, she might be carrying his child.

  Suddenly, there was no time to waste on plans. He knew exactly what he had to do.

  A quick call to his lawyer to set things in motion. Within a couple of hours he had what he needed: the location of the bar he’d heard Dante and the rest of the Orsini brothers owned—and the fact that the brothers met there almost every Friday night.

  This was a Friday night.

  And now, he was here, facing her brothers and a man he figured had to be the formidable Anna’s husband.

  They looked as if they wanted to kill him.

  He didn’t blame them—but they couldn’t kill him before he told them the truth. Part of the truth, anyway. He had no intention of telling them Isabella might be pregnant. That was too private, too special.

  It was between the two of them.

  “Well?” the one called Falco said. “You have something to say, say it. Then we’ll beat the crap out of you.”

  Rio took a deep breath. “I’m in love with Isabella.”

  Four of them laughed. Not Dante, the man who had once been his friend. Dante simply narrowed his eyes.

  “We’re supposed to believe a lie told by a liar?”

  Rio flushed.

  “I lied about who I was. It was stupid but—”

  The man called Nick said something vicious and moved forward. Dante put out a hand.

  “Let him finish.”

  “But I thought it was harmless. I never intended to—to become involved with your sister.”

  “Involved,” the one called Rafe said coldly.

  All of the men had moved closer, as if to wall him in.

  “That was what it was, at first,” Rio said flatly. “Then it changed. And I wanted to tell her the truth.”

  “Why didn’t you?” Anna’s husband said.

  A muscle knotted in Rio’s jaw.

  “I would have,” he said. “But I was afraid I’d lose her.”

  “You mean,” Falco said, “you’d lose your innocent little toy.”

  “I mean,” Rio said quietly, “I was afraid I’d lose the woman I’d fallen in love with.”

  “That’s an interesting story,” Falco said coldly. “Let’s see if we have it straight. You wanted to take our sister to bed, so you told her a lie. Then you fell in love with her, so you went on with the lie.”

  Rio looked at Dante. “I was going to tell her that night you showed up. I asked you to give us a few minutes alone, remember?”

  “And he didn’t,” Nick said. “Tough.”

  “He didn’t, no. And then Isabella said some things—”

  “Oh,” Dante said with icy sarcasm, “and she hurt your feelings.”

  Rio flushed. “I’m not proud of it, of being so—so goddamned pathetic that I let myself believe what my heart should have known wasn’t true.”

  “Pathetic is right,” Falco said. “If a man loves a woman he’d never believe lies about her.”

  “Not necessarily true,” said Nick uncomfortably. He knew, all too well, how easy it was to be a dumb SOB who’d listen to his head instead of his heart.

  Silence. Then Rafe said, “So, what now? Why are you here?”

  “Yeah,” Dante said. “If any of this is
true, why are you here instead of at Izzy’s?”

  “I’m here,” Rio said, “because I was born in Italy and I’ve lived my life in Brazil. Both cultures are my own—and there are still those Italians and Brazilians who think it proper to go to the family of the woman you love and tell them you are going to marry her.”

  For some reason, the Orsini brothers all looked at Draco

  Valenti, who nodded in a way that made it clear confronting the family of the woman you loved made a lot of sense to him.

  “You sound very sure of yourself, D’Aquila.”

  “I am sure of the fact that I love Isabella and she loves me.”

  In any other circle, such male arrogance might have raised some eyebrows. In this bunch, it brought nods of the head.

  “We love each other,” Rio said. His voice took on an edge. “And all of you better get used to it.”

  Dante raised his eyebrows. So did the others.

  “Well, well, well,” he said softly. Then he stuck out his hand. “Go for it,” he said.

  Rio shook Dante’s hand, then the hands of the others.

  “I’m happy to have met you all,” he said formally.

  “Yeah,” Falco said. “But if our Izzy kicks you out, you’ll meet us again—and next time, you won’t be so happy about it.”

  The six men grinned at each other, and then Rio hurried from the room.

  Isabella sat on the sofa in her tiny living room, shoes kicked aside, bare feet up on the coffee table.

  She was exhausted, but not from gardening.

  She’d had to stop digging and kneeling and sweating in the sun. You couldn’t do those things and then toss your cookies all over a client’s toes, not if you wanted to keep those clients.

  Besides, she’d had something more important to do today.

  She’d bought half a dozen early morning pregnancy test kits on her way home from Anna’s last night and finally found the courage to use them this morning.

  The EPTs had made things worse.

  Two said she wasn’t pregnant, three said she was, and she’d been so nervous she’d dropped one in the toilet before she could pee on it. So she’d phoned her GYN’s office and said she had to have an appointment, no, not in two weeks, not next week.

  “Today,” she’d said in the firm voice of the new Isabella. And then the old Izzy had added a very polite “please.”