Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “You had no right to undress me in front of another man.” She shuddered in revulsion at the idea of being exposed so completely. “God. The first night we met you made a big show of shielding me from the people at the gallery. This was so much more obvious,” she whispered.
“I did not hear you complaining,” Luca responded with arrogant confidence. “You were pushing your dress down along with me, begging me to take you.”
Rosie’s blush deepened. Had she? She supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised. When it came to Luca, she was a total wanton. “I didn’t know what I was saying. You know you do that to me. You should choose your times and places better.”
Luca leaned forward and whispered in her ear, “Any time and any place with you is what I choose.”
Rosie was furious, and she couldn’t quite understand why. Oh, she was embarrassed that Raul had undoubtedly seen exactly what they were up to. She was frustrated that Luca had asked her to marry him when he hadn’t even said that he loved her. And she was confused, because she desperately wanted to accept his proposal. But they’d only known each other a little over a week! What kind of fool did he take her for?
She bit down on her lip and stared out of the window, keeping her face averted. Rosie had told him that she loved him. And she did. That kind of love was sort of hard to explain after such a short amount of time. Nothing about them was ordinary or run of the mill. Luca had a complexity to him that spoke to Rosie. He was strong and demanding, hard and unbreakable, but vulnerable and broken too.
But he was expecting too much of her. She had already stepped so far out of her comfort zone, by agreeing to come to Rome with him. Surely he could see that marriage was not possible. Not yet.
With her face turned away from him, he could not read her expression. But her shoulders were tense, her body was angled resolutely away from him, and he understood. She was still angry. He had said something or done something that had enraged her.
Not exactly the reaction he had expected, when he proposed to a woman, but then again, what he liked about Rosie was her unpredictability. He hadn’t meant to take it so far in the car. But her body drove him crazy. If they hadn’t been close to Arlo’s mansion, he probably would have made love to her, regardless of Raul.
He cursed inwardly, for his impatience and insensitivity. She had admitted to having had one lover, prior to him, but even without the admission, Luca had been able to tell her that her experience was no match to his. That she was innocent and youthful. He should have played by her rules.
He breathed out a heavy sigh of annoyance. He was just not a man who could apologise, and so he didn’t. But deep down, he regretted doing anything that angered Rosie.
Raul pulled the car up in the front of Arlo’s mansion, and stepped out of the vehicle. Just before he shut the door, Luca spoke to the driver in Italian, asking him to wait outside a moment.
“Rosie,” he said earnestly, putting a hand on her knee. She didn’t look at him. And for some reason, her stubborn resoluteness made him smile. “I was disrespectful to you, just now. It is my job to protect you from embarrassment and discomfort, and instead, I exposed you to it.”
“Yes,” she nodded with a sniff.
“It won’t happen again.”
Rosie turned to face him, finally, her green eyes trying to read his mood. “I’m not like you. This is all so fast and so full-on. I just need a moment to take a breath.”
“No, you don’t.” Luca grinned, and kissed her gently on the lips. “You need to start trusting your own instincts, instead of questioning them all the time. What was your first reaction to my proposal?”
He had lifted his hands to straighten her hair back into its neat shape, and she watched while he concentrated on the job. Her first reaction had been a resounding yes please. But it had been crazy. Borne out of sexual desire and love, yes. But marriage?
She shook her head. “We don’t know anything about each other.”
Luca pulled his hands away and sat back a little in the seat. “I know that you eat with your fork in your left hand. That you look stunning in jeans or couture. That you are kind, and generous and passionate. That you rescue birds and waitresses and obstinate businessmen. That you love flowers and color and live life with a passion most people can only dream of. I know that your eyes are the color of emeralds, only so much more beautiful that even a gem such as this cannot really compare.” Rosie followed his gaze, to the ring box he held in his hands. She hadn’t even noticed him holding it, but now, it was opened to reveal an enormous emerald, surrounded by a circlet of bright white diamonds. “I know that you love me, and that you want to marry me, but that your sensible brain is telling you that it’s too soon.. I know that you would have loved the way I planned to propose – with a helicopter ride over Rome at sunset tomorrow. But that you’ll love it so much more that I simply couldn’t wait. That I had to tell you immediately that you are the only future I need because I can’t live for another second without knowing you feel the same. And I know that you’ll say yes now, because you love me, and you want to marry me, and you always follow your heart eventually”
Rosie’s heart. Oh, her heart. How it was beating and crashing against her ribcage. How right he was, about everything. She sobbed, but it was a sob of such pure ecstasy that she couldn’t explain. “Damn you, Luca.” She shook her head at the same time she put her arms out and wrapped them around his neck. “I must be completely crazy because yes. I will marry you. I can’t wait to be your wife.”
Luca’s smile reminded her of the first night they met. A smile of relief, but also confidence. As though her reaction had never really been in any doubt for him. He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her ring finger delicately, then slid the jewel into place. Like the man who had chosen it for her, it was a perfect fit.
“I love it,” she said, her eyes moist with happy tears. “I love you.”
He pulled her to his chest, holding her tight, as he intended to do for the rest of his life. “You have made me happy in a way I never knew possible.”
It was only much later in the night that she realised he had still not repeated her sentiments. But he must love her, mustn’t he? Why else would he ask her to marry him, if not because he felt the same soul-destroying desperate, all-consuming love for her as she did for him?
Chapter 8
Arlo Patrini was an incredibly handsome man. But if Rosie hadn’t known that he was Luca’s biological father, she wouldn’t have been able to guess a relation between the two. Surreptitiously, she slid her gaze from one to the other, trying to find a commonality. A feature that would tie them together. Oh, their complexions, she supposed. Both had the lustrous Mediterranean tan that boasted of summers spent in yachts and by the sea. But Arlo was a shorter man, and his hair was almost completely grey. His fingers were short. His nose snubbed, rather than patrician, like Luca’s.
“Do come in,” the older man said with a polite nod.
Luca stepped back to allow Rosie entry before him, and as he did so, she realised that he was shaking. Not from fear or anxiety, but from the sheer strength of his hatred for this man who had given him away. Who had cast him carelessly aside as though he was worth nothing.
She reached up so that she could whisper in his ear. In a voice only he could discern, she said, “If you are nervous, just remember that I am not wearing anything beneath this dress.”
His eyes flew wide with amusement. “Thank you for that image, cara.”
It was enough to jolt him back to the present. To the act he had been performing for months. Whenever he had made contact with Arlo, he had been the picture of civility. “Arlo, allow me to introduce my fiancé, Rosie Darling.”
“Ah, fiancé!” The man spoke in heavily accented English. “What a pleasure. And you are surely too good for this man, no?” He winked at her, making it obvious that he was joking. However, given the very tense nature of the meeting, Rosie found it difficult t
o return his smile.
“On the contrary, I’m the lucky one,” she contradicted firmly.
Arlo didn’t miss a beat. “But aren’t we all, when we are in love? Especially first in love. It is a magical time.”
Luca put an arm around Rosie’s waist, and together they followed Arlo through the home. Rosie’s eyes were drawn to the walls. They were cluttered with beautiful photographs. Landscapes, not people.
“My wife,” Arlo said, following Rosie’s curious glance. “She is a photographer.”
“They’re excellent.”
“She will be grateful for your praise. Mietta will be joining us shortly. She is just finishing up some business. Come, come. Let me arrange a drink.”
“Water is fine for me,” Luca said.
“Si, bene.” The older man agreed. “And surely some champagne for this beautiful woman. Bubbles to match her sparkle.”
Rosie couldn’t help giving him a small smile now. “Thank you, that would be lovely.” In truth, her nerves could use a hit of something to calm them down. Champagne would hopefully serve such a purpose.
“It is a fine instrument,” Luca said, indicating the white piano in the corner of the room. The sun had set, and beyond the enormous windows, it was pitch black. The room, though, was inviting, despite its rather grand furnishings.
“Grazie. It is Mietta’s. I do not know my Chopin from my Schubert, I am afraid to admit, but she has played since she was a child.”
Rosie found herself giving the older man a kindly smile. “I am the same.” She took the champagne he had offered and sipped it. “I love music, but I cannot play to save my life.”
Luca looked at her curiously. “Have you ever tried?”
“No,” she acknowledged. “I suppose not.”
“I suspect you would be better than you give yourself credit for.” He walked over to the instrument and lifted the lid. His long fingers slid down the keys. There was a fine sheen of dust on them.
The silence seemed to stretch awkwardly in the room. Rosie moved towards Arlo, still trying to fathom any physical similarities between the men. “You have a lovely home. Have you lived here long?”
Luca was not listening. He had sat down at the piano, and was staring, broodingly, at the keys.
“Forty years. I can hardly believe it. I still feel like a twenty year old man at times.”
Rosie smiled, and her green eyes twinkled. “Time has a nasty habit of running away on us, doesn’t it?”
“It does indeed. Tell me, Rosie, do you work with Luca?”
Rosie laughed. “No! Goodness me. I’m a florist. I have a little shop, with my best friend. Called The Darling Buds of May Café.” The cleverness of the name was lost on the man who spoke English as his second or third language, but he smiled kindly.
“In London?”
“Chelsea,” she nodded. “I’ve always loved flowers.”
His next statement was lost; swallowed by their mutual surprise, as Luca began to play the piano. His fingers seemed to fly over the white and black keys, effortlessly coaxing the most beautiful music from the thing. Rosie knew her jaw had dropped practically to the floor, but she was unable to close her mouth. His eyes were closed, his face tormented, and the music was the perfect choice to reflect his inner angst. Fast paced, it swirled around them, encompassing the room with a sort of frenetic energy.
As he played, Rosie was pulled towards him, as if by an invisible string. She moved closer and closer, and then sat on a chair by the piano, watching with complete absorption. After several minutes, he lifted his hands from the keys, opened his eyes, closed the lid, and stood.
“It is out of tune. You should not neglect an instrument such as this.”
Rosie stood, and walked with purposeful intent to her husband to be. “That was beautiful. I had no idea…”
His smile was grim. “Music is not so different to mathematics. It is order and chaos, brought together using a simple equation.”
She shook her head in wonderment. “You play so beautifully.”
“Thank you.” He kissed her forehead, then lifted his attention to Arlo. Arlo was looking towards the door. As one, Luca and Rosie turned their heads, curious as to what had arrested him in the middle of pouring out a martini.
A woman, tall and slim, with dark hair cropped into an elegant bob, dressed in a white linen pantsuit, was staring at Luca as though she’d seen a ghost.
“Mietta?” Arlo placed his glass down on the drinks tray and walked towards the woman. “Are you all right?”
Mietta did not speak. Her whole body was rigid; her face pale. Beside her, Rosie felt Luca tense. She spoke in Italian, without taking her eyes off Luca.
Rosie had no idea what the beautiful Italian woman had said, but she could tell by the high pitched, strangled sounding voice, that Mietta was deeply upset by something.
“I apologise,” Arlo looked disconcerted. “My wife is surprised. You see, you are very like someone she used to know.” His smile was uncomfortable.
Arlo put a reassuring hand on his wife’s shoulder, but she shook it off.
Mietta stepped further into the room, her eyes locked to Luca. “You are how old?”
She spoke in English, and Rosie marvelled at how she had the presence of mind to be so considerate of her, Rosie, in the midst of an obvious emotional maelstrom. For it was obvious to Rosie that somehow, Mietta recognised Luca. In that way that mothers have perhaps, that magical, mystical way of women who have borne children. Some recognition had been sparked, and Rosie went to take a step backwards. Only Luca held her tight. He needed her. He didn’t have to say it. She didn’t even need to look at his face. His need was communicated through the lines of his body, and the way his fingers were holding hers in their firm grip.
“Thirty six.” His voice sounded cold. Filled with resentment and ice.
Mietta nodded and, if it was possible, her face faded to an even paler shade of white.
“It is you, isn’t it?”
Arlo said, “Mietta, do not be so silly,” at the precise moment that Luca responded with one devastating word:
“Yes.”
Arlo’s eyes flew to Luca in complete surprise. “You knew this?”
“Si.”
Rosie gripped his hand tighter, wondering if he had thought this far ahead. If he had realised that his plan would involve exposing these people to the truth of his parentage in the most insensitive, hurtful way. She wondered if he cared.
“But how… how did you find us?” Mietta’s voice was shrill. A slender hand had flown to her neck.
Luca’s eyes glittered in his face. “Is that the question you most want to ask, mother?”
Mietta shook her head, as though she was slowly reeling her mind back into place. “No. I … I am in shock. Forgive me.” She swallowed. “I have many questions for you, Luca.”
Arlo crossed back to the drinks table and pushed aside the martini glass. He poured a large measure of scotch instead, and threw it back in one gulp. He then refilled the glass and took it to his wife. She cradled it in her hands, holding it as though it were her lifeline.
“Did you know this, when you began making moves to purchase my business?” Arlo spoke in Italian, earning a derisive scowl from Luca.
“English, please. My fiancé deserves to hear this, too.”
Arlo shook his head. “I’m sorry, Rosie,” he said with a tight grimace of apology. “I find my English deserts me in times of stress.”
It was indeed a time of stress. Not one of happiness. Not one of pleasure. And yet, looking at Mietta’s face now, Rosie wondered if this could have been a happy reunion, if Luca had only handled things differently.
“I came after your company, Patrini, because I deserve to own it.” He straightened his back and squared his shoulders. “It is my birth right. As it was yours.”
Mietta shook her head sadly. “You are angry.”
Luca’s face flashed with fury. He was quick to conceal it, but Rosie had wi
tnessed the sharp emotion. “I was angry. As a child, I was angry, and I was hurt, and I was sad. Now, I simply want two things. The company I should have grown up knowing I would inherit; and to hurt the people who discarded me without a backwards glance.”
Mietta swayed in shock and slowly, like a very statuesque tower, she began to fall to the ground. Rosie cried out in surprise and reached for her, and would have caught her, if Luca hadn’t been there first. His hands wrapped beneath his mother, and saved her from landing hard on the terracotta floor. He swore in his native Italian and carried her towards one of the lounges. He placed her with surprisingly tender care, arranging pillows beneath her head.
His eyes, when he turned to Arlo, were hard. “Call a physician.”
“Merde. You do not tell me what to do in my own house.” Arlo responded tensely, but he was already plucking his mobile from suit jacket.
“No,” Mietta’s hoarse voice interrupted them. “I am okay. It was just a shock.”
Rosie, who had been standing back and observing the scene, suddenly came back to life. “Luca, go and fetch some ice water. Arlo, where is the kitchen?”
The man paused, and looked ready to argue. But he eventually jerked his head toward a large doorway.
“Go, Luca.”
Though he was not used to being given orders, he was somewhat pleased that Rosie was taking charge. The situation he had longed for his whole life had not filled him with the kind of emotional pay-off he’d anticipated. If anything, now that he saw his mother, he felt a stab of sympathy for her.
He moved from the room with his raw athleticism, like an animal that had been caged too long.
The older couple switched to Italian, but Rosie didn’t mind. Luca bore no resemblance to his father, but to his mother, there was something in the determined set of the chin. More than a look, it was a bearing that she had, one of regal confidence and almost disdain, that reminded Rosie utterly of Luca.
“Excuse me,” Rosie murmured quietly, moving in the direction Luca had taken.
She found him in the kitchen, leaning against the bench, staring out at the inky night sky. And her heart turned over in sorrow. Plans made for vengeance rarely ended well, and his had indeed been a darkly vengeful intent.
Marrying Her Enemy & Stolen by the Desert King Page 9