‘And you believed him?’ he asked.
‘Why wouldn’t I?’
‘You didn’t think to do your own research?’
She gave a sharp shake of her head. Her face, he noted, had turned the same colour as the cherry tomato she’d just popped into her mouth.
‘Do you just take whatever anyone tells you as gospel?’ he pushed, his disdain towards her growing. ‘Five minutes researching crime statistics would have given you the truth.’
After a long beat she put her fork on her plate, her elbow on the table and rested her forehead in her hand. ‘Ciro... Please, stop this.’ After another long beat she raised her eyes to meet his. Sadness and defeat shone at him. ‘I couldn’t do my own research because I can’t read.’
Ciro stared at her, wondering what on earth she was talking about. ‘Can’t read what? Off an electronic screen?’
‘Letters. Words. I can’t read anything.’
‘What the...?’ He cut himself off. He shook his head. He blinked. He shook his head again. ‘What kind of joke is that? Of course you can read. I’ve seen you.’
‘No, you haven’t.’
‘I have. In my library last night.’
‘I was holding the book, not reading it. I would give anything to be able to read it.’
‘But I’ve seen you read through menus...’ And then his skin chilled as he thought back thirty minutes to when she’d asked him to order for her and then stubbornly got the waiter to recommend a dish when he’d refused.
And then he remembered how during their months of courting she’d always chosen from the specials board after it had been recited by whoever was serving them.
He shook his head again to clear the white noise filling it. ‘But you’re obviously well read. You can tell by the language people use. And you’ve mentioned books you’ve read.’
‘Books I’ve enjoyed,’ she contradicted softly. ‘Imma introduced me to audio books when I was fourteen. I love listening to them.’
‘But...’ He swallowed. He’d known Claudia for over three months now. He’d married her. She carried his child. How could he not know something so fundamental about her? ‘How the hell can anyone reach the age of twenty-one without learning to read?’
‘I’ve recently discovered that I’m dyslexic. Severely dyslexic.’ She bit into her bottom lip. ‘I never knew it. I thought the same as everyone else that I’m just stupid.’
‘You’re not stupid.’ That was one thing he could say with certainty.
She smiled wanly then picked her fork up and stabbed a prawn. ‘I don’t see letters as other people do. To me they’re just squiggles. The written word means absolutely nothing to my brain. It never has.’
His appetite gone, Ciro pushed his plate to one side. ‘Why didn’t you tell me this before?’
She inhaled through her nose and stared back out of the window. She spoke so softly he had to strain to hear the words. ‘I was ashamed.’
‘Of what?’
And then she turned her face back to him. Her eyes glistened. ‘Of being illiterate. Men like you...’
‘Men like me?’
‘You could have married anyone you wanted. You were my only choice and I was desperate to marry you.’ Her voice barely rose above a whisper. ‘I had all these crazy feelings for you and I wanted the freedom you represented so badly. I was terrified that if you knew the truth you’d have second thoughts and call the wedding off.’
Ciro expelled a long breath slowly. ‘What made you think that?’
‘Because you’re so successful and have such confidence. You’re not scared of anything and anything you set your mind to do, you do it. Look at all this...’ There was a spark of animation in her eyes as she made a circular motion with her hand. ‘I can’t begin to imagine how hard you’ve worked and the drive you needed to create it all. I’m only telling you about my dyslexia now because it’s horrible knowing you think of me as pampered and lazy for not being career-minded. It’s not because I don’t want to be but because I can’t, just as I couldn’t dispute what my father told me about the world—I had no way to check even if I’d wanted to. Imma was at university so she wasn’t part of the conversation and none of Papà’s staff were going to contradict him. Technology has made my life easier recently and I have a voice-activated phone that can read messages and the pages of websites aloud to me but back then, I had nothing. I believed Papà because I had no reason to think he’d lie to me.’
Ciro’s head spun, thought upon thought running through his head, guilt roiling his stomach. How had he not picked up on this before? Now that she’d told him, he could see all the signs he’d missed. Normally, he didn’t miss anything but with Claudia...
With Claudia he’d ignored the signs because, as she’d rightly pointed out, he’d had preconceived prejudices against her and had used them to suit his preconceived assumptions.
‘I’m hopeful that now I know the cause of my illiteracy I might be able to get some help for it,’ she said after a long period of silence passed between them while Ciro tried to put some order to his thoughts. ‘But please, let me adjust to my new life here first. This is all very overwhelming for me.’
He rubbed his temples and blew out more air. ‘You should have told me before. You’re the one who keeps going on about honesty.’
‘I know,’ she whispered. ‘I was scared. I’m sorry.’
Something squeezed around his heart to see the despondency in her eyes and he found himself saying, ‘I’ll be in LA until Friday. How about we spend the weekend exploring the city and our neighbourhood together? It’ll do you good to become familiar with everything and then you’ll be able to judge for yourself if New York’s as scary as you think it is.’
She considered this for a moment before nodding. ‘That would be nice.’
‘It’s settled, then. And, Claudia... I’m sorry if I upset you. That was never my intention.’
Her eyes held his before she gave a sad smile. ‘Wasn’t it?’
CHAPTER EIGHT
CLAUDIA LAY ON the library’s reading sofa listening to her favourite book being narrated through her headphones. Outside the closed door she heard distant voices and movement but as Ciro’s apartment was currently filled with his cleaning staff, she didn’t think much of it. In the four days she’d been here, she’d become as accustomed to their presence as she’d been when living at home. The one good thing was that Ciro’s staff didn’t live in. They came in daily to clean and sort the laundry and then left.
She’d spent the two evenings Ciro had been in LA alone. The first night had been strange and a little frightening. She’d never been alone before. Even the three months in the farmhouse had been spent with her father’s security detail on hand if she needed them, her privacy an illusion she’d gone along with because it had been more privacy than she’d ever enjoyed in her life. She’d still been at the mercy of her father’s bidding.
Being alone here felt very different. Ciro had left her the number of his concierge, who provided her with anything she required, but there was no feeling of being spied on, no one reporting on her movements...yes, it felt very different. But good.
The only downside had been her stupid mind’s refusal to stop thinking about Ciro. After she’d told him about her dyslexia, nothing more had been said about it but she’d sensed a change of mood in him. Whether he thought less of her for it—if it was even possible for him to think less of her than he already did—only time would tell.
She hadn’t told him for sympathy but because she’d realised that, without the truth, he’d continue seeing her as spoilt and lazy. It had been the hardest thing she’d ever had to say but she’d rather him think her stupid than think that.
Pushing thoughts of Ciro away for the fiftieth time since she’d laid down, she squeezed her eyes even tighter and tried to concentrate on Elizabeth’s verbal spa
rring with Mr Darcy.
It took a beat for her brain to register the library door open then a further beat for her senses to register the woody cologne diving into her airstream.
Yanking the headphones off, she sat up straight and swung her legs around. ‘You’re back,’ she said, then winced at the stupidity of her observation. Of course he was back. He was standing right in front of her, all tall, dark, brooding machismo.
The butterflies in her stomach awoke with as great a start as she’d done and set about on a violent rampage that in turn set her heart off on a canter.
How was it that every time they parted she forgot how devastating he was? And how was it that every time she saw him after a period apart the intensity of her reaction to him increased?
Aiming for nonchalance, she added, ‘Sorry, I didn’t think you were due back for a few more hours.’
Her heart jolted from its canter to see his dimples flash then accelerated at a frightening rate.
‘I finished sooner than I thought.’
‘Did you have a good trip?’ She had no idea how she managed to ask that with the eruption taking place inside her.
Ciro shrugged. LA was his least favourite city and not a place he ever felt enthused about going to. Unless you were a social butterfly, there was nothing to do there. When he travelled for business he always liked to do something new outside business hours, something invigorating. ‘It was productive. How have you been?’
He’d been disconcerted to find he’d been the one to call and check that everything was okay. Only the one call, after yesterday’s final meeting when he’d been unable to take the silence any more. After the tension during their lunch together and Claudia’s shocking dyslexia admission, they’d spent the rest of the day in different parts of the apartment. He’d spent another night in the library. The tension had still been tangible between them when he’d said goodbye the next morning.
She nodded, perhaps a little too vigorously. ‘I’ve been fine, thank you.’
‘Good. I need to take a shower—I thought we could go out to eat. Have a think about what you fancy and... What’s wrong?’ Her eyes had swept away from him to stare at the floor.
Her shoulders rose. ‘I thought you’d be tired after all the travelling and meetings so I made Chicken Cacciatore.’ Then, more brightly, she continued, ‘It doesn’t matter, it’ll freeze. I’ll have it next time you’re away.’
He could hardly believe she’d thought to cook for him, especially after the way things had been between them. And now he was thinking about it, he remembered catching the scent of cooking when he’d first walked into the apartment but the kitchen was far enough away from the foyer and the aroma of furniture polish had been strong so it hadn’t really registered with him.
‘When will it be ready?’ he asked.
‘It’s ready now—it’s keeping warm in the oven. I just need to cook the pasta I’ve made to go with it.’
‘Great. I’ll have a shower and then we’ll eat together.’ It took a lot of effort to keep the stiffness from his voice. From the moment he’d stepped into the library everything inside him had tightened, his body automatically waging war on itself. ‘I can’t remember the last time I ate in the dining room.’
A smile lifted her cheeks. It was a smile that could stop traffic. It certainly stopped his heart from beating effectively. ‘You eat like a native New Yorker.’
‘How do you know what a native New Yorker eats?’
‘I’ve been getting tips from Marcy.’
His laughter came as automatically as his body’s raging war. ‘Now, she is a native New Yorker.’
Ciro swallowed his first mouthful of Chicken Cacciatore and stared at the woman who’d made it.
Her fork, halfway to her delectable mouth, hovered mid-air. ‘Is it okay?’
‘Claudia, this is fantastic.’
Her cheeks stained pink, her pleasure at his compliment obvious.
‘I know you like to cook but this is something else—this is restaurant standard.’
Now the staining on her cheeks was of embarrassment. ‘Don’t be silly.’
‘I’m serious. And I say it as someone who’s dined in many Michelin-starred restaurants.’
Her furrowed brow showed her continued scepticism but instead of arguing, she popped a forkful of chicken into her mouth.
He had a sip of the wine she’d opened and found it complemented the dish perfectly. ‘Who recommended the wine?’
The furrow on her brow deepened. ‘It’s the wine I always serve with this dish.’
‘Are you a secret sommelier?’
‘What’s a sommelier?’
‘A professional wine steward. They’re trained to pair food with wine.’
‘People are paid to do that?’ She pulled a musing face. ‘As our English nanny used to say, you learn something new every day. Whenever I used to make a new dish I would raid Papà’s wine cellar until I found the perfect wine to go with it.’
Ciro fought not to let the clenching of his guts at the mention of her father show on his face. Claudia was making a huge sacrifice to allow him to be father to their child. She must hate him for what he’d done to her but she was putting their baby’s needs above her own and he needed to do the same. Somehow he must learn to separate her from her father. If he couldn’t, then how could he separate his child from its grandfather?
He’d come to think her insistence on living with him until the birth was the right call.
‘Trial and error?’ he asked.
She nodded, then gave a sudden giggle. It was so rare and unexpected that it sounded like music to his ears. ‘Once, when I was trying out a new Tuscan recipe, I sampled eight bottles of red. He wasn’t very happy with me—one of them was a ten-thousand-euro Barolo.’
‘Did it pair with the recipe?’
Her initial giggle turned into a peal of laughter. ‘No!’
‘You clearly have a good nose.’
Shoulders shaking with mirth, she twitched said nose. It was such a ridiculous gesture that Ciro found himself laughing too. He drank some more of the superb wine then looked at Claudia’s glass of water. His good humour wilted. She was drinking water rather than wine, he guessed, because she’d sworn off alcohol for the pregnancy. She’d never struck him as much of a drinker, but, like the majority of their compatriots, was partial to a glass of wine with her evening meal.
Claudia must have sensed a dimming in his mood. ‘What’s wrong?’
He met the dark brown stare that seemed to read him so easily. ‘I’m just thinking how easy men have pregnancy.’
She leaned across the table to pat his hand, her eyes mock-rueful. ‘You wait until I’m the size of a whale and craving toothpaste on toast. You won’t find it so easy then, having to run around after me.’
It took a moment for her jocular words to penetrate because at the first touch of her skin on his, a jolt of sensation dived through his bloodstream. Claudia must have made her tactile display without thinking for her cheeks suddenly coloured and she quickly removed it, leaving an imprint on the top of his hand so warm it should glow red.
The pads of Claudia’s fingers tingled madly, the nerves begging her to reach out and touch him again. She gripped her glass of water tightly and tried to pretend nothing had happened, pretend to be calm but, really, what had she been thinking?
She hadn’t been thinking. She’d been enjoying the moment and the lowering of their respective barriers and, for a few seconds, had forgotten herself and slipped into an intimacy neither of them wanted.
But...
The butterflies had started off again. In truth, they hadn’t shut up since he’d walked into the library. Everything inside her just felt so much more alive when Ciro was around, her senses heightened so much she could feel the drumbeats of her heart and hear the blood whooshing in her veins.
When she dared look at him again, his jawline was as tight as his smile. ‘I know very little about pregnancy,’ he said, clearly going down the let’s-pretend-that-never-happened route. ‘I’m aware of the physical changes it brings but the rest of it...’ He shrugged. ‘I know you’re going to need my support but you’ll have to tell me when you need it because I’m clueless.’
‘I don’t know much more than you,’ she admitted. ‘Once we’ve seen a doctor everything should be clearer.’
‘You want me to come with you?’
‘You’re the father. You should be there.’
‘I don’t have to travel anywhere next week so I’ll get an appointment made for a day then. Does that work for you?’
‘My diary’s a little full but I’m sure I can rearrange things to fit it in.’
Their eyes held. Her heart skipped to see amusement spark in his stare. And something else. Something that took hold of her skipping heart and squeezed it tightly before releasing it to send blood exploding through her.
Claudia stood in front of the mirror in her dressing room and brushed her hair. She’d had a shower, brushed her teeth and changed into her pyjamas, her usual bedtime routine, but there was nothing usual about how she was feeling. Her stomach churned with such strength she wished she could put it down to pregnancy nausea. But she couldn’t. She’d fooled herself before about her feelings, insisting to herself and her sister that she did love Ciro when all along it had been deep attraction mingled with a plaintive need for the freedom he represented. She wouldn’t lie to herself again.
But her attraction to Ciro hadn’t died. It still burned inside her. There had been a moment towards the end of their meal when their eyes had locked again and she’d suddenly been consumed with memories of the feelings and sensations that had erupted in her when they’d made love. She felt them on her skin now. And inside her too. Ripples of heat low in her pelvis, a hungry ache...
Gritting her teeth, she began plaiting her hair as she always did before bed.
How could she still feel such physical hunger for him? Ciro had played her for a fool in a sick game of revenge. She’d swallowed his lies about love and while she accepted her words of love had been a lie too, she’d never meant to be deceitful. He had meant to be deceitful. If she hadn’t overheard him, she would still be ignorant of the game he’d been playing. Imma was convinced the Trapani brothers’ ultimate aim had been the entire Buscetta family’s destruction.
A Baby To Bind His Innocent (Mills & Boon Modern) (The Sicilian Marriage Pact, Book 1) Page 9