Confessions Of An Italian Marriage (Mills & Boon Modern)

by Dani Collins

  She turned off her showerhead and accepted the towel he handed her. She stayed in the shower to dry off while he rolled out to the spot under the heat lamp.

  She realized he was being very quiet as well, sitting up straighter to saw the towel across his back, but watching her closely. Anxious for her to leave? She wrapped the towel around herself and stepped out with a meaningless smile plastered on her face.

  “Freja.” He reached out as she came even with him and tugged the bottom corner of her towel.

  She scrabbled to secure it, letting out a laugh only to sober when she realized he wasn’t trying to playfully steal it, only to get her attention. The gravity in his expression made her heart lurch.

  “What’s wrong?” Her hand instinctively tightened on the towel.

  “Do you realize that I may have made you pregnant just now?”

  “What?” She stumbled back a few steps, bumping into the edge of the sink.

  “Are you going to faint?” He pushed forward and set a hard hand at her hip.

  She kept one hand clenched in the towel, the other gripped the sink. “But you said—”

  “I know.” He gave a slight shrug that only hinted at sheepish because she didn’t see a lot of embarrassment or remorse in him. “It was the last thing I expected and I could be wrong. The way it felt in the pool, though... I can’t explain it, but it was different. I’m pretty sure I came inside you.”

  “But...” Maybe she was going to faint because her gaze couldn’t seem to land on a stationary spot in the room and everything seemed to be spinning. “What should I do?”

  “Come here.” He nudged even closer and drew her into his lap.

  She kind of collapsed, joints not wanting to support her.

  He caught her, of course. She’d watched him do pull-ups while strapped into his workout chair, lifting the combined weight with what looked like effortless ease. His upper body was insanely strong, his arms the most secure place she could ever be.

  “I feel so stupid,” she mumbled. “The one thing I didn’t want was for you to think I was naive just because I’ve never done this before. Unprotected sex is such a rookie move.”

  “Tell me about it. I know better myself.”

  She met his gaze hoping for humor, but the austere lines in his face dug into her heart like a shard of broken glass.

  “I guess I take one of those morning-after pills?”

  He didn’t answer right away and she didn’t look at him. She didn’t realize she was chewing her thumbnail until he took her hand and eased it into her lap.

  “It’s possible nothing will happen. Paraplegic men have all sorts of fertility issues. Low counts...”

  “Do you?”

  “I have no idea what my count is. I’ve never been tested for it. Having children was always something I shelved in the back of my mental cupboard. I didn’t imagine I could reach it without medical intervention.” His thumb was wearing a restless circle into the back of her hand. “Obviously, it’s your body, your choice, but I would like to wait and see what happens.”

  “What?” If he hadn’t been holding her so firmly in his lap, she would have tumbled out and onto the floor in a splat of shock.

  “I’m asking you not to take any pills. The chance you’ll conceive is really low, but...” Huskiness crept into his tone. “I’d like to take that chance.”

  “Just...wait?” She couldn’t make sense of any of it. That this was a thing that could happen, that he wanted her to let it happen. “But you’re leaving,” she reminded him, as if she needed him around to “wait and see.” His part in such things was over.

  “Well, you’ll have to come to Europe with me,” he stated as though that was obvious.

  “I can’t go to Europe with you!” Now she did find her legs and stood on both of them.

  She realized he was still naked in his chair and entirely too confident and powerful in his natural state. He sent a circumspect look up at her.

  “Why not? If it’s a passport issue, I have people who can sort that very quickly.”

  “My passport is fine.” She was pathological about keeping both of hers current. “But I have a job. Bills.”

  “It’s catering.” He dismissed it with a flick of his fingers. “They’ll give your shifts to the next person on the list.”

  “And skip me in future because I’m unreliable. They’ll fire me outright if they find out I’m seeing you. We’re not supposed to fraternize with guests.”

  “That’s not even an argument.” He went through to the adjacent closet and found a pair of blue boxers, staying where he could see her as he pulled them on. “Catering is hardly a career you love or planned to do forever.”

  “I still need it. I have a flat to pay for.”

  “Lease it.”

  “Oh, just like that,” she scoffed. “I’m not going to hand my keys to the first stranger who answers an ad. It takes time to find someone suitable.”

  “It takes a phone call to my property agent. She’ll have someone with impeccable references in it tomorrow. And before you bring up your blogging or tutoring work, you’ve done both from this apartment. You can do them from anywhere with a Wi-Fi connection.”

  “Wow. Must be nice to solve all your problems with your bank account.”

  “It is,” he assured her as she came into the closet, where he had pulled on a shirt and was working on his pants.

  She found her own underwear in the drawer his housekeeper had allotted her. “Well, excuse me for pointing out the obvious, but my blog and tutoring income won’t cover first-class airfare, let alone support me at your standard of living.” The monthly cost of heating his rooftop pool was probably more than her mortgage payment. “I can’t afford the type of hotels you stay in, either. Don’t say you’ll pay my way,” she warned with a pointed finger.

  “I travel by private jet,” he said pithily. “One more body on board is a name on a manifest, no extra expense. Same goes for the hotels. Much of my stay will be in properties I own. I prefer spaces equipped to suit my needs. Feel free to cook if you’re worried about the cost of food. I’m not.”

  She stood there feeling impotent, damp hair causing runnels of water to tickle irritatingly down her back. “I can’t just—”

  “Why not?” he cut in with a lift of his arrogant brows.

  “Frankly?” She gave her wet hair a flick. “After spending most of my life following a man around the world, I’m not that keen to do it again.”

  She stepped into a pair of jeans and a light pullover, then looked for her empty suitcase to pack it.

  “I’ve reached the part in your book where your father had the stroke,” he said quietly. “It’s difficult to read. Your writing is beautiful. Poignant. But it put a knife in my stomach that is twisted by every word. I had to stop.”

  She dropped her hands to her sides. He was the most disarming man!

  “Thank you?” she mumbled, eyes burning white-hot.

  “I keep thinking about that tour you’re expected to do. I don’t want to see your heartache exploited for book sales. Are you sure you want that?”

  “No. But it’s different when it’s strangers. I don’t care what they think.” She hugged herself and gave him a disgruntled side-eye. “I worry what you think, though.”

  His stormy gray gaze was too intense to hold. “Why? Do you have something to hide?”

  “No.”

  He left an expectant silence for her to fill, but she didn’t know what he wanted her to say. Her heart panged with unexpected and acute inadequacy. And yearning. He was even more of a mystery to her than she was to him.

  This was the crux of her worry about his effect on her, she realized. He touched her as though she was delicate china, brought her to the heights of pleasure and gave her free rein to explore his body. He let her sleep in his bed and sh
are his bath and gave her his Wi-Fi password, but there was an invisible wall between them. He kept himself deeply guarded and impenetrable, but expected her to somehow reveal her whole self to him.

  When she didn’t say anything, he rolled close and encircled her wrist with his loose grip. “You said you were struggling for blog content. Wouldn’t traveling help?”

  “I could take a trip on my own if I thought that was the answer.”

  “Would you please quit arguing?” His eyes turned pewter with molten emotions. “If you’re pregnant with my child, I want to look after you both.”

  And there went her knees turning to gelatin again.

  “What happens if I am? We’ve known each other four days, Giovanni.”

  “Then things will accelerate even more.”

  Her choked laugh was more a sob of helplessness.

  “Many couples have unprotected sex for years and don’t conceive.” The stiff defensiveness in him cut through better than anything else might have. “This is very much a long shot, Freja.”

  “It’s not that I don’t want your baby, Giovanni. Only that I’m still figuring out my own life. It makes it hard to imagine being responsible for someone else’s, especially one so vulnerable.”

  “You won’t be doing that alone. That’s why I want you to come with me.”

  She shook her head, unable to believe she was doing this, but she knew she would regret it if she didn’t take this chance to spend a little more time with him, to see if it could turn into more.

  “Okay,” she agreed.

  Pregnant?

  It shouldn’t be such a shocking possibility for a woman who was having regular sex, but Freja was completely unprepared for the idea. She fell inward as she processed it, existing in a sort of meditative state, barely participating in the real world beyond the necessary preparations for travel with Giovanni. She quit her catering job and advised her students their schedule would be changing. She leased her apartment and put a few things in storage.

  Giovanni told her not to pack more than one case, which was hilarious because she always traveled light, but he added, “My people will ensure you have everything you need.”

  Even her father hadn’t been that arrogant. He’d paid her for odd jobs and photos, then sent her along to the local shops to find her own feminine products and shoes that fit. She had saved up for her own laptop as a teenager, rather than using her father’s castoff, but that was as materialistic as she got.

  So relying on Giovanni and letting his schedule dictate hers felt both natural and challenging. When she tried to imagine adding another body and personality to the equation, her brain shorted out and wandered down impractical paths of potential baby names instead.

  Not that she could resent Giovanni for turning her life upside down. He might be formidable, but he was also remarkable. He commanded respect not just for his wealth or the confidence that carried him along so well, but for the person he was beneath.

  He might not reveal much about himself, but she was catching glimpses. He made dry remarks that had his physical therapist snickering and came up with fresh solutions over conference calls with his development teams. He even generously shoehorned a last-minute charity event into his packed schedule.

  “You’re on board with that?” she dimly heard him ask. His voice firmed. “Freja?”

  “Hmm? Sorry, I thought you were talking to someone else.” She was barely tracking what was going on in his stylish, contemporary villa on the outskirts of Milan. She’d slept on the plane, so she’d been awake half the night. Now the stylist was turning her in circles, taking her measurements while someone else made notes. Another assistant flashed swatches while yet another was in a huddle with the young man who seemed to be charged with organizing Giovanni’s calendar. She kept hearing color-related questions like, “Red carpet? Black tie or white?”

  “Ciau. Welcome back to the conversation,” Giovanni teased as she blinked at him. “I know I said we would use today to recover from jet lag and get your wardrobe started, but I’m accepting an invitation for this evening. It’s a good cause. A sport program for child amputees.”

  “Oh. Yes, I heard you say that. So you’re going out tonight? Of course. Do whatever you normally would. I’ll probably be asleep before dinner.”

  “We are going out,” he said dryly. “But you can nap this afternoon if you need to. Can you have something ready by then?” He directed that to the stylist.

  “Of course. Shall I book one of my technicians to help with hair and makeup?”

  “Thank you.”

  Freja would have argued that she was capable of putting on her own lipstick, but someone else came in with a call for him and they weren’t alone again until several hours later. By then, they’d flown to Monaco.

  The flight was less than an hour, but it added to her sense of disorientation. They were given a penthouse in the hotel. It was very swanky and staff were buzzing around, shifting furniture and taking orders.

  Giovanni caught her stifling a yawn, and said, “Go lie down. I’ll join you as soon as I finish my calls. The desk will wake us when your dress arrives.”

  That was indeed what happened, tying her up for another hour. By the time she joined him in the lounge, she was more scattered and overwhelmed than ever.

  His head went back and he raked his gaze down the one-shouldered dress in a color the stylist had called “Egyptian blue.”

  “I thought you were beautiful in a catering uniform that did you no favors. This...” His attention came back to her face and his brows snapped together. “Are you unwell? If this was too much for you, you should have said.”

  “It is too much, but not in the way you mean. This is an evening gown, Giovanni!” She plucked at the beaded silk, accidentally opening the slit that climbed to midthigh.

  “Call me old-fashioned, but when I’m on a date, I prefer to be the one wearing the tuxedo.”

  And he looked amazing in his dove-white jacket over a white shirt and scrupulously tailored black pants. His bow tie was black, as was his satin pocket square.

  “Is the dress not comfortable? You look fantastic.” His appreciative gaze took a second, slower tour down to her silver gladiator heels. “I’m regretting that we’re already late because I would love to see you in just those.” His gaze lingered on her shoes.

  “What about these?” She gave the earrings dangling off her lobes an askance bobble. They were exquisite cascades of blue sapphires and white diamonds, and had to be worth a small country’s GDP.

  “Those, too,” he said throatily. “Now I’ll be hard all evening, picturing you in only those earrings and those shoes. Thanks.”

  “That’s not—” She almost stamped her foot. “The stylist told me they’re real.”

  “As opposed to imaginary?”

  “As opposed to costume. When you said we were attending a casino fundraiser, I thought that meant a casino theme. That we would go to a bingo hall or the back of a pub where you wager with vouchers and bid on prizes like movie tickets in a bucket of flavored popcorn.” That was the sort of fundraiser she’d attended at university.

  “Ah. No. Real casino, real money.”

  She suspected he was laughing at her as he moved to press the button for their private elevator. It was small, so she let him back his chair in before she joined him.

  “I’ll stake you fifty thousand euros, though,” he added.

  “I’m not going to gamble your money!”

  “You don’t like gambling? No worries. There’s a silent auction. I’ll stake you fifty thousand for that, too.”

  “I’m not going to throw your money away on silly prizes, either!”

  “Should I just write the check and we’ll stay in the room?” His tone cooled. “It’s a very reputable organization, Freja. They’re getting my money either way. I thought we’d enjoy
a proper date and let them have the scoop on announcing our relationship, to get them extra exposure. I’d rather we were old news by the time I finalize my acquisition of the airline later this week.”

  The elevator stopped and she rocked on her heels, realizing she had underestimated him in the most bizarre way. She had known he was rich, but it hadn’t penetrated that he was “acquire an airline” rich.

  The doors opened and she made an effort to rearrange her flabbergasted expression, but how was she supposed to process any of this?

  He lifted a brow, waiting for her to make up her mind.

  “Are you calling our first date improper?” she finally asked.

  The corner of his mouth twitched. He scratched his upper lip and said, “One could argue either way, I think.”

  He waved for her to precede him out of the elevator.

  It was a short walk through the mild evening from the hotel into the casino. The lavishness of their hotel suite hadn’t prepared her for the opulence of the casino. She tried not to gawk as they were shown through a massive hall where a stained-glass dome dominated the ceiling. Ornate gold filigree framed what had to be hand-painted frescoes, and crystal chandeliers sparkled over the various gaming tables.

  She had barely caught a glimpse of the spinning images on the slot machines before they were shown through a passageway between marble columns, into a private salon.

  If she had thought the main hall a monument to luxury, here was where indulgence met taste in all forms. The clatter of tourists and seasoned gamblers was shut out by a small orchestra providing a refined background to the smooth conversation and cultivated laughter. Men and women in stunning evening wear milled around gaming tables and hovered near the bar, all casually flashing jewels and gold watches, tiaras and even a ceremonial sword hanging off the hip of a decorated military officer.

  “Giovanni!” A lovely blonde with a soft British accent greeted him warmly, bending to kiss each of his cheeks. “You’re too good to us, flying in at the last minute like this. Hello. I’m Clair. Thank you for coming.” The woman offered to shake Freja’s hand.