“And you can’t be that as my wife?”
No, she couldn’t. She would spend all her time trying to live up to the vision of the ideal woman he had in his head, forever knowing she hadn’t been his choice, she had been his necessity. Because whatever they’d once shared, she’d always known that who she was would eventually destroy everything they had. It always did.
She angled her body to face him. “You’re ordering me to marry you, Santo. Exactly as my father did with Franco. You are giving me no choice. How can that be the basis for a healthy relationship? How can that be good for Leo—two people who are marrying for convenience?”
A dark challenge glittered in his eyes. “Because we are going to make this into something good, Gia. We had a friendship once. We can rebuild it.”
She absorbed the iron set of his jaw. His utter immovability. Indecision flooded through her. She had been so sure that marrying Santo was a mistake. But after seeing him and Leo together this afternoon, after witnessing what she had denied her son, she wasn’t sure of anything anymore.
Santo tipped her chin up with his fingers. “You know it’s the right thing to do, Gia,” he said softly. “Make the call.”
Her stomach twisted. Once again, she was expected to make the right decision. Which was the right decision for everyone but her. It left a bitter taste in her mouth, because her dreams were precious to her, she’d fought so hard to attain them. But Santo was leaving her no other option. How could she fight him on every front?
Her head went back to the image of her son playing in the sand with Santo. The relationship they could have if he had a father who was in his life for every one of those moments versus the fragmented time he would have with him in a joint-custody arrangement. Leo could have everything she had never had. It was the thing that tipped the scale for her.
She might have made an unforgivable mistake in keeping Santo from his son, but she could rectify it now by doing the right thing. Even if it killed her to do it.
She swallowed past the lump in her throat that refused to produce the words that didn’t seem to want to emerge. “All right,” she finally breathed, “I will marry you.”
* * *
Everything happened in a blur in the days after she’d agreed to marry Santo. Gia tried to take it one step at a time, to keep her world from spinning out from beneath her feet, but it was almost impossible with everything happening so fast it made her head whirl.
With the biggest launch in Supersonic’s history on his hands and clearly not intending to let Leo out of his sight for even a moment, Santo took control of everything, including the logistics for their move back to New York, as well as for their wedding, which would be a private, civil ceremony held on the beach on Delilah’s estate.
He was determined to see her named a Di Fiore before they returned to New York to protect her and Leo and, she suspected, to send a clear signal to her father that she and Leo belonged to him. And while the whole concept of belonging to Santo, belonging to any man ever again, stoked the anger that burned beneath the surface, she couldn’t deny the necessity behind it.
She also couldn’t deny the attraction a simple, private ceremony held after her big, glitzy wedding to Franco—an over-the-top occasion she had dreaded. Her mother, busy holding the family together in Las Vegas in her father’s absence, the situation tense over whether he would testify in the hearings, thought it better they keep the ties severed between them until the political furor had died down. She was also, Gia could tell, concerned about the political ramifications of her return.
It hurt, because she missed her mother desperately. But she’d been doing this for two years now. She’d learned to separate herself from her emotions. What was a few more weeks?
Before she knew it, she was marrying Santo in a short, textbook ceremony on the beach with only Delilah, Desaray and Leo in attendance. The ceremony, conducted by a civil officiant, was over before it even seemed to begin. The brief, perfunctory kiss Santo brushed against her lips barely penetrated the ice-cold shell she had constructed around herself. It was the only way she knew how to cope, because the thought of what was ahead was terrifying.
Santo might have promised to protect her from her former life, but a collision with her father was assured. Her mother might have understood her struggles, have supported her decisions, but her father would not. He would be angry, furious. To him family, loyalty, was everything. And she had thrown that in his face.
Her head a circular storm of emotion, she refused to look back as they left for the airport and the private Di Fiore jet that was waiting. Leaving Delilah had been bad enough. Saying goodbye to the slice of paradise where she’d healed, where she’d become a different person, might break her.
The three-hour flight back to New York flew by as rapidly as everything else. Leo, who’d only been six months old when they’d left for the Bahamas, was beside himself with excitement in the luxurious confines of the jet, imagining himself a supahero on his way to a mission. Which was a welcome distraction for Gia, because with each mile the plane ate up toward the past she’d vowed to leave behind, the faster her icy calm faded.
New York was home, where she’d spent her entire life before she’d married Franco and moved to Las Vegas. But she had become a different person—strong and resilient—and she was fiercely protective of this new version of herself. She worried that by walking back into her old life, exposing herself to those influences, she’d become that Gia again. And that could never happen.
Soon, they were landing at a tiny, private airport in New Jersey on a spectacular mid-May evening. Benecio, Santo’s driver, who’d had the foresight to install a car seat in the Bentley, was waiting for them. Leo, agog at Benecio’s shaved head and ex-military presence, which oozed from every inch of his dark, perfectly tailored suit, soon found the skyscrapers of New York his next big distraction. He absorbed them with big eyes until he passed out halfway to Santo’s Fifth Avenue penthouse, which left Gia to take in the pulsing energy of the city. The honking horns and endless cacophony of sound, which was complete sensory overload after her life in paradise.
Santo’s five-thousand-square-foot duplex penthouse that fronted Central Park was unspeakably gorgeous, with its private wraparound terrace and infinity pool that offered breath-taking, panoramic views of the skyline. The double-height ceilings in the modern glass-and-gunmetal-inspired living room were spectacular, as was the art wall wine display and the sweeping metal circular staircase.
Santo, a fast-asleep Leo sprawled over his shoulder, intercepted the wary look Gia gave her surroundings as they climbed the stairs to the upper floor. “This clearly isn’t going to work for us,” he acknowledged. “I’ll have my real-estate agent look for something else. Nico and Chloe bought in Westchester. Maybe that’s something we’d want to consider. Or the Hamptons. I’d love to get out of the city.”
Her stomach dropped at the speed at which it was all moving. But staying here would not be an option, Santo was right about that. She wouldn’t be able to take her eyes off Leo for a second, or he’d be swooping down that sweeping banister. The pool, however, might be the perfect antidote for not having the sea at his doorstep, which Leo would surely miss.
Santo showed her to the beautiful blue bedroom his housekeeper, Felicia, had prepared for Leo. It held none of the adventurous boyish charm his bedroom in Nassau had. It was all smooth, perfectly designed angles, but the collection of stuffed animals they’d sent along ahead, arranged in a decorative pile in the middle of the queen-sized bed, would hopefully be enough to keep him from feeling too homesick for now.
She roused her son briefly to slip on his pajamas, then tucked him into the center of the big bed. She left the lamp on in case he woke, frightened in a strange place, then followed Santo on a tour of the upper level, which included the beautiful master suite. Done in more of those browns, creams and greys, and featuring another jaw-dropping
panoramic view, it was overtly masculine. A sultan’s den of pleasure with its massive mahogany four-poster bed, working fireplace and skylight that showcased the stars.
She could only imagine how many women Santo had entertained here. She pushed that thought out of her head and considered the rest of the room. The palatial walk-in closet, with its full dressing room, already contained her clothes, which Felicia had unpacked. The bathroom, almost like a spa, was glorious, as was the chandelier that sparkled in the ceiling—a decadent touch she had a feeling Santo hadn’t chosen. It was all so beautiful, even her critical eye couldn’t find fault with it.
“Why don’t you relax?” he suggested. “Get settled in. I have a few emails to address before I join you.”
For what? Her stomach swooped at the question, but she forced herself to nod. He’d been business-like ever since she’d agreed to marry him. Throughout the ceremony today, when he’d barely touched her. When he’d followed her wedding band with a magnificent, oval-shaped diamond that had stolen her breath.
Which had hurt, because whenever her life had gone sideways, Santo had been the one she’d run to. The person who’d made it all better. This time, however, she’d been the one to break them. Who’d crossed the line they’d so clearly delineated in their relationship that night and smashed a decade-long friendship she’d regarded as sacrosanct, only to replace it with something far scarier and far more powerful.
And maybe, she conceded, kicking off her shoes, that was another reason why she’d walked away from him that morning. Because she hadn’t known how to handle what she’d unleashed.
Which left her with the question of what he expected of her tonight. The sparkle of the chandelier drew her eye to the gorgeous diamond glittering on her finger. She was his wife. Would he expect her to share his bed tonight? It made her brain blank to even think about repeating the devastating intimacy they’d once shared. But Santo had made it clear he expected this marriage to be real in every sense of the word.
Rather than face that daunting prospect, she ran a bath instead. Enveloped herself in lavender-scented bubbles in the luxurious tub, with its spectacular view of Manhattan. Which only gave her more time to think.
She leaned her head back. Found herself spiraling into a place she rarely let herself go. Her marriage to Franco had been the most painful years of her life. She had blocked out much of it, because by the end, it had been a disaster, but now the memories came flooding back.
If she’d found it difficult to be a Castiglione, she’d found it even harder to be a Lombardi. Franco had been aloof and hard to know, exactly as her father had been. Angry at her for what she’d done, he’d been cold until after Leo had been born. He had allowed her to do a couple of decorating jobs on his hotels to keep herself busy.
She’d had good taste and he’d appreciated it. It had led her to believe that their marriage could work. That once they’d had their own children, when they had a family together, they could forge a connection between them. But that had never happened.
She’d been so intimidated by him, had never been comfortable with him. It seemed the harder she’d tried to conceive a child, the more difficult it had become, until her husband’s jealousy of Santo had become a living, breathing entity that had driven an impenetrable wedge between them.
She hadn’t blamed Franco. Had known the whole situation was her fault. But her husband’s cruel, careless comments about her inability to conceive, about her failures as a woman and wife, had cut deep. He’d taken a mistress, which had almost been a relief for the reprieve it had been. But he had also insisted she stop working so that she could focus on a family. Provide him with an heir. Which had only made her feel more trapped and isolated than ever.
She’d hosted his dinner parties, stayed out of his business, did everything she was supposed to do. But each day the gulf had been driven wider between them, until her husband’s death had mercifully ended a marriage that had been barely limping along.
She stared out at the skyline, the lights of the city blinking like teardrops suspended from the tall, imposing skyscrapers. Perhaps it was true that her feelings for Santo had destroyed her marriage. But now that she’d broken them with her actions, she had no idea what they were. What they could ever be.
She felt utterly and completely lost.
* * *
Santo nursed a brandy in his study as a hushed blanket of black slipped over Manhattan. He’d called his brothers to let them know he was back. Dispensed with the dozens of emails that had filled his inbox during the flight home.
He should join Gia. Get some sleep before the insane day he had ahead. But he hung on a moment longer to finish the drink. To process everything in his head. And maybe, there was a little avoidance thrown in there, too.
He’d come back to New York a married man with a three-year-old son he hadn’t known about. His life as he’d known it had been annihilated. He should be having some sort of an extreme reaction to it. Withdrawal from his bachelor life. Instead, he was numb, Lazzero’s assessment of he and Gia from that night in Nassau running through his head.
You’ve gone on a tear through half the women on the planet since her, but you’re not even remotely interested in any of them... You are completely distracted.
He wasn’t actually sure that was true. He’d had a list of the attributes in the woman he’d been looking for. Abigail, the last serious candidate for a permanent role in his life, had lacked the fire and passion he was looking for, despite the heavy dose of altruism she’d possessed. Katy, the massage therapist who’d been so amazing with her hands in bed, had bored him out of it. Suzanne, the one before Abigail, had been both smart and sexy, but her promotion to assistant district attorney for the State of New York had called an abrupt ending to their relationship.
It was the one thing he wouldn’t compromise on—a wife who wanted the same things out of life as he did. Who wanted to build the strong, impenetrable bonds of family that he did. Who was content to be at home, taking care of their child, putting her family first. Everything he’d never had.
He took a swig of the brandy, the aged malt burning a fiery path down his throat. In his defense, none of those women had been right. But to Lazzero’s point, maybe the problem had always been Gia. That once, he’d thought she’d been the one. His soul mate. Only to have her shatter those illusions when she’d left.
At eighteen, he’d been no match for Stefano Castiglione. Gia had belonged to someone else. She was not his. It was a refrain he’d repeated to himself a dozen times over in the ensuing years. It was better, easier that way. Which had been the way he’d been content to play it until she’d crossed the elevator on that stormy night four years ago, blown his brains out with her innocence and passion, and he’d made the conscious decision to claim her as his.
He’d woken up the next morning, intent on speaking to her father. On taking her away from that life. On building a future with her. Instead, she had walked away from him and married Franco Lombardi without a backward look. Slammed the door on everything they had shared.
It had taken him months to blank the image of her with Franco from his head. To convince himself that she was just as emotionally damaged as his mother had been, just as unsure of what she wanted, and he was better off without her. And once he’d finally managed to put the memory to rest, he’d vowed she was a piece of his history never to be repeated.
His fingers tightened around the glass. So what the hell had he just done?
The necessary, a voice in his head responded. His marriage to Gia had been necessary. To secure his wife and son. To protect them as he’d promised.
So now, he acknowledged, downing the last sip of brandy, he was going to do just that. With his expectations firmly in place when it came to his wife, and fully aware of what she was and what she was not, he was going to put his relationship with Gia back on the rational, pragmatic plane he had promised h
imself. Piece together this family he’d been given and somehow make it work.
Dispensing with the tumbler in the kitchen, he made his way upstairs. His wife had taken a bath and changed into some filmy cream concoction that wasn’t overtly sexy, with its silky, delicate material that flowed to her knees. It was the body beneath it that claimed his attention. He knew how perfect it was. The curve of her hips that filled the palms of his hands. How those curves nipped in to a tiny waist, then up to the voluptuous fullness of her breasts, with their feminine, dusky rose tips.
It was an image that would be imprinted in his head forever. Which didn’t help him now as he lifted his gaze to her beautiful face, the lush fullness of her mouth, those emotive green eyes that made his body harden with predictable effect.
So he was hot for his wife. Wasn’t that a good thing when this was forever?
* * *
The bath had dissipated some of Gia’s tension, but she found her nerves ramping up all over again with Santo’s reappearance in the bedroom.
His shirt sleeves rolled up in that sexy look he did so effortlessly, his shirt open at the collar to reveal hard, bronzed flesh, he was familiar, yet foreign, a new thickness and maturity to all that muscle she’d once known intimately.
The storm of mixed emotions coursing through her reached new heights, an inescapable awareness of him climbing up her throat. Which was not necessarily helped by the slow slide of his dark gaze as it worked its way from the tip of her head down to her toes, lingering on the fullness of her mouth, the swell of her breasts and the curve of her hip.
The aloofness he’d been wearing all day vaporized, replaced by a flare of heat that stole her breath. “How was your bath?” he murmured, keeping that whiskey-dark gaze on hers.
“Relaxing.” She curled her fingers tight by her sides. “Did you get your work done?”
“Yes.” He threw his phone on the table. “I have an early meeting in the morning. It’s a quiet week on the social front, which is good because it will give you some time to get settled in. Benecio will be at your disposal. You will take him with you whenever you leave the apartment,” he said emphatically.
Married for His One-Night Heir Page 6