Nico walked by her, carrying a flute of champagne and talking to a beautiful woman who strolled beside him. Lily lifted her hand to greet him, and he raised his flute with a kind smile. For the first time since he’d met him, he didn’t seem like he saw right through her lies. Either I’m getting better at it, or he’s already drunk.
A waitress offered her some bubbly, and she took it. Why not? She drank it in one gulp, a refreshing sensation rolling down her throat, loosening her limbs.
“Excuse me,” said a man behind her.
She turned to find Marco’s father. She hadn’t seen much of him, thankfully, during her stay. After all she heard about him, she had to gather her strength to keep from slapping his face. Her blood still boiled in her veins. “Yes?”
“I met you on the first night. You’re Marco’s bride-to-be.”
Wishful thinking. She lifted her chin. “That’s right.”
“I regret we haven’t talked much.”
“Do you also regret not talking to your son?” she said, and immediately second-guessed her spontaneity. But shit, it was too late. She cleared her throat, stretching to her full height so the tall man wouldn’t intimidate her. “I can’t help but notice the two of you have barely exchanged any words in the last few days.”
Calogero’s face didn’t give away much. Unlike his sons, he wasn’t very expressive. When he spoke, he kept his eyes hooded, his expression neutral. “Patricia, is it? You’re quite forthcoming, given you just met me.”
“I know enough about you.”
“Ah. Marco’s musings,” he said, his wrinkles creasing around his eyes. “His world turned upside when his mother died, and our relationship never recovered from it. Doesn’t mean I don’t wish him well. I keep my distance because we don’t have a lot in common anymore.”
“A lot in common? He’s your son,” she said, remembering her sweet father and how they could look at each other and know what the other was thinking. They didn’t always agree on everything, but when it came down to it, he had her back.
“Yes, he is, and you obviously feel passionately about him. I wondered about you, a woman who came out of nowhere and managed to catch him. I hope you know what you signed up for. Marco isn’t so easy to get along with on a day-to-day basis.”
“How would you know? You two haven’t talked in forever, and when he was a child and needed you the most, you preferred to be a coward and blame him for your wife’s death.”
He glanced around them, as if to ensure no one watched them, and said in a steady tone, “Stop there, young lady. I’ve been generous in entertaining your out-of-line suggestions. It has to come to an end.”
“You know what? Your wife had a condition, but you’re the one who’s sick. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” she said, seeing red at the corner of her eyes as she strode through the crowd. Thankfully, because of the live band, none of the guests should have heard them. Unless someone saw them talking and read their body language, she was okay.
She didn’t give two shits about what Marco’s father thought about her, but she didn’t want to ruin Nonna’s birthday party. Arietta waved at her, and she hung out with some of the cousins, listening to funny stories about their childhood. She pretended to engage, but every so often she scanned the living area, searching for Marco. What if she confessed that she’d told his father off? God. Maybe she shouldn’t. He would hate her.
He’d hate her for licking his emotional wounds and making a big deal about it. He might even send me away, or cut our deal short. One of the clauses in the contract stated he had the right to terminate the affair at any time without any particular reason. She’d still get her end of the bargain, but he’d reserved that right.
“Everything okay?” Arietta asked, pulling her from her worst-case-scenario pondering.
“Yeah, why?”
“You seem preoccupied.”
“I’m wondering what Marco is up to. I haven’t seen him for a while.” Damn him. It was the party that had brought them to Italy, and now he disappeared?
“Oh, he’s right there,” she said, pointing at the opposite side of terrace. “He’s been talking to Nonna for the past twenty minutes.”
Twenty minutes. Had he seen her talking with his father? If he doesn’t mention anything, I won’t. She had to deal with saying goodbye to his family, to Italy, a place she probably wouldn’t visit again. People she wouldn’t ever see again. The notion stiffened her entire body. God, she had a hard time letting go of things.
During the rest of the party, she went through the motions. Family members made toasts and honored Debora. Dinner was served, and then the butler produced a huge cake. People ate, drank, laughed. She managed to keep good spirits and smile often to mask her growing sadness.
Going to the States meant she no longer needed to pretend to be Marco’s fiancée. Damn it, she’d enjoyed the farce so much that she ended up believing in it.
After she and Marco said their goodbyes, they retreated to their suite. She opened the door to the balcony, staring at the lake. Stars peppered the dark sky, as the half-moon graced the night with all of her beauty.
Marco embraced her from behind, his arms sneaking around her, and she melted into him. “Who do you want to be tonight?” he whispered against her neck, causing all kinds of delicious tingles.
“I want us to be Lily and Marco,” she said. She loved their games, their role plays, their creativity, but in the middle of so many lies, she needed to be true to the reality—he, Marco Giordano, was the man who weakened her knees. Who owned her heart, even if he didn’t know it.
She turned around, glancing at him. He outlined her lips with his index finger, then when she thought he’d kiss her, he didn’t. He traced the contours of her face as if using his hand to imprint the memory of her features in his mind. Maybe this was as hard for him as for her.
She entertained the notion, the impossible hope growing and rooting inside her like well-kept lawn. Resolute, she clung to the idea, adamant on showing him with her body how right they were for each other. She leaned into his caress, offering her entire being to him.
He dipped his head and captured her lips with his. The kiss grew slowly, steadily, provoking her body endlessly. Her nipples tightened; her pulse ran out of control. He caught her in his arms, much like a newlywed groom would, but with more hunger. A groan escaped his mouth, the primitive sound making her clit throb. She linked her arms around his head, intensifying the kiss, upping sexual anticipation between them.
Even when they tried to keep their hormones in check, the crazy, red-hot desire showed them who was in charge. He didn’t lay her on the bed like the end of a fairy tale. He held her against the column of one of the embellished arches of the room. He nibbled her upper lip, then released it with a popping sound. She squirmed, already so aroused.
He hiked up her dress, provoking goose bumps on her bare flesh. She held him tighter, not wanting to let go. He rested his forehead against hers, and they shared a sigh. “You’re extraordinary, Lily,” he said. “Don’t you ever forget it.”
“You, too,” she said, and fumbled to remove his jacket, her fingers trembling to open the buttons. Impatient, she held both sides of his crisp white shirt and ripped it apart. Hell, this was their last night in Italy. She had to show him how she felt about him.
He let out a growl, kissing her again, their tongues clashing, lips melding. She plastered herself to him, loving the feel of his warm, salty skin against hers. He reached to the zipper of her dress and lowered it until it reached her waist, bunching the fabric. Getting rid of the silk between her chest and his, she moaned, like her body had found a safe haven. A thrill shot from her breasts to the rest of her. She rubbed her breasts on his hair-dusted pecs, stealing a groan from him.
“If you were a drink, I’d be an alcoholic,” he whispered.
“Marco…” she murmured, but he silenced her with the most ravenous kiss she’d ever received. She squirmed into him, breathless, so eager for him. He put
his hands under her ass, lifting her up, and without disengaging from her mouth, took both of them to the bed. She fell on top of him, overwhelmed.
She kept him down and lifted herself enough to straddle him and nibble his chin. He lifted his own mouth to kiss her, but she withdrew, pushing him back into the mattress. “Let me fuck you.”
She slid her hand down his body, snaking it into his pants. Without wasting time to unbuckle and remove them completely, she lowered them along with his boxers enough—to his knees—and clasped his glorious cock. Didn’t matter how many times she’d seen it… She loved that massive rod. She loved him.
She squeezed it, earning a deep moan from him.
“You’re torturing me.”
“Now you know what it’s like to be me.”
“I’ve known for a while,” he said, and put her hand over his heart. She spread her fingers over it, feeling his pulse race madly, and a rush of adrenaline went through her. She—her touch, her presence—had an effect on him. What if she affected him more than she imagined?
Yelping with excitement, she lowered herself to him, planting little pecks on his nose, cheeks, and forehead. She moved her hand, touching his cock again, positioning him close to her then impaling herself with his massive dick. Oh, how she loved having him throb against her pussy, occupying every inch of her sex, branding her even when he wasn’t trying. Filling her. Completing her.
“I love you, Marco.” The truth escaped her mouth as she began to ride him. Her hand flew to her lips, and she realized it was too late to take it back.
Chapter Seventeen
I love you.
Her words almost pulled him from his foggy, aroused state. She moved swiftly, thrusting herself onto his dick, swaying her hips in a sensual dance he couldn’t deny.
Maybe she didn’t mean it and had said she loved him in the heat of the moment. Even though he didn’t completely convince himself, he used the possibility to enjoy the sex without thinking.
He thrust his cock upward, and she took him, using her inner muscles to clench him. An insane throb dominated his body, knotting his whole being into one pulse. He had to close his eyes and will himself to wait to come.
Eager for more, he lifted his hands and cupped her tits. She threw her head back for a moment, and he touched her breasts, encircling the nipples with his fingers. She gazed at him, her eyes challenging him to respond to her spontaneous declaration of love.
He searched for undercurrents of fear or uncertainty or frustration but only found clarity in the depths of her green irises. His heart drummed in his chest, and he didn’t know how to react. Luckily, his own body responded for him. As if entranced, he shifted his position so he sat on the mattress, legs crossed around her, without disengaging from her. Lily was still on top of him but much closer, his arms wrapped around her, bringing her to him.
That’s when he knew. Fuck. She loved him.
He should call it quits immediately, leave the bed, and get her on the first flight back to the United States. But as she moved, each time undulating her hips so he’d hit a deeper part of her, he wanted to stay with her more than anything.
Groaning, he thrust into her, provoking a series of moans from her sinful lips. He upped his game, plummeting hard then retreating enough to make her squirm.
“Yes,” she hissed out, her long eyelashes sweeping over her lids. “Yes. I love you. Oh, Marco… How I love you,” she said.
Air rushed from his lungs. He only rammed her with more strength, unsure if he wished her words were truth or lies. Sweat broke out on his forehead, and then she kissed him in such a passionate way, for an instant he didn’t remember where they were.
He matched her intensity, shoving his fingers into her hair and massaging her scalp, hoping to give her the same kind of short circuit he experienced whenever she touched him. She tightened her wet walls around his rod, and this time, he felt the building pressure in his core, his balls heavy and throbbing.
“Yes,” she said when he momentarily came up for air. She bucked into him, hinting she was close. Without letting go of her hair, he used his free hand to slide down and flick her clit, working it relentlessly.
She shuddered, the vein on her neck pulsating and warning him she was coming. Responding to his own urges, he plunged one last time, unable to wait. His body contracted, then released, and he spilled his load inside her welcoming pussy. Fireworks exploded through him, the glorious sensation making waves until it had ridden his entire being, and his breathing became labored.
He kissed her forehead and eased her onto the mattress, when a sharp knock on the door made him extract himself from her and jump from the bed.
“What is it?” she whispered.
“Let me find out,” he said, pulling on his pants. Quickly, he fetched his shirt from the floor, putting it on before opening the door.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, but we need to talk,” his father said on the other side of the threshold.
He swallowed razors in his throat. Seeing his father this late at night meant something had gone wrong. “Wait,” he ordered, then closed the door quickly to tell Lily, “I’ll be right back.” She nodded at him, her face confused, but he took advantage of her post-bliss state and slipped out of the room, shutting the door behind him.
He buttoned his shirt, walking alongside his father in the hall. Then his father came to a halt and told him, “Your grandmother has passed.”
Marco froze, pinned to the spot, even though his knees threatened to buckle under his weight. Sadness welled up inside him, constricting his throat. Until now, he’d dealt with Nonna’s weak heart as a fact, a certainty, and used a measure of practicality to cope. He looked at his father’s expression—neutral as always, but his eyes seemed almost kind for a moment. Kind? Marco mocked inwardly. Why didn’t his brother or Arietta break the news to him?
Tears he wouldn’t have normally allowed fogged his field of vision. Marco wiped them with the back of his hand in a rough manner, but others replaced the ones dampening his skin. He remembered his grandmother’s love for him, the sweet way she called his name, her genuine, positive outlook on life.
“I’m sorry,” his father said, and planted a hand on his shoulder. Marco almost jerked away, driven by instinct, but his father pressed his palm into his shirt.
“Why did you come to tell me? Why not Nico?” Marco asked.
His father drew in a breath and then nodded to himself, as if realizing Marco’s question made complete sense. Maybe Nico was calling the doctors, or making arrangements, and, out of convenience, someone had asked Calogero to notify Marco. Simple as that.
Calogero loosened his hold on him until he slid his hand off Marco completely. He opened his mouth, then hesitated. Marco looked into his father’s dark eyes and found an emotion he had never seen before. A lump of frustration lodged in his throat.
“Because I’m sorry,” his father said, his voice wavering.
His father opened his arms and hugged him, and Marco swallowed hard. He didn’t want to believe his father, wasn’t willing to forgive him so quickly. Yet, as Calogero kept clumsily embracing him, Marco tapped his back then slowly embraced him in return. Sorry wasn’t enough, but it would do for now.
…
“Don’t you want to come in?” Lily asked Marco when he motioned for her to enter her own house.
The past three days had been rough. They were supposed to return to the States sooner, but because of Nonna’s death, Marco decided to stay longer and attend her funeral service. Lily supported him and didn’t ask anything of him—particularly after she had declared her love for him.
Marco followed her inside. He’d entered her apartment once or twice before, on much happier occasions. Now he had the painful task of ending their affair and breaking the contract he’d insisted on.
She put her bag on the couch and then washed her hands at the kitchen sink. During the flight home, he fooled her by pretending to work on his laptop, while what he was really doin
g was thinking about a hard conversation he had to have. He’d also kept his thoughts to himself during the drive to her place. The idea of having the driver take her in a separate car crossed his mind, but that would have broken her heart.
Not like what I’m about to do is any different.
When his brother had accused him of falling for her, he’d dismissed the idea. He couldn’t have. That would have been careless. When she’d told him she loved him three days prior, he’d known for sure that she truly loved him. Being with her because she cared about his sexual desires was selfish, but that he could handle. Being with her because she loved him meant opening the door to a world of disappointment.
He hadn’t been able to love his mother, or his father, even after he tried to mend fences following Nonna’s death. Well, mend fences the Calogero way, by pretending he hadn’t ruined his childhood, but that was beside the point. Hell, even his grandmother, whom he did love—he did a bad job of being there for her. He’d kept away for far longer than he should have. He had to save Lily from himself.
“Do you want anything to drink?” she asked.
He took a deep breath. “Lily, our agreement is coming to an end.”
She tilted her head to the side, as if trying to understand if that was a good or bad thing. “What does this mean?”
“I no longer require you to continue to live up to your part of the bargain. You’re released of all your duties, and I’ll keep up my end of our deal.”
Tears rolled down from her eyes before she parted her lips. A side of him simmered with anger, anger at himself. His gut grew tight, but he had to keep his resolve. If he wavered, all would be lost. She would be lost.
“Just like that? You’re releasing me of my duties?” she said, pain lacing her words.
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