The Secret the Italian Claims

by Jennie Lucas

  Eventually he parked in front of a nineteenth-century brick building tucked back on a quiet street. There was no sign it was a restaurant except for two valets standing mysteriously in front.

  “What’s this?” she asked as he helped her out of the car.

  Cristiano smiled. “It’s by invitation only.”

  Once inside, a maître d’ escorted them through the building and out into a lush garden courtyard. Scattered at ten small tables, she saw people she recognized—famous performers, politicians and athletes. Her eyes widened as they walked past someone that Hallie knew had millions of social-media followers.

  “What is this place?” Hallie whispered to Cristiano. His hand tightened on her arm as other patrons turned to look at them with similar interest.

  “A Michelin-starred chef runs the restaurant as a hobby. He invites only friends, or friends of friends.”

  She looked at the ruined walls on the other side of the courtyard. They looked ancient. “How old are those?”

  Cristiano glanced casually at the ruins. “Fifth century, I’d imagine.”

  They were escorted to the best table, beside an old stone fountain. She looked up. The only ceiling was the dark velvet of the Italian sky, twinkling with stars. Fairy lights were strewn against the rough, ruined walls, illuminating red flowers and greenery proliferating amid the cracks.

  “Incredible,” she breathed.

  Cristiano reached for her hand over the table. His gaze was hungry. “You’re incredible.”

  After fully enjoying each other every night over the last two weeks, she felt deliciously sore all over. And aware. So aware. Just his hand on hers made her body tighten and shiver. When the tattooed waiter spoke to Cristiano in Italian, she thought again how easy it would be to love her husband.

  But she couldn’t. It would be a horrible mistake. Because he would never love her back, and, eventually, that would make her love turn to hate.

  Their meal started with a cocktail, the ubiquitous Aperol spritz, a light bubbly drink blending Prosecco, soda water and orange liqueur over ice and orange slices, but with an added twist of rosemary. Sipping the drink, Hallie felt the other celebrities staring at them. She glanced down at herself self-consciously. She whispered, “What’s wrong with me?”

  “Why do you think something’s wrong?”

  “Why would they—” she waved her arm toward the powerful, fascinating people at the other tables “—stare at me?” She bit her lip. “It’s my makeup, isn’t it? The bare back of my dress? I look weird, don’t I?”

  He leaned forward. “You are,” he said huskily, “the sexiest woman in Rome.”

  She felt the weight of that compliment and saw, from the expression in his eyes, that he meant every word.

  As their eyes locked, a pulse of heat rushed through her. Turning away, she took a sip of the light, bubbly cocktail to try to cool down. She cleared her throat. “But there are so many beautiful people here. Famous people. Why would they bother looking at me?”

  “You’re famous now, too. And unlike all of them—” he dismissed his fellow patrons with a glance “—no one knows anything about you.”

  Hallie gave an incredulous snort. “I’m just a regular girl from rural West Virginia.”

  Wordlessly Cristiano drew his phone from his pocket. Pressing a few buttons, he handed it to her.

  Hallie stared down at the screen in amazement.

  “See? You’re a star,” he said softly.

  Looking at his phone, she realized it was true. Pictures and stories about her had exploded all over the internet. She was on news websites. Celebrity gossip pages. Someone had started a fashion blog in Italian, with a photo of her every time she’d come out of the hotel over the past two weeks, with a listing of each day’s clothes, who’d designed them and where to buy them. There was even a page devoted to Jack’s clothes. Her baby had somehow become a fashion icon.

  It was jarring to see pictures of herself, taken without her knowledge, and pictures of her baby, too, all now online for the world to see.

  She sucked in her breath when she saw a video of herself singing at the trattoria, posted on YouTube a few days before. It had already gotten over a hundred thousand hits. A hundred thousand.

  Her mind boggled.

  But not all the attention was positive. Some of the posts were downright mean. Strangers were calling her a gold-digger. And, apparently, Hallie’s family tragedy made excellent news fodder. Many news stories breathlessly reported that Hallie was a failed folk singer from a poor Appalachian family who’d all died tragically in a flash flood, but then she’d gotten pregnant and was now married to an Italian billionaire, so wasn’t she the luckiest girl in the world?

  The words and pictures swam before Hallie’s eyes. Her stomach clenched. Abruptly she gave him back his phone.

  “You see why,” he said quietly, “I want you always to take Salvatore with you when you’re out on the street.”

  Hallie shivered. As a girl, she’d wistfully dreamed of growing up to be somehow special. Hadn’t she even gone to New York hoping to become a star?

  Now she found that being the center of attention just made her uncomfortable. Feeling the warm night breeze against the bare skin of her back, she tried to smile. “You didn’t bring Salvatore with us tonight.”

  “This restaurant is exclusive. The patrons are mostly famous themselves.” His eyebrow lifted. “Besides, I can protect you.”

  Remembering the night he’d forced her landlord to return her precious possessions, Hallie could well believe it. Biting her lip, she ventured, “Matthews said that you were a street fighter in Naples when you were young.”

  His expression closed up. “That is one way of saying it. I had no money. So I fought.”

  “And now you are a billionaire, with the most luxurious hotel chain in the world.”

  “So?”

  “How did it happen? How did you build your fortune?”

  Cristiano stared at her, his handsome face shadowed against the soft lighting of the garden.

  “I was lucky,” he said flatly. “I met a man who owned a small hotel chain in southern Italy. I convinced him to hire me and teach me everything he knew. Then I betrayed him.”

  Shocked, Hallie stared at him. With a cold smile, he took a sip of his drink, then looked up as the waiter arrived and, in both Italian and English, listed the five choices on the evening’s menu.

  Cristiano ordered the veal, Hallie the spaghetti alla vongole—pasta with clams in a light wine sauce. She added, “And could I get that with lots of Parmesan cheese, please?”

  Both Cristiano and the waiter stared at her with identical horrified expressions.

  “Clams...seafood...these you should not eat with cheese,” the waiter said patiently, as if explaining to a toddler she shouldn’t run into traffic.

  Hallie smiled, but held her ground. “I still like them.”

  “But it is not done!” The waiter looked at Cristiano for support, but he just shrugged, as if to say, Americans, what can you do?

  When the pasta arrived, Hallie covered it with Parmesan and thought it was delicious. She washed it all down with a glass of red wine, causing another shocked gasp from the waiter, at the thought that she’d drink red wine with seafood, not white. Hallie decided that maybe she enjoyed shocking people, because she didn’t care.

  As the evening lengthened, a pleasurable sensation seeped into her bones. Maybe it was the delicious dinner or the sensual wind against her bare skin. Maybe it was the fragrance of the flowers or sitting with Cristiano amid a fifth-century ruin beneath the starry sky. But she felt strangely like she was in a dream.

  “When are we going back to New York?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure.” Cristiano watched her. “After I’m done in Rome, I’ll need to go to the Amalfi Coast for a few weeks to oversee the
finishing touches on the new hotel opening in Cavello. The grand opening gala is next month.”

  She brightened. “I’ve always wanted to see the Amalfi Coast.”

  “You and the baby will remain in Rome. I’ll commute via helicopter.”

  “What? Why?” she said, dismayed. More weeks spent cooped up in the penthouse, afraid to go out alone on the streets of Rome didn’t sound appealing. A prison was a prison, no matter how luxurious. “That’s not what the rules say. What about our family time?”

  “Rules are made to be broken.”

  “Not my rules. You gave your word.”

  He ground his teeth. “I cannot bring you with me. The Campania Cavello isn’t yet ready for guests, and I can hardly let it be known that Cristiano Moretti’s bride is staying in a rival’s hotel.”

  “That would be bad,” she agreed. She looked down at her empty plate. “Still, you must find a way,” she said in a small voice. “I don’t want to be separated from you.”

  “You won’t be.” His leg brushed hers beneath the table, and she looked up. The air between them changed.

  Sitting across from Cristiano in the sexy black dress, defying the tattooed Italian waiter and even her own husband to enjoy her meal exactly as she pleased, Hallie realized she wasn’t the same shy girl she’d once been. She felt stronger. Braver.

  Becoming Cristiano’s wife, living in Rome, wearing this sexy dress, with dark eyeliner and bright red lips, she felt bolder somehow. She didn’t know why, but she suddenly felt powerful. Like his equal.

  Maybe that was what gave her the courage.

  “I need to know when we can go back to New York and buy our own house.”

  Taking a bite of veal, he frowned at her. “We have twenty-two houses.”

  She blinked, taken aback. “You mean your hotels?”

  “Yes.” He swirled his wineglass. “The hotels. All of them fully staffed in the most beautiful locations. The perfect way to live. We never need to settle. We’ll never get bored. And I can run my company and build my empire.”

  “Your hotels are amazing, but...” How could she say it? “They’re not home.”

  “A home, a home,” he repeated irritably. “I’m tired of hearing you ask about it.”

  She looked at him in surprise. “I’ve barely mentioned it.”

  “For days now, all the lullabies you sing to Jack have been about finding home and losing home and longing for home.”

  She drew back, genuinely surprised. “Really?”

  He scowled. “Plaintive, heartbreaking folk songs. Are you trying to wear me down?”

  “I didn’t realize...”

  “From now on, sing happy songs to our baby,” he ordered.

  “Okay,” she said, biting her lip. The songs she knew were mostly old Scottish-Irish ballads, a repertoire that didn’t exactly specialize in “happy” songs. “Um... I’ll try to think of some.”

  “And we don’t need to buy a house. You should be happy living all over the world in penthouse suites with spectacular views, waited on hand and foot by staff. That should be enough.”

  She paused.

  “It’s...nice,” she said carefully. “For a honeymoon. But we need a permanent place of our own. Maybe with a garden.”

  “A garden? In Manhattan?”

  “They exist,” she said defensively. “I worked once at this amazing house on Bank Street. There was a garden tucked in back.”

  “By garden, do you mean a few pots on a stoop?”

  “A real garden,” she said indignantly. “My employers let me go because the owners lived overseas and were never there. They were going to put it up for sale.”

  “We would never be there, either,” he said. “My work requires constant travel, and I want you with me.”

  “But soon Jack will go to school...”

  “Truly you think our son is a prodigy if he needs to go to school when he has not yet learned to roll over.”

  Defiantly Hallie lifted her chin. “You talk about building an empire. I want to build a family.” She hesitated. “I’d prefer New York, but I can compromise. If you want to live in Italy, I can make it work. I’ll learn Italian and try to make friends—”

  “We’re not staying. After the new hotel is launched in Cavello, we’ll spend a few weeks in Tokyo, then Seoul, Sydney and Mumbai.”

  “All those places,” she said faintly. Beautiful places she’d only imagined. Normally she would have been thrilled at the thought of seeing them with her own eyes. But tonight, she thought longingly of her friends. Lola’s baby, now one day old. “After that, we’ll go back to New York?”

  “Briefly. Then Paris, London and Berlin.” He paused. “I have twenty-two hotels, and they all need my attention.”

  Her heart sank. Circling the world, she would barely see her friends. And forget about a garden. Her eyes fell forlornly to her plate. “Oh.”

  Cristiano scowled at her. “Surely you’re not complaining about traveling around the world in a private jet, staying in luxury hotels.”

  But a life of luxury had never been Hallie’s dream. Licking her lips, she said, “I’m sure all those places are amazing, but...”

  “But?”

  “How can we ever have a home if we never stay in one place for long?” Her voice was small. “How will I make friends? How will Jack?”

  “Learn all the languages, as I have. Be a citizen of the world.”

  “A citizen of nowhere.”

  “Everywhere,” he corrected coldly.

  Angry tears lifted to Hallie’s eyes, though she didn’t want to fight, not on their first baby-free date. She tried to keep her voice calm.

  “Traveling is fine, but eventually we need to stop and have a home!”

  “What you call home I would describe as a prison. I’m not buying you a house, Hallie. It would be a waste of money.”

  The warm summer night suddenly felt cold.

  “So you’ll waste money on everything but the one thing I actually care about?” Folding her arms, she turned away stonily. By now, as the night grew late, many of the tables had emptied.

  “Hallie.” His voice changed, turned gentle. “Look at me.”

  Grudgingly she did and saw his dark eyes were tender.

  “Tell me why a house means so much to you,” he said. “Because I truly do not understand.”

  Hallie took a deep breath.

  “The house I grew up in was built by my great-grandfather. By his own two hands.” She tried to smile. “The songs I sing to Jack, the songs you love so much, they were the ones my mother once sang to me. My family lived for generations on the same mountain. I had close friends. A place in the world.”

  “If you loved it so much,” he said quietly, “why did you leave?”

  With an intake of breath, she looked away as a rush of pain filled her heart. Even after five years, grief often still caught her like this when she wasn’t looking. “Everything was suddenly gone. My family. My home. I couldn’t stay. I felt lost.” Her hands twisted together in her lap. “My parents always said I should be a singer. Even my brother said it. So I tried. For five years.”

  “That’s a long time.”

  She gave a choked laugh. “So many people try to break in as singers in New York. All so talented, better than I’ll ever be.”

  “I doubt that very much.”

  “The harder I tried to succeed, the worse I felt.” Looking down, she said softly, “And it didn’t bring them back.”

  Silence fell across their table. She heard the clank of silver against china from a few remaining patrons and the distant sound of traffic and birds crying in the night.

  “So why,” Cristiano said slowly, “would you ever choose to leave yourself vulnerable to such pain? After losing so much, I’d think you’d never want a home again.”

/>   Hallie looked at him. “Is that why you live in hotels?” she said softly. “Never stopping. Never staying.”

  Cristiano’s eyes widened slightly. Then he drew back, his jaw tightening. Rising to his feet, he held out his hand. “Come. The night is growing cold.”

  * * *

  It was quiet in the sports car as he drove them back through the city after midnight.

  How did you build your fortune?

  I was lucky. I met a man who owned a small hotel chain in southern Italy. I convinced him to hire me and teach me everything he knew. Then I betrayed him.

  Hallie looked at him sideways, wishing she had the courage to ask him who the man was and why Cristiano had betrayed him. She stayed silent.

  Before their wedding, she’d convinced herself he was a good man, deep down. But now that they were married she was starting to see a darkness inside Cristiano she’d never glimpsed before.

  She was suddenly afraid of learning things about him she didn’t want to know.

  When they arrived back at the hotel, they found Jack sleeping in his crib and Agata snoozing nearby on the sofa, her knitting folded neatly in her lap. After they’d thanked her and she’d left for the night, Hallie and Cristiano tiptoed into the darkened nursery. For a moment, they just stood together looking at their slumbering child.

  Then Cristiano took her hand. Wordlessly he led her to their bedroom, and even though a corner of her heart was still angry, she could no more resist him than stop breathing.

  Once in their bedroom, he pulled her against him. In the slanted moonlight coming through the blinds, his eyes burned through her. So did his fingertips, lightly stroking down the top of her sexy black dress, the bare skin of her back.

  “I have followed all your rules, have I not?” he said in a low voice.

  Confused, Hallie nodded.

  “I’ve shared a meal with you both every day? Learned how to care for our son? Loved him?”

  “You know you have.”

  “Now it is time for you to learn some lessons, also.” Pulling her close, Cristiano nuzzled her throat, kissing the sensitive hollow at her shoulder before suckling the tender flesh of her earlobe. She shivered beneath his touch. Her heart was pounding.