by Lynne Graham
‘Serafina?’ Lizzie queried tentatively, wondering worriedly if this was some family story that she should have been acquainted with and if her ignorance would strike the older woman as suspicious.
‘I didn’t think he would’ve mentioned her to you,’ Athene told her with a wry smile. ‘Cesare hides his vulnerabilities very effectively.’
Lizzie resisted the temptation to admit that she hadn’t believed he had any.
‘Cesare fell in love with Serafina when he was a student. He wanted to marry her but she said she was too young,’ Athene related, her wise old eyes resting on Lizzie’s absorbed expression. ‘In her first job, she met a very rich man in his seventies and within weeks they were wed.’
Lizzie froze in consternation. ‘That must’ve been devastating for him,’ she muttered ruefully, thinking that she had unkindly misjudged Cesare when she had assumed he simply had no heart and no room in his life for anything but business and profit.
‘But today I know that he has finally put Serafina back where she belongs in the past,’ his grandmother proclaimed with satisfaction and patted Lizzie’s hand. ‘Today I am joyful that Cesare has married you and changed the whole course of his life for the better.’
Lizzie suppressed a groan of disagreement. She was discovering where Goffredo’s optimistic outlook came from—he had inherited it from his mother. It was a source of wonder to her that Cesare had grown up surrounded by people with such sunny natures and yet contrived to retain his cold, unemotional attitude to life. Yet he was also careful to maintain a certain distance from his loving family, she conceded reflectively, wondering if he secretly feared that his family loving softness might dull his own ruthless cutting edge.
A couple of hours after that, Lizzie boarded Cesare’s private jet. Her feet, shod in spindly high heels, were killing her. Even the short walk through the airport had been too much and she collapsed into her leather upholstered seat and kicked off her shoes with intense relief.
‘You did very well today,’ Cesare pronounced, disconcerting her as he took his own seat opposite. ‘I don’t think anyone suspected the truth.’
‘Your father knows,’ she reminded him uncomfortably.
‘He’ll believe the truth for all of ten minutes. Give him a few weeks and he’ll persuade himself that we fell madly in love within hours of getting married,’ Cesare forecast with sardonic bite. ‘That’s the way Goffredo functions.’
‘You have a lovely family,’ Lizzie countered, colour springing into her cheeks. ‘Don’t be so critical. They love you very much and they aren’t afraid to show it.’
Cesare stiffened until he recalled his father-in-law’s behaviour throughout the day. Brian Whitaker had turned down the opportunity to make a speech, had kept to his own company in the midst of the crowd and had steadfastly managed not to smile even for the photographs. ‘Your father’s...different,’ he conceded quietly. ‘Not the demonstrative type.’
‘When my mother left him, it soured him on life,’ she muttered ruefully. ‘And life has been tough for him ever since. He’ll be more content living in the house he’s hoping to rent in the village. I think it will be a relief for him not to be looking out of windows at the farm and fretting about the jobs I’m not getting done.’
‘Isn’t it a relief for you as well?’ Cesare prompted, thinking of the long and gruelling hours of work she must have endured while she endeavoured to keep the farm going without help.
Lizzie compressed her lips and frowned reflectively. ‘From dawn to dusk I worried about everything and anything and I’m not sorry to be free of that stress. The bank threatening to withdraw the loan was our biggest fear but then the rent was raised...and, that was a body blow, totally the last straw,’ she confided honestly. ‘That was followed by Chrissie announcing that she was going to drop out of uni and come home because we were having such a struggle. I couldn’t let that happen. She needed to get her education.’
Cesare was listening intently. ‘So that’s why you suddenly changed your mind and agreed to marry me?’ he breathed in a tone of disconcertion. ‘I had no idea that you were under that much financial and emotional pressure.’
‘But you said you knew our situation,’ she reminded him in surprise. ‘I assumed you’d used a private investigator to check us out before you came to visit.’
Level dark eyes gazed back at her, a frown line pleating his ebony brows. ‘No, I didn’t. I didn’t know about the bank loan, the rent rise or your sister’s plans to drop out. I only knew about your father’s ill health and that you were trying to keep the farm afloat on your own.’
‘Well, you know the whole story now,’ Lizzie commented mildly. ‘I was ready to sell my soul for thirty pieces of silver.’
‘No,’ Cesare contradicted, his sibilant Italian accent vibrating in the silence to send a current of awareness travelling down her slender spine. ‘You were desperate to protect your family, regardless of what it might cost you personally. That’s loyalty and I admire that trait.’
As the silence stretched, Cesare went back to work at his laptop. Driven by something stronger than he was, he found himself glancing up to watch Lizzie leaf through a glossy fashion magazine, pulling faces whenever she came on a picture of any garment she considered too extreme while absently fondling Archie’s ear beneath his balloon collar. She was so very natural. What you saw was what you got from Lizzie Whitaker and he had totally misunderstood her. It was a sobering discovery for a male who prided himself on his ability to read others. He had made all too many assumptions about Lizzie, not least that she was a gold-digger, and now that he had discovered that she had been driven more by desperation than greed his innate curiosity about her was finally set free.
‘Why did you dye your hair brown?’ he asked her abruptly.
Lizzie twined a shining silver strand round a self-conscious finger and winced in evident embarrassment. ‘Andrew didn’t like my hair. He thought it attracted too much attention and that it looked white and made people think I was an old lady at first glance,’ she told him uncomfortably. ‘I could see his point.’
‘Did you really want to please him that much?’ Cesare pressed. ‘Your hair’s beautiful, unusual but undeniably beautiful, cara.’
Lizzie shrugged but her face glowed at the compliment. His lean, darkly handsome features held her intent gaze and she switched her attention back to the magazine, a pool of liquid heat gathering in her pelvis that made her squirm with chagrin. He was so very, very good-looking, it was natural for her to stare a little, she told herself ruefully, but she had to keep her feet on the ground and learn to distinguish between what was real and what was more probably fake.
The limousine that collected them from the airport in Italy wended its way along winding roads and through some spectacular scenery. It was late spring and the fields were green with fava beans and wheat dotted with yellow broom. Medieval villages in picturesque hilltop locations were ringed by vineyards and olive groves while the rolling hills were covered with groves of cypresses and umbrella pines. Lizzie was enchanted and plied Cesare with questions.
‘You still haven’t told me where we’re going,’ she complained.
‘We’re almost there.’
Lizzie stared out at the rustic stone farmhouse on the ridge of the hill and blinked because it was not what she expected. Cesare was so sophisticated that she had been convinced that they were heading for some exclusive spa. ‘It just doesn’t look like your style,’ she breathed helplessly.
‘I love old buildings. When I first saw it I was a student out hiking with friends. The roof had fallen in, the first floor had gone and the end wall had collapsed. We took shelter in the barn during a thunderstorm,’ Cesare explained as the driver turned down a dirt track that steadily climbed the hill. ‘I watched the sun go down over the valley and swore I’d buy it with my first million.’
‘Your first...million?’ she exclaimed.
‘It was a money pit,’ Cesare told her cheerfully, his dark eyes gleaming with rueful amusement. ‘I learnt that the hard way.’
The car drew up in a paved courtyard ornamented with urns full of tumbling flowers. As they climbed out, a rotund little woman in an apron hurried out to greet them. Her name was Maria and she was the housekeeper and, seemingly, Cesare’s biggest fan. Ushered into a great vaulted hall, Lizzie looked around herself with keen interest, glancing through to a gracious drawing room rejoicing in a vast pale stone fireplace and an array of vibrant turquoise sofas. The outside might be antique and rustic but the inside was all contemporary elegance.
Maria led her upstairs and into a glorious light-filled bedroom with a window overlooking the valley below. Lizzie fingered the fine white linen bedding and admired the beautifully draped bed while wondering where Cesare was planning to sleep. The driver brought their cases up, closely followed by Cesare, lean and lithe in khaki chinos and an open-necked shirt that screamed Italian designer style.
‘Where’s your room?’ Lizzie asked quietly.
‘We share,’ Cesare told her without skipping a beat.
‘I’m not sharing a bed with you!’ Lizzie gasped in consternation.
‘We’re supposed to be married. Let’s stay in role,’ Cesare fielded. ‘Having gone this far, it would be stupid to take risks by using separate bedrooms.’
Lizzie kicked off her shoes and mulled over that argument. ‘Maria’s not going to talk.’
‘She’s not the only member of staff with access to the upper floor,’ he shot back drily.
‘OK...’ Lizzie stood at the foot of the bed, prepared to admit that it was huge, but she was still doubtful that she could lose him in it. ‘But you have to stay on your side of the bed.’
‘Are we five years old now?’ Cesare quipped, studying her with incredulity. ‘You’re making a fuss about nothing.’
Lizzie settled glinting witch-green eyes on him. ‘I’m not used to sharing a bed. It’s not nothing to me.’
‘We’ll discuss it over dinner,’ Cesare decreed.
Lizzie threw her arms wide in emphasis, her temper mounting. ‘I don’t want to discuss it...I just don’t want to do it!’
‘Only forty-eight hours ago, you did,’ Cesare countered, lean, strong face hard, dark golden eyes smouldering with recollection and unforgotten hunger.
Lizzie reddened. ‘I was wondering how long it would take you to throw that back in my face. I was drunk, for goodness’ sake,’ she protested.
‘At least you know what you want when you’re drunk,’ he riposted.
Lizzie slammed shut the door lest they be overheard arguing. ‘That’s a horrible thing to say!’
‘Whether you like it or not, it’s the truth. You want me every bit as much as I want you. You just won’t admit it.’
Lizzie was so enraged by that arrogant statement that she walked into the bathroom and closed the door behind her to escape him. The fixtures took her breath away. An antique tub took up prime position by the window while rustic stone walls and a pale marble floor provided an effective frame.
‘And hiding in the bathroom isn’t going to persuade me otherwise!’ Cesare completed loudly outside the door.
Lizzie threw open the door again and marched out with compressed lips to drag one of the cases across the beautiful oak floor. ‘I was not hiding.’
Cesare snatched up the case and planted it on the bed, helpfully springing the locks for her.
Lizzie hovered, her colour high, her eyes veiled.
Cesare stalked closer like a predator about to spring and she tensed from head to toe. ‘Look at me, bellezza mia,’ he urged.
Almost involuntarily, Lizzie lifted her head, platinum hair flying back from her heart-shaped face. ‘Why?’ she said flatly.
Lean brown hands lifted to frame her cheekbones and turn her face up. A muscle pulled taut at the corner of his wide, sensual mouth. ‘I want to make a baby with you the normal way. I don’t want to use artificial insemination. If we’re going to become parents, let’s try the natural approach first.’
He had taken her entirely by surprise. Her entire face flamed and even worse the heat darted downward to engulf her whole body. ‘But that’s not what we agreed.’
‘We didn’t agree anything. You made a suggestion. I didn’t like it but I wasn’t prepared to argue about it at that point and turn you off the whole idea of marrying me,’ Cesare admitted without hesitation.
His sheer honesty bemused her and then touched her deep. I want to make a baby with you. The very words made Lizzie melt and she tried to squash her reaction and deny it. It would not be safe or sensible to have actual sex with Cesare Sabatino because it would smash the barriers she had carefully erected. But the prospect of undergoing some cold scientific procedure in a fertility clinic was, she suddenly appreciated, even less attractive to her.
‘I’ll think about it,’ Lizzie mumbled half under her breath. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get changed into something more comfortable.’
‘I’ll go for a shower,’ Cesare told her, peeling off his shirt without an ounce of inhibition.
Her heart hammering, Lizzie averted her gaze but the enthralling image of his bronzed, muscular torso was still seared across her vision. She pulled an outfit out of the case, nothing fancy for she had had her fill of fancy outfits that day. She caught an accidental glimpse of Cesare striding naked as the day he was born into the en suite and she almost groaned out loud. They were so different, so ill matched. He had seen it all, done it all, while she had only dreamt of the seeing and the doing. If she slept with him, she would develop feelings for him and she would get hurt because he wouldn’t respond. Or maybe she would discover that she was the kind of woman who could have sex without getting more deeply involved, she reasoned abstractedly. She might not get attached to him at all, might be grateful to wave goodbye to him after a few months. How could she know how she would react?
When the shower was free, she made use of it and removed most of the heavy make-up she had worn for her big day. Applying only a dash of lipstick and blusher, she pulled on a stretchy maxi skirt and a sleeveless silk top, thrusting her feet into flat sandals. When she reappeared, a maid was in the bedroom hanging their clothes in the built-in closet and Lizzie went straight downstairs.
Cesare strode out to the marble-floored hall. ‘Let me show you around before dinner,’ he suggested.
‘Where’s Archie?’ she asked.
Cesare held a finger to his handsome mouth in silencing mode and pointed into the drawing room. Archie was stretched out on a shaggy rug, his contented snores audible.
As dusk was folding in fast, Cesare showed her the outside of the house first. Lizzie stood on the covered stone terrace where Maria was fussing over a table covered in a snowy white cloth and admired the stunning view of the valley, which was overlooked by a superlative infinity pool. ‘The views are out of this world. I’m not surprised you fell for this place,’ she admitted, the tension of the day slowly seeping out of her.
Without warning, Cesare reached for her hand. ‘This marriage can be as real as we want it to be, bellezza mia,’ he pointed out quietly.
Her fingers flexed within the firm hold of his and her colour heightened. Real didn’t mean for ever, did it? But then how many marriages truly lasted for ever? They were together now and would stay together until a child was born. The child she longed for, she reminded herself ruefully. Surely the closer she and Cesare became, the easier it would be to share their child both now and in the future?
Her lips parted almost without her volition, green eyes wide and anxious as if she was stunned by her own daring. ‘I’ll give it a go,’ she told him softly. ‘But I can’t make any promises.’
Cesare smiled. It w
as a brilliant smile that illuminated his darkly beautiful features and enhanced his stubborn, passionate mouth. ‘I’ll try to make sure you don’t regret it, cara.’
CHAPTER SIX
‘MARIA IS WHIPPING out her entire repertoire for this one meal,’ Cesare commented in amusement as the lazy meal wound through course after necessarily dainty course of appetising dishes.
Already unable to credit that she had agreed to try being married for real, Lizzie was too stressed to eat much of anything. A bite here and there was the best she could do and she proffered fervent apologies to the plump little cook when she came out to the terrace bearing her pièce de résistance, a fabulous layered chocolate cake.
They were about to embark on their marriage as if they were a normal married couple. And this was their wedding night. All of a sudden something Lizzie hadn’t even had to consider in the run-up to the wedding was looming like a concealed tripwire in front of her. If she admitted that she was still a virgin he was sure to think she was a freak. After all, he knew she had been engaged. It would be better to keep quiet, she decided, and hope he didn’t notice that there was anything different about her.
‘You’ve barely touched alcohol today,’ Cesare commented, wondering why she had fallen so quiet. Not that she was ever a chatterbox, he acknowledged wryly. In fact there was always a stillness about her, a sense of tranquillity at the heart of her that was disconcertingly attractive.
‘In the light of our...er...plans,’ Lizzie muttered awkwardly, ‘I thought it was better to abstain.’
‘You’re referring to the alcohol and pregnancy safety debate?’
Kill me now, Lizzie thought melodramatically. ‘Yes. The argument about what might be a safe level goes back and forth, so it seems wiser just to avoid it altogether.’
‘Is that why you made the most of your hen night?’ Cesare asked, strong jawline tensing as he remembered her on the dance floor, full of vital energy and playfulness as she cast off her usual restraint.
‘No. That wasn’t planned. I missed Chrissie,’ she admitted, colouring, ‘and it had just been a very long time since I had been out like that and I overindulged.’