by Abby Green
‘You were a virgin. I can’t really see you hopping into the next available bed.’
She bit her lip and said, ‘Maybe I didn’t—but don’t underestimate me.’
A cold fury swept through Nico at the thought of her in another man’s bed. He said, with quiet but lethal economy, ‘You will never be unfaithful to me, Chiara.’
Chiara felt the intensity of Nicolo’s steely tone. A little shakily, she said, ‘I presume that works both ways? Or am I to be subjected to a series of mistresses kept in luxury apartments in every major city of the world?’ Though, she had to admit that the few times she’d looked him up on the internet since she’d left, he hadn’t appeared with another woman. She didn’t like to admit how relieved she’d felt.
‘We are married. I see no reason not to remain faithful if my...appetites are satisfied.’
A sizzle of something hot arced between them and shock slammed into Chiara to think that Nico might—She shook her head mentally. She had to be imagining it—he couldn’t possibly fancy her like this. She’d lost whatever small waist definition she’d ever had!
She’d never really believed him when he’d said they had chemistry. Not on his side, anyway. She believed that he’d wanted her enough to sleep with her, but no more than that. He hadn’t felt the all-consuming desire she had.
The morning after their wedding night had shown her in no uncertain terms that he’d been as strategic about seducing her as he had been about everything else. Cutting off any chance she might have to escape their vows by claiming non-consummation. By not using protection.
Chiara opened her mouth to remind him of that, but then a shadow loomed over their table and she looked up to see her boss, a barrel-chested man called Silvano, who was also from Sicily. He was looking from her to Nico and then back to her.
‘Your break isn’t for another hour, Chiara.’
Nico stood up, rising to his full height of six foot three. He topped her boss by some inches, and the man immediately looked ineffectual. It almost made Chiara giggle, and she realised she was close to hysteria.
‘Not that it’s any of your business, but this woman is my wife and she no longer works for you. I have come to take her home.’
Her boss looked at her. He was a nice man, and he’d been quite protective of Chiara since he’d realised that she was pregnant.
‘Is this true?’ he asked.
She stood up, more conscious of her ungainly belly now than ever, and feeling very flustered after what Nico had just revealed. He wanted her. She hadn’t been prepared for that.
She nodded reluctantly, knowing there was no way out of this. ‘Yes, it’s true. I’m sorry.’
The man shrugged. ‘Mondays are always dead. If you need to leave I won’t stop you... Unless you want me to?’
He shot a look at Nico, but Chiara didn’t feel like giggling any more.
She avoided her husband’s eye. ‘It’s okay, Silvano.’ Her boss was a traditional Italian man, after all, and he no doubt welcomed someone turning up to claim her.
He stood back. ‘Get your things, then. I’ll send on whatever wages you’re due if you give me a forwarding address.’
Chiara shook her head and felt a part of her lament that her brief taste of independence was to be over so soon. ‘No, share them out with the staff. I won’t need them.’
He put up his hands. ‘Va bene—whatever you wish.’
Silvano stepped away, and Chiara turned to go into the staff room at the back of the shop. A hand caught her arm and she reluctantly looked at Nico. He seemed taller and broader than she remembered.
‘One of my men is round the back.’
He thought she was going to run again. She pulled her arm free and glared at him. ‘I don’t think I’d get anywhere very fast, do you?’
* * *
‘How many women were sharing that room?’ Nico’s voice rang with condemnation.
He was referring to the room she’d been renting, in a big house carved up into numerous flats. Salubrious, it hadn’t been.
‘There were eight of us.’
‘In bunk beds!’
‘Rent is expensive in Dublin. They were nice girls.’
She fought not to sound defensive. They’d mostly been Brazilian students, in Ireland to learn English. And Chiara had found the communality of their living quarters—while not ideal, obviously—a novelty after living in the castello for so long, with all that space to herself.
‘We looked out for each other and they helped me with my English.’ She was proud that she was almost fluent now. She’d discovered an unknown aptitude for languages.
Nico made a rude sound, and then he said, ‘If it had ever got out that you were there, living like that... You could have put the baby in danger.’
Chiara hid a dart of hurt. ‘Don’t pretend that you care about the welfare of the baby. All you care about is that you have an heir—which you planned all along.’
For a moment he said nothing, and all Chiara could hear was the hum of the private jet’s engines and the soft muted murmurs of the staff at the other end of the plane. Then he turned towards her, and she could see his strong hard features tighten with some expression she couldn’t decipher.
‘The truth is that I had no intention of not using protection that night. No matter what you might believe about my ruthlessness.’
She was surprised he remembered what she’d said. ‘What do you mean?’
His jaw clenched, and then he said with palpable reluctance, ‘By the time we got up to the bedroom protection was the last thing on my mind. It’s something I’ve never done before. That night... I wasn’t capable of thinking straight.’
The fact that his tone was almost accusing led Chiara to believe him. She hated the betraying quiver of awareness deep down between her legs. He wasn’t telling her he wanted her now. How could he when she looked like a beached baby whale?
Then he asked, even more accusingly, ‘Would you have told me?’
Chiara’s hand instinctively went to her bump, and his eyes followed it and then moved back up. There was a wealth of emotion she hadn’t expected in his expression for a moment, before it became a stern mask again. And she wondered for a second if she’d misjudged his ruthlessness when it came to having children.
She took a breath. ‘I know I wouldn’t have been able to keep it from you. But I’m not sure when I would have told you...before or after the birth. I did believe that you deserved to know, at least.’
He frowned. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘I was going to tell you that I fully intended bringing up our child on my own. I still believe that a loveless marriage is not a good environment for a child.’
Nico turned to face her more fully. The awareness deep inside her grew more acute. He dwarfed the chair he sat in. And the whole plane.
‘That family photo in the castello showed a seemingly content family, yet you admitted yourself that it wasn’t all that harmonious.’
Chiara wanted to ask him why he was so cynical, but she felt suddenly shy. Which was crazy. He’d all but barrelled back into her life and kidnapped her! Even if she had come willingly. Because she really had no choice. Not any more.
‘We weren’t perfectly harmonious, no,’ she admitted reluctantly. ‘I was close to my mother, but after she had me there were complications and she couldn’t have any more children. My father... He was disappointed he didn’t have a son. He didn’t think a farm was an appropriate place for a girl, so I wasn’t allowed to get involved in the business, and then it all collapsed anyway.’
‘Why were they so protective of you?’
Chiara felt like squirming under Nico’s scrutiny. He hadn’t been so curious about her when he’d been railroading her into marriage. So why now?
Reluctantly she answered. ‘I was sickly as a child. Noth
ing specific, but I was prone to picking up infections. I grew out of it, but by the time I did my parents were used to home-schooling me and keeping me close.’
She opened her mouth, then closed it again. She felt deceitful, but she really didn’t want to admit that her parents’ marriage hadn’t been a truly happy one. It would only confirm his cynical beliefs.
A steward approached and interrupted with a discreet cough. Nico tore his gaze away from Chiara to look at the man.
‘Excuse me, sir, but we’ll be on our final descent into Rome shortly.’
‘Rome?’ Chiara asked when the steward had walked away. She’d only been to Rome once before, on an educational tour with her parents.
Nico looked at her. ‘Yes, I’ve been invited to a formal dinner tonight, at the French ambassador’s residence. It’s the perfect opportunity to show everyone that my wife isn’t a figment of my imagination.’
Chiara felt the lash of his censorious tone again. It made her hackles rise. ‘I’m nothing to you but a pawn. You bought me along with the castello.’
‘You allowed yourself to be bought,’ he pointed out in a drawling voice. ‘You wouldn’t have lasted two minutes outside the gates of the castello.’
Chiara flushed at that. ‘But I did last. I lasted five months.’
‘Your place is by my side, as my wife and the soon-to-be mother of my child.’
Nico looked away from her then, and down at his palm tablet. Chiara felt like a child. As if she’d been summarily dismissed. She bit back a growl of frustration and looked out of the window as the plane landed in Rome.
The irony wasn’t lost on her. She was fulfilling her fantasy of travelling and having new experiences while she’d never been more trapped.
* * *
‘I didn’t know it could look like this!’
Chiara stared at her reflection in shock. Her unruly hair was tamed into sleek shiny waves for the first time in her life. She had cheekbones. And full red lips. Her eyes were huge. She looked like a different person. Like the kind of person she saw in magazines.
‘You have beautiful, naturally wavy hair, Mrs Santo Domenico, you just need to use the right products to make it look its best.’
Mrs Santo Domenico. The use of her married name broke her out of her uncharacteristically self-absorbed reverie. Since they’d landed in Rome it had been a whirlwind. Nico had been on his phone for the entire journey to his apartment, situated in one of Rome’s most beautiful buildings, in one of its most exclusive areas.
He had the top apartment, with an outdoor terrace that offered breathtaking views over the ancient city. There was even a lap pool. And the Colosseum was within spitting distance.
On arrival, he had handed her over to a team of stylists to get her ready for the function. Chiara might have been insulted if she hadn’t been so relieved.
She’d barely had time to draw breath, never mind let her new reality sink in. Nico had found her and within four hours she’d been returned to Italy. If she thought about it too much she felt dizzy.
‘How many months pregnant are you, Mrs Santo Domenico?’
Chiara looked at the stylist, who had replaced the hair and make-up girl behind her.
‘Five months.’
‘Come with me. I’ve chosen a few dresses that should suit.’
As Chiara followed the very slim and sleek woman into a bedroom suite that had lots of wardrobe rails stuffed with clothes she tried not to feel totally intimidated. Her experience of shopping for clothes was via online bargain websites.
About five glittering dresses were hanging on a rail nearby and the stylist had started looking at them and looking at her.
Chiara said apologetically, ‘I’m sorry I’m not very tall.’
The stylist smiled conspiratorially. ‘Don’t worry. Most people are about your height, and designers cater for normal women these days.’
Relief washed through Chiara as the woman pulled out a black dress and said, ‘I think this one will be perfect. Try this on. I’ll help you with the zip.’
Chiara went into the bathroom, and just as she was ruminating on her very plain white underwear, and how it would look under the dress, there was a knock on the door and the stylist handed her a box.
Chiara opened it to find the most beautiful underwear under layers of tissue paper. Black lace. And surprisingly practical. In exactly her size. Her cheeks flamed as she put it on, wondering how they had known her size. Had Nico told them? She wouldn’t have credited him with remembering, but then she couldn’t ignore the sizzle of awareness that had been between them since the moment he’d appeared in the restaurant.
When she was dressed she came out, and the stylist turned around and exclaimed, ‘Bellissima, Mrs Santo Domenico!’
Chiara didn’t believe her, and reluctantly looked at herself in the full-length mirror. She sucked in a breath. The dress had a wide vee neck and then fell in soft flowing layers of chiffon to the floor. Her pregnancy was unmistakable, but the clever cut of the dress managed to flatter and make her look almost petite.
There was a knock at the door at that moment and then a voice. ‘Signor Santo Domenico is ready to leave.’
The stylist jumped into action, giving Chiara a wrap and a bag and helping with her shoes—a pair of black strappy sandals. At the last moment Chiara remembered her plain gold wedding ring and slipped it onto her finger. It was snug; her fingers had swollen slightly with her pregnancy.
And then, when she was ready, she took a deep breath and steeled herself to greet her husband.
CHAPTER SIX
NICO WAS HAVING a hard time focusing. He put it down to the fact that he had his wife by his side for the first time since they’d married and he wasn’t used to being at a function with someone. But that wasn’t it. The reason he couldn’t focus was because when Chiara had appeared in the drawing room of the apartment a short time before she’d looked endearingly shy and uncertain. And...gorgeous.
She was a sleek and coiffed version of the woman who had walked down the aisle to marry him. Unrecognisable as the woman who had come to him that day in the villa in her boxy shirt and jacket and calf-length skirt. He wanted her just as much, if not even more, because he knew exactly what she was hiding under all that elegant packaging. A raw and earthy sexuality.
They stood amongst a throng of Rome’s elite society now, and more than one man’s glance had lingered on Chiara.
Her hair was pulled back on one side and coiled over the other shoulder in a shiny Hollywood wave. The vee of the dress drew the eye to her creamy cleavage. Nico had had to restrain himself from demanding she wear something less revealing, because he knew that she was probably the most chastely dressed woman in the room right now. And yet he looked at her and all he could think about was sex and how his body ached for her. Had been aching for five months. He’d never denied himself the pleasures of sex for that long.
He felt almost angry that the neat plan he’d devised to marry Chiara Caruso had all but blown up in his face.
Her arm was linked in his and he realised she was gripping him so tightly she was almost cutting off his circulation. He looked down at her and could see naked terror on her face. ‘Are you okay?’
She looked up at him and all he could see were those huge green eyes. How had he ever thought her nondescript?
‘I’ve never been to something like this before. I don’t know what to do or say.’
Nico’s conscience pricked. He could see the faint shadows under Chiara’s eyes. He’d whisked her out of Dublin, put her on a plane, and now she was here, at one of Rome’s highest society events of the year. There weren’t many who could swim easily in an environment like this.
And he could remember all too well what it had been like when he’d attended his first such event. He’d felt raw and uncultivated, and he’d been sure people were looking at him
expecting him to steal the silver.
‘When was the last time you ate?’ He’d noticed that she hadn’t eaten on the plane. In fact he noticed now that apart from her bump she’d lost weight. She looked delicate.
She blinked. ‘Breakfast... I think.’
Irritation surged. ‘You’re not looking after yourself—or the baby.’
She turned to face him, pulling her arm free of his, eyes flashing. ‘I’m not the one who arrived like a whirlwind and gave me hardly enough time to pack, never mind eat.’
Nico’s conscience smarted even more. He took Chiara’s elbow and led her into the dining room, where the rest of the guests were heading. ‘There’s a five-course meal this evening so make sure you eat. Tomorrow we’ll set up an appointment with a specialist and make sure everything is all right with the baby.’
Chiara felt prickly, and completely out of her depth. She’d never been in such an opulently decadent place before. Glittering chandeliers and hundreds of candles bathed the guests in a honeyed glow inside the huge ballroom of a medieval Italian palace—the home of the French embassy.
Chiara was nearly blinded by the jewels hanging off necks, ears, throats and wrists. Each woman was more beautiful than the last and the men were handsome and statesmanlike.
Sleek waiters in black and white uniforms moved among the guests with exquisite canapés and champagne.
It was seriously intimidating, and Chiara felt absurdly self-conscious in her dress.
Nico had looked at her earlier as if she’d had two heads. When she’d asked if she looked all right he’d just said a gruff, ‘You’re fine. We should go.’
She also felt far too jittery and far too aware of him. It was the first time she’d seen him in a tuxedo, apart from in photos on the internet, and she still hadn’t got her breath back fully. How could one man be so distractingly gorgeous?
She was the only pregnant woman here. Every other woman was about a foot taller than her and the size of a stick.