by Abby Green
Nico brought the car to a stop in the main courtyard and came round to open Chiara’s door. He had to help her out because the car was so low slung, and she hesitated before putting her hand in his, afraid of her physical reaction.
Nico scowled. ‘I don’t bite, Chiara.’
She flushed and put her hand in his, feeling it close tightly around hers. A wash of heat rushed through her whole system. She’d read in a book about pregnancy that increased hormones could make you more acutely sensitised to everything, including desire. Brilliant. She’d never felt more ungainly or more aroused.
It also hadn’t helped to hear what the doctor had said to them before they’d left the clinic.
‘I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you this, but you’re experiencing a very healthy pregnancy so there’s no reason why you shouldn’t be enjoying every aspect of your marriage—including the physical side. Some couples are afraid they’ll harm the baby, but that’s really just a myth... You’re in your second trimester now—this is when you can really enjoy being pregnant...before the last trimester sets in and it becomes a little more uncomfortable...’
Chiara’s face had flamed bright red and she’d avoided Nico’s eye the whole way back to Sicily, terrified he might be expecting her to jump on him and demand her conjugal rights.
And then a blur of fur appeared from around the corner, and Chiara dropped to her knees as Spiro all but jumped into her arms, whining with excitement and slobbering all over her. She laughed, but felt perilously close to tears to see her old friend and find that he was okay. His tail was wagging so hard she could feel the air moving.
In a very gruff voice she said, ‘Thank you for looking after him for me.’
Nico didn’t mention the veritable team of dog-minders and walkers he’d had to hire to keep Spiro occupied and cared for. He also didn’t mention how the dog had somehow managed to burrow his way under Nico’s skin, so that when he was sitting in his office and Spiro came in to lie under the desk at his feet he liked it.
‘It was fine,’ he said, and watched as she got up and walked away from him with one hand on the dog’s head. She was more happy to see the damn animal than him. He felt irritated. She’d avoided looking at him or even talking to him the whole way here.
Actually, it had been from the moment the doctor had said that there was no reason they shouldn’t be enjoying a full marriage. Sex.
He was one of those people who had thought it dangerous for the baby, but now... All he could think about was Chiara’s lushly curved form and how badly he wanted her.
But evidently, if her reaction to what the doctor had said was anything to go by, the last thing she wanted was sex.
She wore the maternity clothes that the stylist in Rome had provided: leggings, a close-fitting clingy top that showed off her neat bump and a loose cashmere cardigan. Her hair was sleek and shiny. She oozed health and vitality and an innate sexiness he knew she was unaware of.
Once again it confounded him. He had never met a woman who didn’t use her assets to gain some advantage.
She disappeared into the castello and Nico took a moment before following her, reliving the moment when the doctor had revealed the sex of their baby. A girl.
Nico, in his arrogance, had assumed it would be a boy. The thought of a girl frankly terrified him. But it also sparked a wave of protectiveness so strong that he felt tremors in his body. The only other person who had come close to sparking a similar feeling was Chiara, when he’d seen those pictures of her in Dublin. The evidence of her pregnancy.
Protectiveness. A totally expected and sane response for a man to feel for his wife and the mother of his child. It didn’t mean anything more than that.
* * *
‘I waited until your return before hiring interior decorators as I thought you would know best what to do.’
Chiara was shocked. ‘I... Thank you. I wouldn’t have expected that.’
Ever since she was small, she’d often daydreamed and imagined what she would do to the castello if she had the freedom and the money. Her father had favoured heavy furnishings and dark colours, and her mother had gone along with it to keep the peace.
Chiara had even made a mood board of cuttings from magazines for what she’d like to do one day. Make the castello bright and modern and airy. Her mother had found her board and said, ‘Piccolina, don’t let your father find that. But you’re right, the castello deserves to look beautiful, so I hope you get to do this some day.’
Now, the prospect that she was actually going to get to fulfil her dream made her feel very emotional—especially since Nico would have had every right to get on with hiring an interior decorator in her absence after she’d left him. Abandoned him. Only now did it occur to her that what she’d done must have held echoes of his mother for him. She’d only reinforced his already healthy cynicism.
She looked at Nico. ‘You must have some ideas?’
He shrugged. ‘I’d like to retain as many of the original features as possible, while giving it a more open and modern air, but that’s about it. I trust your judgement.’
The fact that his vision matched hers made her feel ridiculously pleased. ‘But I might have awful taste.’
He gestured at the heavy dark curtains and furniture. ‘Would you keep any of this?’
She made a face. ‘No way.’
‘Well, then, that’s all I need to know.’
‘Have you been living here?’ Chiara asked, suddenly curious.
‘Only for a few weeks here and there. I was in New York a lot. I’ve taken over your father’s study—I hope you don’t mind. And I’ve been sleeping in the master bedroom. Our bedroom...’
Chiara could feel the heat climbing up her neck and face again and cursed silently. She was hardly a blushing virgin any more!
She spoke fast, to detract from her self-consciousness. ‘Of course I don’t mind about the study. And the bedroom...the bedroom—’ she nearly choked ‘—that’s fine too. I can use my old room.’
There was a taut silence for a moment and then Nico said, ‘No, cara, we will be sharing a bedroom. There’s been enough speculation about this marriage without adding fuel to the fire. Unless that will be a problem for you?’
Chiara could feel her blood drain south while at the same time her pulse-rate tripled. A very disconcerting sensation. ‘I can sleep in the room adjoining the master bedroom. It used to be a dressing room. That way it won’t be so noticeable.’
Nico moved closer and Chiara’s levels of panic spiked.
‘What do you have to be afraid of? We shared a bed before...’ He directed an explicit look at her belly.
Chiara was terrified that if she protested too much it would give away why she was so reluctant to expose how she reacted to him. While he was only insisting she sleep with him for appearance’s sake.
‘I’m not afraid of anything... I just don’t sleep well at the moment. The baby is very active at night. I’ll keep you awake.’
‘Don’t worry about me, cara,’ Nico responded silkily. ‘I can survive on very little sleep.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
A COUPLE OF hours later Chiara was still feeling angry and jittery at having been so neatly routed by Nico. Sharing a bed.
She’d felt a sense of complacency when she’d had her own room at his apartment in Rome. And now not even being back in familiar and well-loved surroundings was helping much.
She heard a noise and looked up from where she was stirring a pot at the gas stove in the kitchen.
Nico stood in the doorway, hands on his hips, frowning ferociously. He’d changed into worn jeans and a casual long-sleeved top, and it took all Chiara’s control not to let her eyes drift and linger over his body.
‘What are you doing?’
She lifted the wooden spoon, almost wishing she could smack him with it for corrall
ing her into sharing a bed with him. ‘I’m cooking dinner.’
‘Where is the housekeeper?’
Nico had hired a middle-aged local woman—Maria—who had been bustling around the kitchen when Chiara had explored earlier.
‘I told her she could go home for the evening. I usually cooked for my parents.’ She was a good cook.
Nico came into the kitchen, still frowning. ‘My wife is not a cook. That’s why I hired a housekeeper and why you will be interviewing more household staff over the next few days.’
The fact that she was irritating him was some balm to Chiara’s own irritation. ‘I enjoy cooking. It’s no problem.’
He came closer and seemed to sniff the air. She saw the flare of interest in his eyes before he could hide it.
‘What is that smell?’
‘It’s pollo alla cacciatora. Not very original but one of my favourites.’ She stopped, and felt a bubble of hysteria mount. ‘I don’t even know if you’re vegetarian. We’ve never actually shared a meal...apart from last night.’ When they’d been separated by a table wide enough for a football game.
Nico looked grim now. ‘I’m not vegetarian.’
Chiara gestured to where she had set the wide wooden kitchen table. The place where she’d spent most of her time growing up—learning how to cook with her nonna, doing schoolwork, reading...dreaming.
She regretted setting the table down here now. It felt too intimate, all of a sudden. Too exposing.
‘I thought we’d eat down here, but I can set the table in the dining room if you’d prefer.’
He glanced at the table and a look of something almost like fear came over his face before it returned to neutral. ‘No, here is fine.’
Chiara served the stew into two big bowls and brought them over to the table. Now she really regretted not going upstairs, to the more formal dining room where Nico had undoubtedly been eating for the last few months.
Nico ate some stew and tore off a piece of the crusty bread that Chiara had decided to serve with it. The ultimate comfort food. Now she felt even more exposed. Nico would no doubt be assessing her and thinking that this was where her extra pounds came from.
But then he said, ‘This is very good. How did you learn to cook?’
Chiara poured a glass of Chianti for Nico and sparkling water for herself. ‘My nonna taught me. My father’s mother.’
Nico ate more of the stew, and then glanced at her. ‘How long were you without staff here?’
‘For about the last five years.’
‘That’s a long time to be running a property this size on your own.’
She shrugged. ‘We managed.’
He sat back and took up his wine glass. It should have looked ridiculously flimsy in his big hand but it didn’t. ‘And you really didn’t know about the history of this place?’
Chiara dabbed at her mouth with a napkin and shook her head. ‘No idea.’
She put the napkin down again and forced herself to meet Nico’s eye.
‘Although if what you say about my father turning your father away that time is true, he must have known. He was always paranoid about security and privacy. I think that was one of the reasons he insisted on home-schooling me even after I got better. Maybe he didn’t want me mixing with the local children in case I heard something.’
‘So you had no friends?’
Chiara felt as if Nico was pulling up a layer of skin and peering underneath to her tender underbelly. A little testily she admitted, ‘Not really, no. I made friends with some of the workers’ children, but their work was usually seasonal and then they’d move on.’
Nico said, ‘When I was young I didn’t have many friends either, actually.’
Chiara stopped her jaw from dropping. A man as dynamic and charismatic as him?
He grimaced slightly. ‘Your father was secretive and overprotective—my father believed we were better than everyone else and that we didn’t deserve to be where we were, in the flats of Naples. Other kids picked up on it and ostracised me. Jeered at me for believing I was better than them. Jeered at me for not having a mother. They knew about the Santo Domenicos and how far we’d fallen. It only made my father more determined that I’d succeed.’
Chiara felt a pang for Nico. She could imagine him as a scrappy kid all too well. Full of hurt and trying to hide it.
‘I had one best friend I trusted with my life...’
‘The one who slept with your girlfriend?’
He took a sip of wine and nodded. ‘For years I blamed her for seducing him—she was very beautiful and knew how to use it.’
Chiara crushed a surge of self-consciousness.
Nico shook his head. ‘But really it was him. I knew he had wanted her from the moment I introduced them. She just took advantage of his weakness for her.’
Chiara asked, as lightly as she could, ‘Did you ever see her again?’
Nico avoided her eye and drained his wine. ‘I’ve bumped into her occasionally. I believe she’s on marriage number two now.’
He stood up then, and put his napkin down on the table. ‘Thank you—that was delicious. Better than most restaurants I’ve eaten in. I have some calls to make... Leave the dishes for Maria. You don’t need to do menial tasks, Chiara, not any more. And in future we’ll eat upstairs.’
Moments ago Chiara had felt that black pang of jealousy, wondering if he still had feelings for his lover, and now she lambasted herself for it.
‘Are you forbidding me to cook?’ She forced a lightness into her voice she didn’t feel.
‘If I’d wanted you to cook I would have made you my housekeeper, not my wife.’
* * *
When Chiara woke the next morning she lay there for a long moment, soaking in the sounds and the smells and the warm breeze coming in through the open window. The earth smelled damp—it must have rained during the night.
The night. In bed with Nico.
Chiara’s eyes opened. The bedroom was empty—she knew that much. She looked to her left and saw the covers thrown back and the dent in the pillow where Nico’s head had been. She could smell his scent.
She had gone to bed last night after dinner, hoping to be asleep before he retired, but not really expecting it to happen. Her head had been whirring with everything he’d told her, and the fact that they’d shared a relatively pleasant meal together. Until the end, when he’d more or less told her to stay out of the kitchen.
But after she’d washed and changed and scurried into bed, like a terrified little mouse afraid of a predator, she’d obviously fallen asleep immediately. Tired after her two eventful days.
The baby moved now, and Chiara put her hand on her belly, smiling. A girl. A pang of anxiety rose up though when she thought of Nico’s response to the news. But, she had to remember that he’d been brought up by a single father after his mother had abandoned him, and then his lover had betrayed him. It was no wonder he felt less than enthusiastic about a girl. He wouldn’t know how to relate because his experience of women was skewed.
Still, she couldn’t believe she’d slept so soundly beside the man who had driven her mindless with pleasure in this very same bed on their wedding night. She put it down to extreme pregnancy fatigue...
There was a light knock on the door and Chiara clutched at the sheet like a terrified virgin. ‘Yes?’
The door opened and a smiling Maria appeared with a tray balanced expertly in one hand. She came in and put it down on the table beside the bed. The tray contained orange juice, pastries, water, fruit salad...
Chiara stuttered a greeting. It had been a long time since housekeepers had served anyone in bed at the castello.
Maria was now delving into Chiara’s cases, which she realised Nico must have brought up to the room at some stage while she’d slept. All attempts to tell Maria not to worry fell on deaf ear
s as the woman pulled out all the clothes that the stylist had packed and proceeded to hang them up or put them in drawers.
Chiara’s belly sank. So much for hoping she could make some excuse not to sleep with Nico. Not only had she slept like a log, but apparently she’d be checked up on first thing every morning by Maria.
After Chiara had showered, and dressed in a pretty floral maternity dress, she went downstairs to find Nico. It felt strange in the castello now. But good. There was an air of activity that hadn’t been there for a long time.
She found him in her father’s study where, instead of her father’s ancient computer, there was now a state-of-the-art desktop computer and two laptops. A TV was high on a wall in the corner, showing rolling footage of a financial channel.
Nico heard a sound and looked up. Chiara stood in the doorway in a dress that was all at once positively nun-like and yet more provocative than the most barely-there lingerie Nico had ever seen on a woman.
There were two straps showing off Chiara’s toned arms and delicate collarbone. Her breasts were barely contained by the bodice, full and ripe. The dress had an empire line and flowed out over the bump and to her knees. Her legs were bare. So were her feet. And her nails were painted a coral colour that seemed absurdly provocative to Nico.
Her hair was long and loose, and he wanted to grab it and wrap it around his hand so he could tug her onto his lap, where she would feel for herself how hard it had been for him to sleep beside her last night while, unbelievably, she’d snored gently.
It had been a total novelty for Nico, to come to bed and find Chiara curled up on one side, already asleep, with the sheets pulled up to her chin. He had never slept beside a woman before without seduction and the pursuit of pleasure being involved. He’d half expected her to be naked and waiting.
He’d found it curiously disturbing at first, until he’d fallen into a fitful sleep, populated by X-rated re-runs of their wedding night, and then woken with a raging erection as dawn broke outside.
Chiara had been on her back by then, one hand thrown above her head, the sheet down around her waist. Her chest had been rising and falling gently as she slept. Her thin nightdress had done little to disguise the press of her nipples against the fabric. It had taken all of Nico’s willpower not to lean over and put his mouth there, encircling the peaks and bringing them to hard life...waking her up and seeing those green eyes widen with sensual appreciation and desire...