The Tuscan's Revenge Wedding

by Jennifer Blake

  When Nico tapped on the door a short time later, she was ready to go. They took the same older corridors and half-hidden side exit they had used before. Silently, they emerged from it and started across the small courtyard which led to the street.

  Camera flashes went off in blinding profusion. Television lights came on in a white hot blaze as cameras swung in their direction and news anchors, smoothing their hair, ran toward them. Within seconds, they were surrounded.

  Nico exclaimed in staccato Italian and flung an arm around Amanda’s shoulders, pulling her firmly against his side. Thrusting one arm out before him, he set his face in hard lines and shoved through the shouting mob. At the parking garage, he snatched open the driver-side door of the Ferrari and hefted Amanda inside with more strength than finesse. As she scrabbled across the console and fell into the passenger seat, he slammed inside and set the powerful vehicle in motion. They peeled away with the shriek of rubber while paparazzi dove for safety on either side.

  Amanda, fastening her seatbelt with shaking hands, glanced behind them. “They’re coming after us,” she said, her voice so sharp it scraped her throat.

  Nico’s only reply was to floorboard the accelerator. They whipped out of the parking garage, screeched onto a busy street to a blast of car horns and squealing brakes, then sped away into the sun-bright afternoon. Driving like a demon, he took out his cell phone, punched in a call and spoke in terse phrases. Pressing the phone off, he tossed it aside. Then he put both hands on the wheel and set the Ferrari flying.

  Amanda soon lost track of the turns they made or streets they took while staying ahead of a comet’s tail of following cars and vans. They traversed an old section of the city, circled one piazza after another, ran alongside the river and then left it behind. Diving into the commercial section moments later, they slide into a side street. Ahead of them was a parking garage with its door wide open. Nico headed for it without slackening his speed. The door began to descend.

  Amanda screamed and threw up her arms to protect her face. They flashed inside just as the door rattled down, crashing shut behind them. Nico braked so hard and fast that the seatbelts engaged, and Amanda jerked to a stop against its unyielding constriction. She gave a soft grunt as she fell back against the seat, then sat still while quiet descended around them.

  When she lowered her arms and opened her eyes, they were surrounded by dust-filled dimness that smelled of old oil and warm metal. She moistened her lips, swallowed with a quick movement of her dry throat.

  “Where did they — did we lose them?” she asked in somewhat less than complete coherence.

  “Wait.”

  She heard it then, the sound of vehicles roaring past on the street beyond the small cul-de-sac. It seemed there were hundreds, though it might have been no more than a couple of dozen.

  A moment longer and the pursuit died away in the distance. All that was left was the faint rumble of the Ferrari’s engine, the small creaks of cooling metal and the quiet breathing of the man beside her.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “We are in the parking garage for an apartment building owned by my company. The supervisor is a good man, fast on the uptake, even faster on his feet.”

  “You told him to open the garage door.”

  “A trick that has worked before,” he said with the shift of one shoulder. “I should also apologize for the necessity of it. I knew we could not avoid them forever, so should have made arrangements.”

  “I don’t know what else you could have done.”

  “Taken a heavier vehicle like the limo, put security guards in place, arranged for stand-ins for the two of us as decoys — any number of things. I suppose I thought interest in Carita’s accident was fading. She’s never been a part of the fast crowd, never—”

  “Never been involved with anyone like my brother,” Amanda finished for him, her voice even.

  “You think the paparazzi persist because of him.”

  She stared at him in the gloom. “You think it was because of the De Frenza name?”

  He lifted a shoulder again.

  “My brother has no small amount of fame as a race car driver.”

  “But not as much as he will now have for almost killing a member of my family.”

  “Fine,” she said, her voice trembling with delayed reaction that was fast turning to anger. “Take the blame if you must, though Jonathan has been a target before, as were my father and mother. Right now, I’d like very much to return to the villa, preferably in one piece.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Nico watched the woman beside him, a shadowy figure stiff with irritation and so lovely in her courageous self-possession that he could hardly keep his hands off her. Most women he knew would be screaming wrecks after such a high-speed chase. Amanda Davies appeared no more affected than if it had been an amusement park ride. She was even willing to extend a certain amount of praise for his success in eluding their pursuers.

  It was amazing, how that good opinion warmed him, in more ways than one.

  Her lack of reverence for his family name was annoying, as was her refusal to acknowledge its attraction to those who made a living hounding the rich and famous. It was also refreshing beyond words. He was willing to concede that some part of the lure for the paparazzi was her brother’s feats on the race track, added to her father’s fame, but he knew well it was Carita’s presence in the car that had gone off the road which attracted them.

  He would give much to know if Amanda Davies truly doubted that or was only pretending. To find out seemed a worthwhile object.

  “You do realize photos of the two of us leaving the hospital will be front and center on the majority of newspapers and all the tabloids of Europe tomorrow.”

  “I suppose.”

  “And you know what the headlines will say?”

  “That we were visiting Jonathan and Carita, what else? I hope they don’t manage to sneak into the hospital.”

  “Neither Carita or Jonathan will be disturbed as they’ll have security from now on,” he said with a brief gesture toward his mobile. “But whatever may have brought out the jackals, their photos will show my arm around you and yours around me. Their headlines are certain to put us in bed together.”

  She searched his face while hot color bloomed across her cheekbones. “That’s obscene.”

  “But also inevitable.”

  She closed her eyes, opened them again. “Surely something can be done.”

  “Not at the moment. A little damage control may be arranged later.”

  “Damage control of what kind?”

  “It depends,” he answered in deliberate evasion. There was no point in discussing it until he was certain. He went on with scarcely a pause. “Before the excitement, I’d thought we might stop for lunch on the way back to the villa. It still seems a fair option.”

  “You’re hungry?”

  “Being chased does that to me. What can I say?”

  She sent him a quick glance, but apparently decided to ignore the suggestion beneath his words. “Are you certain we won’t be ambushed again?”

  “I will do my utmost to see it doesn’t happen.”

  She ran the fingers of one hand through her hair, releasing its tangles. Leaning back in her seat, she tested her seatbelt then propped an elbow on the door frame. “You’re driving.”

  He gave a low laugh; he couldn’t help it. He was ridiculously pleased that she was willing to trust him after their wild ride, to accept that he could and would elude any further efforts of the paparazzi to run them to ground.

  He made another call. The wide garage door in front of them, a mirror image of the one behind them through which they had entered, slid up on its oiled track. Beyond it was an alleyway. Nico put the Ferrari in gear and drove out into the warm afternoon sunlight.

  ~ ~ ~

  So Nico was going to act as if nothing had happened that he couldn’t fix, Amanda thought as they threaded once more through the streets of Florence. Was that for her s
ake, to make certain she calmed down? Or was it an example of the machismo she’d read about, the masculine need to prove he was in control? She stared at the road rushing toward them while she tried to work it out, but could settle on no answer.

  “Stopping for lunch really isn’t necessary,” she said as the city began to fade away behind them. “Can’t Erminia give us a sandwich or something when we get back to the villa?”

  He gave a swift look, his eyes narrowed against the wind that swirled around them. “I prefer something more substantial,” he replied. “Besides, I am your host.”

  “And it’s your duty to feed me, I suppose.”

  “My privilege,” he corrected. “You are pale and have dark circles under your eyes from worrying about your brother. You are probably more shaken by what took place back there than you realize. Some small diversion should be useful as well as pleasant.”

  The knowledge that he’d paid such close attention to her appearance added to her discomfort. “I’m sure you have better things to do, a company to run, people who depend on you.”

  “I keep up well enough by phone and Internet.”

  She brushed the comment aside with a quick gesture. “Besides, your worry over Carita has been just as great.”

  “So I am also in need of diversion. Come, we must eat. We might as well take what pleasure we may.”

  Come…

  It was a word he used often and with varying degrees of coaxing or command. If she closed her eyes, she could pretend he meant it in a more intimate fashion. How would it sound if whispered against her hair as he encouraged, urged, demanded that she come for him.

  A wave of heat swept over her, one so intense she thought he must feel it wafting toward him. She really must not let her imagination — or was it her libido? — run away with her. It came from the idea of their names being linked in the tabloids, being portrayed as his current lover if not his mistress. Brief fantasies aside, she was not foolish enough to think she would ever fill that position.

  No, the photo, if it appeared, would be a one-day sensation. With nothing more to feed the speculation, it would soon be forgotten. Her main concern was that Jonathan might get hold of it. She’d warn him as soon as possible, but hated to think of him being upset by snide implications. He was worried enough about her relationship with Nico already.

  In her preoccupation, she made no more objections to stopping. Nico appeared to take that as agreement, for he turned his attention back to the road.

  The powerful vehicle climbed into the hills. The hum of the engine and buffeting rush of air around them were the only sounds. Amanda could feel the adrenaline high caused by the car chase easing, being carried away in the wind that swirled behind them. It left her tired and not a little depressed.

  Her mind wandered, forming images of Carita lying so quiet and still in her bed, of Nico staring down at his sister with his mouth set in grim lines and of Jonathan with tears in his eyes. More vivid still, however, was Nico coming toward her that morning with twin devils of amusement in his eyes, swooping upon her for a kiss of the kind he might give a woman who was really his fiancée. He had taken it as if he had the right, his lips so sweet and hot that she had felt possessed. Yes, that was it. It was as if he had claimed her.

  Such thoughts were not practical or safe. She was spending too much time in the company of Nico de Frenza while in a situation where emotions ran too close to the surface. She must not read anything into whatever he said or did that was not there. Jonathan was right, she was sure, when he tried to warn her against Italian men. No matter how considerate Nico might be of her comfort, anything he intended toward her was unlikely to be lasting. She would do well not to forget that point.

  Thinking of Jonathan and Carita brought the paparazzi and the tabloid headlines to her mind again. She and Nico would not be the only ones pilloried in newsprint if reporters gained access to the details of the accident.

  She directed a quick glance at the man beside her. His expression was forbidding, as if his thoughts were elsewhere. She spoke anyway.

  “You said before that you expect Jonathan to marry Carita. Wouldn’t it be helpful to announce their engagement as a way of defusing whatever may come out in the tabloids about the accident?”

  “Possibly.”

  “You could even say the wedding will take place soon.”

  Wariness shaded his black gaze. “That would be premature given her condition.”

  Impatience jangled inside her. “Yes, but it can’t hurt to have everyone know.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Carita will first have to agree.”

  “I thought you had decreed it,” she replied with some irony.

  “I would not force her to the altar if she doesn’t want to go.”

  She studied him, noting the taut skin around his eyes, the tucked corners of his finely molded mouth that indicated his annoyance. “I never said you would.”

  “You implied it.”

  “If you don’t want to appear that way, then you shouldn’t—”

  “I shouldn’t do what I think is right for those around me?”

  His expression was so aloof, so certain of his place in the world and his right to command all that was in it, that she almost smiled. He had no idea how superior he appeared in his certainty that he knew best, that the decisions he made were above reproach.

  At least he had no control over her and was unlikely to have any. She could afford to be generous, could even concede that he acted, for the most part, from care and concern.

  “I’m sure you mean well,” she said finally.

  “So kind of you.” The glance he gave her mocked her diplomacy.

  She frowned at the road ahead. “Have you reason to think Carita might not want to marry Jonathan?”

  “I can hardly answer that as I wasn’t aware she was seeing him.”

  He made that sound like a personal failure, or so it seemed to Amanda. “You said that before, but your grandmother and aunt knew. Jonathan has been a guest at the villa, after all. It’s not as if anyone was keeping it from you.”

  “Isn’t it? You would think someone might have mentioned his name, if only Carisa.”

  She gave him a straight look. “If you had been told, would you have forbidden Carita to see him?”

  “Forbidden is too strong a word,” he said, his gaze on the road.

  “But you would have discouraged it.”

  “In other words, it’s my own fault that I wasn’t told.”

  She wasn’t about to answer that one, though omission probably had the same effect. “Jonathan isn’t a bad risk as a husband. He’s invested his winnings from the racing circuit from the beginning, so is well able to keep your sister in the manner you might prefer.”

  “I am aware.”

  Her gaze widened. “You mean—”

  “I had him investigated, of course,” he answered in impatient tones. “How could I not?”

  How indeed, when his sister’s happiness was at stake. “I see. And did you have me investigated as well? I mean, beyond what it took to locate me in Atlanta?”

  He sent her a fleeting glance, due perhaps to the coolness of her voice. “Only as a part of his family.”

  “Then you know we aren’t criminals, but just normal people.”

  “I know your brother allows you to work as some managing director’s assistant.”

  She gave him a cool look. “He doesn’t allow me to do anything. Jonathan respects my need to be independent.”

  “And you think I should do the same for Carita,” he said in derision.

  “Unless you want her to depend upon you all her life.”

  “It isn’t what I want, but what is best for her. You must understand that being of the De Frenza family puts her at more than the usual risk.”

  “She isn’t Carisa. We all have to learn to make our own decisions.”

  “And suffer the consequences?” Somethin
g bleak and layered with regret flashed in his eyes. “My sister made one, it seems, and see how it turned out.”

  He blamed himself for what had happened, Amanda saw with sudden insight, thought he had failed in his duty toward his sister and his family. It was a revelation.

  “There is such a thing as an accident,” she said quietly.” The same thing might have happened with someone who had your full approval as a future husband.”

  “But it didn’t. It happened with your brother.”

  “And no one regrets it more than Jonathan. I’ve never seen him in such pain. He loves her desperately, would do anything, anything at all, to make it right. He’ll die if she—”

  “Don’t. Just don’t.”

  That request was an indication of his silent anguish. Amanda looked away toward the blue line of the sea’s horizon that had appeared alongside the road. “No. I’m sorry. I just hope you will allow Jonathan to be a real husband to her, won’t expect this marriage to be for show only. He will be a good to her, I promise he will, and an excellent father to her child. He will quit the racing circuit, I’m almost sure, as he would never want his son or daughter to be brought up as—” She stopped abruptly, aware she had said too much.

  “As he was?”

  There was quiet insistence in the question. It was doubtful he could be diverted from what she had been about to say. She sighed, and then told him something of the rootless childhood Jonathan had endured, of how little attention he had been spared from either of their parents, and how much their deaths had affected him.

  “Your brother had you,” Nico pointed out, his dark eyes watchful as he studied her.

  “We had each other.”

  “And now he has Carita.”

  Did he think she minded that her brother had found someone else to love? She could settle that point for him, at least. “So he does. I couldn’t be happier, as she will be like the sister I never had.” She paused. “That is, if you think she will have him.”

  It was a moment before he lifted a shoulder. “That she was intimate with your brother suggests an unusual degree of commitment, but young women these days? Who knows?”