by Caro LaFever
“I don’t understand why you welcome all of them hanging about.” Her mother wagged a finger. “A bunch of parasites, if you ask me.”
She missed them. She missed his momma’s smile and pats. She missed Chi’s laugh. She missed the kids and their shrieks and giggles. She wanted the joy of his relatives around her. The sunny, happy days in the embrace of her new clan.
The family who stayed away while her mother was here.
Esther had made it clear the first night after her arrival what she thought of her daughter's in-laws. The dinner had become uncomfortable within a few short minutes. The gathering had been the last the family had attended with her mother.
“It is good for you to have time alone with your own momma,” Vico’s mother had said, patting Lise’s arm as they watched the cars load with relatives.
“The thought of that mob of his enjoying such a beautiful place is sinful.”
Stifling a sigh, Lise tried to focus on the peaceful burr of the bees instead of the whiny buzz of her mother’s voice. Her mother droned on and on. The sun slipped down the blue sky. The low growl of a boat motor echoed off the lake.
“Taking money from that lout is disgusting.” The older woman’s voice crackled with distaste. “But I did need the second gardener.”
She hummed distractedly. Vico had been generous, more than generous with Taverwood Grange. He seemed to understand his wife’s bittersweet attachment to it and had instigated a variety of needed repairs and improvements that should have sent her mother into giddiness.
Apparently not.
She should tell her mother of her changed feelings. She should start the campaign to change Esther Helton’s opinion of Vico. Except the day was too warm, and she was too sleepy, and all she wanted to do was think about her husband and her baby and be happy. Eventually, she’d have to put her foot down and cut her mother’s tirades off. But not now. Not yet.
The doze crept over her, settling her deeper into the chair.
“Did you hear me, Elizabeth?”
The sharp question jerked her from her snooze. “What?”
“I said, I have this well in hand for you.”
Pushing herself up, she leaned over and sipped on her drink, trying to break free of the remnants of sleep.
“You were absolutely right not to sign a prenuptial agreement with that brute.”
Lise ran a hand through her tousled hair. Amusement at her mother returned. Her mother, who conveniently forgot she held the exact opposite opinion before the wedding. Then, suddenly, the words jarred her. “What are you talking about?”
“The agreement makes it much easier.”
“What’s easier?” Focusing her bleary eyes on her mother’s rigid face, she tried to concentrate.
“Don’t worry.” The older woman leaned closer and smiled a tight, gritted grimace. “I will make sure you’re taken care of.”
“Mother.” She frowned in confusion. “I’m perfectly fine. Vico takes good care—”
“He’s not worthy of my little girl.”
Okay. She’d been putting this confrontation off with her mother. Still, this went too far. “Listen, I think—”
“Buon pomeriggio.” The dark-accented words fell from behind them. “La signora Helton. Che sorpresa.”
The voice plainly conveyed the surprise was not a pleasant one, but Lise wasn’t focusing on that. She jerked her head around and a spontaneous smile bloomed when she spotted her husband. He stood, leaning negligently on the door-frame, his Versace silk suit dark, his white shirt light in contrast to his skin. The red power tie flipped in the breeze, as did his long hair.
Her mother muttered beside her, dire curses and spells in all likelihood.
She didn’t care one iota what Esther Helton was feeling right now.
“Vico!” She wanted to leap from the chair, but her pregnancy made this an impossibility. Finally, she managed to pull herself off the lounge and stumble up the steps to her husband. For a moment, it surprised her he hadn’t helped her as he usually did, but the joy at seeing him filled her to the full, pushing any other considerations out of the way.
“You’re back early.” Flinging herself into his arms, she lifted her face for the inevitable kiss.
The kiss didn’t come.
She opened her eyes and stared into her husband’s gaze. Was it her imagination? Were his eyes rather hard, like brown stones, not a gold glint in sight? She forced another smile. This must be her imagination. They’d separated so sweetly three days ago. “I’m happy to see you.”
At last, his arms went around her and he gave her a dry peck on the cheek.
Anxiety held her in its grip. “Has something happened? Is it business? The family?”
“No.” His gaze was wary as he lifted his head.
Stepping out of his lukewarm welcome, she frowned. “Then what is it?”
Esther Helton’s high heels clattered on the terrace stone. Her voice was acid with distaste and displeasure. “Vico.”
“Mrs. Helton.” His tone was dry.
That was what was wrong. Her mother’s presence. Lise gave him a wry smile before the older woman arrived at her side. Finally, a spark of gold lit his eyes.
She sighed with immediate relief. The only thing she had to do was get her mother out of his hair and everything would go back to the way it should be. Once her mother was gone, and Vico was back to his usual self, then she’d do what she should have done weeks ago.
Confess her love for him. Give him the gift of those three simple words.
Then everything would be completely right forever.
* * *
For a moment, on the terrace, breathing had been very difficult.
Vico wrenched his tie off and carelessly tossed it on the carved teak armoire. He glanced into the mirror and stared at his image. His eyes were blank, his mouth sullen. Throughout the interminable dinner he’d managed to put on the charm, still, it had been tough.
Extremely tough. Very difficult.
He’s some kind of thief. I’m sure of it.
Wrenching off his silk shirt, he paced into the bathroom and turned the water to steaming hot. He chucked off his linen pants and stepped beneath the flow. Hands planted on the heated tile, he leaned over, nearly resting his head on the wall.
He took a deep breath in and then, out.
He had no fear of Esther Helton nosing around in his affairs. He had nothing to hide and, eventually, the harridan would be disappointed. The fear building inside him was of an entirely different nature.
The water burned his back, but Vico accepted it. Needed it. Maybe it would melt the ice-cold core inside of him. The core of cold squeezing his beating heart. His breathless lungs. His shivering soul.
Once a scoundrel, always a scoundrel.
Flinging his hair back over his wet shoulders, he thrust his head under the rush of water, trying to wash the accusation away. The steam covered his face and cheeks. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on what was really important.
These were Esther Helton’s words. Not his wife’s.
He sucked in another breath. Let it out.
Lise. Lise of the winsome grin that had greeted him hours ago. Lise of the round, lush figure creating the inevitable stir of lust in his body. Lise of the apparent happiness at his return.
Sleazy.
Scandalous.
Squalor.
The words sliced into him like spiked stilettos.
He shut the water off with a yank and stepped from the shower onto the plush green carpet. Ignoring his clothes on the floor, he grabbed a towel and strode back into the bedroom. The empty bedroom.
His wife was still with her mother. After all, Esther had announced at the stilted dinner, this would be her last night and she’d like to have her daughter’s company alone.
Vico had been more than happy to comply.
The fact he’d have some time alone had added to his relief.
Time alone to get a grip.
&nbs
p; A bunch of parasites.
Stepping into his dressing room, he tore a robe off its hanger and stuffed his arms through the soft Egyptian cotton, not caring when he ripped one of the shoulder seams.
Lise liked his family. These last two months, she’d come out of her initial shell with them and welcomed them with enthusiastic warmth every time any of them came to the door. She’d laughed with his sisters, teased with his brothers, had long, lazy talks with his momma.
She liked his family.
The thought of that mob of his enjoying such a beautiful place is sinful.
Her mother’s words. Not hers.
Why was this a problem inside him? Why was he feeling this sense of rage?
He’d suffered many slings and arrows. He’d read many slurs, waved off many hurled insults without a second thought. With clear-cut knowledge, he’d known his mother-in-law despised him. He’d thought very little about it, thinking it a mere inconvenience.
Stalking out of the dressing room, he wrenched the first drawer of his armoire open and clicked open the hidden compartment. He reached down, picked up his discarded shirt, and slipped the black Bvlgari box from its pocket. Dropping the shirt on the floor again, he opened the jewelry box.
The diamond earrings flashed in the low light. He’d wanted something elegant, yet also something that made a statement. Something that told her how precious she was to him. During the course of these months at his villa, the words, the admission pounding in his heart every moment, were never far from his tongue. But he hadn’t wanted to push her too far or too fast. He’d wanted to be sure. He didn’t know what he’d do if he spoke and she rejected him once more. He’d feared he might never recover.
So, he’d wanted the Princesse to say the words first.
Contemptible, certamente. He was a man with guts in every circumstance.
All circumstances except this one.
Because there’d been too much pain between them, most of which he’d caused. There’d been so many ugly words said, many from his own mouth. And for more than any other reason, his undeserving soul needed to know she accepted him, loved him—the reckless savage who’d gotten her pregnant, the impetuous beast who’d pushed her into marriage. His soul yearned for her forgiveness and love. He needed to have it before he laid his love at her feet. Gave his unworthy soul into her eternal care.
There were times, many times, when she’d stroked his skin in bed and smiled. Or the time when she laughed into his grin as they ate their sweets. Or the time when she’d leaned over to kiss him in front of his entire family.
Times when he’d known, when he’d been sure, when he’d waited.
But the words never came from her pretty mouth.
So, he’d waited.
Vico stared down at the diamonds lying on the black velvet. The color had reminded him of the pure-white strands in her hair, with the slight tinge of pale glint that always caught the sun’s rays.
He snapped the box shut.
Breathing in and out, he forced himself to look at the collected items in the compartment. Remind himself of whom he loved.
The pink of the lace on her bra, reminding him of the first night. The night he’d fallen in love with her passion.
The elegant, silver pen, with the date of her graduation edged in gold on the side. The one she’d left behind her in the boardroom after arguing with him. The one that reminded him of her intelligence, her wit. Of how much he loved her intelligence and wit.
The leaf of evergreen from their reception, along with one of the napkins imprinted with their names and wedding date. The slim book of Wordsworth poetry she’d left on a side table on their trip to Paris. The hair clip he’d stripped her of when he’d wanted to rile her.
Wisps of her hair clung to the clip.
He breathed in through his nose and then dropped the Bvlgari box on top of the rest and slammed the compartment shut.
That lout. That brute.
Her mother’s words. Si.
Yet the Princesse had not disagreed, had she? She had not defended him nor dissented. She had merely hummed and listened. She had not acted as a loyal wife.
She had acted like she agreed with her mother’s words.
Was her welcome false? Could he have possibly misread everything during these last months? Her laughing eyes trained on his. Her joy in his presence. Her passionate love of him at night.
Was this only his desperate love spun into pure imagination?
Turning, he walked to the bedroom door and snapped the lock shut.
He could not…he could not.
Leaning on the cool wall, he tried to calm himself.
Quite likely, she would not think to visit his bed with her mother in residence. But if she did—
He could not.
His body abruptly ached as if he’d aged a hundred years in mere hours. Maybe tomorrow it would look different. Maybe tomorrow these words will have faded into distant memory and he would feel alive again. In lust again. In…
The word, the word he’d admitted in his soul, stuck in his throat.
He was suddenly glad he’d held it back. Glad he’d decided to let things develop slowly, without pressuring her. Fiercely, painfully glad he still had his pride to cling to.
You were absolutely right not to sign a prenuptial agreement.
His brain twisted and turned around those words. Found no reassurance, only a vague and building fear. A churning, choking ugliness. He stumbled to the bed and slipped under the heavy covers.
A shiver ran through his body.
He breathed in. Out. In. Out.
This was nothing, his love roared over the cacophony of noise in his head. He was reading too much into it. He was letting his reckless, impetuous spirit leap to conclusions.
He’s not worthy of my little girl.
The truth of those words carved his heart right out of his chest. Deadened the dreams he’d allowed himself to feel during the last two months. Made him remember the reality of this relationship. The reality of how far and wide the chasm was between them.
Another truth, a truth he’d buried so deep inside he’d managed to forget, the truth fluttered in his chest like a weak little bird. Eventually, at some point, he’d hurt and damage their child. The last reflection turned to stone his belief in what he and Lise could have. Did have.
Thought they had.
The breath was ragged, rattling in his throat.
This was nothing, his love whimpered. Tomorrow it will all be nothing.
His breath choked, clung.
Tomorrow he would still love. But he didn’t know if he’d still trust.
Chapter 17
Everything wasn’t right.
Something was very wrong.
Absently pushing the hangers of baby clothing over one by one, Lise barely registered the flashes of blue jumpers and green shirts. His momma and Chi chatted at her side as they helped her find the last items for her baby’s wardrobe.
Her mother had left the morning after his arrival. Much to the relief of everyone involved. Esther had hugged her with a fierce grip when they stopped on the marble steps leading down to the drive. As her husband stood behind her at the door, his usual courteous self, her mother had darted him a look and then whispered something about checking her emails in the next few days.
Lise had nearly snorted.
She always checked her emails. What was her mother nattering on about?
The concern was swept away, though, as soon as the taxi drove down the lane towards the airport. Leaving her alone with her husband.
She’d turned to smile at him, ready to say the three all-important words.
He’d been gone.
“Lise,” his mother exclaimed. “Look at this darling suit.”
A pasted-on smile was the best she could do. “It’s cute.”
His momma was in shopping mode, his sister was more observant.
“What’s wrong?” Chi’s eyes were grave. “You’ve been quiet all day
.”
The villa had been very quiet for the last three days. The family had stayed away; perhaps thinking her mother was still in residence. But why hadn’t Vico alerted them they could come back? She wanted to ask, yet he was rarely around.
When he was around, he was quiet.
Quiet was not a word she’d normally use for Vico Mattare. His deep voice boomed through the halls of the villa and rumbled across the terraces leading down to the lake. His laugh roared at his brother’s jokes and rolled through her heart. His energy crackled, his body prowled, his words purred. He was movement and action and sound and passion.
“I’m fine,” she responded with another fake smile. “Only a bit of fatigue.”
His momma tutted. “What am I thinking? Two pregnant ladies and here I am dragging them around for hours on their feet.”
“I’m fine—”
“Vico will have my head.” The older woman patted her arm. “Vene. Let us find somewhere to rest and have a long, cool drink.”
She allowed herself to be ushered out of the store and into the Italian sun. Soon the ladies were sipping lemonade and watching the Milan crowds as they hurried past. She tried to keep pace with her side of the conversation, and it appeared she was somewhat successful because there were no more questioning looks from Chi or tut-tuts from his momma.
The last three days Vico had not been laughing or joking or smiling.
Business, he’d said, as he went into his home office and shut the door.
Busy, he’d said, as he drove off to his Milan office.
She’d been alone for the first time in months. A thousand photos had been taken as she tried to assuage her worries. A hundred walks by herself. A dozen hours doing nothing. The only time she’d seen her husband was at dinner. Where he watched her with blank eyes and slight smiles, adding little to her stilted conversation.
Tired, he’d said.
Distracted, he’d said.
Lise slid her finger down the iced glass, watching the drip of water as it clung to the rim. The gurgle of fear she’d been trying to push away for three days reared again in her throat. This wasn’t about her mother’s presence. He couldn’t possibly be this distant merely because her mother stopped by on an unscheduled trip.