‘Alex!’ It was a hoarse protest from Simon but Alex was on a roll. She doubted she’d ever feel so liberated to say what she wanted to say.
‘Live your life how you want. But don’t you dare…don’t you dare pour your poison on ours!’ She fired her finger at the exit. ‘Leave! Go back to your life. I’m Vitali's life now. He’s my husband and I love him. Love will heal Vitali. Not your accusations and your hatred.’ A huge boulder swelled in her throat. Tears pricked her eyes then flooded down her face. She rubbed her cheeks helplessly. ‘No wonder he doesn’t want to live.’
Her mother’s arms wrapped protectively around Alex and drew her to her chest, soothing her like a child. ‘I don’t know what’s going on here Mr and Mrs Deloitte, but I do know it’s not helping. My daughter has suffered a terrible shock. We all have. But those things you’re accusing her of—’ she leveled her gaze at Lucrezia Deloitte like a lioness protecting her cub, ‘—I can assure you have no substance. My daughter is one of the most honest, loyal, trustworthy people I know. If she was the gold-digger you seem to think she is, you’re wrong. There are men in New York with more money than all the Vitali's of this world. And Alex didn’t want a gold bar of any of them.’
* * *
Vitali’s eyes opened slowly, struggling to clear the hazy film that clouded his vision. Where the hell was he? He looked around the room at the sterile white walls, devoid of art works or anything personal, absorbing all the details in the room as his vision came back into focus.
The horrid ceiling panels and harsh florescent lights made his skin look green. He took in the washbasin surrounded by boxes of surgical gloves. He looked down at the drip taped to his arm, then registered the thick leather restraining belts buckled around his body. ‘What the…’?
Then he remembered. He remembered running toward Alex. He remembered the crazed eyes of the bull glaring down at him, hard and black as cannon balls. He remembered looking into his bovine face and thinking he’d met the end.
He remembered fearing for his life as the bull flung him in the air. He’d grabbed on to the horns as the bull rushed at him again and hung on as though he were in a rodeo. Then he recalled the ugly crunch as the bull charged at him again, pinning him against the stone wall.
Jesus. No!
He tried to move his legs. He tried to kick the sheets free. He tried to fling his feet over the bed and get the hell out of that place. Nothing.
Dizzy with horror he glanced at the maze of beeping lights, tubes and machines monitoring every bodily movement. Yet there was none. Not below his waist, he realized with sickening horror. He wanted to puke. He felt nothing. As though his legs had been torn from him. They may as well have been, he thought angrily. With no legs, no feeling he may as well be dead.
He glanced around the sterile white walls. Why did hospitals always make you feel like you were in a morgue? He gripped the alarm and forced his finger down on the call button. ‘Get me out of here!’ he thundered.
He slumped against the shapeless pillows and closed his eyes. He willed himself to be swallowed by the darkness. But Alex’s face came to him in a vision. Her voice soft like feathers, so full of fear and concern yet full of promise. Had he really heard her correctly? Had it been a dream? Had his own Florence Nightingale arrived in a mystical apparition—giving him a reason to live.
“I’m pregnant. I’m going to have your child.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
The weeks passed in a blur. For days on end Vitali was x-rayed, poked and prodded. Just when he thought it was over, it started again. Finally the diagnosis came back.
‘Your T8, T10, and T12 vertebrae are fractured,’ the doctor said impassively.
Vitali contained a violent impulse to censure the doctor. He wanted to yell, show some bloody empathy, man. He may be familiar with this sort of thing, but Vitali most certainly was not. Instead he patiently asked: ‘Is that the good news or the bad news?’
‘They’re the main vertebrae in the middle of your back. They’re also the hardest to break.’
‘Just tell me straight Doctor, will I ever walk again?’
The doctor studied his clipboard. His silence was ominous.
‘Can you operate?’ Vitali pressed.
The doctor put the clipboard down and drew closer to Vitali's side. ‘It’s a bit unconventional, but do you know what I would do if I were in your shoes?’
‘It sounds like you’re about to prescribe something unconventional. I’m liking the sound of this already.’ Vitali said, his tone bright with hope.
‘You’re young and fit. Super fit. We could operate, but there’s a danger—instinctively I feel your best chance of recovery is to wait and see how the injury responds naturally.’
‘What are the odds?’
‘It’s a gamble.’
His biggest gamble yet, Vitali thought ruefully as the doctor presented the facts. High stakes didn’t come close to capturing the consequences. If he chanced it and had the operation, gave in to the side of him that just wanted to get on with it, there was a chance he could end up with permanent paralysis.
If he waited patiently, allowed his body to attempt to heal, things could worsen. The pain for one thing. He grimaced as a flare of agony splintered through his upper spine. At least some feeling was beginning to return, he thought ruefully.
Not knowing was the worst. Either way, he decided he was screwed, as he wrestled with his dilemma.Things like this didn’t happen to Vitaliano Rossi. He was a warrior, a fighter, a defender.
Not a pathetic victim.
He clung to Alex’s optimism, and her hope and the promise of the baby that grew in her belly. They were his only rays of sunshine in a landscape that had never looked so bleak. He had come to rely on her. When she was not there, even before the accident, he felt desperate and alone.
But he knew with gut-wrenching certainty that this would either be the making of them or the final death knell. If she was really a gold-digger she would walk away. She would leave him to his miserable fate and find herself a more manly, billionaire tycoon.
‘Take me home,’ he commanded. ‘If I’m to have any hope of recovery I have to be at Gold Ridge Station with my wife.’
Two days later, accompanied by a private physiotherapist, he was taken back to Gold Ridge Station to commence intensive rehabilitation.
When no one was looking, he couldn’t stop crying. Angry hot tears masking his fear.
Look at yourself, Wolf. Look at yourself. You’re stuffed.
The days passed too slowly. His parents and Alex tiptoed around him, exhausted from worry and steadfastly refusing to give voice to his fear that he may never heal. On top of his physical pain he felt gut-wrenchingly guilty for causing so much grief.
He slid from his bed into his purpose-built wheel chair. Somehow he had to rise above his self-pity and despair. He had a family to care for and protect. People needed him. But he was painfully aware that now, more than ever, he needed them. He had to get on with his life.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Animals, farming and being outdoors made him happy and, until the accident, had been his whole life. But now that he was in a wheelchair the cattle and the horses were too dangerous in their unpredictability.
No one could trust them with their biting and kicking and everyone agreed that somehow they always sensed when you were vulnerable. How could Alex have possibly been able to predict that, while he couldn’t go safely in the paddock with the cattle and the horses, her Alpacas would come to the rescue?
It was as if those fantasy-like creatures with their big black yes and , long lashes looked right through Vitali, right into his soul. They could tell if you were a good one or a bad one. And even if Vitali didn’t admit it, they knew he was “a good one”, and Alex knew they were an important part of his healing.
She should do. She’d researched high and low looking for a cure and then, fortuitously,she stumbled upon a book about the extraordinary passions of New Zealanders. In
it she read about a lady they called the Llama lady, an ex-jockey paralyzed in a fall, who credited llamas with saving her life.
‘It’s the Alpaca affect,’ Alex said happily, as she watched them run after him as he zoomed around the paddock in his motorized chair.
‘Goldie don’t be so pushy,’ he called out, grinning. Alex put her hand on her stomach as she felt their unborn baby kick ‘Daddy’s happy. You can feel it can’t you,’ she said, as she rubbed her belly. In just a few weeks the baby would be able to see so for itself.
‘Did you see that, mia cara?’ Vitali called out to her, laughing. ‘For a four-legged animal, Marilyn has a wonderful sense of mischief.’
Alex chuckled as she watched a blonde Alpaca sneak up on one of the farm dogs and blow on her tail, then skip off and hide behind a tree as though nothing had happened. As the indignant dog approached Marilyn jumped out, her long teeth stretched into a huge grin.
‘Loosen up, mate,’ Vitali yelled to the dog, ‘Take a leaf out of Dalai’s book’ he said pointing to one of the other farm dogs lying in the shade of a tree. ‘Go with the flow, zen out!’ Vitali looked up at Alex.
Alex gave him the thumbs up and nodded her approval.
‘There’s so much to do. I don’t have time to die.’ Vitali said, wheeling to her side.
In less than seven months their Alpaca business had bloomed. They imported a further 30 alpacas to boost their base herd. Not only were they making a roaring trade from the sale of their exotic and luxurious Alpaca wool but their first live exports had been dispatched with great success—to Holland, of all places. Other orders promptly followed, from clothing and textile manufacturers in Milan and China.
Nobody knew Vitali was in a wheelchair. Through the Internet they ran their business together. He left Bob to run the station and his other business interests, pushing his past life to one side and relishing all the new challenges.
Alex glanced at Vitali as he stared out at the mountains, so proud and stoic like himself. He did a good job of masking his pain. But no matter how much he tried to hide it as her belly grew with the promise of their child, Alex knew he yearned for the mobility he had lost. To kick a ball, or ride bareback across the hills with his son or daughter.
‘I’d love to climb the summit of Mount Cook. That’s something I’ve never conquered, ‘he said unexpectedly. ‘I’d like to think that one day I could tag team with our son or daughter, and share with them one of New Zealand’s greatest treasures.’
* * *
Whether it was the Alpacas and their playful zest, fierce intelligence and enthusiasm for life, or the pristine surroundings that beckoned, she’d never know. Deep down Alex preferred to think it was her love and the deep love Vitali felt for his wife.
But little by little the feelings in his legs returned and he regained his strength. She had no idea how much feeling had really returned until the day their baby was born. He wheeled to her side as she cradled their son in her arms.
‘May I? he asked, stretching out his arms to hold his son as he wheeled to her side. And then suddenly he stood. Strong and stable and proud.
Alex’s mouth fell open. She stared at him with disbelieving eyes as tears of relief streamed down her face. ‘I never thought—’
‘Don’t think about the past. From now on we only have our future. He bent his mouth to hers and kissed her fears away. ‘Te amo. I love you.’
‘Anche io ti amo. I love you too, my darling,’ she said, and passed their son, Edwardo, to him. Vitali nestled him in his arms, and stared down at his sweet face, then pressed a kissed to his forehead. Lifting the baby higher, he pressed another kiss to his chubby cheek. ‘My son.’
The love that was lost, had blossomed again—and this time they all knew it would be forever. Happily ever after.
* * * * *
THE END
AUTHOR’S NOTE
The idea for this story was sparked when I inherited a painting from my aunt—the sister that my father never knew existed. My father was abandoned by his mother into the care of a private boarding school when he was only four-years-old.
Needless to say, he grew into a very self-reliant man. When he was in his 70’s he received a letter from a woman in her 80’s telling him she was his half-sister, and requesting that they meet. They got along famously—but sadly she passed away a few years later, and my father, soon afterwards. They shared the same dad, but different mothers.
It struck me as incredibly sad that they had not met earlier. I wondered why my dad’s mother had never told him about his sister. I wondered why his father never told him either. Later, I began to notice and read similar stories of people, some famous, other’s not, who found out as adults, that the people they thought were their fathers or mothers, weren’t.
I began to think about all the secrets many families have. The lies they tell each other. And all the lost loves.
And I wondered, what if two people were attracted to each other but trust issues kept them apart? What if a painting had the power to bring them together, to shed healing light on the secrets of the past? And what if a painting had the power to rekindle lost love?
And I wondered, what would it take, in spite of fear, anger, and distrust, for a man and a woman drawn together by tragedy, to open their hearts to love. You’ll discover the answers in The Italian Billionaire’s Scandalous Marriage. I hope you love this story is much as I loved writing it.
If you’d like to learn more about these characters, gain inside tips into the writing process, or be the first to know when a new book is released, subscribe to my newsletter here: http://eepurl.com/cigEsH. Please email me and I’ll be in touch personally—I promise…[email protected].
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I’m very blessed with some wonderful cheerleaders and writing friends. Amongst those instrumental in bringing The Italian Billionaire’s Scandalous Marriage to life, are Sandy Johnson and Rae Waterhouse. Having your help made all the difference in finishing and publishing this book.
Cate Walker, thank you again for being a very enthusiastic proof-reader. Your emails telling me how much you loved the story and couldn’t wait to read the rest—asking me when were you going to get the next chapters to edit-kept me moving forward.
And to the love of my life—Laurie Wills, my Templar Knight. Thank you for believing in me. Without your faith, support, commitment, inspiration, and love, I could never have written this book.
AND FINALLY . . .
Thank you for purchasing and reading my books. You are more than my livelihood-you let me live my passion. Without your love of romance and belief in the power of love, this book would never have been born. I really hope you loved this book as much as I enjoyed writing it. Here’s to an extra-ordinary level of love and happiness in all our lives.
With love,
THANK YOU
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Keep reading for a preview of the first book in the Gemstone Billionaire series, and sneak peeks into other passion-filled stories due for release next year-including Flight of Passion and Taken by The Sheikh.
The Italian Billionaire’s Christmas Bride
Book One in the Gemstone Billionaires series available now.
What
if the person who is so, so, so wrong for you is really so, so, so right, but you’re too afraid to give love a chance?
Last Christmas, art therapist Issy Riley was jilted by her fiancé. This Christmas she’s running away. A week with a client on his private Fijian island promises to save her from cheating men and the London festive season. But when the client turns out to be a gorgeous and magnetic Italian billionaire, he threatens her resolve to never again trust her heart to the wrong man.
Milan fashion house leader and avowed bachelor Massimiliano Balforni has no intention of taking a vacation, despite his sister’s insistence that he subject himself to an art therapy retreat following a minor heart attack. With an important collection due, he intends to fire his therapist and work, instead. But the determined and striking Issy gives his heart palpitations of a far more dangerous kind.
The one thing Max and Issy agree on: they are as wrong for each other as wrong gets. He’s a workaholic playboy who believes emotion is a weakness. She’s a romantic who yearns for a happily ever after.
The Italian Billionaire’s Scandalous Marriage: An Italian Billionaire Romance (Italian Billionaire Christmas Brides Book 2) Page 23