And oh, my lord, what a gift! He was spectacular.
I had to speak to him. He hadn’t seen me since middle school. Now that I’d blossomed, things were different. If he saw me and we locked eyes, I knew we’d fall in love. I knew he’d wait for me to grow up. This was my future husband.
For forty-five minutes, I waded through the crowd near him, hoping he’d notice me, pleading for him to look in my direction—just a smile, a wink, a small glimmer of hope to keep me faithful until I was eighteen. Nothing. He looked past me, over me and through me. I didn’t exist.
But that’s not the worst of it. When his friend asked him if he spotted anyone cute he’d liked to tag for the future, he smirked and spoke the words that have haunted me ever since. “Nope. Nothing here but mousy, boring, plain-faced little rich girls.”
My heart shattered. My world imploded. My future husband thought I was mousy and plain-faced. Crying hysterically, I ran through the crowd of debs, took the nearest exit and ran home in the rain. Mother was furious. That gown was Vera Wang.
“Carine! Are you ignoring us?” My father taps my shoulder.
I yelp with the sudden realization I’m back in the restaurant.
“I’m sorry. Get on with this, please. I’m caught up. Lorenzo Bianchi. Check. Good man you don’t socialize with. Check. Franco not Vincenzo, check. How do I fit into this house of cards?” I wave my hand to rush them.
“Honey, Mr. Bianchi wants you for Franco. He thinks you’re a lovely, well-mannered young woman. He’s hinted several times about a fix-up, but we brushed it off because... well, you know why. But with your sister’s situation, we think it would be a perfect distraction if our good daughter became engaged to one of the most eligible, wealthiest bachelors in Manhattan.” She pauses to calm my shocked expression.
My eyes grow wide. “Me? Engaged? An arrangement?” I swallow the lump in my throat.
My father chimes in. “The goal is an arrangement, but for now just see him. Franco is set to take over his father’s company and Lorenzo wants him settled down with a wife and a family. ”
My eyes grow wide. “Me? Why me?”
“Mr. Bianchi likes you. I’m not sure how he knows so much about you, but he says he sees you at church. Do you still go to church, honey?” He takes a sip of whiskey and gazes at the stranger in front of him. This man knows nothing about me.
“Daddy! I go to church every Sunday. And Wednesday during my lunch hour. I sometimes see Lorenzo on Wednesdays. Get to the point!”
“Twice a week? Really Carine, live a little. But not too much. Don’t be like your sister.” He cringes and lets my mother take over.
“Nothing is set in stone. For now, just meet with them and pretend you’re interested. He gives so much money to your father and when this scandal breaks we’ll need his support more than ever. If we deny this request that cash flow will run dry.” She smiles and then suddenly grows distant and darker.
“Mom?”
I fainted again.
4
Franco
“What the hell did you just say? Have you finally lost your mind?” I jump to my feet and pace, swinging my arms close enough to hit him. He stays calm. He knows I won’t. But he deserves it.
He’s found me a wife? What year is this?
“I’m not forcing you to marry anyone. I’m urging you to consider it. You want my company, don’t you?” He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms defiantly.
I growl and mimic his stance. “You’re not a feudal lord, old man. You don’t get to arrange my marriage. I can do this on my own. Give me six months and I’ll introduce you to my wife.”
He’s got me by the balls. I’ve worked for him since I was twenty-one, longer if you count all the summers he made me give up in high school. Vince got to do whatever he wanted. Entitled little jerk left for Monaco, Rome, Prague and Dubrovnik--- or some shit like that---while I was here dealing with the great Signore Bianchi who runs his company like a Medici. I’m not giving everything up so Vince can slither in at the eleventh hour and steal my birthright.
He gets the vineyards in Tuscany. He swears that’s what he wants. But I can see the bitterness. He doesn’t want to leave New York. If I were a betting man, which I am, I’d bet this marriage is nothing more than an attempt to kiss our father’s ass.
I just need six months. If I knew he would do this, I would have moved quicker, but you never imagine your father will arrange a marriage for you. That never enters your head.
Why would it?
The thing is, I found her. My girl. The one I think my mom sent me. Before she died, she swore she’d watch over me. If she could, she’d steer me in the right direction whenever I got lost. I didn’t believe it then, but some days I feel her near. Some days when I’m about to do something outrageous, I almost feel her hand on my shoulder, pushing me to walk away.
Most of the time I listen. Not always.
But I know she was with me two Wednesdays ago. That’s when I saw my dream girl rushing down the steps of Saint Patrick’s Cathedral on Fifth Avenue. It was a fluke. I shouldn’t have been near the church during the lunch hour, but a meeting ran over. While everyone piled into the back of the limo, a wave of dark hair caught my eye. I couldn’t believe it.
With a quick determined step, she whizzed through the crowd, marched through whistles of Teamsters on a break and darted into the subway. She looked like a young Sophia Loren or Ava Gardner. Pale skin, high cheekbones, full ruby red lips, and those curves. Goddamn, those curves. Her dress was conservative, high-collared and hung below the knee, but it hugged every fucking mountain and valley on that woman’s gorgeous body. It was my wife. I know it. No doubt about it.
That was my forever girl.
For the first time in years, my heart thundered at the sight of a woman. And for the first time ever, I wanted more than her body. I wanted the whole fucking package.
I went back the following Wednesday and waited spellbound across the street. This time she fastened her hair in a neat ponytail—not a lock out of place. Her black dress flared out at her tiny waist and she wore a tight pink cardigan to shield those big tits from my lecherous view.
Nice try, doll. I’ve got x-ray vision.
I waited by the subway entrance, the same one she used the previous week, and practiced the first words I’d speak to my future wife. It had to captivate her. Nothing creepy. Something romantic but light on the cheese. I was out of practice, but I figured if I spoke from my heart, she’d recognize me. She’d know I was her destiny and we’d have our moment.
You know, that moment.
As soon as I spotted her, I was ready. My heart soared when I watched her cross the street. My stomach churned like a teenage boy meeting his first crush. My cock thickened against my leg watching those amazing breasts jiggle with every step. Then it ended. My world came crashing down. She jumped into a cab halfway through the crosswalk and sped away.
Today is Monday. All I need is two days. On Wednesday, I’ll run into St. Pat’s, search the pews and beg her to go out with me. Dad needs to give me more time.
“Hey moron, did you hear me?” My father shakes me out of my daydream.
“No. What? I said I need more time.” I snap.
“Tough. You’re thirty-five in two days. Time’s up. I’d like to retire while I’m still young enough to enjoy my life and until you’re settled and married, I don’t trust you be a responsible man.” He chuckles and stands to answer a knock on the door.
“Jesus Christ, who’s here? Is that the wife you’ve imported from Italy? Is that what you’ve done?” I groan.
“No, it’s just your brother. I thought he should be here when I tell you about your future wife.” He smirks while Vince stands behind him with eyes as wide as saucers. He’s as clueless as I am.
“She’s lovely. You’re going to thank me, son. Trust your father.” He wags his finger and walks past me into the kitchen. As he twists the cap off a mineral water, he tells me more.
<
br /> “You know Congressman DuBois. His eldest daughter Clarisse is in a delicate situation. She’s knocked up and isn’t certain about the child’s paternity. I spoke to him this morning and we’ve got a mutually beneficial solution.” He takes a sip, and I yank the bottle from his lips.
“Are you serious? You want me to marry her? She’s horrible. That is who you dug up? This is the best you can find me? No fucking way.” I growl and scowl at my brother as he stifles a grin.
“What are you talking about? You watch your mouth! Carine is a good girl. She’s nothing like her sister. If you marry her, the Congressman gets a distraction from the scandal, a large contribution from me to weather the storm and you get a gorgeous, God-fearing wife. She is just the type of woman you need.”
He leans on my counter and stares into the distance for dramatic effect.
“I see her every Wednesday I attend mass at St. Patrick’s. How many young women in this city still attend mass on Wednesdays? I used to think my Teresa was the only one. She’s beautiful and kind. Dark hair, hazel eyes and I swear to you, she’s got a figure like a young Sophia Loren. You don’t deserve such a jewel! But I want you married and she’ll be a good influence on you. In fact, if I was a young man and didn’t miss your mother so much, I’d...” My father’s creepy words hang in the air as my brain buzzes like a live wire.
“Wait a minute, how old is Carine? She’s a kid.” I haven’t seen this girl in ages. Braces and freckles, that’s all I remember.
He frowns. “She’s twenty-two. She just graduated from Boston College two months ago and works near our office. Small little company. I’ve tried to hire her away, but she doesn’t want any favors. Like I said, she’s a good girl.”
My heart skips a beat. Was that her? No, I’m not that lucky. In a city of eight million, what are the odds?
“Carine won’t want to marry Franco. And you can’t make your own son marry someone he doesn’t know.” Vince suddenly roots for me. He doesn’t want to be upstaged.
I take a deep breath and stare at my old man. Mom always said I could trust him.
“And what’s your plan? How do we do this?” I take a drink from Dad’s Pellegrino.
Vince protests. “Seriously?”
“Good boy. They’re coming for dinner at 7:00. It’s a small intimate gathering at my place. Please make yourself presentable. I know you clean up well. And no drinking until you arrive.” He looks at his watch and panics.
“I need to go, but trust your father, Franco. She won’t disappoint. She’s something else.” He shakes his head, licks his lips and loses his train of thought.
I snap my fingers. “Cut that out! She might be your daughter-in-law, for fuck’s sake.”
He holds up his palms and pleads guilty. “Sorry. You’re right. I’ll see you tonight. Please, behave. She’s a nice girl. I have a bet with your Uncle Antonio and the boys in Bolgheri that you’ll fall head over heels in love. You know I hate losing!” He laughs and pushes an angry-looking Vince out the door.
As soon as the silence returns, I fall into the couch and think about my girl.
Carine? Is that your name, sweetheart?
This is too good to be true.
Oh, please, let it be you. Please, don’t make me hunt you down and scare the hell out you.
5
Carine
“I look like a floozy.” I tug at my dress. This off-shoulder tea-length gown is highly inappropriate for a quiet dinner. I only agreed because it reminded me of something I saw on I Love Lucy and now I regret it. I don’t remember Lucy Ricardo wearing something like this.
“That’s ridiculous. You look like your grandmother. She had a dress just like this. Are you saying your grandmother dressed like a floozy, young lady?” My mother fixes my sleeves and straightens my pearls. They were my grandmother’s and I may seen photos of her dressed this way.
Now, I feel bad. Sorry, Nana.
“No. It’s a nice dress. But it looks like I’m trying too hard. You said this is all for show. And have you considered how I’ll feel when I see Franco Bianchi and he turns his nose up at me (again!)?” No one answers. My parents exchange a suspicious glance and grow excited when the car stops in front of a four-story brownstone in Carnegie Hill.
“No time for your questions, sweetheart. You look beautiful. You look like a young Sophia Loren.” My father beams and takes my hand.
“That’s a great dress, Adelaide.” A quick wink at my mother and they lead me up the stairs into God only knows what awaits me.
A butler answers. Surely, my parents die inside. We’ve never had a butler.
“Please come in, they’re expecting you.” He gestures and we follow him into a 19th century masterpiece. Oh, my lord, I feel like I’m floating into an Edith Wharton novel dressed like a dark-haired Lucille Ball. The room smells of cypress and cedar. Priceless art hangs on the walls. My new pumps echo off the hardwood mahogany floors and butterflies flutter. This is it. Franco must be here. It’s been six years since I’ve seen him in the flesh. Maybe, he’s changed. Maybe, I don’t look so mousy anymore.
Let it go already.
Scared out of my wits, I trail behind my mother and glimpse myself in the hall mirror. I cringe. Why did I wear this dress? Mother insisted I wear something new and dragged me to her favorite salon. The hair stylist took one look at the outfit on the hanger and opted for old Hollywood glamour. That part came out nice, but I never show this much cleavage. It’s obscene. This isn’t me.
How did I get talked into cleaning up Clarisse’s mess, again? If I’m the good one, why am I the sacrificial lamb?
I take a deep breath and steel my resolve. They promised it wouldn’t get out of hand. We’ll have dinner, make small talk and I’ll be home early enough to catch up on my reading. Surely, Franco will placate his father to keep the peace. He might say he’ll consider it, but it’ll turn into nothing. He doesn’t want to marry a virtual stranger. I’ll bet he has a few glamorous girlfriends at his beck and call, hidden throughout the city.
What on earth would he do with me?
All I can do is hope this is quick and painless. I can’t handle a public rejection. Not in this dress, with these boobs on display, and this corset cutting into my air.
With one final step, I discreetly make the sign of the cross and pray for the best. Sometimes, you just need to pray for the best.
As I turn the corner, I hear a gasp. It’s Mr. Bianchi. “My dear! You’re breathtaking.”
My heart swells. With a giggle, I cover my smile, then hold my hand steady to hide my slacked jaw.
I’m floored. Franco. Franco Bianchi is looking at me.
Oh, my goodness. He’s glorious. Resplendent. Too beautiful for words.
My pulse jumps as a tower of mouth-watering Italian temptation emerges from the shadows. Time has blessed him. He’s not just a pretty boy anymore. He’s a man. Rough and dangerous. He’s so much man, he’s busting at the seams. Those broad shoulders, thick chest, and sculpted biceps can’t be hidden within the confines of that hand tailored suit.
And sweet Jesus, he’s wearing a vest.
My knees weaken. His dark gaze drinks me in from his impressive height and my cheeks heat. My heart beats wildly with thoughts of dark-eyed babies bouncing on his knee. Our eyes lock and his chest rises and falls as he stares deep into my soul. I’m speechless and bewildered. What is he looking at? He looks stunned. I’m not sure if he’s shocked or titillated. I don’t know men enough to tell the difference.
Mr. Bianchi breaks the silence. “Carine. It’s been years, but you remember my eldest son, Franco, don’t you? Franco, this is a very grown-up Carine.”
He’s so majestic, I feel I should curtsey. Thankfully, I get a grip and extend a clammy, shaking hand.
“Hello, Franco.” I peer at his magnificence. He’s too quiet. He seems angry. This is humiliating.
“Carine. It’s a pleasure to see you again.” His deep, velvet voice washes over me and throws me off balance.
Please, don’t faint again.
With a firm grasp, he takes my hand and I shudder at his touch. Electricity currents pass between us. The air leaves my lungs. When I try to let go, he curls his arm around my waist and slams me into his embrace. Stunned, I crash into his giant chest and freeze. What’s happening?
My parents startle. Mr. Bianchi claps his hands.
With a smile on his face, he utters the last words I ever expected to hear.
“I’m in. I’ll marry her.”
6
Franco
I can’t believe my eyes. It’s her. My girl is here, in my father’s living room, looking like she just walked off a Fellini film.
That face. That dress. Holy shit, those tits.
I can’t speak. I can’t catch my breath. My heart’s beating too fast. How the hell did the old man know me so well?
From the moment she gazes in my direction, her warm amber eyes awaken my heart and send it soaring. The touch of her hand weakens me. Her smile destroys every reservation I hold. As my eyes drift down to her feast of sumptuous curves, primal lust consumes me. I’m in love. Jesus H. Christ, I’m in love. This is love. I’ve fought it my entire life and now I greedily bow down before it.
Carine DuBois. Beautiful, innocent Carine.
“Pardon?” She panics but I hold her tighter.
“What’s wrong?” I run my hand across the small of her back to comfort her.
“This wasn’t supposed to happen. Daddy?” She stiffens in my arms and reaches for her parents. No one makes a move. Mr. and Mrs. Dubois have only escorted her here. They’re not doing any parenting tonight. With narrowed eyes and a shake of his head, her father warns her to play ball.
“We can take it slow. We’ll do this right.” I whisper and brings her hand to my lips.
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