by Day Leclaire
Tonight she’d take the dream.
Chapter Eight
She was gone.
Marco came instantly awake. He didn’t try to explain this new awareness of Caitlyn’s presence or absence, but simply tossed back the covers to go in search of his wife. He tracked her down raiding the refrigerator. To his amusement, she’d prepared a snack for two.
“I see by all those sandwiches that you knew I’d come,” he said with a yawn.
“Yes.” He caught a hint of resignation in her voice. “No doubt you’ll say it’s The Inferno.”
He took the plate from her and set it aside. Wrapping his arms around her, he rested his forehead against hers. “It still bothers you, doesn’t it?”
“Yes.”
Simple and concise and down-to-the-bones honest. He appreciated that about her. “Do you think The Inferno makes what we feel for each other less real?” he asked.
Despite the lack of light, he could see her gaze grow troubled. “If our relationship is all at the whim of this Inferno, then it isn’t because of who I am as a person. Or who you are, for that matter. We’re just mated to each other without anything in common other than sexual attraction. How long do you think that’s going to last?”
“Got it.” He cut straight to the heart of the matter. “You want security. You want assurances. You want to know that we’re still going to be together fifty years from now.”
She choked on a laugh that contained more than a hint of tears. “I’ll take a year, for now. Even a week. But I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. For it to all go horribly wrong. If what we feel is due to The Inferno, then it’s fantasy, not reality.”
“It’s more than that, Caitlyn, and you know it.” He leaned back against the kitchen counter and cushioned her against his chest. “Either The Inferno is real or it’s fantasy. If it’s fantasy, it’ll end and you’ll get hurt. But if it’s real, you’re afraid your ability to make your own choices in life will be taken out of your control.”
Caitlyn nodded. “What if we decide we don’t like each other? What if we aren’t able to build a lasting foundation together? What if we discover that our goals in life are entirely different? According to you, we’re trapped together forever.”
Okay, that hurt. “Do you feel trapped, cara?”
“Sometimes,” she confessed.
He cupped her face and kissed her, imbuing it with as much tenderness and reassurance as he could. “I suspect that’s true of all love, not just with The Inferno. You haven’t lost a piece of yourself. You’ve gained something you didn’t have before. At least, I have.”
Instead of relaxing, her frown deepened. “But when The Inferno happened, didn’t you feel as though you’d lost all control?”
“Of course. And I understand you feel the need to direct your own life.” He shrugged. “I have no intention of interfering with that.”
“You already have,” she pointed out softly.
A hint of impatience colored his words. “Honey, no one has total control over their lives and most have only limited self-direction. Control is the illusion, self-direction the fantasy.”
“It’s my illusion and my fantasy, just as The Inferno is yours,” she insisted stubbornly.
“You refuse to believe it might exist because of your grandmother.” He could see he was treading on dangerous ground, but no longer cared. “Your bedtime story may have been a cautionary one of lost dreams. Mine was more along the lines of ‘The Big Bad Wolf.’ You know, the one with all those annoying little pigs.”
A brief smile flirted with her mouth, a mouth he’d practically ravaged only hours earlier. “I believe that was ‘The Three Little Pigs.’”
“Yeah, well, at the tender age of three, I was a blood-thirsty little savage and cheering for the wolf. The point is, I’m well aware that if we build our foundation with straw that it will get blown away. Or we can build it with stone so it withstands the fiercest storms. We choose the tools and materials. We also choose our dreams. Together.”
“You make it sound so simple.” She hesitated and he could practically see her organizing her little list of ifs, ands, and buts. “This obsession of yours isn’t logical, Marco. I don’t understand why you’re so dead set on believing in a fairy tale. So set that you’d marry a woman you only knew for five minutes.”
His mouth tightened and a hint of old pain came and went in his eyes. “My parents were excellent examples of the worst a marriage can be, just as Primo and Nonna were excellent examples of the best. My grandparents heeded The Inferno when it struck, and their marriage is fast approaching six decades. My father ignored it, and he never knew a happy day in all his married life.”
Her eyes widened in shock. “You’re kidding. I assumed . . . Your mother wasn’t—”
He shook his head. “Dad’s Inferno bride, no. She was a business transaction. Despite Primo’s warnings, my father married my mother for the good of Dantes, though even that didn’t turn out the way either of my parents planned.” He had to make her understand. “You may think it’s superstition or fantasy. But I lived with the reality. I’ll take anything else over that.”
“Oh, Marco. I’m so sorry.”
He could see the lingering doubt, could tell that she thought his actions in marrying her were an overreaction. “Listen to me, cara. If I hadn’t made the choice I did, if I hadn’t swept you off to Nevada and married you, Lazz would have eventually found a rational argument to convince you to marry him. The only person I’ve ever met more logical than you is him.” She started to interrupt and he cut her off. “If you hadn’t married me, if you’d married my brother instead, it wouldn’t have just been the two of us who’d have suffered, but Lazz and his future wife, as well. He may not thank me for what I did right now, but that will change when he experiences The Inferno for himself.”
She shook her head in wonder. “You really believe this.”
“I do.” He held her gaze. “And before long, so will you. I don’t care how long it takes, or what I have to do to convince you, eventually you’ll believe in The Inferno.”
For the first time since they’d been married, Caitlyn arrived at the apartment without Marco. He had a meeting with Nicolò that he’d warned might run late, and sure enough, it had. She changed into jeans and a tee, then wandered restlessly through the apartment. It had an uncomfortably empty feel. She’d never realized how much her husband filled it up with his personality until he wasn’t there.
There were signs of her presence around the place now, bits and pieces that Marco had plucked from her apartment and scattered about his. He hadn’t pressured her to give up her old lease. At least, not yet. And she appreciated his patience. But little by little her apartment became emptier and emptier while his became fuller and more complete.
Most interesting of all, her personal treasures had found places here, places where they fit and meshed. Her grandmother’s silver tea service gleamed proudly atop Marco’s chiffonier in the dining room. Her collection of blown glass knickknacks glittered softly along the fireplace mantel. Her mysteries competed with his science fiction books. And their clothes, which had started out rigidly organized into proper his-and-hers sides of the closet had somehow met in the middle and mated into a colorful collection of “theirs.”
She glanced at the box of files she’d brought home and stretched out on the couch with a sigh. Might as well get to work. Maneuvering the box onto the endmost couch cushion by her feet, she perched her reading glasses on the tip of her nose and pulled out the first stack of files.
She’d found a number of confusing records buried among the personal papers and wanted to take her time and sort through them in order to determine how best to handle the information they contained. Before she could do more than flip open the first folder, she heard Marco’s key in the lock.
There was a confusingly long pause. Then, “Cara?”
She couldn’t stop a smile from spreading across her face. “In here.”
&nb
sp; He appeared in the archway between the living room and hallway, a briefcase in one hand, a newspaper in the other. She could tell from his face that something was wrong and sat up.
“What’s happened?”
“Damn rag. I found it shoved under our door.” He tossed it to her. “Let me warn you, you’re not going to like it.”
That explained what had slowed him at the door. She adjusted her glasses and the newsprint swam into focus. Marital mix-up . . . Marco or Lazz? Confused bride is tricked at the altar. With an exclamation of fury, she ripped through the pages to the article the front teaser had alluded to. “My God, Marco, they know. It’s all here. That I was dating Lazz first. That I met you and you pretended to be your brother. How we ran off to Nevada for a spur-of-the-moment marriage. The fight. They’ve chronicled every last detail.”
“Not every detail, I hope.”
Delicate color washed across her cheekbones, though whether from anger or embarrassment, she couldn’t have said for certain. “No, not every detail. But close enough. When did this come out? I wonder if it’s what set Britt off. It would certainly explain a lot.”
“It’s possible, though I doubt Britt needs anything specific to set her off.” He joined Caitlyn on the couch and unceremoniously dumped the box of files onto the floor. Stretching out his legs in front of him, he leaned against the back cushion and loosened his tie. “Something’s bothering me about these articles and I haven’t quite put my finger on what it is.”
“You mean something more than the articles themselves?”
“Yeah.” He scooped up her legs and pulled them across his lap. His large hands closed over her sock-covered feet and began to absentmindedly knead the narrow arch.
“This last month or so they’ve changed in tenor.”
Ever since that night on the plane he’d continued his habit of massaging her feet, something that never failed to drive her straight up the wall. She stretched like a cat, sending the stack of files cascading off her lap and scattering across the hardwood floor. Marco started to get up to rescue them and she planted her toes against his rock-hard abs and pushed him back down. No way was he going anywhere anytime soon.
“Forget the files. I’ll get them later. Tell me how the articles have changed. What’s different about them?”
He subsided against the cushions. “They’ve gotten personal. Vindictive. Yes, I think that’s it.” His brow creased in thought. “I mean, before, they’d write up some chatty little piece about a party we’d attended, who we were dating. Every once in a while, there’d be a slight hiss or meow behind the captions. But nothing damaging.”
“It’s sure damaging now. It’s gotten downright personal.”
“That’s exactly what’s bothering me. It is personal. And damn specific.” His frown deepened. “Too specific, now that I think about it. Whoever’s writing these articles must have a mole working at Dantes. It’s the only explanation.”
“You must be kidding.”
Marco shook his head, smiling a bit at her shock. “It’s not unheard of. And it’s not like we have our employees sign a confidentiality agreement regarding the family’s personal life.”
“Maybe you should start.”
“I’ll mention it to Sev. Get legal on it. In the meantime, if we can find the person passing on the information, we can cut off The Snitch’s source and salvage the Romano account.”
Oh, dear. “Have we lost it?”
“I like the way you say ‘we.’” He reached out a long arm and snagged the neckline of her tee, pulling her in for a lingering kiss. “And no, we haven’t lost the account. Yet. I warned them this would come out. Too many people overheard the commotion when we returned to Dantes the morning after our wedding for it not to have hit The Snitch. But the very fact that the fight is detailed so precisely in the article is evidence that the rag has an internal source of information.”
“What I don’t understand is why it’s such a big deal for the Romanos if the Dantes are featured in this thing.” She balled up the newspaper and tossed it toward the fireplace. “I’m serious, Marco. Why does it matter what a stateside rag prints about you and your family? It can’t have that serious an impact on the Romanos.”
Marco shrugged. “They have a reputation to protect. According to Vittorio, scandal doesn’t touch the Romanos. Nor does it touch the Romanos’ associates, or they’re no longer associated.”
“Huh. That seems a bit over the top.” She lifted an eyebrow. “Doesn’t his reaction strike you as excessive?”
“That’s Vittorio for you. He’s ferocious when it comes to guarding the Romano name and I gather he doesn’t want The Snitch turning its investigative light on him.”
“Makes sense.” She gave it a moment’s consideration. “I guess a family that old must have a lot of skeletons they’d rather not have uncovered, especially if they’re publicity shy.”
“Let’s just hope to God they don’t find out about The Inferno. We consider the Inferno intensely private. No one knows about it, except family, and we intend to keep it that way.” Marco rolled onto his hip to face her.
“Let’s forget about the Romanos. And The Snitch’s snitch. And everything Dantes. There’s only one thing I care about right now.”
She couldn’t help grinning. “And what would that be, Mr. Dante?” she asked, all wide-eyed innocence.
He maneuvered on top of her and plastered every foot of hard male body over every inch of hers, pressing her deep into the soft cushions. He plucked her glasses off the end of her nose and carefully set them aside. “I’m sure we’ll come up with something.”
It wasn’t until hours later that they drifted from couch to bed. Their clothes had long since disappeared into the jumble of files and documents papering the floor. And Caitlyn simply left them there, something that would have been unheard of a few short weeks ago.
The next morning was a different story and she zipped around, gathering up the papers while Marco rescued their clothing. She didn’t bother sorting or organizing—something else unheard of only weeks before—but dumped everything haphazardly into the box. She reached for a final stapled document when Lazz’s name, coupled with the Romanos’, practically jumped off the page. She scanned swiftly, aware that if they didn’t leave soon they’d both be late for work. But what she read had her rocking back on her heels.
“What is it?” Marco asked. “What’s the holdup?”
“Nothing.” She shoved the document into the box and tamped down the lid. “Let’s go.”
“Seriously, what is it?”
She avoided his gaze and retrieved her purse and briefcase. “Just a document I need to read more carefully. I can do that when we get to work.” All business now, she gestured toward the box. “Would you mind carrying it out to the car for me?”
To her relief, the moment passed. The instant Marco dropped her off at the warehouse, she made a beeline for her temporary office and ripped off the lid of the box. She snatched up the document and read it three times before she could convince herself that it was authentic. A second document followed the first, this one in Italian. But she suspected it said the exact same thing as the English version.
She didn’t waste any further time. After concealing the document within the protective cover of a file folder, she called for a cab to take her to Dantes’ corporate building and, once there, waited impatiently for the elevator to sweep her up to the finance department. Britt sat in the small reception area just outside Lazz’s office, and Caitlyn hesitated. She’d forgotten she’d have to go through Britt to get to Lazz.
Caitlyn clutched the file against her chest. “Is he free?” she asked, striving for casual and breezy.
“Change your mind already?” Britt asked with a laugh. “Poor Marco.”
“Seriously, Britt. It’s important and I’m short on time.”
Her friend’s expression cooled. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Dante. I didn’t mean to keep you waiting. I’ll see if Lazz is available.” She p
icked up the phone and hit a button.
“Your sister-in-law is here to see you. No, Marco’s wife. She claims it’s urgent. Certainly. I’ll send her right in.”
The second she hung up the phone, Caitlyn tried again. “Look, I’m sorry. It’s just that this is rather urgent. I didn’t mean to be rude.”
“That’s okay.” Britt offered a smile that did nothing to hide the anger in her eyes and warned the interaction between them was far from okay. “I’d be equally as unpleasant, if I’d just figured out what Marco was pulling on the job front. I wondered how long it would take you.”
Caitlyn released her breath in a sigh. She shouldn’t ask. Shouldn’t play into Britt’s game. “Found out what?” she asked wearily.
The other woman took her time, savoring each word. “That this project they’ve dumped in your lap is a put on. I mean, doesn’t it just bug you right down to the bones that you’re stuck working in that dump of a warehouse all because Marco wants to keep you away from Lazz?” She smiled knowingly. “Not that it’s worked, because here you are.”
It took every ounce of self-control not to react, not to hit out and cause any further talk that might find its way into The Snitch. “Excuse me, won’t you?” she said, and swept past Britt’s desk and into Lazz’s office.
Caitlyn closed the door behind her and leaned against it, struggling to calm down. So much for friendship. Francesca had warned her, but she’d hoped against hope to prove her sister-in-law wrong. That Britt would work through whatever lingering issues stood between them. But maybe there was no working through them. Caitlyn found it a hard fact to accept.
“Caitlyn?” Lazz shot to his feet. “What’s happened? You look like hell.”
She almost confided in Lazz and explained the issues between her and Britt. But she hesitated to involve him. She and Britt might not be friends any longer, but she didn’t want to cost the other woman her job. Suddenly aware of the file she clutched, she used that as an excuse to explain her distress.