by JC Harroway
“Do not cry,” she warns. “If you cry, I’ll cry and I don’t want my mascara running down my face when I marry my Prince Charming.”
We all laugh at that and my heart misses a beat. How many times has Luca asked me about Prince Charming? Never in my entire life did I think I’d find one for myself, or that he’d be a guy I thought was so different at first.
“Limo is here,” Cara says. It’s not far to walk to the outdoor gazebo, but it’s hot and sticky and we want to look our best when we arrive. We all pile into the elevator and go quiet, an excited, nervous energy about us. We reach the lobby, and outside, the long stretch limo is waiting, the driver holding the door open for us. We all slide in, and my stomach feels like I’m about to go skydiving. I’m not sure what I’m more excited about: the wedding or setting eyes on Luca in his tux.
After a short drive, we step from the car, and inside the glassed-in gazebo, I search the gathering crowd for Luca and find him standing with Tate and talking to the minister. My heart misses a beat as I admire him from afar. As if feeling my eyes on him, he angles his head and our gazes lock. His eyes narrow, and he scrubs a hand over his clean-shaven chin. I take in his stance, the tightness in his body. I know that look. He was acting the same way at last night’s cocktail party. He’s agitated about something, that much I know. Is he nervous about standing up there in front of the guests? I know I’m anxious about walking down the aisle and doing a face-plant. Or is something else entirely bothering him?
I don’t currently have time to think about it, as we’re all arranged, ready to walk down the aisle. A couple of guests stop to take a picture of us as we head inside, and we all slowly make our way to the altar. I smile and concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other. Tate smiles at me, and I return it and then look to Luca, who is staring at me with heat in his eyes. For a minute I envision I’m the bride and he’s waiting up there for me. My heart rushes a little faster, and I’m certain my cheeks have turned a deeper shade of pink.
I take my place, and Cara stands beside me. Amber comes down next, and after she positions herself, the music changes and everyone stands. I glance at Tate and hear an audible gasp as his beautiful bride makes her way toward him. With a tight throat, and tears threatening, I gaze at Summer in her gown, her arm on Granddad’s. With no family of her own, she asked my grandfather to walk her down the aisle, and as I look at him now, a huge smile on his face, I’m so happy she did. Will he give me away to Luca someday? With that thought pinging around inside my brain, I turn my head and find Luca staring at me. I draw my bottom lip between my teeth and turn to the minister when Summer takes her position.
The guests sit, and the minister begins the ceremony. I hold my flowers tighter, the sweet scent teasing my senses as the vows and rings are exchanged. Tate leans in for a kiss, and we all clap. The newlyweds turn, huge smiles on their faces as they walk out, and we all follow. The next hour races by in a blur as we get pictures taken in the gardens. I need to talk to Luca, but now is not the time or place. It will have to wait until the reception later on.
Soon enough we’re all back in the Raydolins’ ballroom, seated around the head table, with our meals being served. I make small talk to Cara and Amber, and nibble on my food even though I don’t have much of an appetite. I’m both excited and nervous to talk to Luca, to find out where we go from here.
After the cake is served and the dishes are cleared, the lights dim, and Summer and Tate make their way to the dance floor. I sniff back the tears as the newlyweds hold one another, begin their new life to a beautiful song. The waltz ends, and Summer calls everyone to the dance floor. I sit back for a second, and when Summer and Tate come my way, I give them both a big hug.
“I need to change,” Summer says.
“I can help,” I say.
“That would be great.” She gives Tate a kiss.
“Hurry back,” he says. “I have plans for us.”
“I can’t wait,” Summer says.
“Get a room already,” I tease, and Tate laughs.
“That’s the plan,” he says.
I help Summer with her train as we head to our rooms, and once we get inside, I work all the tiny buttons free on the back of her dress. She slides out of it, and I hang it for her as she slips into her going-away dress.
“You look beautiful,” I say.
“So do you. I can’t believe Luca hasn’t torn that dress off you by now.”
I laugh at that and catch my reflection in the mirror.
“You go on down. I’m going to freshen up a bit,” I say, wanting to look my best for when I talk to Luca. I go through the adjoining door and reach for my makeup case on the dresser, but when I do I notice the little piece of white paper sticking out of Luca’s jacket pocket. The jacket Summer had been meaning to give him.
Excited and thinking he left me a note last night—since I’ve left a couple for him—I pull it out, but the bottom drops out of my world when I read the plea scribbled on the page. I back up until my knees hit the bed, and I fall onto the mattress. Tears prick my eyes, and I try to breathe but can’t seem to fill my lungs. I swipe at my face, sure I’m misreading this, sure that Luca doesn’t have to return to Italy, to his fiancée, and marry before his thirtieth birthday, taking his rightful position as duke—or his father’s conglomerates will go to his cousin.
What. The. Hell.
I lift my head, gaze around the room, recalling the way he came to me last night, making sweet love to me on this very bed. Could I have been so wrong about him? Could he still be that same selfish, arrogant guy I met at Oxford? I shake the letter in my hand and read it for the third time. Is this some kind of joke?
Desperate for answers, I run to the bathroom, fix my face and grab Luca’s suit jacket before heading back down to the dance, determined to find Luca and get to the bottom of matters. I tap a restless foot, but the elevator seems slower than usual, and when I finally reach the main lobby, I step off. My footsteps slow when off in a corner—like he doesn’t want to be seen—I catch a glimpse of Luca and a man who looks familiar. Why do I feel like I know him? I blink once, twice and then suddenly the tumblers fall into place. Holy shit! It’s the man from the newspaper. The elderly gentleman escorting Marco L. Marino to his car. They must all be related.
My heart leaps into my throat and a noise beside me draws my attention. I turn to find Granddad coming my way, his cane hitting the ground with a monstrous thud with each hurried step.
“Brianna,” he says, deep concern edging his cloudy eyes.
“Granddad,” I say and turn back to see Luca, take in the concern etched on his face. His head lifts, and he goes stiff when he sees me with his jacket draped over my arm, his letter in my hand.
He stands, and so does the man with him, and I don’t even realize my feet are moving, crossing the wide expanse of marble, until we’re face-to-face.
I open my mouth to speak but stop when he says, “I can explain.” He takes the letter from me. “My father, his will—” he begins, but the man with him cuts him off.
“Luca, I’ll be in the rental outside, waiting,” the elderly gentleman says. He nods at me, turns to say something in Italian to Luca and then walks off, his gait tired, crooked, much like Granddad’s.
I stare at Luca and realize he’s not denying what’s in the letter; he’s trying to explain it. I take that moment to wrap my brain around everything that’s happened between us, from our college days until this very moment, and what it all means.
Luca is a duke, has a fiancée waiting for him in Massara, and nothing between us was real, not back at Oxford and not here in the Alps. He wasn’t falling for me; he was just having sex. The fact that he has a girl waiting for him makes him a two-timing jerk. I’ve had one too many of those in my life already.
“Brianna—”
I hold my hand up to stop him. “You don’t need to explain an
ything.” I force out a laugh, determined to portray indifference. “Don’t you get it?” I ask.
He reaches for me and I inch away, unable to have his hands on me. “Brianna,” he says. “Listen to me.”
“No, you listen to me. I know who you are, Luca. We met back at Oxford, at a party.”
His head drops, and he nods. Jesus, so all along he knew who I was, too.
“I was wondering why you were pretending you didn’t know me,” he says.
A laugh bubbles in my throat, and it comes out almost manic. “Oh, because I was just playing with you. The same way you played with me that night.”
His brow furrows as he stares at me. “What are you talking about?”
“Give me a break,” I say and roll my eyes. “Have fun with the pudgy freshman, pretend you like her, walk her home and close the door in her face. I bet you and the guys had a good laugh over that.”
He steps toward me, and I take a measured step back, tears pounding against the back of my eyes. “Brianna, you don’t understand—”
I poke his chest and wish I hadn’t touched him. “No, Luca, what you don’t understand is I set this up as payback. That first night at your spot.” I do air quotes around spot as heartache wells up inside me. I’m not normally spiteful or mean—then again I’ve been doing a lot of things this week that I’ve never done before—but I strike back with, “I decided to seduce you, take you back to your place and leave you hanging.” I give a casual shrug even though there is a storm going on inside my stomach, tossing the contents around and making me nauseated. “Then I thought, why not just use him for sex. Take from him now what I thought I was going to get from him back then.”
His shoulders sag, and his lips part, his eyes dark, pained. The sound of him swallowing as he digests my words curls around me. “Are you serious? This was all a game to you?”
“Of course it was.” I wave a dismissive hand. “So go, marry your fiancée. Or don’t. I don’t care one way or another.” I shove his jacket into his arms, and with my head held high I float past him on my heels. Fearing I’ll never make it to the elevator before the floodgates open, I walk back into the dimly lit ballroom and search for a quiet, dark corner where I can give myself a good, hard lecture and cry my eyes out in private.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Luca
IN MY LATE father’s study, I pace to the window and pull back the curtain to see my mother tending to the weeds in one of her many flower beds. Tall trees line the long driveway of our massive family estate, and bright flowers burst from the gardens throughout. But not even the vibrantly colored foliage, or the bright sunshine feeding them, can lighten my mood.
Brianna was playing a game with me?
I’ve been home for a little over ten days, and I still can’t wrap my brain around that truth, still can’t quite loosen the knot in my gut. While one part of me is angry, there is another part that tells me I have no right to be. I kept things from her, too, important things.
A dark car slowly crawls up the driveway, and my mom stands to wave to my uncle Gio. It shouldn’t have surprised me when he showed up at the wedding that night, begging me to come back sooner rather than later. After Marco’s latest antics, which were splashed in every newspaper, Gio needed me home, taking my rightful place at the head of the family so I could get things in order and prepare for his retirement.
I drop the curtain and pace around the room. I glance around, and my father’s presence hits like a physical blow. Grief presses down on me, heavy, suffocating, squeezing the air from my lungs. I miss him, goddammit. I miss my brother, too. As I catalogue the room, my throat tightens, and I fist my hands, shove them into my pants.
This office has been waiting for me to stand up and be the man everyone needs me to be. I want to live up to my dad’s expectations. Make him proud. But how the hell can I do it without the woman I love beside me? Dad was a free thinker, a man who stood up for what he believed in, even if it went against tradition. Putting a stipulation like marriage on his surviving son makes no sense to me, doesn’t seem like the sort of thing he’d do at all. None of this adds up.
As I think about that—and something niggles in the back of my mind, something just out of reach—Uncle Gio comes into the office. He’d been looking into the marriage clause, trying to find a way around it. Even if he does, the only woman I really want with me has been playing a revenge game, payback for something she thinks I did.
But was it really all a game to her?
There is a part of me that doesn’t believe that. How could a woman touch and kiss the way she did if deeper feelings weren’t involved? She even did special things to please me, like a day kiteboarding when she feared it herself. Something isn’t adding up there, either.
As Uncle Gio takes the chair on the other side of the desk, my thoughts once again wander to Brianna. My heart beats a little faster, pounds harder against my rib cage. I love her. I love her so goddamn much, it hurts. I pinch my eyes shut, recall the adventures we took, the games we played, the way she touched me, kissed me. The way her body opened up for me, welcomed me in like we were made for each other.
We are made for each other.
I slowly open my eyes, and the frown on Uncle Gio’s face is a good indication that he’s not been able to find a way around the marriage clause.
“I’m sorry, Luca,” he says. “It’s ironclad. Marco and I went over the details these last few days. Your fiancée is aware that you are home, and she’s waiting for you.”
“Why did she even agree to this?”
“I’m sure her father pushed her to do the right thing after the reading of the will. He was your father’s best friend, and this will make her a duchess.”
“It’s not the right thing.” I lean forward, brace my elbows on the desk and grab a fistful of hair. I pinch my lids shut again and work diligently to find a solution to this. I can’t marry some girl when I’m in love with another woman, even if she doesn’t reciprocate those feelings. I just can’t. As betrayal eats at me, rakes my insides raw and leaves me bleeding, my mother steps into the room. I straighten, not wanting her to see me like this. My gaze meets with dark eyes identical to mine, and I force a smile.
“Your flowers look lovely,” I say in a light tone I don’t feel.
Mom’s eyes narrow, her gaze bobbing back and forth between me and Uncle Gio. “Does someone want to tell me what’s going on?”
“Nothing,” I say. “Everything is fine.”
“Everything is not fine,” she says and puts her hands on her hips. “You’ve been traveling from one place to the other for years, and now you come home and you’re miserable.”
“I’m not miserable. I just—”
“Do you not want to be here, Luca?”
“I do,” I say. “I want to be here. I want to be here for you and make Dad proud. It’s just that...”
She takes a step closer, those astute eyes moving over my face. “Who is she?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Who is this woman who has you twisted into knots.”
I shake my head. I never could get anything by my mother. “It doesn’t matter.”
Her lips pinch. “I’d say it does matter.”
“There are some...obstacles.” Although I’m beginning to second-guess everything, including what Brianna told me. I can’t help but think what started as payback turned into something more. After discovering all my secrets, did she lash out to protect herself? The truth is, I never meant to hurt her at Oxford, and I never meant to hurt her now.
Fight for her. Go to New York. Apologize. If that doesn’t work, tie her to the bed until she sees things your way.
But what about obligation?
I do a quick mental tally of my trust fund. If Marco drains the businesses, I could use my personal funds to ensure my mother stays in the family esta
te, make sure she’s taken care of for the rest of her life. I might not be able to do all the charitable work I want, not yet anyway, but if I join a practice I could do some pro bono work and give back to my peerage. My heart beats a little faster as I consider that scenario. It might not be ideal, but it’s a solution, at least for now.
Wait, what am I saying?
I’m saying I’m choosing love!
I suck in a fast breath, my adrenaline pumping, urging me to run to the airport and catch the next plane to New York. Fight for the woman I love.
“Do you have any idea how many obstacles stood in the way of your father and me?” she asks. “He was an aristocrat, with certain expectations placed on him. I was the gardener’s daughter. We were from different worlds, but despite it all, we weathered the storm and had a beautiful life together.”
I scoff. “Then why did he put a stipulation in his will that I marry his friend’s daughter?”
My mother’s head rears back. “I have no idea what you are talking about.” She looks at Gio. “Do you know what he’s talking about?”
Gio runs his hand along his balding head and sinks a little into his seat. “He must marry before his thirtieth birthday, or the conglomerates go to Marco. You were too distraught after the accident and weren’t in Marco’s office when he went over the will with us.”
“If you’ll excuse me for a moment,” she says and disappears from the office.
I glance at Uncle Gio, searching his face for some sort of explanation, but he shrugs. We sit in silence, and a few minutes later my mother comes in with a large envelope, yellowed from age.
“Here,” she says and hands it to me.
“What’s this?” I ask as I open it and pull out the papers. Uncle Gio sits up a little straighter in his chair and leans over the desk.
“That is your father’s will. I was with him when he wrote it up many years ago and signed it in front of me. Believe me, I’d know if he’d changed it. There is no marriage stipulation in it, Luca. I suspect if you take a look at the will Marco showed you, and compare the signatures, you might find some discrepancies.”