by Jane Porter
And yes, right now, he was focused on her and the baby, but was it only because of the baby? How would things be after the baby was born?
Would Brando be as attentive? Would he still want her? Would he try to make her feel special?
She pictured Louisa—gorgeous, sexy, fun-loving Louisa—and felt a wave of insecurity. Charlotte hated feeling insecure. She’d had enough of that growing up in her family. It was impossible to get her parents’ attention, impossible to get anyone’s attention. She’d act out just to force one of the nannies to focus on her, hoping they’d take her to her parents, and yet when she was hauled before her parents, it never resulted in the outcome she’d wanted.
They had no time or patience for her when she was good, and they had even less time and patience when she was naughty. Gradually she learned not to look to others for affection, or validation. She would take care of herself, and learn to be happy and secure through her own actions and achievements. Once she stopped wanting her parents’ love and approval, she discovered herself, and became the person she wanted to be.
Since arriving in Tuscany she felt lost, though, and wasn’t sure who she was anymore.
She wasn’t sure about marriage and forever, either. In her family marriage didn’t equal forever. Marriage was just a source of friction and tension, with the friction growing worse until someone threw in the towel and initiated divorce.
The idea of marrying to divorce made her heartsick.
But being married to a man who didn’t want her, and might have clandestine relationships on the side, would break her.
Charlotte couldn’t escape her thoughts, or the panic rising in her, and she left bed and then left her room and headed upstairs to Brando’s bedroom. It was well past midnight and she doubted he was awake but she needed to see him, needed to hear from him that they weren’t making a terrible mistake.
She knocked lightly on his door and then opened it an inch. “Brando, are you sleeping?”
“Come in,” he said, his voice deep and sleep roughened. “Are you unwell?”
“I’m fine,” she said, stepping into his room, leaving the door slightly open behind her. “Everything’s fine. I just can’t sleep and my brain won’t turn off and I’m getting myself worked up.”
“Over what?”
“What if you don’t like being married to me?” she whispered.
“Come here,” he said, drawing back the covers, and patting the bed. “Crawl in with me.”
She did, needing his warmth, craving security. He gave her a pillow and then pulled her close, her back to his chest, his arm wrapping around her middle, before bringing the light feather duvet over both of them.
“Do you want to talk?” he asked, his deep voice husky.
“Will you regret marrying me?”
“We’re making a family. I will never regret having a family.”
A lump filled her throat. It wasn’t quite the reassurance she needed. “What about me, though? Will you regret marrying me?”
He kissed her bare shoulder. “Never.”
Her chest squeezed, air bottling in her lungs. “Promise?”
“It will not always be easy between us. We’re two strong people. But we can make it work, if we want to make it work. Does that make sense?”
“Yes.”
He pushed her hair aside and kissed the back of her neck. “We will find our happiness, cara. I am sure of that.”
And wrapped in his arms, and in his assurances, Charlotte fell asleep.
The wedding plans moved forward quickly, with the date set for the last Saturday in June, which was less than two weeks away.
Brando handled the arrangements, but he ran his ideas past her, making sure she approved. She liked his ideas and agreed with him on virtually everything, appreciating his logic, his tastes, as well as his decisiveness. Her only real objection was marrying in the historic chapel. Charlotte asked if maybe they couldn’t say their vows outside, perhaps in one of the gardens, with a view of the valley.
He agreed with her suggestion for a simple outdoor ceremony, and shared his idea for a reception in the inner courtyard, which could be illuminated with strings of white lights, and torches attached to the stone walls.
Ten days before the wedding, Livia arrived to take measurements for Charlotte’s dress, but before they could discuss dresses, there were other things Livia wanted to know. “You and Brando did not seem to like each other very much during our meetings. Clearly the rest of us did not know what was really going on behind closed doors.”
Charlotte blushed. “Nothing happened during our work together. He and I did have some issues—”
“Too much chemistry, hmm?”
“There were sparks, yes,” Charlotte admitted. “But nothing happened while I was under contract. I wouldn’t do that to you, not while working for you. It happened New Year’s Eve. He’d invited me to Enzo’s big party. That was the first time—and the only time—we got together.”
“One night and you’re pregnant?”
Charlotte grimaced. “We used protection, too. He did, I did.” She gestured helplessly to the bump. “But this one wanted to be born.”
“That’s a Ricci for you,” Livia answered with a wink. “Prepare yourself. You’re going to have your hands full. Now let’s get your measurements and discuss the kind of dress you’d like for the wedding.”
“I don’t actually have a preference,” Charlotte admitted. “I prefer clean, sophisticated designs, which is what you do. Can I just leave it to you to make whatever you think would look best on me?”
Livia embraced her, and then kissed her on each cheek. “It would be my pleasure. Leave it to me.”
A week passed, and the wedding was just days away. The guest list had swelled, with most of Brando’s family electing to stay overnight at the castello rather than make the drive back to Florence. All the decisions had been made for the wedding, too. Musicians and photographer were booked, flowers ordered, and Brando’s chef from Florence was coming to assist the castello chef and kitchen staff for the wedding weekend.
All the decisions that needed to be made were done. But Brando, who wasn’t a worrier, had concerns. The wedding, while still intimate, was no longer as small as he’d hoped, and the family and friends coming would be up late into the night, celebrating. Brando had wanted a special night for Charlotte, a wedding they’d both remember for years to come. He just hoped that it wasn’t going to be too much for her. The last thing they needed was Charlotte being rushed back to the hospital at the end of their wedding night.
From her room Charlotte could see the preparations for the ceremony and reception this weekend. The villa staff swept and scrubbed the courtyard, wiping down stones and the dozen columns supporting the arches of the inner courtyard. Planters were refreshed, topiaries pruned, and long strings of white lights were run across the courtyard, creating a tent-like canopy.
The morning of the wedding, tables were set up in the interior courtyard, and then covered with white cloths. Flowers arrived, and antique silver candelabra lined the long tables, the heavy silver candleholders matching the ornate silverware.
Livia was there to help her dress, and after her hair and makeup were done by a stylist Livia had brought from Florence, Charlotte carefully stepped into her gown.
Her gown was exquisite and what made it so beautiful was that it was perfect for her. It was her style—modern, clean and yet classic. The white silk gleamed in the sunlight, and the luxurious fabric molded to her full breasts, hugging her torso and bump, before forming a full, sophisticated skirt. There were even pockets in the skirt, a touch she adored. Normally she would have avoided such a deep plunging neckline, and yet the dramatic neckline, paired with the wide shoulder straps, looked chic, and drew the eye from her bump to her shoulders and face.
With her hair pinned up, and a long white
veil attached to the chignon, she looked like a true bride—radiant, glowing, excited.
Livia walked around Charlotte, adjusting her skirt, and then the floor-length veil. “Perfection,” she said approvingly. “Even the pearl earrings. Elegant, classic, discrete.”
Charlotte reached up and touched one pearl stud. “My mother’s.”
“Is she coming?”
Charlotte shook her head. “She couldn’t make it. Most of my family couldn’t make it. One of my sisters is on the way. She’s coming from London with her husband. They’re not here yet, but I think they should arrive soon.”
“Not to worry. You have lots of family here,” Livia answered. “The Riccis are here. You are one of us now.”
In the end, Charlotte thought her wedding was impossibly beautiful, although it wasn’t as small as Brando had intimated. Her sister and brother-in-law arrived moments before she walked down the aisle, and of course, all of Brando’s family was there—his mother, his mother’s sister, his brothers and sister, cousins, so many cousins, plus other guests, people who were “like family” to the Riccis.
They said their vows in the garden overlooking the valley with the gently rolling hills, dark green vineyards and views of the tiled roofs of the village below, and then moved to the castello’s courtyard for the dinner and music. The flowers on the table matched her bridal bouquet—the palest pink roses hand-tied with a wide pale pink satin ribbon.
She felt beautiful in the dress Livia had made for her, and Brando looked impossibly handsome in his black suit with the white shirt and dark tie. His hair was sleekly combed back, highlighting his strong cheekbones, jaw and lovely mouth. Her hand had trembled in his as they’d said the vows, but his voice was deep and steady, and he’d held her gaze the entire time, promising to honor and protect her for the rest of their lives.
During dinner Brando insisted she stay seated at the head table, asking guests to come to her. She wondered what he’d said to them as no one seemed surprised, or questioned why she left her chair only to cut the cake, and have a first dance with Brando. The song from the first dance was the same song they’d danced to on New Year’s Eve, “At Last” by Etta James. Charlotte was surprised he’d remembered, but also touched. Dancing with him beneath the stars and moon and strings of white lights was probably one of the most romantic moments in her life. Brando might not love her, but he’d gone to great pains to make tonight special. To make her feel special.
“You take my breath away,” he said, as the song came to an end.
“Thank you for a beautiful wedding, and a beautiful night,” she answered.
His head dropped and he kissed her, there in front of everyone. The kiss filled her with warmth and hope. Their families and friends applauded. Brando lifted his head and grinned. She blushed and smiled.
And then before she knew it was all over, Brando was saying he needed to carry his bride away, and he encouraged everyone to eat and drink and dance as late as they wanted as there were no neighbors nearby to disturb.
Brando literally carried her away, too, sweeping her into his arms and carrying her through the courtyard doors and up the central staircase to his room on the third floor.
She’d been here before but she’d never seen it like this. Tonight, the master bedroom glowed with dozens of white candles. They were everywhere—on the mantel, on tables, on windowsills. There were roses, too, countless white roses, and across the bed lay a delicate ivory satin nightgown with an ivory satin-and-lace robe.
“A gift from Livia,” Brando said, putting her down next to the bed. “She said every bride needs something special to wear for her wedding night.”
Charlotte suddenly felt overwhelmed by the beauty of the day, and the kindness of Brando’s sister, as well as everyone’s goodwill. Their guests had been happy for them, celebrating their marriage with toasts, hugs and laughter. “Livia has completely spoiled me,” she said, reaching to lightly stroke the satin nightgown. “I hope she knows I’m so very grateful.”
“She does.” He watched her from the foot of the bed. “How do you feel?”
“Good. A little tired. But happy.” She looked at him, and smiled, tears in her eyes. “Thank you for tonight. It was beautiful, all of it, and I’m—”
“Grateful,” he interrupted, finishing her words for her. “Yes, I know.” His mouth quirked. “But I didn’t do this for your gratitude. This was for us, and our son, so we’d have memories and photos to share with our children and grandchildren, and then they can say, Oh, you were so young!”
She smiled. “Well, thank you for giving us memories.” She glanced down at the shimmering satin nightgown. “I guess I should change.”
“Let me help you out of your gown, and then I need to get something from the library and I’ll be back.”
She turned around and he made quick work of the dozens of small hooks hidden in the seam of her gown. The bodice fell away and she caught the silk, pressing it against her breasts to keep from exposing herself.
“I have seen you naked before,” he said, a hint of amusement in his deep voice.
She blushed. “Not like this. There is so much more of me now.”
“I think you’re absolutely beautiful pregnant.”
She didn’t know what to say, and so she stood up on tiptoe, and kissed him. He caught her by the arms and pulled her closer, his mouth claiming hers, hunger and heat and possession in the kiss. Desire shot through her, bright and fierce. She wanted him badly, wanted the pressure and sensation, wanted touch and release. Everything in her craved more of him—more of his time, more of his attention, more of his heart.
She loved him, and yet she feared the love because she didn’t know how she’d ever survive this marriage if he didn’t love her back.
Brando lifted his head, gazed down into her eyes, before pressing the pad of his thumb to her full, tender lips. “There are so many things I want to do to you. It’s incredibly difficult to keep my hands off you.”
It wasn’t a declaration of love, but it was something, she thought, as he left the room and she removed her veil, and unpinned her hair, brushing it smooth before taking a bath and changing into her satin nightgown, the delicate fabric impossibly soft and light as it followed her every curve.
Brando returned, and his dinner jacket was off, and the tie gone. He’d unbuttoned his dress shirt, exposing the upper planes of his muscular, golden chest. He was carrying a bottle and two crystal flutes. “Come,” he said, going to the French doors and opening them onto his private balcony.
She followed him out, smiling as he popped the cork from the champagne and filled the two flutes. “Just a sip,” he admonished, handing her one flute. “Just for a toast.”
She took the pretty flute and glanced down at the pale gold champagne, the bubbles rising and popping.
“To you,” he said, lifting his glass. “To your beauty, to your amazing mind, to the miracle you carry. I’m lucky to call you my partner, and wife.”
Her eyes burned and a lump filled her throat. “Thank you,” she whispered, lightly touching her glass to his.
As she sipped her champagne, a loud popping sound came from the corner of the castle, and then fireworks filled the sky, a dazzling display of light.
She could hear their guests cheering below, and Brando reached for her, and kissed her as the dark sky lit up with all the colors of the rainbow. It was an extraordinary surprise, and a wonderful way to cap a magical evening.
He’d given her absolutely everything this evening but his heart.
CHAPTER NINE
THE CASTELLO WAS still full of guests the next day, with Brando’s friends and family staying over to enjoy a leisurely Sunday morning brunch before an afternoon departure.
Charlotte came downstairs for the late breakfast, hoping to see her sister Alice, but Alice and Philip had already left to catch their flight back to
London. Charlotte felt a pinch of disappointment, aware that she’d exchanged only a dozen words with her sister last night, but at least Alice and Philip had appeared to be having fun, sitting at the same table with Brando’s brothers, and talking the evening away with Marcello and Elena, Marcello’s wife.
Elena and Livia were together, drinking coffee, and Elena waved Charlotte over now. “Last night was beautiful,” Elena said to Charlotte as she joined them at their table. “And those fireworks! Did you know?”
“No, it was a complete surprise,” Charlotte answered. “I was shocked, but I shouldn’t have been. Brando did most of the planning for the wedding and it went off perfectly.”
“It did,” Livia agreed. “And you were the most radiant bride. Brando couldn’t keep his eyes from you.”
Charlotte grimaced. “He watches me constantly, afraid that I might go into labor.” She saw her sister-in-laws’ confused expressions and explained, “We had a scare a couple weeks ago. If Brando hadn’t flown me back to Florence in his helicopter, who knows what would have happened. But fortunately we got there quickly and the doctors could stop the labor. That’s why he’s so protective of me now. We want the baby to stay put as long as possible.”
Elena glanced at Livia, murmuring, “Aren’t you glad Brando married her, and not the other one? That would have been awful.”
Livia gave her head a slight shake, discouraging Elena, before smiling warmly at Charlotte. “We’ve been hoping he’d settle down, and so very glad it’s you. We’re already quite fond of you.”
“And we also know you’re not after his money like the other one,” Elena added. “Thank goodness Marcello convinced Brando to take a paternity test before the wedding—”
“The wedding?” Charlotte interrupted. “Was Brando engaged before?”
Elena looked at Livia. “Would you call it an engagement, Liv? I don’t think it was that formal. She was pregnant and he was going to marry her. Wasn’t that pretty much how it was?”