Confessions of an Italian Marriage Page 11

  “When did you have this built?” It couldn’t have been thrown together within the last few months, not with this much tasteful attention to his specialized details.

  “A few years ago. Before we met.”

  “It’s not listed among your assets.” She’d been through his portfolio of investments and properties umpteen times with Nels and lawyers and predators from his various corporate headquarters.

  “As you guessed very quickly in our marriage, I lead—rather, I used to lead—it’s over. I led a double life. About ten years ago, I discovered the crash that killed my family was deliberate. Someone had been trying to bribe my father. He refused so he was permanently removed from his post. Everett was a friend of Stefano’s who had connections at Interpol. One thing led to another and I’ve been working with him ever since.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Collecting intelligence.”

  “You’re a spy?”

  “That makes me sound as though I’m dropping from helicopters and kicking in doors. I talk to people, uncover hidden relationships and follow the money. If we’re lucky, we compile enough evidence to expose corruption and make arrests.”

  She ought to be more incredulous, but it fit so neatly into all the strange prevarications during their short marriage. The private calls and the disappearing for meetings that weren’t on his calendar. Maybe she was latching on to the explanation out of relief. It was a damned sight better to hear he was a secret agent than a cheating husband.

  “But if you had all this to hide...why did you marry me?”

  “You know why we married,” he said gruffly.

  They were only a few feet apart, close enough to see each other’s eyes. His were bleak and gathering with questions, but a gulf opened between them. A chasm. A wide, throbbing wound that pulsed painfully in her ears and stung her nostrils and scorched her throat.

  She wasn’t ready to talk about that. Couldn’t.

  “I mean, why did you let it get that far?” she choked. “Why even ask me to dinner? Why...?” He had brought her home and told her to be the sensible one that first night. She hadn’t had the confidence to drag him into a relationship. He had pursued her. He must know he had!

  A muscle pulsed in his jaw before he said without emotion, “The way we met, the fact you mentioned Stefano, seemed suspicious. You had a full dossier in the system.”

  “What system?”

  “The system. You’d been questioned about your time in North Korea. Everett and I thought you might still have connections there.”

  “You thought I was a spy?” Now she was flabbergasted.

  “It seemed possible. Everett thought—”

  “I don’t care what Everett thought! You thought I could be a secret agent? Is that right? You thought that I knew you were a spy and I targeted you? You thought I gave you my virginity, got pregnant and married you because I wanted to—what? Expose you? Pump you for information? I’m not that complicated! I just wanted—”

  Her throat locked over a lump of emotion as she contemplated the dreams that had died between then and now.

  “Freja.” His voice was ragged, his brow pulled with torture.

  “I want out of this dress.”

  * * *

  Freja flung around, skirt swirling. The silk fluttered behind her as she sailed down the hall and found the guest room.

  Giovanni stayed where he was, head tilted against the back of his chair. His eyes were closed, but he still saw her face. The betrayal in her eyes, the anguish around her mouth.

  He reflexively tried to push that image into a mental vault along with the ache in his throat, but it didn’t work.

  From the time he’d woken seventeen years ago, after a car crash that left him nothing of the life he’d known, Giovanni had become very good at compartmentalizing. Rather than deal with the grief of losing his family, he focused on overcoming the physical pain of his recovery. Rather than resent his inability to live in his family home because it couldn’t accommodate his wheelchair, he had focused on athletics that took him to far-off places. If his chair held him back from the wild pursuits of youth, he concentrated on making money. Doors were always thrown wide open for gold.

  Then, when he took the reins of his father’s business from the trustee and finally decided to face his past by going through old papers, he had found the evidence of attempted bribery.

  Emotions had roared to life in him. Injustice. Hatred for the perpetrators. Intense bitterness at the personal injury he’d suffered for such paltry reasons as jockeying among energy sector bids. He should have blown open like a volcano. Instead, he had pushed all that emotion back inside him to use as fuel. He had gone to Everett and focused on proving the crime, naming names and dismantling that small tangle of venality.

  Afterward, when he was still confronted with a life that was tormentingly empty, he had brushed aside any soul-searching and leaped on Everett’s request for assistance with the next assignment and the next.

  So he ought to be able to handle and dismiss the remorse he felt right now. He ought to be able to think past it and know what to do, but no matter how hard he tried to set aside his emotions, it didn’t work. It had never worked with Freja. He had been sitting here for three months, tortured by what he was doing to her.

  “Ahh!”

  Her distressed scream had him flying down the hall to the closed door of the guest room.

  “Freja.” He yanked at the latch, surprised to find it unlocked, and pushed in.

  She stood in the middle of the room, wild-eyed, face flushed and hair mussed. Her hands were clenched in the edge of lace across the tops of her breasts.

  “I can’t get out of it.” She fairly shook with rage.

  “I thought you were being murdered.” His limbs were shaking with the adrenaline that had sent him racing in here. He rolled in far enough to throw the door shut behind him. “Sit.” He motioned to the corner of the bed.

  She plopped down, back still heaving with exertion as she slumped with her elbows on her thighs and dropped her face into her hands.

  For one second, he just looked. He drank in the sad slope of her shoulders, the fall of her scattered hair, her ivory skin and the bow of her back and the slip of a waist that was far too thin. The longing in him to pick her up and draw her into his lap was so intense he shook with the effort to resist it.

  Very gently, he reached out to sweep her hair to the front of her shoulder, exposing her delicate nape. Dear God, he could live his entire life with his lips pressed to that sensitive spot that always made her quiver and sigh with bliss.

  He wanted to pet his hand down her back, soothe her, draw her in. Make up and make love.

  He forced himself to release the first tiny button, then the next. There were at least two dozen. It felt like hundreds, every single one too small for his big, clumsy fingers.

  “You don’t have to be so careful. It’s ruined anyway.”

  There was a jealous, betrayed husband in him that wanted to rip this offensive dress right off her. How dare she spend his money on a dress for a wedding to another man?

  But if he tore it in haste, he wouldn’t be able to sit this close and watch that narrow strip of spine appear, would he? He wouldn’t see her erratic breaths catch and her shoulder blades flex in reaction to his touch.

  “Why all this pageantry if you knew you couldn’t go through with the wedding?”

  “I presumed if you let it happen then you really did plan to stay dead, so what did it matter if I was breaking the law? And my income depends on clicks, doesn’t it? The bigger the dress, the higher the view count.”

  And the higher the chance he would see it? He allowed his fingertips to graze her warm skin.

  She sat straighter, but he couldn’t tell if that was reaction or rejection.

  “Your blog says you knew him at s
chool. I thought all the men there were twits who failed to impress you?”

  “I couldn’t help being impressed by Nels. He’s very intelligent, but was always very focused on his studies. Now that he’s written the bar, he has time for a relationship.”

  “So you’re sleeping with him.” It made him sick.

  She jerked to her feet and spun to confront him, catching at the gaping front of her dress. “Do you have the right to question me on whether I was faithful when you were pretending to be dead?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “You knew I was alive. You knew we were still married.”

  “But I didn’t know where you were or whether you would ever show your face again. You were dead enough. For all I knew, you were sleeping with other people.”

  “Kurt and Marie are not into swinging. Aside from them, Everett and the pilot—neither of whom is my type—are the only people I’ve seen between leaving hospital and getting you today.”

  “Poor you. I’ve had nothing but offers. It’s amazing how alluring a woman is when she has a billion dollars to her name. Nels is the only man I trust these days. That includes you.”

  “So you’re marrying him for protection?” Not love?

  “No one was coming to save me, Giovanni. You weren’t. I had to look after myself and I have.” Her chin came up and scorched flags of anger sat on her cheekbones. “I guess I’m being unnecessarily modest. If you were interested in seeing any of this, you would have shown up sooner.”

  She dragged her dress down, exposing her braless breasts. The pale globes jiggled as she worked the gown past her hips and left it as a mound on the floor, like a pile of melted snow.

  He stopped breathing as he ate up her lissome figure. His entire being came alive as though he was feeling sunshine for the first time after a decade in prison. Her beige underpants looked paper-thin. They hugged her hips from her navel to the tops of her thighs, seamless as yoga shorts. He wanted to touch them, feel her warmth through the fine silk.

  She turned to a drawer and shook out a lemon-yellow T-shirt. She dropped it over her head, then stepped into a pair of jeans from the next drawer. They were a little loose. She’d definitely lost weight.

  “Nels has probably seen the video.” She picked up her phone off the top of the dresser. “I should let him know I’m fine. What’s the password to get online?”

  “He’ll see that you were with your husband. Since he’s so intelligent, I’m sure he’ll figure out the wedding is off.”

  She threw her phone onto the bed, temper instantly relit and now incandescent, beautiful in the way that the lightning strike that kills you fills you with awe at the same time.

  “Or he’ll activate the transmitter he suggested I wear because I’m worth a billion dollars and wanted to come to Europe alone.” She picked up the pendant she wore around her neck.

  How was he still underestimating her?

  “Damn you, you always look so damned innocent and you’re not!” He crashed his fist against his dead leg. “This is why I had to wonder if you were working for another government. You do these sly, underhanded things, hack my calendar and track my phone—yes, I know you did that. You followed me to Dubrovnik the very day I was nearly killed—”

  “I thought you were having an affair!” she cried. “And that is a completely understandable suspicion when you were sneaking around as much as you were. You kept telling me you wanted to be a f—” She choked to a halt.

  His heart clenched again, the way it had a few minutes ago in the lounge. He had never properly dealt with that pain because he didn’t know how.

  Freja turned away and flung open the drapes to reveal the glass doors that opened onto the fire escape. A full-spectrum bulb gave the impression of natural light, but it only led to a wide breezeway that terminated at the veranda.

  “This is a stupid house!” She clattered open the door and stormed out.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  FREJA HADN’T BOTHERED to put on socks or shoes. She was barefoot and even the paved passageway out of the bedroom had tiny pebbles that were sharp enough to cut into her soles. She didn’t get very far on the cold path that wound down the hill.

  With a huff, she stopped at the rail near the now empty helipad and brooded, rubbing one foot over the other to brush off the bottoms of her feet.

  “I should have asked if you have any dietary restrictions,” Marie said behind her.

  Freja turned to see the woman was wearing gloves and a sunhat. She was pulling up plants in a small vegetable garden that was going to seed.

  “I’m not fussy, but I’m not hungry right now, thanks.”

  Marie hesitated, then said, “It’s nice to meet you in person. I’ve read all of your father’s books and really enjoyed them.”

  Freja scrounged up the smile she turned on for her father’s fans. “Pappa would be pleased to know they entertained you.”

  “I usually prefer romance, but they were here and there’s not much to do in the evenings except read, so—”

  “They’re here?” Oh, that odious man.

  “In the study,” Marie said, but Freja was already charging up the path as quickly as her bare feet would take her.

  She burst into the study to find Giovanni speaking to his open laptop. “—ensure he knows she’s safe and—”

  Giovanni halted and Everett’s voice asked sharply, “What is it?”

  In one sweeping glance, Freja took in the hardwood floors that Giovanni preferred. He sat at one of the modern desks he seemed to order in bulk because they accommodated all his different types of chairs. There was a small reading area in the corner with a recliner and a standing lamp. Bookshelves bracketed golden drapes that she assumed disguised another of those weird emergency exits.

  Freja marched over and sure enough, there were all her father’s titles in a tidy row at a convenient height to a man in a wheelchair. All the book jackets showed signs of wear, like library books that had been read several times.

  “Giovanni,” Everett prompted, but he was watching her.

  She grabbed a handful and pulled them off the shelf, letting them tumble to the floor.

  “I’ll call you back,” Giovanni said in a tone more weary than wary. “But yes, make that call and come for us in the morning. We’ll return to Rome and have the press conference there.” He closed the laptop. “Why are you angry that I have those?”

  All of the books were hitting the floor with unsatisfying thumps. Year after year of her childhood, piling up after being consumed by him, secretly, over the last months.

  “You could have asked me. How dare you hide out here, reading my dead father’s words about me, rather than talk to me yourself? Do your covert information-gathering on anyone else on this earth, but not me.”

  “You looked me up online before I even knew you existed, Freja.”

  “I will never forgive you for any of this. Do you understand that?” She swept the last of the books onto the floor and stood there glaring at him.

  “I know that!” he near-roared, temper snapping in a way that had her recoiling in shock. He had never yelled at her. Not once. “I knew it when I woke up and Everett told me he’d killed me.” He snatched a book off his desk, one that had been set facedown, pages splayed open as though he’d been reading it minutes ago. “You think this has been easy for me?” He shook the book at her. “This was all I had.”

  “That was your choice!”

  “No, it wasn’t. For God’s sake, Freja, step out of your own hurt and look at the big picture. Do you honestly think I would put both of us through all of this on a whim? People’s lives were at stake. I got sloppy because I was impatient to retire from all of this.” He threw down the book and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’ve spent the last months thinking that if I’d only met you now, when I’ve done as much as I could, instead of when I was in the thick of
an unfinished job, we might have had a chance. But I am out of it now. You and I can start fresh.” His head came up. His gray eyes, dark as gathering thunderclouds, pierced into hers. “This is our chance for a new beginning, one that isn’t overshadowed by anything in our past.”

  She shook her head. “Our past is going to follow us forever. I said I want a divorce and I meant it.”

  She spoke with guttural fervor, but it was reflexive defense. Fear of more pain. Even so, there was a faint flutter of hope in her that yearned for exactly what he was offering. She hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it. That would mean he could hurt her anytime he wanted and she would forgive him for it. She couldn’t do that.

  Could she?

  His expression tightened. He looked to his closed laptop.

  “We will have to play the happy, reunited couple for the short term.” There was no arguing with that implacable command. “I’ve been identified in the video and Everett is making some final arrests as we speak. You and I will both have to make statements. The helicopter is coming back in the morning.”

  Perversely, she was annoyed by that. She finally had him to herself and they were turning around and going back into the public eye? She crossed her arms and stared at the books tumbled around her feet. It had been childish to throw them around like that, but she was so angry. So filled with futility she had no means to express.

  “You have always been a puzzle to me, Freja.” He spoke more quietly. Gently. “You’re completely unlike anyone else I’ve ever met. I was trying to understand you when I began reading those. If I hadn’t had this double life, your quirks and contradictions wouldn’t have fazed me, but you’re this anomaly who picks up a language in minutes and moves through a foreign city as though you already know every street.”

  “I know I’m not normal!”

  “Neither am I! That’s what I’m saying.” He sat back with a tired exhale and turned up a hand in a plea for understanding. “You slid past my very stalwart defenses the moment we met, made me your first lover on our first date. We happened so fast, Freja. You know that. I couldn’t take you at face value, given what I was hiding. I had to keep my guard up.”