Consequence of His Revenge (One Night With Consequences) Page 14

  Until Vito had thrust her into the forefront of his mind again, he had refused to let himself reflect on his time with her. Not consciously. He had had flashes of concern, though. Was she okay? Eating? How was her leg? Every time he received a notice of a money transfer, he wondered where she was working. Where she was living.

  She had seemed to favor her leg as she spent the next several hours on her feet, looking brittle and pale. Her hair had been piled in a messy knot so her neck was a fragile stem, her face closed and intent as she worked.

  She smiled at her coworkers, but any sort of humor quickly died the moment her attention was forced to turn his way. Gone was the woman who had tilted cheeky grins at him and let him see inside her when they were alone.

  God, he had missed her.

  Now she sat beside him, but a silence had grown between them, impenetrable and thick.

  He had expected more of a fight to get her on the plane, but of course she wanted to clear her father’s name. Dante was anxious to do so himself.

  Speaking with Reeve had been the strangest experience. Stephen’s voice had come out of a face that looked so much like the man it was uncanny. Dante’s throat had been thick with apology, as he saw his old friend in Reeve’s demeanor. When Reeve had asked him point-blank if anything had happened between him and Cami in Whistler, pinning him with a sharp gaze, Dante had been so surprised, his face had told the truth before he could dissemble.

  He’d felt stung under Reeve’s disapproval like a callow youth, aware that any attempt to claim honorable intentions at this point would be met with disdain. Suspicion even.

  Cami sure as hell didn’t want to rekindle things. She’d made it clear she wasn’t interested even before he’d told her about Arturo. She thought they were toxic.

  Yet here she was. Quiet and compliant beside him. Subdued almost. If not for the hint of steel in her as she’d spoken to her brother and agreed to come with him, Dante would have thought she was on the defensive. Wary. Feeling as though he held all the power again when he had definitely lost the high ground.

  She was probably tired. He was. Sick and tired. From the moment Vito had told him Arturo was behind the theft, Dante had been nauseous. Absolutely gutted at the cost to Cami and her brother. Seeing how they lived had made it worse. He’d been completely sincere in saying he wouldn’t let her live like that for one more night.

  Along with fresh betrayal, fresh grief had hit. Stephen’s loss was that much more unjust and difficult to bear. All the things Dante had seen in the man a decade ago, the belief in his ideas, the encouragement and desire for him to succeed, the fatherly pride, had been real.

  He swallowed a lump, trying to feel lucky that he’d had three excellent father figures in his life, but a sense of being cheated remained.

  “I won’t forgive myself for cutting your father out of my life,” he told Cami as the plane leveled off and the flight attendant left to bring the chamomile tea Cami had requested. “He was a good friend. I shouldn’t have left his children to fend for themselves.”

  Cami turned from watching the lights fade at the edge of the black blanket that was the Pacific.

  “I can’t do this yet.” Her voice was as wispy as the smoke of a snuffed flame. “I’m too tired to make sense of it. I just want to drink my tea and fall asleep and unpack all this when we get to Sicily. Do you mind?”

  “No.” He wanted to take her hand, console her. Say all the things that were weighing on his chest. “Use the stateroom.” He nodded at the door behind them.

  “Your private jet has bedrooms?” She snorted. “How many? Is there an indoor pool? A bowling alley?”

  He couldn’t tell if that was a dig or merely her dry wit rallying. “Just the one stateroom. And the theater.” He nodded at the screen that showed their flight path.

  “I’m fine here.” Her elbows tucked into her waist, and she looked out the window at the void of charcoal.

  He pinched the bridge of his nose.

  “I wasn’t presuming to join you. I won’t come in unless I have to wake you because of turbulence. Then you’ll have to come back to your seat.”

  She looked into the watery gold of her tea, but her mouth quivered. “I’m fine.”

  Tiny, tiny words that made his lungs fill with concrete.

  She nursed her tea for the next half hour, then watched out the window again. Eventually, she fell asleep. He unbuckled her himself and carried her into the bed, so very tempted to lie down and hold her. There was a gaping wound from the base of his throat to the pit of his belly. He needed the compress of her warmth to stem the loss.

  Instead, he draped a light blanket over her and went back to his seat where he dozed fitfully and snapped awake from dreams that she had disappeared from the plane.

  She must have been as exhausted as he was. When he finally did wake from a deep sleep, his neck held a dull ache and his eyes were like sandpaper. Most of their flight had gone by.

  “No, I’m totally fine,” Cami was saying in a low voice to the attendant. “I just don’t travel well. Toast would be great. Thanks.”

  “Air sick?” he asked as she came to her seat.

  She was pale, her hair was finger-combed and she smelled faintly of toothpaste. “It happens,” she murmured, not meeting his eyes in favor of making a thorough study out the window.

  “Another few hours.” He pointed at the progress map, which showed them halfway over the Mediterranean.

  Despite the circumstance, he was looking forward to showing her his homeland, hoping for some reason that she would love it as much as he did.

  “Dante...” She wore a tortured expression as she turned her face to meet his gaze.

  The gravity in her tone was so ominous his lungs seized. His ears rang as he strained to hear her. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m pregnant.”

  * * *

  “Don’t you dare ask me if it’s yours,” she whispered, glancing toward where the flight attendant would appear at any second.

  She risked a glance at him, trembling as she had been since rising in a rush of morning sickness. She couldn’t read his expression. He was a master at hiding his thoughts.

  The flight attendant came to draw the table down from the wall and serve their breakfast. It was a meal of loaded silence and impossible entanglements.

  When they were alone again, Cami said, “I need to know if it really was just revenge. Clearly I’m very gullible, and I know how angry you were—”

  “Cami.” His hand closed over her wrist, gentle, but heavy as a manacle. “I’m going to need some time.”

  The pressure of his touch over her pulse was so profound, her blood throbbed into his fingers like an open wound. Emotion pressed into the backs of her eyes. She couldn’t swallow.

  After a long minute, he released her to sip his coffee, then asked, “When did you find out?”

  “A few days ago. I didn’t do it on purpose.”

  “We.” Was it her imagination, or was there a euphoric quality beneath his even, fact-finding tone? “Were you going to tell me?”

  She realized she was wringing her hands and made them settle into her lap. “I hadn’t worked out what to do. When you showed up last night... How are we like this? One catastrophe after another?”

  He might have flinched, but the attendant brought fresh coffee.

  They finished their meal in a quiet that was almost companionable, harking back to their comfortable mornings in Whistler. The ones that had given her hope they had something more than revenge and debts, blame and rancor.

  “You’re keeping it.” She couldn’t tell if that was an order or a request.

  “Hopefully,” she murmured. “One never knows. That’s why you’re not supposed to tell anyone in the first trimester.”

  He burned a hole through her with his gaze.

  She lifted her shoulders defensively. “I’ve been sideswiped by life a lot. I’m not going to assume this will go as I hope it will.”

  He
closed his eyes. “The honesty of you. I was better off when I thought it was all lies.”

  He didn’t say he also hoped she had a successful pregnancy, and she was too unprepared to face his answer by asking if he did. They didn’t talk much after that. He took several calls, speaking Sicilian, and she tried to read a book on her phone until they were preparing to land.

  As her ears popped, she looked out and bonked her head into the window, trying to keep the gleaming peak in her sight. “Is that Mount Etna?”

  His mouth quirked, the first softening she’d seen in him. “Yes. Why?”

  Heart wobbling in thrill, she said, “I’m a mountain geek. It’s so beautiful.”

  “I thought you only went nerd over skis.”

  “It’s related.” She leaned as far as she could, but lost sight of the peak as the plane banked. “When I first came to Italy, I spoke to a retiree who was ticking off every ski slope in Europe as a sort of bucket list thing. I didn’t even know Mount Etna had a resort, but he said it was one of his favorites, that the views of the Mediterranean were spectacular. I made my own list and read up on all of the mountains, but this one seemed like such a long shot even before we had to go back to Canada.”

  “You can’t ski,” he reminded. “Not for a while.”

  Because she was pregnant. Taken unawares by the first big adjustment she would make in her life for the sake of the one growing inside her, she murmured a stunned “No,” of agreement.

  She wasn’t upset by the need to take care, but the fact she once again faced a period of dark unknown distressed her. She would get through it, she knew she would, but the not knowing how brought a tightness to her chest. Just like that, the air grew heavy and oppressive.

  Maybe it was because they were landing. She was suddenly quite homesick.

  But she felt strangely at peace when she left the jet and walked across the tarmac to Dante’s cobalt-blue sports car. There was something in his calm confidence that reassured her. He put the top down so the verdant afternoon air blew across her skin as he started away from the private airfield and she sighed, relaxing.

  He pointed out the odd landmark as he drove, but mostly they let the breeze snap around them, blowing away travel weariness.

  Cami couldn’t stop craning her neck, utterly entranced. The stamp of centuries was everywhere, providing a sense of permanence and endurance.

  Eventually he drove the car up a winding single lane through a vineyard, climbing to a hillock and cutting through a break in hedges to circle a fountain in front of a huge stone building. She dragged her gaze from a view that went for miles, expansive and breathtaking, and took in the worn stones of the courtyard and the vines climbing the front of what looked like a medieval castle.

  “Is this a hotel?”

  “It’s my home.” She heard the laughter in his voice and scowled at his back as he left the car.

  How was she supposed to know that? She had known he was rich, but hadn’t realized he was this rich. She was still taking that in from the passenger seat when he opened her door and offered a hand to help her out.

  “It’s beautiful,” she murmured. Intimidating.

  “It’s a bit of a relic. My grandfather modernized with electricity and new plumbing, but aside from overhauling the kitchen a few years ago, I’ve only been keeping up on the necessary repairs. Noni’s very comfortable. I don’t like to displace her for anything that isn’t absolutely necessary.”

  “Bernadetta’s here?”

  “Of course.”

  “But what will she think—” She realized he held her hand and carefully lifted hers away. “I don’t want her to know I’m...”

  It was hard, very hard, to look into his eyes, especially when his expression turned so grave. “Nothing is going to happen to it, Cami.”

  He couldn’t know that.

  “We’re already dealing with enough. Me and her,” she decided firmly. “Let’s put off adding to it.”

  A muscle pulsed in his jaw, but he eventually said, “If you insist.”

  “I’m actually getting my way with you for a change?” she said as he retrieved her backpack from the trunk.

  “You’ve had your way with me many times,” he drawled.

  Her breath left her in a sensual punch as she recalled teasing him while trying on dresses. He’d let her take the lead more than once in their lovemaking, but she knew there was an element of allowing her. Dante was always the one in control. Wasn’t he?

  He was certainly tightly leashed right now, all vestiges of sexual memory gone as he showed her to a guest suite. “These rooms are yours, and you should already be connected to our Wi-Fi.” He held up a phone and pointed to a tablet. “Call your brother. He’ll want to know you’ve arrived safely. Please dress for dinner at seven. Your clothes are in the wardrobe.”

  He left her to explore her room, and she was grateful for the time to collect herself. She left a message for Reeve, dozed in the bath, then glanced in the closet, recognizing the dresses as the ones Dante had bought for her in Whistler.

  She didn’t know what to make of that, but as she glanced across the vineyard from her personal balcony and took in the abundance and sheer richness of her surroundings, she couldn’t bring herself to greet his grandmother in her worn jeans and thinning T-shirt. She found the cache of makeup she’d also left in his suite that last night and painted some confidence onto her anxious face, then wriggled herself into a dress that still had a tag on it.

  When he knocked, he was freshly showered and shaved, smelling deliciously of soap and spice and something she instinctively recognized as Sicilian. It was the scent of his home. The source of all that he was. Oh, he filled her up with yearning.

  He took in her simple blue dress with its sweetheart neckline and rib-hugging bodice over an A-line skirt without comment. It was the most modest in the bunch. She was trying to show some decorum in front of his grandmother, but found herself shifting her feet, aching for a sign he liked what he saw. That he still found her attractive.

  That he wanted to play a silly game of modeling with her. Foreplay.

  She blushed and looked at his polished shoes.

  “This way.” He waved a hand, crushing her fragile ego with his absence of response.

  She made herself hold her chin high and her shoulders back as they followed a corridor of rich red carpet. It was painful, though. She suspected the paintings were originals by men whose names were revered. She felt hideously unsophisticated that she didn’t have the background to know or recognize their value.

  Bernadetta rose to meet her when Cami and Dante entered the lounge.

  “Oh, my dear.” She looked older, which made Cami sad. The poor woman had to be devastated, first at having been kept in the dark, then on learning her grandson had not only committed crimes, but was facing the consequences.

  Cami warmed the trembling hands that the old woman extended. “You have enough to worry about. Please don’t be upset for me. I’m fine.”

  Dante made a noise, and Cami caught a flash of impatience on his face. She was stung by it, but focused on Bernadetta, sitting with her on the sofa to reassure her.

  “You were so kind to me that day. You are so kind. And our family has treated you so terribly.” Bernadetta’s voice creaked.

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “Isn’t it? Perhaps I was too lenient with Arturo’s mother. She was my wild child. We should have brought Arturo to live with us after she divorced. He might have turned out differently.” She lifted her rosary beads and pressed her lips to them.

  Cami gently squeezed Bernadetta’s free hand.

  “Please don’t dwell on things that can’t be changed. Dante and I will make it right. You don’t have to worry about me. Why don’t you tell me about your visit with your niece in Vancouver? Did you see everything you were hoping to?”

  * * *

  “Grazij, for taking her mind off things,” Dante said a few hours later, when his Noni had gone to bed
and he was alone with Cami.

  “She’s so sweet. But I’m insanely curious about your home theater now.” She moved to the rail on the south terrace that overlooked the lower slopes. “How could I have guessed it’s an ancient amphitheater?”

  The music had started while they were finishing dinner, catching Cami’s attention and prompting his grandmother to describe the site built by the Greeks and restored with great care—and expense—by his grandfather, at Noni’s behest. One of her greatest pleasures was listening to the pitches by theater companies and choosing the season’s starlight production.

  “We could walk down if you like. It sounds like they’re still rehearsing. Unless you’re tired?”

  “My body thinks it’s the middle of the day. I’d love to.” She fetched a wrap, and they started down the path. After a moment, she drew a deep breath and let it out. “It smells fantastic out here. Is that orange blossom?”

  “We have a grove, yes. How is your leg?”

  “I’m fine.” She halted abruptly to demand, “Did you just tsk me?”

  “You say it all the time. You’re not fine.” More than jet lag was putting the strain around her eyes, and he had noted the subtle way she was favoring one leg. Then there was the pregnancy. He was still reeling under that news.

  “I’m totally fine.” She hugged her wrap closer and continued walking. “You don’t know me.”

  “Untrue,” he said under his breath, but she halted again.

  It was dark, turning her eyes into dark pools with a pinprick of light as she stared up at him.

  “Everything you’ve thought about me has been a wrong impression.” She turned away, saying with anguish, “Everything I thought about you was misinterpretation.”

  Toxic. He kept hearing her say that, and it scored his soul every single time.

  Yet, she carried his child. Wanted it.

  The news of his impending fatherhood burned like a fuse, wanting to explode out of him, but who could he tell? His grandmother would love to hear it, but she would be devastated if something happened and damn Cami for putting that grain of doubt in his mind. He was already that attached to the idea of sharing a child with her, he would be devastated if it failed to happen.