Confessions of an Italian Marriage Page 9

  “Why are you still awake?” he asked. “I thought you were tired.”

  “I am, but I can’t stop thinking,” she murmured.

  “About?”

  When she hesitated to answer, he rolled to face her and dragged her into the spoon of his body, his bulky warmth at her back something she’d been missing as she lay here alone.

  “You’re not boring,” he growled. “You’re witty and intelligent. So self-possessed I forget you’re actually quite young and new to intimate relationships.”

  “Well, that’s it exactly. What if we wind up married and we don’t even know who we’re married to?”

  “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. Do you want me to help you sleep?” He nuzzled his lips through her hair against her nape.

  Oh, he knew exactly how easily that caress distracted her. A pleasurable shiver slid down her back while his hand shifted the silk of her nightgown against her stomach.

  “I believe that involves keeping me awake a little longer.” Nevertheless, her hips wiggled an instinctive answer, nudging deeper into the bend of his body, seeking the growing firmness she found there.

  He made a noise of satisfaction and stroked his hand down her hip and thigh, then gathered her nightgown against his wrist as he came back up. His light touch grazed the damp hairs between her thighs and lingered to explore deeper, making her draw a breath of deep longing.

  Another rumble of erotic gratification vibrated his chest against her back.

  “This is why you can’t sleep, tisoru.” He stroked his fingers into the growing moisture, bringing her to vibrant, gasping life. “I’ll be back. Stay right here.” He rolled away and she heard the drawer as he retrieved a condom.

  Moments later, he settled behind her again. The thick shape of him prodded where she was swollen with longing.

  “I feel weak,” she said on a small sob as her body easily took him in. “You haven’t even kissed me yet.”

  “I will.” His stubbled chin moved the hair from her neck, and he opened his mouth against her skin. “I’ll kiss you here if you need it.” He drew her thighs apart, bracing her leg atop his thigh so she was open to his touch as he traced where his stiff shape filled her. “Tell me what you want. I’ll give you anything.”

  “This,” she breathed helplessly as she guided his caress. “I want this.”

  “Mmm. Paradisu,” he agreed, taking his time with his luxurious explorations, not moving within her, but growing her arousal in increments while he dabbled kisses up her neck and suckled her earlobe. “Anytime you worry whether we will get along, think of how perfectly we fit like this, hmm?”

  “I can’t think,” she said with a fractured breath. “You make me—” She gasped with shock at how quickly climax engulfed her.

  He firmed his touch so he impaled her as deeply as he could while she shivered in orgasm. He hissed with pleasure at the way she convulsed in his arms.

  Then he spoke only Sicilian, tone filled with praise as he stroked her all over, still barely shifting within her while he brought her to another peak of arousal before he joined her in the blinding ecstasy of release.

  * * *

  The next week passed in a blur. Freja enjoyed the mornings. She often joined Giovanni during his swim or physical therapy workout. Their breakfast was usually private. They would banter about the latest headlines and plan the rest of the day.

  The rest of the day was mildly hellish. He would disappear for meetings while she was sent for fittings and spa treatments. Perhaps he thought he was spoiling her, but she didn’t love strangers playing with her feet or using tweezers on her brows. Long nails made it hard to type and the polish made her feel vaguely suffocated.

  Evenings were tolerable if lengthy events ranging from cocktail parties to white-tie galas. After the first two, Giovanni said, “You’re very good at this.”

  “Talking to people? So are you. Everyone says you’re so charming, but I’ve noticed all you do is coax them to talk about themselves. Sneaky.”

  He didn’t laugh. He fixed her with his sharpened gaze and noted, “You spoke with the countess a long time. What about?”

  “Horses.”

  Giovanni wanted to know more. He nudged her along until she had relayed every word she’d exchanged with the pleasant if self-important woman.

  “I didn’t realize you were so into dressage.” Was he interested in that other woman? “You should have joined us.”

  He must have heard the spark in her tone, but only said, “I thought you might have had a chance to mention your book. She does go on, though, doesn’t she?” He changed the subject.

  His curiosity stayed with her, feeding the tiny uncertainties in her that a dynamic man who had his pick among all these well-bred heiresses could remain interested in her.

  A few days later, they had an even more disturbing encounter. They were in Frankfurt and Giovanni left to meet with automotive engineers. Freja was booked for a massage and a facial, but the sun was shining and she decided a walk along the river would relax her more.

  She wound up crossing the Eiserner Steg, the iron footbridge. She was leaving a coffee shop, considering a visit to the museum up the block, when she saw Giovanni come out of it.

  Her first instinct was to rush up and catch him. His car was pulling up to the curb, but two steps into her trot, she halted as it occurred to her that he might be with someone—a woman?

  He moved toward the black sedan alone. The driver opened the door and Giovanni took one casual glance down the block, as anyone might.

  He stiffened. They were a full block away, but she could tell he saw her. She knew he could see that she was staring at him, but there was that split second when he almost pretended he didn’t see her and considered leaving.

  She stood there with her feet rooted by confusion. Betrayal. Absorbing that he had definitely lied to her this morning about where he was going.

  He said something to his driver and swiveled his chair, rolling toward her. After a second, she managed to stumble forward, then stop at the corner and wait for the light. She met him on the opposite corner.

  “What are you doing here?” was his crisp greeting, as if she was the one off course. He looked at the coffee in her hand then glanced behind her. “Are you meeting someone?”

  “No. Are you?”

  “No. How did you get here? You’re supposed to be in the spa.”

  Supposed to be?

  “I felt like a walk.”

  “You walked from the hotel? You need to text me when you decide to go out alone. What if you got lost or something happened to you?”

  “Are you serious? I was seven when my father taught me to avoid the streets where girls in heavy makeup and short skirts stand on corners. The only crime in this district is how much they charge tourists for coffee.” She lifted her biodegradable cup. “Maybe you should text me, since you seem to be the one who’s lost.”

  Oh, this man knew how to use a stare to slice and dice. “Let’s get in the car. I’ll take you back to the hotel.”

  “No, thank you. I feel like visiting the museum.” She really didn’t. “Perhaps you’d like to join me? Oh, you’ve already been, haven’t you? Shame.”

  “Don’t turn this into something it’s not,” he said in a withering voice. “I had a few minutes to kill before my meeting. The display on the history of the financial sector is interesting. Use my ticket. You can probably get in for free.” He offered it to her.

  She wanted to throw her coffee in his face. She marched past him.

  “Freja!” he bit out through gritted teeth.

  They pivoted to face one another, a handful of paces apart, like duelists.

  “It was nothing,” he said quietly. “Go in and ask around. People will remember if the man in the wheelchair was with anyone. I wasn’t. We’re fighting over nothing.”r />
  It didn’t feel like nothing. Her chest was ready to burst with pressure. Her eyes were hot, but dry.

  “We’ll go in together.” He came toward her.

  “I don’t even want to go. Not anymore.” She looked back in the direction of the footbridge. It had been covered in love locks and she’d indulged a fantasy where she and Giovanni placed one. She should have been thinking about looking up flights to New York.

  “If you’re having second thoughts, just tell me,” she said, refusing to play games.

  He flinched. “I’m not.”

  “Because I told you we weren’t suited for each other. I’d rather you were up-front—”

  “I am not having second thoughts,” he repeated firmly. “This isn’t remotely what you’re thinking.” He sent a frustrated look toward the museum entrance. “Look, I’ll walk with you. You’re right. It’s a nice day. We should enjoy it.”

  “What about your meeting?” she asked with suspicion.

  “I’ll cancel it.” He took out his phone, sent a text and pocketed it again. Then he waved at his driver, signaling he didn’t need him.

  She stood there searching his expression, trying to process this about-face.

  As he met her gaze, his shoulders lost some of their starch.

  “I’ve been alone for a long time,” he said without heat. “I’ve been making decisions for myself since I was fifteen. Major ones, like whether to have my own leg amputated.” He waved at his stumps. “Answering to someone else does not come naturally.”

  He turned his chair and jerked his head to indicate she should walk with him.

  “Telling people to fall in line is perfectly natural, however,” she said, still sullen, but walking alongside him.

  “It’s like I was born for it,” he said dryly.

  “I didn’t know that about your leg,” she said after they’d crossed the street and were heading back to the river walk. “You don’t have any relatives? A guardian who could have helped you with that decision?”

  For a second, she thought he would do that thing where he deflected and turned everything on her. Instead he said, “I have some aunts and uncles who did what they could, but they had their own families. We weren’t close because my father had traveled so much I’d rarely seen them. I kept up on my schooling with a tutor and when I was discharged, it was more convenient all around to send me back to boarding school. It was already wheelchair-accessible and there were nurses to monitor my health, physical education staff to assist with therapy and my athletic aspirations.”

  “What about school holidays?”

  “I usually had a competition somewhere or I just stayed and trained. It was only a year before I moved on to university and would have left home anyway.”

  “It still seems—”

  “Don’t call me sad.”

  “I wouldn’t dare,” she mumbled against the lid of her coffee.

  She caught his mouth twitch. He was a tiny bit amused.

  The river walk was paved and offered lovely views of the water and abundant greenery between the buildings. She paused to take a photo of the skyline on the opposite bank.

  “Did you come here with your father?”

  “On this walk exactly? At least four times.” She looked at the image, decided to take one more. “To the city, probably a dozen. If we’re counting passing through airports and train stations, so many times I couldn’t tell you. I took a photo of myself on the footbridge today, to match one he took of me for one of his earliest books. Oliver and my agent have suggested I follow in his footsteps. They said I could offer some of his most popular destinations a ‘then and now’ treatment, with the contemporary twist of a woman striking out on her own. This was my first stab at it, to see if I like it or if it makes me miss him too much.”

  “And?”

  “Both. It’s nostalgic, but makes me melancholy, too. I’ll see what kind of hits I get on the blog, but I already know people prefer more colorful places like Marrakesh.”

  “You are not going to travel alone.”

  She sipped her cooling coffee. “Why not? Do you ever travel for pleasure? Or is it always business?”

  One of those unreadable shields slid over his expression. “One could argue you haven’t traveled for pleasure, given it was your father’s occupation.”

  She sighed at that enormously typical deflection.

  He heard it. “I don’t like talking about myself, Freja.”

  “Is it too personal to ask why not?” she asked snippily.

  “Because I have to give up enough personal information as it is.” He gave his wheels an impatient push as they reached a slight incline. “I have to let people touch me as though I’m a dog at the vet. They take blood and write down what I’m eating and whether I’m following instructions. They’re only trying to help, I know that, but it’s still a loss of dignity, especially when they ask me to do something and I have to say I can’t. And you wouldn’t believe the things that perfect strangers have the gall to ask because I’m down here at the height of a child.”

  “Am I allowed to be mad on your behalf?”

  “Don’t waste your energy. But I’ll have a sip of that coffee.”

  They passed it back and forth as they continued along.

  “I won’t pretend I’m an easy man, Freja. I will continue to be arrogant and uncommunicative, but I will never cheat on you. I promise.”

  He sounded so sincere, she had to believe him.

  * * *

  Giovanni was more careful over the next few days. By the time they settled into his penthouse in Paris, things between him and Freja had returned to what passed as their normal, but Everett was right. Much as Giovanni hated to admit it, this wasn’t sustainable. The mere thought of sending her back to New York had him tensing his arm around her, though, accidentally waking her.

  She drew a deep breath and stretched, warm curves shifting against his side while her hand made a lazy pass across his chest.

  “Did I fall asleep? I didn’t mean to,” she said in a murmur and snuggled back into him, thigh coming up to his waist and lips turning into his shoulder. Her hair tickled under his jaw and her breath warmed his skin as she said, “We have to go out tonight, don’t we?”

  “We have time.” He played his fingers in her hair, bordering on addicted to this simple pleasure of having her naked in bed beside him, all sated and warm as they dozed off their sex.

  Ah, the sex. That wicked, exalted act that had gotten him into this predicament.

  “Freja?” He discovered his voice wasn’t nearly as steady as it should be. He cleared his throat. “When do you expect to know if you’re pregnant?”

  Just like that, the equilibrium they’d found after that difficult day in Frankfurt was sucked away, leaving a silence so profound, he could hear his own heartbeat in his ears.

  “I’m a day late,” she said in a small voice.

  His heart lurched so hard, the sound in his ears kicked to life like a furnace bursting into action on a shot of fuel. His whole being was accosted by euphoria.

  “A day,” he repeated with wonder.

  “Only one. It doesn’t mean—”

  “I know.” He touched her lips to silence her. “Let me have this.” He had told himself it wouldn’t matter, that it was such a long shot he shouldn’t project any anticipation into it, but he closed his eyes to savor this moment of possibility.

  “You can’t want me to be pregnant,” she said against his finger.

  “Why can’t I?” He opened his eyes and tucked his chin to look at her, combing her hair off her face with his hand. “Who wouldn’t want a little girl with your disarming blue eyes? Or a boy with my stubborn personality annoying the hell out of me? Or the other way around?” He closed his fist in the tails of her hair and drew it beneath her chin, tilting her mouth up close en
ough to set a kiss on her lips. “If nothing changes overnight, I’ll book you a doctor’s appointment in the morning. I want to know.”

  “I bought a test while I was out today.”

  Another thrust of shock went through him, this one edged with irritation that she was continuing to wander cities without mentioning where she was going or who she was with. Everett was the suspicious one, but Giovanni didn’t need these slivers of doubt.

  “Did you take it?” he asked.

  “No. It’s still early. It might give a false negative.”

  “Is there such a thing as a false positive?”

  “Not really.”

  “Then—”

  Sudden tears welled in her eyes. “Please, can I wait until tomorrow?”

  Emotion tightened his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and tucked her head back under his chin. “If that’s what you want.”

  He couldn’t stop the race of his heart, though, as he contemplated what might be.

  She pressed her hand to his chest and drew back, blinking up at him with amazement. “You’re excited. You really do want me to be pregnant.”

  “So much that I’m afraid you’ll run screaming. And I can’t chase you,” he said wryly.

  “You’re the most confounding man.” She dipped her forehead against his jaw with a flummoxed laugh, then kissed his chin. “Okay, then.” She rose and pulled on her light robe. “There are two in the box. If it says negative, I’ll try again in a couple of days.”

  He came up on an elbow to watch her dig a purchase from her bag and disappear into the bathroom.

  How long was he supposed to wait? He heard the toilet flush and water run. The silence after that was too much for him. He moved into his chair and went to the door, knocked.

  “It’s open,” she said faintly.

  He pushed in to see her sitting on the edge of the tub. There were tears and a wobbling smile on her face.

  All the air was punched out of his lungs. He clumsily bumped his way closer and looked at the faint lines on the stick.

  “I’ve never thought of myself as a lucky person, but...” The tears on her lashes were catching the light like glitter. “I feel really, really lucky right now.”