Baby By Accident: International Billionaires III: The Italians (20 page)

Sleazy.

Scandalous.

Squalor.

The words sliced into him like spiked stilettos.

He shut the water off with a yank and stepped from the shower onto the plush green carpet. Ignoring his clothes on the floor, he grabbed a towel and strode back into the bedroom. The empty bedroom.

His wife was still with her mother. After all, Esther had announced at the stilted dinner, this would be her last night and she’d like to have her daughter’s company alone.

Vico had been more than happy to comply.

The fact he’d have some time alone had added to his relief.

Time alone to get a grip.

A bunch of parasites
.

Stepping into his dressing room, he tore a robe off its hanger and stuffed his arms through the soft Egyptian cotton, not caring when he ripped one of the shoulder seams.

Lise liked his family. These last two months, she’d come out of her initial shell with them and welcomed them with enthusiastic warmth every time any of them came to the door. She’d laughed with his sisters, teased with his brothers, had long, lazy talks with his momma.

She liked his family.

The thought of that mob of his enjoying such a beautiful place is sinful
.

Her mother’s words. Not hers.

Why was this a problem inside him? Why was he feeling this sense of rage?

He’d suffered many slings and arrows. He’d read many slurs, waved off many hurled insults without a second thought. With clear-cut knowledge, he’d known his mother-in-law despised him. He’d thought very little about it, thinking it a mere inconvenience.

Stalking out of the dressing room, he wrenched the first drawer of his armoire open and clicked open the hidden compartment. He reached down, picked up his discarded shirt, and slipped the black Bvlgari box from its pocket. Dropping the shirt on the floor again, he opened the jewelry box.

The diamond earrings flashed in the low light. He’d wanted something elegant, yet also something that made a statement. Something that told her how precious she was to him. During the course of these months at his villa, the words, the admission pounding in his heart every moment, were never far from his tongue. But he hadn’t wanted to push her too far or too fast. He’d wanted to be sure. He didn’t know what he’d do if he spoke and she rejected him once more. He’d feared he might never recover.

So, he’d wanted the
Princesse
to say the words first.

Contemptible,
certamente
. He was a man with guts in every circumstance.

All circumstances except this one.

Because there’d been too much pain between them, most of which he’d caused. There’d been so many ugly words said, many from his own mouth. And for more than any other reason, his undeserving soul needed to know she accepted him, loved him—the reckless savage who’d gotten her pregnant, the impetuous beast who’d pushed her into marriage. His soul yearned for her forgiveness and love. He needed to have it before he laid his love at her feet. Gave his unworthy soul into her eternal care.

There were times, many times, when she’d stroked his skin in bed and smiled. Or the time when she laughed into his grin as they ate their sweets. Or the time when she’d leaned over to kiss him in front of his entire family.

Times when he’d known, when he’d been sure, when he’d waited.

But the words never came from her pretty mouth.

So, he’d waited.

Vico stared down at the diamonds lying on the black velvet. The color had reminded him of the pure-white strands in her hair, with the slight tinge of pale glint that always caught the sun’s rays.

He snapped the box shut.

Breathing in and out, he forced himself to look at the collected items in the compartment. Remind himself of whom he loved.

The pink of the lace on her bra, reminding him of the first night. The night he’d fallen in love with her passion.

The elegant, silver pen, with the date of her graduation edged in gold on the side. The one she’d left behind her in the boardroom after arguing with him. The one that reminded him of her intelligence, her wit. Of how much he loved her intelligence and wit.

The leaf of evergreen from their reception, along with one of the napkins imprinted with their names and wedding date. The slim book of Wordsworth poetry she’d left on a side table on their trip to Paris. The hair clip he’d stripped her of when he’d wanted to rile her.

Wisps of her hair clung to the clip.

He breathed in through his nose and then dropped the Bvlgari box on top of the rest and slammed the compartment shut.

That lout. That brute
.

Her mother’s words.
Si
.

Yet the
Princesse
had not disagreed, had she? She had not defended him nor dissented. She had merely hummed and listened. She had not acted as a loyal wife.

She had acted like she agreed with her mother’s words.

Was her welcome false? Could he have possibly misread everything during these last months? Her laughing eyes trained on his. Her joy in his presence. Her passionate love of him at night.

Was this only his desperate love spun into pure imagination?

Turning, he walked to the bedroom door and snapped the lock shut.

He could not…he could not.

Leaning on the cool wall, he tried to calm himself.

Quite likely, she would not think to visit his bed with her mother in residence. But if she did—

He could not.

His body abruptly ached as if he’d aged a hundred years in mere hours. Maybe tomorrow it would look different. Maybe tomorrow these words will have faded into distant memory and he would feel alive again. In lust again. In…

The word, the word he’d admitted in his soul, stuck in his throat.

He was suddenly glad he’d held it back. Glad he’d decided to let things develop slowly, without pressuring her. Fiercely, painfully glad he still had his pride to cling to.

You were absolutely right not to sign a prenuptial agreement
.

His brain twisted and turned around those words. Found no reassurance, only a vague and building fear. A churning, choking ugliness. He stumbled to the bed and slipped under the heavy covers.

A shiver ran through his body.

He breathed in. Out. In. Out.

This was nothing, his love roared over the cacophony of noise in his head. He was reading too much into it. He was letting his reckless, impetuous spirit leap to conclusions.

He’s not worthy of my little girl.

The truth of those words carved his heart right out of his chest. Deadened the dreams he’d allowed himself to feel during the last two months. Made him remember the reality of this relationship. The reality of how far and wide the chasm was between them.

Another truth, a truth he’d buried so deep inside he’d managed to forget, the truth fluttered in his chest like a weak little bird. Eventually, at some point, he’d hurt and damage their child. The last reflection turned to stone his belief in what he and Lise could have. Did have.

Thought they had.

The breath was ragged, rattling in his throat.

This was nothing, his love whimpered. Tomorrow it will all be nothing.

His breath choked, clung.

Tomorrow he would still love. But he didn’t know if he’d still trust.

E
verything wasn’t right
.

Something was very wrong.

Absently pushing the hangers of baby clothing over one by one, Lise barely registered the flashes of blue jumpers and green shirts. His momma and Chi chatted at her side as they helped her find the last items for her baby’s wardrobe.

Her mother had left the morning after his arrival. Much to the relief of everyone involved. Esther had hugged her with a fierce grip when they stopped on the marble steps leading down to the drive. As her husband stood behind her at the door, his usual courteous self, her mother had darted him a look and then whispered something about checking her emails in the next few days.

Lise had nearly snorted.

She always checked her emails. What was her mother nattering on about?

The concern was swept away, though, as soon as the taxi drove down the lane towards the airport. Leaving her alone with her husband.

She’d turned to smile at him, ready to say the three all-important words.

He’d been gone.

“Lise,” his mother exclaimed. “Look at this darling suit.”

A pasted-on smile was the best she could do. “It’s cute.”

His momma was in shopping mode, his sister was more observant.

“What’s wrong?” Chi’s eyes were grave. “You’ve been quiet all day.”

The villa had been very quiet for the last three days. The family had stayed away; perhaps thinking her mother was still in residence. But why hadn’t Vico alerted them they could come back? She wanted to ask, yet he was rarely around.

When he was around, he was quiet.

Quiet was not a word she’d normally use for Vico Mattare. His deep voice boomed through the halls of the villa and rumbled across the terraces leading down to the lake. His laugh roared at his brother’s jokes and rolled through her heart. His energy crackled, his body prowled, his words purred. He was movement and action and sound and passion.

“I’m fine,” she responded with another fake smile. “Only a bit of fatigue.”

His momma tutted. “What am I thinking? Two pregnant ladies and here I am dragging them around for hours on their feet.”

“I’m fine—”

“Vico will have my head.” The older woman patted her arm. “
Vene.
Let us find somewhere to rest and have a long, cool drink.”

She allowed herself to be ushered out of the store and into the Italian sun. Soon the ladies were sipping lemonade and watching the Milan crowds as they hurried past. She tried to keep pace with her side of the conversation, and it appeared she was somewhat successful because there were no more questioning looks from Chi or tut-tuts from his momma.

The last three days Vico had not been laughing or joking or smiling.

Business, he’d said, as he went into his home office and shut the door.

Busy, he’d said, as he drove off to his Milan office.

She’d been alone for the first time in months. A thousand photos had been taken as she tried to assuage her worries. A hundred walks by herself. A dozen hours doing nothing. The only time she’d seen her husband was at dinner. Where he watched her with blank eyes and slight smiles, adding little to her stilted conversation.

Tired, he’d said.

Distracted, he’d said.

Lise slid her finger down the iced glass, watching the drip of water as it clung to the rim. The gurgle of fear she’d been trying to push away for three days reared again in her throat. This wasn’t about her mother’s presence. He couldn’t possibly be this distant merely because her mother stopped by on an unscheduled trip.

Therefore, it must be something else.

The realization had come on the second day, when he, again, did his disappearing act. The first day, she’d bought it. Perhaps some crisis had erupted in one of his businesses. Hurt that he wouldn’t confide in her as he had before was dismissed. And it completely disappeared when he’d followed her to her room that night after dinner and made love to her with a desperate passion that had swept any thoughts or fears away.

She’d almost whispered the words. Almost.

Before the confession came, however, he’d been gone. Back to his own room.

Restless, he’d said.

Go to sleep, he’d said.

Lise had spent the rest of the night staring at the beautiful antique chandelier above her head. Remembering the previous night. The night his bedroom door was locked.

Locked to her.

She’d thought it a mistake at first. They always slept together now; even when she was too tired to make love. She’d even knocked. Getting no response, she’d finally crept back to her old bedroom. This must be because of her mother’s presence, she’d reassured herself that night. Everything was going to be all right.

Instead, something was very wrong.

“Don’t you think so, Lise?” Chi’s voice cut through her turgid thoughts.

“
Si, si
.” She smiled and sipped, not having a clue what she’d agreed with.

Si
, it was something else.

Could it be…another woman? Had he tired of her bulging body and returned to his usual ways?

No. No. There were no late-night jaunts. No tabloid pictures. She’d been ashamed today when she’d eyed the newspapers on the Milan newsstands with fear. Ashamed at her shaky trust. Her husband wasn’t gallivanting around. He was still at her side. If not literally, figuratively. He was still at the villa and if he left for the office, he came back within hours.

Was it something she’d said?

Her brain clicked. Clicked.

Or something someone else said?

She’d been so sleepy. So happy. But her mother’s words, scattered and half-listened-to, started seeping back into her memory. Name calling. She remembered that. Grouching about various sins. She remembered that, too. Could these simple, stupid labels have turned her husband into a walking zombie?

Maybe. Possibly. Probably?

She grabbed the glass and took a deep swallow.

Really? If this was the reason for his withdrawal, she was going to smack him when she got home. Then kiss him.

Her mobile phone jingled from her purse.

Vico.

“
Si
?” Irritation edged her word, yet there was also a certain amount of relief. This had to be it. There was nothing else it could be.

“Lise.” His tone was cool and contained. As it had been for the last three interminable days. “Your PA has sent some documents to your email I need to finish a report on HSF.”

“So?”

His voice turned dry. “I’m calling to get your permission to access your email.”

His strict code of honor always amused her. After all the things he’d done to her—the reckless trick of putting her in his bed, the cunning way he’d gone around her to win the company to his side, the ruthlessness of his demands of marriage—he still held to his own code of what was right and what was wrong.

“Lise?”

The pictures. All the photos of him she’d taken during the past months. A flush rose in her cheeks at the embarrassment she’d feel if he saw them. Would he only go to her email? Or would he notice the icon with his name on it and click?

“Lise?”

Perhaps it would be for the best. She wouldn’t have to smooth his ruffled feathers if he saw the loving photos she’d taken. He’d be back to his loving self by the time she got home.

“Lise.” His tone was hard now. Cold.

“Of course,” she rushed out her approval. Let happen what would happen and embrace the embarrassment. Because with it would come healing.

Her joy surged inside.

She’d say the words no matter what man she found when she got home.

“
Grazie
.” The click off was sharp and crisp.

“I’m going to say those words as soon as I get home,” she muttered to herself as she switched off her own phone.

“Was that Vico?” his mother inquired.

“
Si.
” She rose, gathering her packages and purse. “I need to get home.”

With loving hugs and effusive goodbyes, it was several minutes before she was able to get to her scarlet Maserati. Her husband had grumbled about how she should be driven everywhere, but she’d convinced him she’d be fine on her own and only needed some old thing to run errands. Two days later, the Maserati greeted her on the front drive with a big red bow around the entire car. What had thrilled her was the car hadn’t been a sedate silver sedan, but a wild, red sport coupe.

Did Vico understand and appreciate the new Lise?

Slamming the door, she gunned the engines and grinned in the rear-view mirror. The new Lise was about to take on her husband’s mistrust and do away with it, along with any trace of the old Lise.

Then she was damn well going to say those words.

The villa was quiet when she let herself in. There were faint noises from the downstairs kitchen. The chef and housekeeper exchanging notes about the night’s dinner, probably. She stood in the foyer, listening. Listening for her husband.

He was here. The limo he usually took into town had sat on the far side of the villa, the driver chattering on his mobile, his hand waving in the air as he made his point.

The villa was quiet, hushed.

Her tummy suddenly went queasy. With determination, she ignored it. She knew what the problem was now. It was merely a matter of making things clear.

His office door was closed. Firmly. He never closed the door to her in all the months they’d lived here at the villa.

She ignored the signal and pushed it open.

“Ah,” he said. “You are home,
mia dolce
.”

Not once had he called her this nickname in the last three days.

Joy rose inside her.

Maybe he’d seen the pictures. Maybe he knew what she felt.

She plowed into the room, but then something, something stopped her. Some sense of unease, of borderline panic.

Shadows cloaked him as he sat behind his desk. The shutters were closed to the afternoon sun, where usually he had them open, often the windows as well. To let in Italy, he chided her one day with a smile. To let in the smells of Italy.

“How can you work like this?” Lise glanced around, thinking perhaps he had company and they needed some cover to have a private conversation. “You’re alone?”

“
Si
. Very alone.” He didn’t move and for some reason, his voice sounded ominous.

“I know what’s wrong with you.” Shaking off the foreboding stirring in her blood, she stepped forward, trying to remember where the light was on his desk. She wanted to see his face when she made her confession of love.

“You have often pointed out what is wrong with me.”

A huff of exasperation escaped her. “Turn on the light.”

“Your wish is my command,
Princesse
.” His accent no longer sounded sexy and toe-curling. Now it sliced through the words, giving them a hard, tough edge. Her nickname dripped with the old, biting sarcasm.

The light on his desk flashed on.

With a gasp, she took a step back.

His eyes burned with the old hate. The hate she’d thought forever gone. His face was pale, stony, taut with cruel anger. His mouth was a grim slash of fury across his face. But his body was all lazy grace. Dressed in a black T-shirt and midnight-dark jeans, he lounged back in his chair, his hands draped over the arms as if he had not a care in the world.

This wasn’t something wrong. Wrong meant a mistake, a misunderstanding. Something that could be fixed with her words and explanations.

This was worse. This was a death.

Rushing past the thought, the paralyzing thought, she croaked, “What is it? Tell me.”

“Interesting reading.’ Languidly, he flipped a sheaf of papers her way. “I applaud you.”

She didn’t move. Moving would mean she’d find out why something was dying inside her.

His mouth grimaced in a savage smile. “Why am I surprised you do not wish to read the report? You already know the contents, undoubtedly. You were the one who initiated this, after all.”

Lise stared him in the eye, trying to find the person who’d lovingly kissed her and loved her in his bed. The man who tenderly cared for her and her baby as they made their way to Italy. The man who she adored with every atom in her being.

He was no longer there. There was nothing in his eyes of golden love and soft, green tenderness. There was only brutal, black death looking at her.

“What do they say?” she whispered.

For the first time, his indolent body tensed. “Do not play with me.”

Apparently, she’d have to look for herself if she were to know and understand this death happening in her and around her. The connection between them, the connection that had zipped and zapped from the moment they’d met—the one she’d come to cherish and relish—the connection was severed. She felt the cord of it now, defeated and destroyed. It coiled inward, wrapping around her heart. And he did nothing to reach into her and make the connection come to life again between them.

Weeping at his feet would do no good.

She stepped forward and grabbed the papers.

The silence was deafening as she scanned the details. Drank in exactly what was going on. Figured out what had made her husband turn to stone.

Sue for divorce. Equitable distribution of property. Primary custody.

“Where did you find these?”

He stared at her. With intimate hatred.

“My email.”

“I realize now why you paused before giving me your permission. You should not have been so trusting,” he sneered. “It is not a good idea to alert your enemy to your plans.”

“You are not my enemy.”
You are my love
.

“I have always been your enemy.” His eyes blazed. “I was just stupid and forgot that fact for a while.”

Her brain clicked and clicked as she watched her husband retreat farther and farther.

You were absolutely right not to sign a prenuptial agreement with that brute.

Don’t worry. I will make sure you’re okay.

Check your emails.

Her mother had been extremely busy. This was the only possible explanation.

“I didn’t do this.” Slapping the papers down on the desk, she struggled to find more words, desperate for him to believe.