Convenient Brides: The Italian's Convenient Wife / His Inconvenient Wife / His Convenient Proposal

No, you’re reinforcing a whole host of self-doubts about what I thought were entrenched beliefs in my rights, and I can’t deal with that, especially not with you sitting so close beside me that I forget to be prudent.

“Am I?” he said again, running his knuckles along her jaw in a caress so tender that it undid her.

Her vision blurred. “No,” she said, blinking furiously. “I’m feeling overwhelmed, that’s all.”

“Understandable.” Another pause followed, this one humming with a different kind of energy, before he said thoughtfully, “Given our common goal, can we not find a way to work together, instead of in opposition?”

Tamping down an improbable surge of hope, she said warily, “Exactly what is it you’re proposing, Paolo?”

“That you give me one year. Put your career on hold and take that leave of absence and live here. With me.”

“With you? You mean, in your house?”

“Exactly. At present, I own an apartment, but for the children’s sake, I would buy a villa on the outskirts of Rome. A place with a garden where they could play—one close to where they lived with their parents, so that they could attend the same school, and keep the same friends. In other words, I would make a home for them—and you.”

“You can’t possibly be suggesting that the four of us would all live under the same roof?”

“Why not?”

“Because your father wouldn’t allow it, for a start!”

“My father does not dictate my choices, Caroline. I am my own man.”

She didn’t doubt that for a moment. “Perhaps. But he’d never accept my place at your side.”

“He’d have no choice but to accept you, if you were my wife.”

“You’re suggesting we get married?” This time, there was no controlling her spiking blood pressure.

“Yes,” he said calmly, as if proposing marriage out of the blue was as common an everyday occurrence as brushing his teeth.

“But you don’t love me!”

“Nor do you love me. But we both love the children, do we not?”

“Well…yes.”

“Then is it not worth trying to give back to them a little of what they’ve lost—a home, two people who love them, a semblance of normality?”

To be his wife, to share a home with him and their children…had this not been the stuff her dreams were made of, for longer than she cared to admit? And yet, to grasp them now, on the strength of a whim, an impulse, was surely courting heartbreak all over again.

Quickly, before her foolish heart led her astray a second time where he was concerned, she said, “With a marriage in name only? I don’t think so, Paolo!”

“Nor do I. Such marriages stand no chance of succeeding.”

By then too confused to be delicate, she said bluntly, “Are you suggesting we sleep together?”

With enviable aplomb, he replied, “Why not? I admit, intimacy coupled with love makes for the best bedfellows, but between compatible, consenting adults, intimacy alone can nurture a closeness they might otherwise never know.”

“What if it doesn’t?”

“Then they part as friends and go their separate ways, which is why I ask you to give me a year. If, at the end of it, we agree we cannot make the marriage work, we will end it.”

“And exactly how does that help the children?”

“It gives them a breathing space, a time to heal, among people who care about them enough to put their personal ambitions aside. At the same time, it allows them the chance to get to know you, which cannot be a bad thing if, as you say, you want what is best for them—because you surely must agree, no child can have too large a loving family.”

“I do agree. It’s this other thing you’re suggesting…this business of…of sex…”

“I’ve taken you by surprise, I know, Caroline, and I don’t expect an answer from you tonight. All I ask is that you consider my proposal.”

Consider it? Good grief, it was all she could do not to grab hold of it with both hands before he changed his mind! But his businesslike approach cooled her enthusiasm. He was proposing a marriage of convenience, even if it did include bedroom privileges, and she’d be a fool to forget that. The odds that they could make a success of such an arrangement were dim at best.

So, matching his detachment, she said, “I suppose that can’t hurt.”

“My father wants us to stay here another week, but I suggest we make it two. That should give you enough time to reach a decision, shouldn’t it?”

“I can’t imagine it’ll take me that long.”

“But if you say yes, as I’m hoping you will, the extra time will give the children the chance to get used to the idea of us being a family, before too many changes take place. Then, once they’ve accepted the idea, we can return to Rome, and concentrate on finding a place to live.”

“That makes sense, I suppose,” she said, and wondered how he managed to make what was surely a rash, improbable idea seem so utterly sane and workable.

“You were gone a long time, Paolo,” his mother said, coming out to where he leaned against the terrace balustrade, nursing a snifter of brandy. “Your father is in bed already.”

“And why aren’t you, Momma?” he asked fondly, noting the long silky robe she wore over her nightgown, and the embroidered satin slippers on her feet. “Aren’t I bit past the age where you have to wait up, to make sure I get home safely?”

“I’m too worried and sad to sleep. First, Caroline told us she’d like to take the children back to America with her—”

“We’ve known all along that was a possibility. It shouldn’t have come as too much of a surprise.”

“No, but it still came as a shock to hear it put into words so plainly. Then, after the pair of you left the house, I found the twins huddled at the top of the stairs, with their arms around each other. They were very upset and confused. I’m afraid, with their grandfather’s shouting, they heard more than was good for them.”

“My father was out of control. People on the mainland probably heard him. Were you able to reassure them?”

“I tried, but they heard Caroline, too. Their English is too good, Paolo. They understood every word that was spoken, and they’re frightened. Everything they’ve always been able to count on is crumbling around them.”

A sigh shook her slight frame, and Paolo realized that Ermanno’s death had taken an even greater toll on her reserves than had first been apparent. The silver in her hair grew more noticeable every day. The spring had gone from her step, and she’d lost a shocking amount of weight.

Nor was grief the only culprit. She was exhausted. Even with Jolanda’s help here on the island, and with the nanny, Tullia, standing by in Rome, caring for the twins exacted too heavy a toll on a woman of their grandmother’s years.

“My heart bleeds for Caroline,” she continued sadly. “She’s in an impossible position, even if she doesn’t yet realize it. She loves those children, and there’s no question but that their lives would be enriched by having her be a part of them. But even if she could force the issue by taking them to live with her in America, what good would it do, if they ended up hating her for it?”

“No good at all. Technically they are half-American, as Caroline says, but in their hearts and outlook, they are as Italian as I am. Their true home is here, and always will be, regardless of who wins this battle of guardianship. Not only that, they’re no longer babies. We speak of rights as if they’re exclusive to adults only, but the children have their rights, too, and they deserve to be heard.”

Another deep sigh escaped his mother. “Oh, Paolo! How are we ever going to resolve the difficulties facing us?”

“We’ll find a way, Momma. In fact, I might already have come up with a solution that will make everyone happy.”