Italian Bachelors: Irresistible Sicilians

‘Why?’ She had backed against the door to block his exit.

‘I’ve already told you. I have work to do.’

She had folded her arms across her chest and said the words she’d longed to say for months. ‘No. I want you to stay at home tonight and talk to me. I want you to tell me what the hell’s going on in your life that is turning you into a stranger.’

His face a mask of fury, he had stood before her. ‘I am not answerable to you, or Pepe, or anyone. I am your husband and my word alone should be good enough to satisfy any curiosity you may have. Now move aside.’

‘Or what? You’ll manhandle me out of the way?’

He’d raised his eyes to the ceiling and muttered an oath that even Grace with her limited Italian had understood.

Anyone in their right mind would have got out of his way immediately, but no matter how hard her heart had hammered, no matter how frightened she had been, she hadn’t been frightened of him. No, something else had scared her and however hard she had tried to swat it away, it had loomed closer than ever.

When he’d looked back down at her, his features had regained some form of composure. ‘Please, Grace,’ he’d said, his voice surprisingly tender. ‘You are reading too much into this. All brothers argue. The casinos and nightclubs need hands-on running, that is all.’ He had stroked a finger down her cheek. ‘How about I promise to stay out no more than a couple of hours? When I get home we’ll share a bottle of wine and I’ll give you a massage. How does that sound?’

Despite herself, despite knowing she shouldn’t just capitulate, she’d nodded and sighed, pressing her forehead against his chest. Luca’s heart had been hammering as wildly as her own.

‘I worry I don’t know you any more,’ she’d confessed. ‘You’re hardly ever home and when you are, you’re distant with me. And you’re drinking too much—it scares me.’

Wrapping his strong arms tightly around her, he’d buried his face in her hair. ‘You have nothing to worry about, amore. I swear. You know I love you. That will never change.’

Tears had pricked her eyes, fear gripping her stronger than ever. ‘I love you too.’

When he had returned that night, there had been no shared bottle of wine and no massage. Even though her head had ached and her heart had been heavy, she had fallen asleep on the sofa. He’d carried her to their bedroom and helped her undress, then let her sleep, locked in his arms.

In the morning, she had awoken and immediately sat upright, as if she’d been hit by a lightning bolt. He’d already left for work, leaving a sweet note on his pillow for her. He hadn’t been there for her to tell of the vivid dream that had awoken her so abruptly. The dream had brought into sharp focus something that had been hovering in the back of her mind for days, like a wispy cloud that refused to be caught.

She’d dreamt she was pregnant.

* * *

‘Is there a problem?’

Grace jumped. She’d been so lost in the past, the carpet so thick, she hadn’t heard Luca’s approach.

She pressed a hand to her chest and managed the faintest of smiles. ‘Lily’s napping, so I thought I should see if I had anything suitable to wear for the party on Saturday.’

‘I’ll get a member of staff to move everything to the blue room,’ he said, looking past her. ‘But I doubt there is anything suitable to wear in there.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘In the past I was happy to indulge your preference for bright colours but not any more. The party we’re attending is a high-society affair and you will dress appropriately.’

‘You always liked that I dressed differently. Unless you were lying to me.’

‘That was then,’ he said coldly. ‘I was far too indulgent. I have already stated my desire for a traditional Sicilian wife. In future you shall wear clothes I deem appropriate in public.’

‘And what does a Sicilian husband deem appropriate wifely apparel for a party with the cream of Florentine society?’

‘Something demure, elegant and sedate. And not just in her dress but in her manners too.’ He stared at her pointedly.

‘You really are full of it,’ she said scornfully. ‘I would kill to see a man try and tell your mother what to wear and how to behave.’

‘My father would never have told her how to behave because he loved her for who she was. The simple difference is, I do not love you. Your wants and needs mean nothing to me. When you accompany me as my wife you will wear what I tell you and behave as I tell you or you can pack your bags and leave.’

He meant every word. She could feel it.

If she called his bluff and packed, he would arrange a driver to take her to the edge of the estate. Once at the border, that would be it. She would never be allowed back in.

‘In that case, I shall go shopping for the drabbest dress in the world.’ She plastered the biggest, fakest smile she could muster to her face. ‘I’ll do my best to buy a dress that is the epitome of elegance.’

‘Rather than rely on your definition of elegance, I will accompany you.’ He checked his watch. ‘I’ll clear my schedule for the next few hours. We can leave now.’

* * *

The dress on the mannequin had thin straps and a tight buttercup-yellow bodice that narrowed in a V at the waist. Its skirt fell to the knees at the front, the back flaring down to the ankles like a peacock tail, a riot of reds, yellows and oranges. It was so beautifully designed and cut, so fantastically offbeat that Grace couldn’t help but stare wistfully at it.

Luca appeared by her side with a fawning shop assistant. ‘I have selected the dresses I wish you to try,’ he said in the offhand manner he had adopted since they’d arrived at the exclusive shopping arcade.

Leaving Lily with him, she followed another assistant into the plush changing room.

He’d selected four dresses. Like the others she had already paraded herself in, they were all in varying shades of beige. If there was one colour she loathed, it was beige. She remembered on one of their previous, happier shopping trips she had regaled him for a good twenty minutes about why beige was so nondescript it didn’t deserve to be called a colour. Even in her darkest days she would never have contemplated wearing it.

In their marriage’s first incarnation, he had made her feel like a princess whenever they went shopping together, never caring if her preferences were a little offbeat, his only wish for her to feel confident and happy in whatever she chose. This time he dismissed each of her humiliating parades in front of him with a dismissive sweep of his eyes, his attention taken with the fawning shop assistant, who at one point he permitted to hold Lily.

The spike of jealousy that pierced into her chest was so acute she had to fight the urge to rip her child from the assistant’s arms.

‘Lily will need a bottle soon,’ she finally snapped when displaying the fourth dress for him. ‘Will this one do?’

He fixed cold eyes on her. ‘I think it is highly suitable.’

‘Great.’ She bestowed him with a saccharine smile and sashayed back into the changing room. Of all the dresses she had tried on, this one was the greatest antithesis to style. It resembled something her grandmother would wear to a wedding.

She had no choice but to suck it up. She would rather die than be parted from her daughter.

Once the dress was packaged and Luca had paid, he led them to a bustling café for a late lunch.

‘Can’t we go straight home?’ Grace asked, in no mood to spend any more time with him. In three days they would be going on an overnight trip to Florence for the blasted party. She was going to be stuck with him for at least twenty-four hours.

‘You’re the one who said Lily needed another feed.’

Naturally, Lily chose that moment to start grizzling.

Without exchanging another word between them, they ordered. While they waited for their meals, a waiter was dispatched to heat Lily’s bottle.

‘Why do you not breastfeed?’ Luca asked, finally breaking the silence between them.

Rocking Lily on her shoulder, she stared at him. ‘Why?’