The Sicilian's Christmas Bride

In other words, Dante had everything a man could possibly want, including the knowledge that his life could very well have turned out differently. Being aware of that was part of who he was. It helped keep him alert.

Focused.

Everyone said that of him. That he was focused. Tightly so, not just on his business affairs or whatever woman held his interest at the moment but on whatever was happening around him.

Not tonight.

Tonight, he couldn’t keep his attention on anything.

He’d already lost interest in the conversation of the others at the table. He took his cue from Charlotte, nodded, smiled, even laughed when it seemed appropriate.

It bothered him that he should be so distracted.

Except, that was the wrong word. What he felt was—What? Restless. As if something was about to happen. Something he wasn’t prepared for, which was impossible.

He was always prepared.

Always, he thought…Except for that one time. That one time—

“DanteDarling, you aren’t paying attention at all!”

Charlotte was leaning toward him, head tilted at just the right angle to make an offering of her décolletage. She was smiling, but the glint in her eye told him she wasn’t happy.

“He’s always like this,” she said gaily, “when he’s planning some devastating business coup.” She gave a delicate shudder. “Whatever is it, DanteDarling? Something bloody and awful—and oh, so exciting?”

Everyone laughed politely. So did Dante, but he knew, in that instant, his decision to end things with Charlotte was the right one.

These past couple of weeks, while he’d grown bored she’d grown more demanding. Why hadn’t he phoned? Where had he been when she called him? She’d begun using that foolish name for him and now she’d taken to dropping little remarks that made it seem as if she and he were intimate in all the ways he had made clear he never would be.

With any woman. Any woman, even—

“…would love to spend Christmas in Aspen, wouldn’t we, DanteDarling?”

Dante forced a smile. “Sorry. I didn’t get that.”

“Dennis and Eve want us to fly to Aspen,” Charlotte purred. “And I accepted.”

Dante’s eyes met hers. “Did you,” he said softly.

“Of course! You know we’re going to spend Christmas together. Why on earth would we want to be apart on such a special day?”

“Why, indeed,” he said, after a long pause. Then he smiled and rose to his feet. “Would you like to dance, Charlotte?”

Something of what he was thinking must have shown in his face.

“Well—well, not just now. I mean, we should stay here and discuss the party. When to fly out, how long we’ll stay—”

Dante took her hand, drew her from her chair and led her from the table. The band was playing a waltz as they stepped onto the dance floor.

“You’re angry,” she said, her voice affecting that little-girl whisper.

“I’m not angry.”

“You are. But it’s your own fault. Six weeks, Dante. Six weeks! It’s time we took the next step.”

“Toward what?” he said, his tone expressionless.

“You know what I mean. A woman expects—”

“You knew what not to expect, Charlotte.” His mouth thinned; his voice turned cold. “And yet, here you are, making plans without consulting me. Talking as if our arrangement is something it is not.” He danced her across the floor and into a corner. “You’re right about one thing. It’s time we, as you put it, took the next step.”

“Are you breaking up with me?” When he didn’t answer, two bright spots of color rose in her cheeks. “You bastard!”

“An accurate perception, but it changes nothing. You’re a beautiful woman. A charming woman. And a bright one. You knew from the beginning how this would end.”

His tone had softened. After all, he had only himself to blame. He should have read the signs, should have realized Charlotte had been making assumptions about the future despite his initial care in making sure she understood they had none. Women seemed to make the same mistake all the time.

Most women, he thought, and a muscle jumped in his cheek.

“I’ve enjoyed the time we’ve spent together,” he said, forcing his attention back where it belonged.

Charlotte jerked free of his hand. “Don’t patronize me!”

“No,” he replied, his voice cooling, “certainly not. If you prefer to make a scene, rest assured that I can accommodate you.”

Her eyes narrowed. He knew she was weighing her options. An embarrassing public display or a polite goodbye that would make it easy for her to concoct a story to soothe her pride.

“Your choice, bella,” he said, more softly. “Do we part friends or enemies?”

She hesitated. Then a smile curved her lips. “You can’t blame me for trying.” Still smiling, she smoothed her palms over the lapels of his dinner jacket. It was a proprietorial gesture and he let her do it; he knew it was for those who might be taking in the entire performance. “But you’re cruel, DanteDarling. Otherwise, you wouldn’t humiliate me in front of my friends.”

“Is that what concerns you?” Dante shrugged. “It’s not a problem. We’ll go back to our table and finish the evening pleasantly. All right?”

“Yes. That’s fine. But Dante?” The tip of her tongue flickered across her lips. “Hear me out, would you?”

“What now?” he said, trying to mask his impatience.

“I know you don’t believe in love and forever after, darling. Well, neither do I.” She paused. “Still, we could have an interesting life together.”

He stared at her in surprise. Was she suggesting marriage? He almost laughed. Still, he supposed he understood. He didn’t know Charlotte’s exact age but she had to be in her late twenties, old enough to want to find a husband who could support her fondness for expensive living.

As for him, men his age had families. Children to carry forward their names. He had to admit he thought about that from time to time, especially since he’d plucked the name “Russo” from a newspaper article.

Having a child to bear the name was surely a way to legitimatize it.

Charlotte could be the perfect wife. She would demand nothing but his superficial attention and tolerate his occasional affair; she would never interfere in his life. Never fill his head to the exclusion of everything else.

And, just that suddenly, Dante knew what was wrong with him tonight.