Convenient Brides (9 page)

Shaken that his control could be so suddenly and severely tested, he glanced back along the beach. Assured they were well out of sight of the villa, he spun around and bracing himself against the pillar of sandstone at his back, pinned her to him.

She wore a pleated skirt with a hem that just covered her knees. It took but a moment for him to lift it, and inch his finger inside the elasticized leg of her panties.

She was hot and swollen and wet. Already whimpering with need, and reaching for him.

Another moment and she had the fly of his blue jeans unsnapped. He sprang into her searching hand, fully erect and pulsing on the brink of explosion.

Heart thundering, fingers fumbling, he ground out, “Your underwear’s in the way.”

“Rip it, then,” she panted, “but for God’s sake, hurry up!”

Sliding his hands beneath her sweet, slender buttocks, he lifted her until her legs were twined around his waist. “This is craziness,
tesoro!
I don’t have a condom with me.”

“I don’t care!”

Nor did she! Reaching down with her free hand, she tore at her cotton panties until she’d uncovered herself, and could guide him home. Her flesh welcomed him, hot and tight as a silk glove. He drove into her, filling her completely.

“Ahh!”
Her head fell back, and she closed her eyes, the
first ripples of orgasm already taking hold. “Faster, Paolo…harder…deeper…!”

They could make a baby, and his conscience cared that he was taking such a risk. But his body belonged to her, and he could no more reclaim it than he could count the grains of sand beneath his feet. She possessed him without mercy, and when he came in a hot, shuddering burst, she clamped her legs more tightly around him and milked him of every last drop of seed.

Spent, he buckled at the knees, and taking her with him, sprawled on the beach in a tangle of limbs. Sand trickled over them, cool, impersonal, nonjudgmental. But he could not so easily exonerate himself.

Stroking the hair back from her face, he said, “You realize I could have impregnated you? That we could already have placed our marriage in jeopardy?”

“Because of a baby?” Her eyes stared back at him unfocused, still glazed with the residue of passion. “How could an innocent baby possibly do that?”

“By placing an impossible strain on all of us. Already, we are stand-in parents to two children in need of security. They should not have to compete with a third who is our own blood child.”

Her gaze flickered, slid away from his.“ They wouldn’t have to, if we made them feel just as loved,” she said, feverishly attempting to restore order to her clothing—a hopeless task where her underwear was concerned, but she seemed determined to try to repair it. Seemed determined to do anything, however hopeless, rather than acknowledge his very real concerns.

Catching her hands, he forced them to be still. “Look at me, Caroline, and stop trying to fix something as insignificant as a pair of cotton underpants, when we have bigger problems facing us. You say we’d love our niece and nephew as much as a child of our own, but how can you guarantee that would
be the case? Think of it,
cara!
A baby you carried in your womb for nine months which, once it was born, would demand all your attention. How could you possibly divide yourself fairly among three, when your heart truly belonged to only one?”

“How could I not?” she whispered, her eyes swimming in sudden, inexplicable tears. “Gina and Clemente are my own…sister’s children.”

He could have kicked himself. Vanessa’s death was never far from her thoughts, and all he’d accomplished by airing his concerns was remind her of her recent loss. “Forgive me,” he said contritely. “I didn’t mean to make you cry, nor do I blame you for my carelessness.”

“You should,” she replied, her mouth trembling uncontrollably. “I’m the one who insisted we make love.”

Smiling despite himself, he said, “In case you haven’t noticed,
cara mia,
no woman can seduce a man unless he’s willing! Protecting you from an unplanned pregnancy is my responsibility, and I let you down.”

“Well, you’re probably worrying for nothing,” she said, pulling herself together a little. “It’s the wrong time of the month for me to conceive.”

“But we can’t rely on that as a foolproof method of contraception,” he pointed out gently.

“What are you suggesting, then? That if I’m pregnant, I sneak back to Rome and find a back-street abortionist?”

“
Dio,
no!” he exclaimed, shocked almost speechless. “Caroline,
tesoro,
I would never permit you to have an abortion. All I’m saying is that, in view of what happened between us this afternoon, making a formal announcement of our engagement has become that much more imperative. Should it turn out that you are, in fact, pregnant, a wedding arranged to take place quickly would eliminate any suggestion that we married for the sake of an unborn child. It’s the least we can
do for the twins, to let them be assured they’re not an afterthought in the arrangement.”

Subdued, and seeming still too embarrassed to look him in the face, she sifted sand between her fingers and mumbled, “Oh…yes…I see your point.”

“Then we’re agreed. We’ll move forward without delay. Will two weeks give you enough time to prepare?”

“More than enough,” she said, at last meeting his gaze. “We’re in mourning, Paolo. A big wedding would be inappropriate.”

“It doesn’t have to be a grand affair, to be memorable. But if I have my way, this will be your
only
shot at being a bride, and you deserve something more than a brief ceremony crammed in between the many other things we have to do in order to set up house together. One thing at a time, however.” He climbed to his feet, put his own clothing to rights, then extended a hand to her. “Comealong, my love. Let’s return to the house and prepare for an eventful evening ahead. Wedding details can wait until after we’ve broken the news to the family.”

“Engaged?”

Paolo’s announcement, delivered during the cocktail hour, brought the entire room to a standstill. Lidia’s mouth fell open and she clasped her hands at her breast, a ray of pure joy lighting her face for the first time since the funerals. The children merely looked mystified, but were sufficiently impressed by the sudden electricity charging the atmosphere to stop bickering over the puzzle they were working on, and slink closer to each other on the sofa.

Poor lambs, Callie thought, watching them. They’d learned at far too young an age that life could deal some vicious blows on the innocent, and were obviously afraid another was in the offing.

Salvatore, however, the only one who’d responded verbally to the news, and not very agreeably at that, said again, with
more emphasis this time, as if Paolo had spoken in foreign tongues, “
Engaged?
To Caroline?”

“That’s right,” Paolo said. “I proposed to her, and she accepted. Congratulate me, Father.”

Salvatore scowled and favored her with a look loaded with such suspicion that Callie halfexpected him to accuse her of entrapment. “When did all this take place?”

“Several days ago.”

“And you wait until now, to spring the news on us?”

“Caroline needed some time to decide if she wanted me for a husband.” Paolo smiled at her over the rim of his aperitif glass. “I’m very happy to say that, after due consideration, she decided she does.”

Clemente spoke up, his brow furrowed in confusion. “How can you and Zia Caroline get married? Uncles shouldn’t marry aunts.”

“Especially not in this case,” his grandfather muttered in an aside.

Shooting his father a quelling glare, Paolo explained, “They can if they’re not related to one another, Clemente.”

“I don’t understand how.”

“Well, when you’re grown up, you and Gina might be aunt and uncle to each other’s children, but you could never marry her because she’s your sister and you’re her brother.”

Clemente digested that information quickly enough. “I wouldn’t marry her even if I could,” he declared. “She’s too bossy!”

Ignoring him, Gina appealed to Paolo, her little face anxious. “Does that mean you’re going to live in America with her, Zio?”

“No. We plan to live in Rome, quite near your old house.”

“Oh, this is wonderful!” Lidia exclaimed, setting down her vermouth and embracing first Callie, then Paolo. “The best news in the world! When is the wedding to be?”

“As soon as you and Caroline can put one together,” he said. “Preferably within the next two or three weeks.”

“So soon? Paolo, a wedding takes time to arrange.”

“Not this one,” Callie interjected. “We want something small and private.”

“What’s the big rush?” Salvatore asked, his radar still obviously on high alert. “We are a family in mourning.”

“Which is exactly why we want to keep the fuss to a minimum.” Paolo turned to the twins. “But there’s more. Zia Caroline and I would like to make a home for the two of you. We want you to come and live with us.”

“So that’s what this is really all about!” Salvatore blew out a breath of undisguised relief. “I was beginning to think you’d taken leave of your senses.”

Paolo fixed him in a severe look. “If you cannot be happy for Caroline and me, Father, then at least have the good grace to keep quiet.”

By then oblivious to the mounting tension, Gina bounced up and down on the sofa in excitement. “Can I be a bridesmaid? My friend Anita was a bridesmaid when her uncle got married, and she wore a pretty dress, with flowers in her hair.”

Callie was about to say no, it wasn’t going to be that kind of wedding, but Paolo spoke up first. “Of course you may. Every bride should have a maid to help her on her wedding day, just as every groom should have a best man.” He eyed his nephew. “Are you willing to take on the job, Clemente, or do I ask someone else to do it?”

“I’ll do it,” Clemente said solemnly, “but first I have a question. Everything you say makes Gina and me feel happy, Zio Paolo, but how can that be right when our parents just died?”

Callie’s heart constricted. “Oh, honey,” she said softly, drawing him to her, “don’t ever feel you don’t have the right to be happy.Your mommy and daddy wouldn’t want that, at all.”

“But won’t they think we’ll forget them, if we come to live with you?”

“No,” she assured him. “Because they know we’ll never be able to take their place. We’re just standing in for them.”

“Will they know we’ll still miss them?”

How sensitive he was, this young son of hers. Moved, she said, “Of course they will. We’ll all miss them. But I think they’ll feel better knowing your uncle and I are there to look after you.”

“They have their grandmother and me,” Salvatore reminded her sourly.

“Yes.” She spared him a passing glance. “But even you must agree that children can never have too many people who care about them, and whether or not you believe it, Signor Rainero, your grandchildren’s welfare is something I hold very dear to my heart.”

If he wasn’t impressed by her remarks, Clemente was. His mouth curving in a tiny smile, he said, “You’re nice, Zia Caroline.”

“Nice enough to be given a hug?”

He screwed up his face, debating the question. “Okay,” he said finally, and came into her embrace.

It was the first time she’d ever felt his arms close around her as if he meant it, instead of as if it was a duty he was compelled to perform. Struggling to hang on to her composure, she looked to Paolo for help.

“Enough of trying to strangle my future wife, young man,” he decreed, all mock indignation mixed with laughter. “And no tears from you, Caroline, or you, Momma! Tonight is for celebrating.”

“So that’s why there’s champagne chilling,” Salvatore said, drumming up a token smile. “Well, since you’ve both made up your minds, I suppose I should propose a toast.”

D
INNER
that night was almost festive.
Almost.

“We’ll have to find a dress for your big day, Caroline, and also one for Gina,” Lidia said. “I would so love to go shopping with you and introduce you to my favorite designer.”

“You’re welcome to come shopping with me, but I hadn’t thought of buying anything too extravagant,” Callie said, only to be shot down, surprisingly, by Salvatore.

“If you’re worried about money,” he pronounced bluntly, between sips of the very excellent champagne served with the meal, “do not be. A suitable wedding outfit will be our gift to you.”

Was he deliberately condescending to her, as if he feared she might appear at the altar wearing red sequins and feathers, Callie wondered, bristling, or was this his heavy-handed way of welcoming her into the family?

“That’s very generous of you, Signor Rainero,” she replied coolly, “but it’s not the money I’m concerned about. I’m well able to buy my own dress, and Gina’s, too. But the kind of wedding Paolo and I want doesn’t call for a designer gown. I’m certain I can find something
suitable
in any good department store, of which I’m sure there are many in Rome.”

Ever mindful of his aristocratic heritage, Salvatore covered his contempt at such a suggestion with a strenuously benign
smile—the kind, Callie was willing to bet, that would leave his face aching for the next half hour. “My dear lady, the Raineros do not shop in department stores! You’ll find plenty of other opportunities to wear a designer gown, once the wedding is a fait accompli.”

He paused, long enough to take another sip of champagne and fastidiously dab his linen napkin to the corner of his mouth, then concluded, “Indeed, one such item of haute couture will not begin to fill your needs. As my son’s wife, you will attend many formal functions, and frequently find your photograph dominating the society pages of Italian newspapers, not to mention the more respectable international magazines. You might as well accept that fact, and start out the way you’ll be obliged to carry on.”

At her side, Paolo stiffened and covered her suddenly clenched fist warmly with his hand. “Caroline’s role as my wife is something she and I will determine together, Father, without input from you, or anyone else,” he said evenly.

“I’minterfering, am I?” Salvatore’s amusement showed as ingular lack of remorse. “Very well, I’ll keep my opinions to myself, provided you allow me one concession.” He directed another too-amiable smile Callie’s way, this one even more fixed than its predecessor. “That, as the newest member of my family, Caroline, you call me Suocero, which in Italian means—”

“Father-in-law,” she finished for him. “Yes, Signor Rainero, I’m aware of that. I took several university courses in Italian, and am quite fluent in the language.”

He regarded her with sly triumph, as if he’d just caught her red-handed in a lie. “I don’t understand. Didn’t you say you studied architecture?”

“That is correct.”

“Then why such an interest in learning Italian?”

Because I wanted to be able to communicate with my children, in the event that they didn’t learn English.

“The influence of the Italian Renaissance and Baroque period on modern architecture is huge. I spent one summer session studying in Florence, Milan and Venice. A working knowledge of the language was essential.”

“One summer, hmm.” Continuing to regard her narrowly, he plucked at his lower lip with one finger. “Was that the same year you visited your sister and her children?”

“Yes. At the end of the semester, I came to Rome and spent a few days with Vanessa and her family.”

“They were an afterthought, were they?”

“Hardly!”

“I don’t remember you coming to see us,” Gina chimed in.

Silently blessing the child for causing a distraction before she lost her temper with the mistrustful old fool destined to be her father-in-law, Callie explained, “That’s because you were very little then, Gina. Still babies, really, not even two years old. You probably only remember coming to see me in San Francisco, when you were older.”

Clemente nodded enthusiastically. “I remember doing that! You live in a town house, at the top of a hill, and you have a fireplace in your salon, and if you stand at the window and look down the hill, you can see an island with an old prison on it.”

“That’s right,” she said, pathetically grateful that he’d kept a little part of her life locked away in his memory. “It’s called Alcatraz. I’ll take you to visit it some time, if you like.”

“How can you do that? It’s a long way away, and I don’t want to live in America.” Gina turned accusing eyes on her uncle. “You said we’re going to live here, Zio Paolo.”

“We are,” he said soothingly. “But we might take a holi-day in San Francisco, once in a while. You wouldn’t mind that, would you?”

“Not as long as I don’t have to stay there. I’d miss Nonna and Nonno, and all my friends.”

“Just as we’d miss you,” her grandfather said, his glance again settling on Callie with brief and telling intent. “Far too much to allow you to live so far away.”

Allow?
she fume dinwardly. Who did he think he was? God?

She had to bite her lip to keep the lid on her annoyance. Why didn’t he just come out and say he didn’t trust her, and the whole idea of her marrying into his illustrious family turned his stomach? she thought, defiantly returning his stare.

Most young wives, if they had any problems at all with their husbands’ parents, seemed more often to be at logger-heads with the mother-in-law. Clearly, in her case, Salvatore was going to be the difficult one.

Hard-pressed to conceal the acid in her tone, she said, “In case you missed it the first time around, Signor Rainero, the whole purpose of our making a home for the children is to create as little disruption to their lives as possible. Relocating to San Francisco, or anywhere other than Rome, for that matter, would be counterproductive, don’t you think?”

He inclined his head in regal assent, and the meal ended shortly after. And not a moment too soon, as far as Callie was concerned. She’d had about as much of Salvatore’s overbearing attitude as she could take for one day, and when Lidia asked if she’d like to help get the children settled for the night, she leaped at the chance.

Perching on Clemente’sbed, with him leaning affectionately against her on one side, and Gina cuddled up next to her on the other, and watching the telltale expressions sweeping over their adorable little face as Lidia read, in English, another chapter from
Sarah Plain and Tall,
Callieknewadeepthankfulnessfor the changes that had come so unexpectedly into her life.

This
was what she’d missed with her children—the small, everyday rituals they’d cherish the rest of their lives—and to be given the chance to take part in them at last was nothing short of a miracle.

“Sarah’s like you, Zia Caroline,” Gina decided, when Lidia finally closed the book.

Callie laughed. “You mean, plain and tall?”

“No,” Gina said, shocked. “You’re pretty. You look a lot like Mommy. But you’ve come to look after us because she can’t anymore, and that’s what Sarah did in the story, as well.”

“Yes.” Stabbed by one of those sudden pangs of loss that crept up on her so frequently, Callie dropped a kiss on her daughter’s head. “And just like Sarah in the story, I’ll never leave you.”

Clemente tugged on her sleeve. “Or me?”

“Or you, sweetheart.”

His father closed the library door, went directly to the antique carved butler table where coffee and liqueurs waited, and poured two glasses of grappa. “All right, there’s no one here now but the two of us,” he said, handing one glass to Paolo. “So tell me, my son, what’s really behind this preposterous idea of marrying Caroline Leighton?”

“I already told you. I want to put the pieces of the twins’ lives back together, the best way I know how.”

His father curled his lip scornfully. “And we both know you don’t need to marry that woman, to do it. Or, if you feel you must take a wife in order to provide a mother figure, that there are a dozen other women more suited—possibly a hundred!—who’d jump at the chance to take on the job.”

“But none as dedicated as Caroline to your grandchildren’s welfare. Even you can’t deny that she loves Gina and Clemente.” His gaze clashed with his father’s. “I expect you to find that reason enough to give us your blessing, even if you disapprove of my choice.”

For a long moment, their gazes remained locked in silent combat—two men used to getting their own way, Paolo thought grimly, the difference being that the elder had years more experience in winning.

This time, however, his father was the first to break eye contact. “At least you don’t insult my intelligence by claiming to be in love with her,” he growled.

To ward off the chill of evening, Paolo knelt and put a match to the fire laid in the marble hearth. “How I feel about Caroline is irrelevant to this discussion.”

A clever, smooth answer, delivered with enough dispassion that even his own father couldn’t detect the lie. But there was no deceiving himself. His feelings for Caroline had undergone a huge change. He’d been falling more in love with her every day, and hadn’t hit bottom yet. Probably never would.

Strange how things work out sometimes, he thought, poking at a log. Who’d have expected that what began with a funeral, would end with a wedding? That mutual sorrow would provide the breeding ground for love? Certainly not he!

The day he’d met her in Paris, he’d viewed Caroline as his family’s self-declared enemy, one he was prepared to defeat by any means available. He’d been fooled by her aloof reserve, her icy control, seeing both as symptoms of a woman too self-involved to be touched by anyone’s tragedy but her own. There’d been nothing left of the sweet innocent he’d once seduced.

Or so he’d believed at the time. Little by little, though, her brittle facade had cracked, beginning as early as that same afternoon when the twins’ nanny, Tullia, brought them back to his parents’ apartment from the park. At the sight of them, Caroline, who’d been taking tea with his mother in the salon, jumped up so abruptly from her chair that her cup overturned in its saucer.

“Oh!” she’d whispered brokenly, flying across the room to where the children hovered in the doorway, and folding them in a fierce hug.

He’d heard a world of love in that single syllable; a lifetime of something that, if he hadn’t known better, he’d have
identified as a regret painful beyond bearing. The twins, though, still frozen with a grief too large for any child to comprehend, had remained unmoved, not caring about her enough either to reject or accept her.

“Can you not say ciao to your aunt?” he’d asked them, surprised and not a little chagrined at how sorry he felt for her.

“Ciao,”
they’d recited obediently, and tried to wriggle free.

After that, for him, it had been downhill all the way. The cracks in her composure had grown increasingly more noticeable, try as she might to hide them. At any other time, his mother would have noticed, and done her best to console their guest. But his mother was drowning in her own sorrow, and able to offer limited comfort at best.

As for his father, so deeply ingrained was his antipathy for her that, if Caroline had collapsed in a broken heap at his feet, he’d have stepped over her without a second glance, and sent for the maid to clean up the mess.

Paolo, though, grew more enamored by the hour,even if he’d been slow to realize it at the time. How else to explain why he couldn’t keep his hands off her, or stay away from her at night, or bear not being within touching distance during the day?

Why else had he proposed to her?

Oh, he might fool everyone else with his altruistic motives, and yes, his niece and nephew had figured hugely in his decision, but no use fooling himself. He wanted Caroline
despite
all the practical reasons for marrying her, not because of them. He was hooked, plain and simple. And loving every minute of it!

Unable to keep the smile off his face, he dusted off his hands and picked up his glass again, aware that his father watched him closely.

“You say your feelings for Caroline are
irrelevant,
Paolo?” he said scornfully. “Then I say, either you’re lying to me, or worse, you’re lying to yourself.”

“You’re entitled to your opinion, Father.”

His father responded with a derisive snort. “Opinion, nothing! Admit it, man: you’re besotted with her! She’s sbewitched you with her smiles. Undone you with her tears. And that is why, for your protection and that of my grandchildren, I intend to have my team of lawyers draw up a watertight prenuptial agreement. That the wretched woman’s all sweet compliance now is no guarantee she’ll remain so in the future.”

Stopping dead in his tracks, Paolo struggled to contain the surge of anger scalding his throat. When he at last trusted himself to speak, he did so with feral intent. “Listen well to what I’m about to say, Father, and take it to heart,” he snarled, turning slowly to face him. “First, you will do no such thing. And second, you will never again refer to my future wife with such contempt. I will not tolerate a repeat of it, for any reason.”

“Bravely spoken, Paolo,” his father returned, “but I’m afraid you can’t control my feelings anymore, it would seem, than you can control your own.”

“But
you
can control your tongue. You can and will treat Caroline cordially and with civility. And if you defy me on this, then prepare to be deprived of the pleasure of
my
family’s company.”

His father sank back in his chair, his color hectic, his breathing labored. “You would not dare deny me access to my own grandchildren!”

“Try me,” Paolo said, refusing to show his alarm at the symptoms his father presented.

“Let me remind you that I am the head of this household, Paolo,” he blustered, fumbling beneath the lapel of his dinner jacket.

“As I will be head of mine. You’d do well to remember that.”

His father’s color receded, leaving his skin an unhealthy gray. “You accuse me of not showing proper esteem for your fiancée, yet dare to address me with such disrespect?”