The Bride's Awakening (8 page)

She’d only walked a few metres before Vittorio caught up, grabbing her by the arm none too gently. ‘How are you planning on returning home?’ he asked, his voice coldly furious and, angry again, Ana shrugged off his arm.

‘Fortunately, there are such things as water taxis.’

‘Ana—’ Vittorio stopped helplessly and Ana knew he was utterly bewildered by her behaviour. Well, that made two of them. She stopped walking, her head bowed.

‘I know you think you meant well,’ she began, only to stop when Vittorio laughed dryly.

‘Oh, dear,’ he said. ‘I’ve
really
botched it then, haven’t I?’

She looked up, trying to smile. ‘I just—’ She took a breath, trying to explain without making herself utterly vulnerable. It was impossible. ‘I don’t wear dresses for a reason, Vittorio. It’s not simply that I have appalling taste in clothes.’ He looked so surprised, she almost laughed. ‘Is that what you thought? That I don’t know a designer gown from a bin bag?’

‘I didn’t—’ he began, and now she did laugh. She’d never expected to see the Count of Cazlevara so discomfited.

‘I’m a full-figured five foot eleven,’ she said flatly. ‘Designer gowns generally don’t run in my size.’

Surprise flashed briefly in Vittorio’s eyes. ‘I think,’ he said quietly, ‘you are selling yourself a bit short.’

‘I prefer not to sell myself at all,’ she returned rather tartly.

Someone tapped her on the shoulder and Ana turned. ‘Would you mind moving? I’m trying to get a snap of San Marco,’ a cameratoting tourist explained and, muttering an oath, Vittorio took Ana by the arm once more and led her away from the crowded piazza.

‘We can’t have a conversation here—let’s go to dinner, as I originally suggested.’

‘But I’m not dressed appropriately—’

Vittorio gave her an arch look. ‘And whose fault is that?’

‘Yours,’ she replied but, instead of sounding accusing, her voice came out pert, almost as if she were flirting. Except, Ana thought, she didn’t know how to flirt. Yet Vittorio was smiling a little and so was she. ‘If you’d let me change,’ she continued in that same pert voice, ‘instead of trying to turn a sow’s ear into a—’

‘Don’t.’ Suddenly, surprisingly, his hand came up to cover her mouth. Ana could taste the salt on his skin. ‘Don’t insult yourself, Ana.’ His expression had softened, his mouth curved in something close to a smile, except it was too serious and even sad. She tried to speak, her lips moving against his fingers, but he wouldn’t let her. ‘I’m taking you to dinner,’ he stated, ‘no matter what you’re wearing. Anyone who is with the Count of Cazlevara doesn’t need to worry about clothes.’ He smiled and his thumb caressed the fullness of her lower lip, the simple touch sending shockwaves of pleasure down into her belly. ‘You’ll find that’s one of the advantages of becoming a Countess,’ he said, and dropped his hand.

O
NCE
seated at the best table at the Met, one of Venice’s finest restaurants, Ana took in the glamorous couples all around them, the women all in designer gowns like the one she could have worn, and she felt another shaft of regret that she’d spurned Vittorio’s generous offer of a dress. Even if it had been the safe—and even the right—thing to do.

Still, Vittorio seemed utterly unperturbed by the difference between her own attire and that of every other woman in the room. He gazed down at the menu, tapping it with one finger. ‘The mussels are particularly good.’

‘I’ll keep that in mind.’ Now that she was here, seated across from Vittorio, contemplating actually
marrying
him…Ana swallowed. Her throat felt bone-dry. She felt as if she were poised to jump off a cliff and she had no idea what waited underneath her, water or rocks, life or death.

They chose from the menu—Ana decided on chicken over fish—and Vittorio ordered the wine, a local vintage, of course, although not one of either of theirs. ‘Always good to consider the competition,’ he said with a smile, and Ana nodded. She did the same when she dined out, which admittedly wasn’t all that often.

When their first courses arrived and the wine had been poured,
Ana gave Vittorio as direct a look as she could and said, ‘I have some questions.’

Vittorio took a sip of wine. ‘Very well.’

Nerves made her hands slippery around her wine glass and her voice came out a little breathless. ‘What would you expect of…of a wife?’

Vittorio’s expression was annoyingly inscrutable. He took another sip of wine, cocking his head to regard Ana thoughtfully. ‘I’d expect my wife to be a life partner,’ he said finally. ‘In every sense.’

The answer, so simple, so honest, made Ana feel even more breathless and her cheeks heated. She looked down. ‘Without knowing me, that’s quite a big gamble.’ She looked up at him again, searching for some clue to his emotions, trying to discover just why he had, over all women, chosen her in this surely coveted role.

‘It’s not,’ Vittorio said after a moment, ‘as big a gamble as you think.’

‘What do you mean?’

He shrugged. ‘I’m not about to embark on one of my life’s major decisions without any knowledge at all, Ana. I did some research.’

‘Research?’ she practically spluttered. ‘On me?’

‘Of course.’ He smiled, amused by her outrage. ‘And you can research me if you like. As I said, we are each other’s best assets.’ He sat back, still smiling, and Ana found she was annoyed at his smug confidence. He was so very sure that any research she did would show him to advantage and, annoyingly, she was quite sure of it too.

‘What did you learn?’ she finally asked, her voice stiff with dignity.

‘That you are a hard worker. That you are healthy—’

‘You accessed my medical records?’ Ana squawked, wondering how he had managed to do
that
, and Vittorio gave a negligent
shrug. Nothing, apparently, was beyond the power—or the pale—for the Count of Cazlevara.

‘Now I really feel like a horse,’ she muttered. ‘Would you like to see my teeth as well?’

‘I see them when you speak,’ Vittorio replied with a little smile. ‘They’re very nice.’

Ana just shook her head. Was there any aspect of her life—her body—that he had not researched and inspected? Should she be honoured that she’d passed all these nameless tests? She wasn’t. She was furious and, worse, she felt horribly vulnerable, as if Vittorio had spied on her when she was naked. At least he seemed to have liked what he’d seen.

‘I also learned,’ Vittorio continued blandly, ‘that you are passionate about wine and this region. That you are a good friend to those who know you. And, most importantly, that you are loyal.’

She looked up in curiosity and surprise, remembering how he’d spoken of loyalty the other night. ‘And loyalty is so important to you?’

‘It is,’ Vittorio said and his voice, though still low and modulated, seemed suddenly to vibrate with intensity, ‘paramount.’

Ana stared, trying to digest this new bit of information. Loyalty was surely so important mainly to those who had once been betrayed. What had happened to Vittorio? ‘Are you speaking of fidelity?’ she asked.

‘No, although of course I would expect you to be faithful to me and our marriage vows. I speak of another kind of loyalty. I would expect you to stand by me and the decisions I make, never to take another’s position against me.’ His dark eyes caught and held hers. ‘Can you do that, Ana? It will not always be easy.’

The conversation that had started so matter-of-fact had suddenly become emotional, intense. Dark. ‘If you mean will I never question you—’

His hand slashed through the air. ‘I’m not asking for blind
obedience. I want a wife, not a lapdog. But you must realize that, because of my position and my wealth, there are those who seek to discredit me. They would even enlist your aid, attract your sympathy by the foulest and most devious motives. Can you—will you—be loyal to me against those enemies?’

Ana suppressed a shiver. She wanted to make a joke of it, tell Vittorio to stop being so melodramatic, yet she had the terrible feeling that he was deadly serious. ‘Vittorio—’

‘I mean all that I say, Ana,’ he said quietly. He reached across the table to encircle her wrist with his hand, his fingers pressing against her bare skin. Nerves jumped at the touch. ‘I can tell you think I exaggerate, that I am seeing shadows where there is only light. But I will tell you that the quality that attracted me to you most of all was your sense of loyalty. You’ve lived with your father for nearly ten years, ever since you returned from university. You’ve helped him and taken care of him in a way that is gentle and beautiful. Of course, he is your father and he commands your loyalty because of his role. I will ask you now—do you think you can give such allegiance to me?’

‘If I were married to you,’ Ana said slowly, ‘then, yes.’

Vittorio released her wrist and sat back with a deeply satisfied smile. ‘Then I know all I need to know. Now it is your turn to ask questions of me.’

‘All right,’ Ana said, still a bit shaken by the intensity of their exchange. ‘If we were married, I would still expect to work for Viale Wines. Would that be acceptable to you?’

Vittorio lifted a shoulder in assent. ‘Of course. Naturally, I would expect our children to take the reins of both the Cazlevara and Viale labels. Truly, an empire.’

Ana nodded slowly.
Children
. Under the table, she pressed a hand against her middle. ‘And my father,’ she said after a moment. ‘Of course, he would still live at Villa Rosso, but I would want to see him often, and invite him to be with us whenever possible.’

‘Naturally.’

A bubble of sudden nervous laughter escaped her and she shook her head. ‘This is so crazy.’

‘It seems so, I agree, but actually it makes wonderful sense.’

And she was a sensible person, which was why she was considering it all. Because it was so logical. It just didn’t feel that way at the moment. It didn’t feel logical when he kissed her.

It felt wonderful.

‘I’m scared,’ she whispered, her voice so low she didn’t know if Vittorio had heard her. She didn’t know if she wanted him to.

In fact, she thought he hadn’t heard her, for he didn’t reply; then she felt his hand on hers, his fingers warm on her skin, curling around her own fingers, squeezing slightly. She took a deep breath and let it out in a shuddering sigh. ‘I never thought I’d marry, you know.’

‘Why not?’ Vittorio asked, his voice as quiet as hers.

Ana shrugged, not wanting to explain. Vittorio squeezed her fingers again, and she felt a lump at the back of her throat. ‘What if we end up hating each other?’

‘I have too much faith in both of us for that.’

‘But we might—’ she persisted, her mind coming up with every possibility, every consideration, now that she was actually at the moment of decision. Now that she was ready to jump.

‘All good business decisions require a certain amount of risk, Ana. They also take courage and determination.’ He smiled and released her hand to take a sip of wine. ‘I recently closed a deal with several major hotels in Brazil. South America has never imported much Italian wine, and some would have said I was wasting time and money going there.’ He leaned forward. ‘But, when I went there, I did so knowing I would do anything to make it succeed. Once the decision is made, all it requires is a certain amount of persistence and follow-through.’

What clinical terms, Ana thought. Although she knew Vittorio
meant them to be comforting, she found a certain coldness settling inside her instead. ‘This really is…business.’

‘Of course.’ He glanced at her sharply. ‘I told you last week, I’m not interested in love. You agreed with me. If you were not telling the truth—’

‘I was.’ Ana swallowed. ‘Why?’ she whispered. When Vittorio simply looked nonplussed, she continued, her voice only a bit ragged, ‘Why do you not want to fall in love?’

He didn’t answer for a long moment. ‘Love,’ Vittorio finally said, his voice flat, ‘is a destructive emotion.’

‘It doesn’t have to be—’

‘Invariably, because we are all imperfect people, it becomes so. Trust me, Ana, I have seen it happen.’ He swivelled his glass between his palms. ‘Time and time again.’

‘You’ve been in love, then?’ Ana asked, her voice small, far too small and sad. Vittorio shook his head and she felt an absurd leap of relief.

‘No. Because I have never wanted to be. But don’t think that a loveless marriage must therefore be joyless. We will have affection, respect—’

‘You sound like you’ve been speaking to my father.’

‘He is a wise man.’

‘He loved my mother,’ Ana countered a bit defiantly.

‘And yet he recommends you marry me?’ There was only the faintest questioning lilt to Vittorio’s voice and he smiled, leaning back once more, utterly confident. He arched an eyebrow. ‘Why are you not interested in love, then?’

‘I was in love once,’ Ana said after a moment. She saw shock ripple across Vittorio’s features before it was replaced by his usual bland composure. She wondered at her own answer. She didn’t think she’d actually
loved
Roberto, but he had hurt her. ‘I decided not to experience it again.’

‘This man—he hurt you?’

‘Yes. He…he decided he…’ She faltered, not wanting to spell it out.
I never thought of you that way. How could I?
She’d left Roberto utterly cold, and Ana felt cold herself just remembering it. At least Vittorio desired her, to some degree. She could not deceive herself that he felt even an ounce of the overwhelming attraction she experienced with him, but at least he felt
something
. He wouldn’t have kissed her otherwise. He wouldn’t have responded to her own clumsy kiss.

That, at least, was something. Something small, pathetically so, perhaps, but it was more than Ana had ever had with a man before.

‘We need not discuss it,’ Vittorio said, covering her hand briefly with his own. Ana heard a hardness in his voice and his eyes flashed darkly. ‘That man is in the past. We are forging something new, something good.’

‘You sound so sure.’

‘I am.’ Ana just shook her head, still too overwhelmed by the speed with which these negotiations had been conducted. ‘Why is it so difficult?’ Vittorio asked. His voice remained bland, reasonable, yet Ana thought she heard the bite of impatience underneath. He’d made up his mind ages ago; he’d decided he wanted a wife and so he immediately went out and acquired one. For Vittorio, without the complications of any emotions, it was easy. Simple. ‘There is no one else now,’ he asked sharply, ‘is there?’

She looked up, surprised. ‘You know there isn’t.’

‘Then surely I am the best candidate.’

‘If I even want a candidate,’ she returned, her tone sharpening too. ‘Perhaps living alone would be better.’

Vittorio’s lips twisted wryly. ‘Ouch.’

Ana’s own mouth curved in a reluctant smile; even now he could make her laugh. ‘What’s your favourite colour?’ she asked suddenly, and Vittorio raised his brows.

‘Blue.’

‘Do you like to read?’

‘Paperback thrillers, my secret weakness.’ He leaned back, seeming to enjoy this little exchange. Ana searched her mind for more questions; she should have dozens, hundreds, yet in the face of Vittorio’s sexy little smile her mind was blanking horribly.

‘Do you like dogs?’

‘Yes, but not cats.’

‘What food do you like?’

‘Seafood. Chocolate. I keep a bar of dark chocolate in the kitchen freezer for my own personal use.’ He was still smiling that incredible little smile that melted Ana’s insides like that bar of dark chocolate left out in the sun.

‘What food could your mother never get you to eat?’

His smile faltered for the merest of seconds, barely more than a flash, yet Ana saw it. Felt it. ‘Broccoli.’ He loosened his collar with one finger. ‘Now I’m almost embarrassed.’

‘For not liking broccoli?’ Ana returned, smiling too. ‘Surely you have more secrets than that.’

Vittorio’s lips twitched even as his eyes darkened. ‘A few.’

She thought about asking other questions.
What makes your expression change like that, darkening as if the sun has disappeared? What memories are you hiding? How many lovers have you had? Why do you think love is destructive?
She swallowed, forcing them away, knowing that now was not the time. ‘Tell me something about you that I’d never guess.’

‘I play the trombone.’

She laughed aloud, the sound incredulous and merry. ‘Really?’

Vittorio nodded solemnly. ‘You had to take music lessons at school, and the trombone was the only instrument left in the music cupboard.’

‘Were you any good?’

‘Awful. I sounded like a dying sheep. My music teacher begged me to stop eventually, and I played football instead, thank God.’

Ana pressed her lips together against another laugh, and shook her head a little bit.
Don’t make me fall in love with you.
She pushed the thought aside. ‘If you could go anywhere or do anything, what would it be?’

His little smile widened into something almost feral, his eyes glinting in the candlelight. ‘Marry you.’