The Borghese Bride Page 15

  She was wearing a T-shirt and panties. He’d wanted her naked; she’d looked at him as if he’d lost his sanity so they’d compromised. Jeans for him, the panties and T-shirt for her.

  And what a fine compromise it was.

  Dio, he was a lucky man. A beautiful wife who loved him, for surely she did, even if she hadn’t yet said the words. And a child he adored almost as if the boy were his own.

  Untrue. He loved the boy exactly as if he were his own. What if he adopted Gianni? That would make them father and son. A real family.

  The thought filled him with happiness. He rose from the stool, grabbed two plates and brought them to the stove just as Arianna turned off the burner.

  “Let’s eat on the terrace.”

  She blinked. “I can’t go outside like this!”

  “The terrace off my bedroom is private. Nobody can see us.”

  “Dominic…”

  “Outside,” he said firmly, and scooped the eggs and bacon onto the plates.

  Arianna rolled her eyes, grabbed napkins and silverware and followed him.

  He was right. The terrace was heavily screened with pots of tall flowering plants. Arianna sank into a chair, felt the warm kiss of the sun on her face and the soft pressure of her husband’s mouth on the nape of her neck and wondered if any woman had ever been as happy as she was today.

  Without warning, a coldness stole into her bones. She’d never been superstitious, but the marchesa had once employed a housekeeper who’d believed in evil eyes and all the rest.

  Never let the gods know you’re happy, the woman would mutter darkly, or they’ll go out of their way to make you suffer.

  Arianna shuddered.

  “What is it, cara? Are you cool? We’ll go back inside.”

  “No,” she said quickly, “I’m fine. I’m just—I’m just so…”

  Dominic leaned closer. “Happy,” he whispered.

  She nodded, so filled with emotion she was afraid to speak.

  “Si. I understand. It’s almost too much. For me, too.”

  Their eyes met. The expression on Dominic’s face made her breathing quicken.

  “Breakfast can wait,” he said gruffly, and he drew her down onto a chaise longue hidden like a secret island within a bower of flowers and made love to her until she could think of nothing but him.

  * * *

  This time, when Dominic asked if she wanted to see his Rome, Arianna said yes.

  He phoned for his driver who took them to the Forum, to the Capitoline Hill, to the Coliseum and to all the places she’d visited a hundred times as a child but never really seen until now.

  Then he said he wanted to show her something outside the city.

  “I wish my arm weren’t in this damned cast and sling. We could go by ourselves, without a chauffeur.”

  “I can drive.”

  “But my car is a Ferrari. A brand-new one.”

  She knew it was. The dealership had delivered the car to the house the day after Dominic’s return from the hospital.

  “How nice,” she said politely, pretending she didn’t hear the unease in his voice. “And how convenient, that I can drive a stick shift.”

  She almost laughed at the look on his face, but he surprised her.

  “Well,” he said, and cleared his throat, “that’s fine. We’ll go back to the apartment, get the car and take a drive. There’s something I want you to see.”

  Tension radiated from his body in almost palpable waves for the first twenty minutes of the journey. Arianna bit her lip as he offered helpful advice.

  That’s a turn up ahead.

  Must you really pass that car?

  And her favorite, delivered with admirable wariness: Maybe you’re driving too fast, cara, what do you think?

  What she thought was that she’d yet to go above fifty and she knew, from things Celia had said, that Dominic probably never drove below that speed, especially on a road like this. But she held her tongue and after a while, when she saw him begin to relax, she glanced at him and smiled.

  “It’s a lovely car, Dominic.”

  “And you drive it well.”

  “Thank you. I love to drive. I only learned how a few years ago.” She shot him another smile. “The marchesa thought women who drove were, you know, kind of fast.”

  He laughed. “I’m not surprised.” They drove in silence for another few minutes. “Did you learn to drive after you bought the house in Connecticut?”

  “Before that. I liked the idea of getting out of the city for an occasional weekend.”

  “Ah. I thought perhaps, after you had Gianni—Jonathan—”

  “Gianni.” Arianna moistened her lips. “It’s a good name, perfect for—for my son. I’m sorry I was so stupid about using it.”

  “You weren’t stupid, cara,” Dominic said softly. “He is, as you said, your son. I was wrong to insist on using something other than his given name.”

  “Well, let’s agree that we were both wrong and that, from now on, his name is Gianni.”

  Dominic smiled. “Good.” He waited a minute. “The man who is his father… You said he doesn’t know.”

  Arianna felt as if a hand had reached into her chest and wrapped around her heart.

  “That’s right.”

  “You didn’t think he’d want to know he had a child, you said.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Because, God knows, if I had a son—”

  “When I made it, it was the right decision.”

  “I’m sure. I’m not second-guessing, cara, I’m just trying to imagine what it must have been like for you, finding yourself pregnant and having nobody to turn to.”

  Her hands tightened on the steering wheel. “It was like everything else in life,” she said lightly. “Things happen, you live through them. Besides, it was an easy pregnancy. I was fine.”

  “For which I shall be eternally grateful,” he said, and smiled. “As for Gianni—you’re done a wonderful job of raising him.”

  “Thank you.”

  “He is a son any man would be proud of.”

  “Thank you again.” Where was this conversation heading? She wanted to tell him about Gianni, but not while they raced along a road in the middle of nowhere.

  “That’s what I want to talk to you about, Arianna… Oh. Do you see that turn ahead? Take it, please.”

  She made the turn onto a road even more dusty and narrow than the one they’d been driving. Tall pines rose up on either side, filtering the sun and offering welcome relief from the heat.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Another minute or two… There. Up ahead. See it?”

  What she saw was a white villa, rising as if in a dream against a backdrop of dark green hills. She slowed the car as they entered a circular driveway, drove past a white marble Diana, her hunting dogs at her heels, pouring water from a brass ewer into a travertine marble fountain.

  “Pull over,” Dominic said, his voice a little rough.

  “Are we visiting someone?” Arianna put her hand to her hair. “If I’d known…”

  “No one lives here. No one has, for a long time.”

  Dominic stepped from the car, came around to the driver’s side and pulled open the door. His cheeks were strangely flushed. For a moment, she worried that he might have a fever, but when she gave him her hand his fingers were icy cold.

  “I first saw this house many years ago,” he said softly.

  He led her up the wide marble steps to the front door. He pulled a key from his pocket, opened the door and motioned her ahead of him.

  Arianna gasped with delight. The house was unfurnished but it was easy to see its timeless beauty.

  “Oh, Dominic, it’s beautiful.”

  “I think so, too.” Pride edged his voice. “I helped restore it.”

  She swung toward him. “You?”

  “I wasn’t always a rich man, cara. Surely you’ve heard the stories about me. About my background.”

  �
��I never listen to gossip,” she said softly, “and whatever I did hear doesn’t matter.”

  “Still, you have the right to know the truth about the man you married.” Dominic drew her forward, walking slowly through the graceful, empty rooms. “I was born a bastard,” he said simply, “and grew up on the streets of Rome. I have no idea who sired me, and my mother walked out of my life when I was still a kid.”

  “Dominic.” She turned toward him and put her hands on his shoulders. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “But it does.” He clasped one of her hands and brought it to his lips. “You see, I’m not foolish, cara. All the jokes people make about men not being in touch with their feelings…” He smiled. “It’s not true. We’re in touch. We just choose to ignore them.” His smile faded. “I know, for instance, that the reason I never wanted to trust a woman with my heart was because my mother broke it.”

  Arianna’s throat constricted. “Please. You don’t—”

  “Let me finish, cara. It wasn’t easy, working up to this, but I owe it to you.”

  “You don’t owe me any—”

  He bent to her, kissed her mouth gently, then put his arm around her shoulders. They began walking again, down airy corridors, through silent rooms.

  “As a boy, I did things I’m not proud of. I lied to tourists, I picked pockets, I did whatever I had to do to survive and I told myself it was nothing even close to what the world owed me. Then, one day, I got caught with my hand in a tourist’s pocket. I was arrested, jailed… I was out in thirty days, but I vowed I’d never lose my freedom again. So I looked for work. One place I found it was here, as a laborer.” His mouth twisted. “I laid bricks, pounded nails, and learned for the second time that it was foolish to trust my heart to a woman. It was the final lesson, cara. I knew I wouldn’t make the same mistake again. So I went out into the world, worked my way across Italy doing construction, landed in Sicily, and ended up working for a man most of Italy feared.”

  “Dominic. Please. You don’t have to—”

  “Arianna.” He laughed, cupped her chin and kissed her. “Are you afraid I’m going to tell you I’m part of some dangerous famiglia? No, sweetheart, I’m not. The work I did was very simple. I helped him build a house. This man had a good heart, even if he kept it well hidden. He liked me. I liked him. He came to treat me almost as a son. And when he died two years later—peacefully,” he said, with a quick smile, “he left me a legacy.”

  “And that was the start of Borghese International?”

  Dominic shook his head. “It was a very small legacy, cara, though it was a lot to me back then. I was amazed and grateful, and used the money as a stepping stone.” He drew her closer. “I’d heard about emeralds in the jungles of Brazil…and I got lucky. Eventually, I was no longer Dominic Borghese, construction worker. I was Borghese International. I had wealth, power, everything…but I didn’t have the only thing a man really needs.” He paused, and his voice softened. “I didn’t have a family. Now, thanks to you, I do.”

  Tears had risen in Arianna’s eyes. “Dominic. My darling Dominic. I’m so sorry. So very sorry you lived such a hard life.”

  “Don’t be. I didn’t tell you this story to make you weep but to make you see what you—and Gianni—mean to me.” Dominic cleared his throat. “And to see, too, why it was so hard for me to trust you. To let you inside here,” he said, tapping his heart, “where I vowed never to be hurt again.” Dominic took an unsteady breath. “I want us to marry again, cara. A real wedding this time, you in a white gown, me in one of those silly suits men wear on such days.”

  He paused, drew himself together. “And if you will permit it, I want to do one other thing to make us a real family. I want to adopt Gianni and make him truly my son.”

  A sob burst from Arianna’s throat. Dominic felt his heart turn heavy. She didn’t want these things. It was her right, he knew that, but—

  “Dominic.” She put out her hand, touched his face. “All the things you said about trust. About never letting anyone hurt you again…” Her voice cracked. “I love you,” she whispered. “Think of that, remember it, believe in it.”

  Those were the words he’d waited to hear. Then, why was a coldness wrapping around him?

  “What are you trying to tell me, Arianna?”

  She took a steadying breath. “I lied to you about Gianni’s father. He isn’t someone in the past.”

  His face went blank. “What does that mean?”

  “It means there’s no need for you to adopt Gianni because—because Gianni is your son.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  DOMINIC rocked back on his heels. Arianna remembered when he’d fought with Jeff Gooding, how none of Jeff’s blows had hurt him.

  What she’d just told him made him reel.

  “Dominic, please…”

  He stepped back from the hand she held out. “Am I supposed to believe this? That Gianni is my son?”

  “It’s true. He’s yours. That night we made love…”

  “One night, Arianna. That was all. Just one night.”

  “That was enough. I got pregnant.”

  “You got pregnant.” His voice was as flat as his eyes. “I used condoms.”

  “I know. I don’t know what happened. An accident…”

  A muscle began to tic in his jaw. “How are you so certain the boy is mine?”

  She didn’t flinch. It was a brutal question, but she supposed she deserved it.

  “Because I wasn’t with anyone else. Not for months before. And not after. You were the only one. I didn’t sleep with anybody else.”

  “There are tests,” he said coldly.

  “Do them. They’ll all prove the same thing. You’re Gianni’s—Jonathan’s—father.”

  Dominic stared at her. “I thought,” he said slowly, “when I first saw him, I thought…”

  “Yes. I was afraid you would.”

  “His coloring. His eyes. The way he smiles…” He thrust his hand into his hair, swung away from her and paced across the room. “Mine. The boy is mine?”

  Arianna nodded. “He’s your son. There were so many times I thought you’d realize it, but—”

  “But,” he said, turning to her, his voice sharp, “when I asked you, is the child mine, you said he wasn’t.”

  “No. I mean, yes, that’s what I said, but—”

  “Another ‘but.’ You are filled with ‘buts,’ Arianna. But it must have been an accident. But you slept with no one else. But Gianni is mine.” He balled his hands into fists. “But you lied to me when I asked if he was.”

  Arianna was trembling. She’d seen Dominic angry, but never like this. His face was white, his voice cold, the look in his eyes terrifying. She took a step toward him, held out a hand in supplication but he brushed it aside.

  “Try and understand,” she pleaded. “I hardly knew you when you asked me if Gianni was yours. I didn’t know what you’d do if I admitted that you’d fathered him.”

  “If I’d fathered him?” He came at her quickly; she backed up and he caught her wrist, his fingers pressing hard into her flesh. “You make it sound as if I were a stud horse.”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “You carried my child for nine months, gave birth to him, and never once thought of finding me and telling me I had a son?”

  “What for? We were strangers. I didn’t think you’d want to know.”

  “I see. You didn’t think I’d want to know, so—”

  “Stop repeating everything I say! And let go of my wrist. You’re hurting me!”

  He looked at his hand, wrapped around hers, as if he’d never seen it before, gave a snort of disgust and flung it from him.

  “Four years,” he said quietly. “Four long years, during which my son had no father. And now, even though we’re married, you still said nothing.” His voice rose with barely tempered fury. “Have you an explanation for that, too?”

  He saw the muscles in her throat move as she swallowed.


  “I—I thought about it on our wedding day.”

  “You thought about it.” Dominic folded his arms. “And you decided…?”

  “You know I married you against my will. What did you expect me to do? I was unhappy. I thought I hated you. And—”

  “And your unhappiness was more important than the truth.”

  “No. I didn’t say that.”

  “Oh. Sorry.” He smiled politely. “Go on, Arianna. I won’t interrupt. This is such a touching story that I’m eager to hear the rest.”

  “I was angry, and frightened. I didn’t know how you’d react.” Her eyes brimmed with tears again. “I was afraid you’d try to take my son from me.”

  “I see. First, I was a stranger who would deny paternity of the child in your womb. Next, I was a crazed monster who’d try and take that child from you. Amazing that I can be both, don’t you think?”

  Temper flared under Arianna’s despair. “Don’t talk to me as if I were a fool, Dominic! You’re taking two different sets of circumstances and mixing them together.”

  “In that case, let’s skip ahead. Forget our wedding day. Let’s consider the weeks that came after it.” His mouth thinned. “Six weeks, to be exact. Six weeks during which you could have said at any time, Dominic, I have something to tell you.”

  “By then, things had grown more complicated.” Arianna moistened her lips. “I saw that my son—”

  “Our son,” Dominic snapped.

  “I saw that he’d come to love you. And that you—that you seemed to love him.”

  “And those are certainly two perfect reasons for not telling the boy and me the truth.”

  “Our marriage wasn’t going well,” Arianna said, rushing past the sarcastic words. “I thought it might not last, and—”

  “You mean, you hoped it wouldn’t last. And if it didn’t, why would you ever want me to learn the truth?”

  “No,” she said quickly, “it wasn’t like that. I knew I’d have to tell you, but I thought—I thought—”

  “You thought?”

  The room was warm with midsummer heat, but Arianna began to shake.

  “I thought,” she said in a whisper, “more than ever, that you might try and take Jonathan from me. And then you were hurt in the accident, and I knew how I really felt about you, and I knew I had to tell you, but the time was never—was never right.”