The Borghese Bride Page 16

  “That’s because you’d gone long past the right time, Arianna. The day you learned you carried my child was the day you should have started searching for me.”

  “Try to see this from my vantage point,” she pleaded. “I thought—”

  “I know what you thought. That you could play God. Make my decisions for me. Make my child’s decisions for him. Keep us from knowing we were father and son.”

  Arianna glared at him, eyes bright with defiance. “You make it sound so easy, but what was I supposed to do? Hire a private detective? Ring your doorbell, introduce myself and say, hi, remember me? We spent a couple of hours in bed a couple of months ago and oh, by the way, I’m pregnant.”

  “That would have been a good start.”

  “Stop being so damned sanctimonious! Think about how you’d have reacted to that kind of announcement. All those women, eager to marry you for your money, remember what you said? Are you going to tell me you mightn’t have thought that’s what I was after, too?” She stepped forward, her eyes locked to his. “Be honest, Dominic. What would you have done if I’d come to you five years ago?”

  Dominic tried to get past the anger burning hot in his belly while he considered what she’d said.

  What would he have done? Welcomed her into his life? Rejoiced in the fact that a night of anonymous sex was going to saddle him with at least an eighteen year commitment?

  Probably not.

  He’d have been upset, angry, disbelieving. He’d have questioned her motives, demanded a DNA test…but, in the end, he’d have done the right thing. Financial support. Visitation rights. A man who grew up without a father wouldn’t ignore his own offspring.

  But would he have felt the same burst of joy at the news he’d impregnated a woman he’d met at a party as he felt knowing a little boy named Gianni was his? Because he did feel joy, tucked away under all his anger.

  The answer was simple.

  He would not.

  Loving a child you knew was one thing. Loving a handful of cells in the womb of a stranger was another. He was willing to admit that.

  The part he couldn’t forgive was what had happened in the last six weeks. Arianna wasn’t a mystery woman anymore, she was his wife. His wife! She’d had all this time to tell him about Gianni and she hadn’t. Was it fear that had kept her quiet…or was it his desire to adopt the boy that had forced her to admit everything?

  Her secret would have been uncovered once his lawyers began asking for birth certificates, hospital records, who in hell knew what.

  Was that why she’d suddenly told him the truth?

  And those words, that declaration of love. False. As false as she was.

  He swung away from her, his heart filled with pain.

  To think he’d imagined himself in love with her. That he’d prayed she loved him, too. Dio, he was pitiful! As easy a mark as the tourists he’d played for suckers when he was a boy.

  But he wasn’t a boy anymore. He was a man who’d been taken in by a clever woman, and he wasn’t helpless. He’d built his fortune on an ability to make quick, intelligent decisions.

  It was time to make one now.

  His wife was the mother of his son. She was also extraordinary in bed. Two admirable qualities, he thought coldly, and knew what he had to do.

  He turned and faced her, watched her search his eyes to discover her fate.

  “You’re right,” he said. “I can take Gianni from you.”

  “If you try, I’ll fight you with everything I have!”

  He had to admire her courage. She was white-faced, she was trembling, she had to know he held all the cards…but she was still as fierce as a mother bear guarding her cub.

  “We’re in Italy. My country. My laws.” His smile was razor-sharp. “My connections, and my money. What do you think would be the odds that you’d win?” He let that sink in. When he saw the shadow of fear in her eyes, he spoke again. “But taking you from Gianni would hurt him, and I love my son too much to do that.”

  Arianna sagged with relief. “I love him too much to hurt him, too,” she said quietly. “I know it will be hard, but we can get past this.”

  “Get past what? The fact that I’m Gianni’s father? That you’re a liar?” Dominic shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

  “I only lied because I had to. Can’t you see that?”

  “Oh, I see many things.” He came toward her, enjoying the way she edged away. “For instance, I see how wrong I was to think our marriage was based on honesty. But that’s all right, cara. Without taking you as my wife, I’d never have known I had a son. Gianni would have grown up thinking his father had abandoned him—and I could have passed him on the street someday and not have known he was mine.”

  Arianna was weeping openly, the tears streaming down her face. For a heartbeat, Dominic wanted to take her in his arms and tell her—tell her—

  Tell her what? She’d lied to him, not just about Gianni but about loving him.

  The moment of weakness passed. He’d been a fool before. He damned well would never be one again.

  “Never mind, cara. I’ve always been a pragmatist. Maybe that’s the reason I have to admit that this has all worked out. I have Gianni. He has me. And he has you, a mother he loves.” He smiled thinly. “And, there’s something to sweeten the package. Your performance in bed last night.” Dominic raised his hand to his forehead in a mocking salute. “My compliments, Arianna. It was as memorable as it was the first time we met.”

  Fury replaced the anguish in her eyes. This was the real Dominic Borghese, and she hated him with a passion.

  “You’re despicable,” she said, her voice shaking with emotion. “I don’t know why I ever thought anything else.”

  “Cara, you’re not paying attention. I’m trying to tell you that I’m going to keep you.”

  “Damn you, don’t call me…” Arianna’s mouth dropped open. “What did you say? You’re going to keep me?”

  Dominic gave a lazy shrug. “It’s the most sensible thing to do. I won’t divorce you and take sole custody of my son—and please, don’t bother telling me I couldn’t do it. I can do anything I set my mind to.” He spoke softly, but there was no mistaking the steel behind the words. “Surely you’ve learned that by now.”

  Oh, she had learned everything she needed to know. That he was cruel and vindictive, that he’d stop at nothing to get revenge. It sickened her to think of how she’d lain in his arms last night, how she’d let him use her body, her heart.

  “I despise you,” she whispered. “You are a monster, just as you said. Do you hear me? You’re a—”

  “I’m a man who sees right through you.” His expression hardened. “And I’m warning you, Arianna. Behave yourself, be a good mother to my son and a gifted courtesan in my bed, and I won’t throw you out. I’d hate to lose a woman with such assets.”

  She swung at him and her fist found its mark. It was a good, clean shot to the jaw. He had to admire her for it, and for the defiance shining in her eyes.

  “A woman of many talents,” he said, and he cupped her nape, dragged her to him and kissed her.

  Arianna fought, but even with one arm in a cast, Dominic was far too strong. After a few seconds, she gave up and stood unmoving in his rough embrace.

  At last, he raised his head.

  “You can hate me all you like,” he said thickly, “but when I take you to bed, you’ll spread your legs and moan, just as you did last night, or I’m liable to reconsider. Do you understand? Your gifts are varied, but there’s a limit to my patience. Gianni can learn to live without you, if he must, and I can always find another playmate.”

  He let go of her and she stared at him, wondering how she could ever have thought she loved him.

  “I hate you. I truly, truly hate you!” Her voice trembled, then rose as he walked away from her. “Do you hear me, Dominic? I hate you!”

  She heard his footsteps echoing through the empty rooms, then the sound of the front door slamm
ing shut. After a long time, she wiped her eyes and made her way through the house and down the steps.

  The Ferrari was where she’d left it. Dominic was striding along the narrow, tree-lined road. He had his cell phone to his ear and she knew he must be calling his driver to come and pick him up.

  She climbed into the car, turned the key and shifted into gear as soon as the engine roared to life. Foot pressed to the floor, she zoomed past him, shooting a glance in the mirror as she did, smiling with satisfaction when she saw the gray dust blow into his face.

  But her smile was only a memory by the next day, after she’d telephoned virtually every attorney in Rome, identified herself as the wife of Dominic Borghese and asked for information on divorce and child custody.

  Their advice was always the same.

  She could stay in the marriage and keep her son.

  Or she could leave it…and lose him.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  FALL came to Rome and though everyone said the city’s climate was milder than New York’s, Arianna felt chilled all the time.

  She needed to eat more pasta, Rosa said, to warm her bones. She needed to drink more vino, Gina said, to thicken her blood. Arianna smiled at each of them and said she was sure she’d get used to the colder weather.

  It wasn’t true.

  It wasn’t the weather that chilled her, or a lack of nourishing food or earthy red wine. Her heart was frozen, that was the reason, and nothing would ever thaw it.

  She was living with a stranger who despised her. She told herself that was all right. After all, she felt the same way about him.

  Gianni, at least, was happy.

  “We have to talk about my son,” Dominic had said brusquely the day the boy was due back from his visit to the marchesa.

  “Our son,” Arianna had said, and he’d acknowledged the correction with a curt nod.

  He’d done most of the talking. That was all right, too. Arianna had no wish to drag their child into the mess they’d made. They’d agreed to go on as before, sharing meals, keeping up the pretence that they were a married couple the same as anybody else.

  They’d sat Gianni down that same evening and carefully told him Dominic was his father.

  Her little boy’s eyes had grown wide with wonder.

  “My father? You mean, I’ve got a daddy? Like Bruno?”

  “Yes,” Dominic had said, taking the boy into his lap. “Just like Bruno.”

  “Did you ’dopt me?” Gianni asked, looping an arm around Dominic’s neck.

  Dominic cleared his throat. “I didn’t have to. You’re my son.”

  “For real?”

  “For real,” Dominic replied, with a little smile.

  “How come you didn’t live with us before? How come nobody told me? How come—”

  “It’s a long story and we’ll tell it to you someday. For now all that matters is that we’re together—and we always will be.”

  Gianni thought that over. “So, you and Mommy made me together?”

  “Yes.”

  “But you only just got married. How could I have been borned before then?”

  “Your mother and I knew each other a long time ago, Gianni. Then we—we lost each other.”

  “Bruno lost a kitten once,” Gianni had replied solemnly. “He didn’t know where it went, but then his dad found it in the house next door. Did you and Mom lose each other like that?”

  “Something like that,” Dominic had said, and changed the subject.

  Arianna knew Dominic was right. They’d have to tell the boy more someday. For now, the explanation her husband had offered was enough.

  Her husband, she thought, as she sat on the terrace wrapped in a heavy sweater. The man she loathed.

  Her son worshipped him.

  Why wouldn’t he? Not a night went by that Dominic didn’t come home with some special treat. He was buying the child’s affection, stealing it from her….

  Except, he wasn’t.

  Gianni offered his love freely, and how could she blame him? Dominic hated her, but he loved his son. And he was a great father, warm and loving, consistent in setting down simple but meaningful rules. He played with Gianni every evening after dinner, took him places on the weekends.

  Her husband was the best father a child could have.

  And she—she was turning into the kind of mother a child didn’t deserve.

  She was listless. Unenthusiastic. Dull. Worst of all, she was weepy. Oh, she never broke down in front of Gianni. As bad as things might be, she’d never let that happen. She saved her tears for the darkness of night, when she lay alone in the guest room bed, waiting—as she had in the past—for her husband to come and claim her.

  “Signora?”

  Arianna turned toward the door. “Yes, Rosa?”

  “I wondered…do you prefer chicken or fish this evening?”

  Rosa had taken to asking her questions she’d never bothered asking before. Arianna suspected it was deliberate, an act of kindness meant to draw her into some kind of participation in life. What must the woman think of a bride who spent her days moping?

  “Signora?”

  “Fish,” Arianna said, for the housekeeper’s sake. “Fish sounds fine.”

  “And for a vegetable? I bought some—”

  “You decide.”

  Rosa’s face fell. “As you wish,” she said, and her sigh seemed to linger even after she stepped back inside.

  Arianna rose from her chair and walked slowly to the terrace railing.

  Even Gina sensed something was wrong. She’d gone back to issuing polite invitations to coffee. Arianna had accepted a couple of them, hoping they’d cheer her up, but it hadn’t worked.

  She moped by day and hated herself for it.

  And she waited by night, and hated herself even more.

  Dominic had made such ugly threats that day at the villa. She’d been steeled for his appearance in her room that same night.

  She should have known better.

  Her husband wouldn’t take her by force. She’d called him a monster, but he wasn’t. He was just a man, as vulnerable as any other. More vulnerable, maybe. Life had scarred him and without intending to, she’d managed to open the old wounds.

  She’d hurt him deeply, and he’d retaliated. He’d been in a blind rage when he’d told her what he’d do to her. She should have known it was an empty threat.

  Dominic wouldn’t force himself on her. In her heart, she’d know that all along. But if he did come to her as she lay dreaming of how it could have been if he’d loved her, if he drew back the blankets, touched her with his gentle hands, kissed her with tenderness and then with passion, whispered the words she longed, oh longed to hear…

  Arianna blinked back her tears.

  He wouldn’t. His pride wouldn’t permit it. He would never forgive her.

  She’d never forgive him, either. Never. She had feelings, too, and he’d trampled them to dust. She would hate him for the rest of her life.

  A cold wind moaned through the denuded garden in the courtyard below. Arianna felt the wind’s bitter touch, bowed her head and wept.

  * * *

  Dominic scanned the last page of the document lying on his desk, picked up his pen and scrawled his signature at the bottom.

  Done, at last. The Silk Butterfly belonged to Arianna.

  He’d meant to sign it over weeks before, but first there’d been the car accident and then…

  And then, he’d been too blind with fury to think straight.

  He was much calmer now. All his anger had drained away. What was the sense in it? He had gained a son. It wasn’t as if he’d lost a wife.

  He’d never had one in the first place.

  Dominic pushed back his chair, swiveled it around and stared out the window at the ruins of the Coliseum. It was one hell of a view and more than a couple of major hotel chains had tried to buy it from him, but he always refused to sell.

  There was something about the sight of that
ancient building that reached right inside him. He used to imagine it as it had once been, filled with noise and energy, gladiators facing whatever life tossed at them with courage and pride.

  His perspective had changed. Lately, the sight was a constant reminder that no matter how hard a man tried, life could always find a way to defeat him.

  Almost always, Dominic thought, and turned his chair around.

  “Celia?” he said, stabbing the button on his intercom. “Celia? Dammit, don’t you hear me?”

  “The entire city can hear you,” his assistant said calmly, “without the intercom.”

  Dominic jerked his head up. Celia stood in the doorway, the usual portrait of efficiency, pen and notebook in hand. He glowered but decided to ignore the comment.

  “Did you make those phone calls?”

  “I did.”

  “And? Must I pull each word from you?”

  “And, only one of the shops has heard of the new toy.”

  “I don’t care how many have or haven’t heard of it. What I want to know is—”

  “If I found one in stock. Yes. Felici’s had a Kitty Kat Robot. It will be wrapped and ready for you to pick up.”

  “Good.” Dominic got to his feet. “I’m leaving.”

  “So I see.” Celia watched her boss walk past her toward the reception desk, her expression as dispassionate as ever. Her boss was not a happy man. She couldn’t understand it. He had a beautiful wife and a child he obviously loved, but it wasn’t enough. There were times she wanted to shake him…but there were certain liberties even she would not take.

  She sighed, stepped behind his desk to straighten it for the next day, spotted the document lying there and scanned it so she could file it away…

  “Signore Borghese? Signore!” He turned as she hurried after him. “You forgot this.”

  “Ah. Grazie. I’m glad you noticed.”

  “Oh, I am, too. A man who brings gifts to his wife and child may be able to buy happiness, sooner or later.”