The From Paris With Love And Regency Season Of Secrets Ultimate Collection. Кэрол Мортимер
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time. Every detail of the past had been preserved, while made modern with brand-new fixtures, windows, heated floors and two separate kitchens.
She’d been amazed when she saw a beautiful oil painting of Cesare as a young boy of maybe three or four, with chubby cheeks and bright innocence in his eyes—along with a determined set to his jaw. His clothes were ragged and covered with mud. She’d pointed at it with a laugh. “That was you?”
“My mother painted me perfectly. I was always outside in the garden, growing something or other.”
“You liked to garden?” It astonished Emma. She couldn’t reconcile the image of the happy, grimy boy in the painting with the sophisticated tycoon who now stood before her.
He rolled his eyes. “We were that kind of family. If I wanted fruit, I had to grow it myself. My parents’ idea of childcare was to give me a stick and send me outside to play in the dirt.” He fell silent. “But for all that, we were happy. We loved each other.”
“I’m sorry,” she’d whispered, seeing the pain in his eyes. She’d put her arms around him. “But we’re here now.”
For a moment, Cesare had allowed her to hold him, to offer comfort. Then he’d pulled away. “It all worked out,” he said gruffly. “If I hadn’t had my little tragedy and been sent to New York, I might never have started Falconeri International.” His lips curved. “Who knows. I might still have been living here in a ruin, growing oranges and flowers, digging in the garden.”
Now, as Emma walked along the lake’s edge with her baby in her front pack, she stared at that overgrown garden. Alone of everything on the estate, the villa’s garden had not been touched. It had been left untended and wild, choked with weeds. It was as if, she thought, Cesare could neither bear to have it destroyed, nor have it returned to its former glory.
A white mist was settling across the lake, thick and wet. Emma shivered as she pushed open the tall, heavy oak door that led into the Villa Falconeri. The scrape of the door echoed against the checkered marble floor and high ceiling with its two-hundred-year-old fresco above, showing pastoral scenes of the countryside.
“Cesare?” she called.
There was no answer. Emma heard a soft snore from her front pack and looked down. After hours of trying, Sam had finally dropped to sleep. His dark eyelashes fluttered downward over his plump cheeks. Smiling to herself, she went upstairs to tuck him into his crib.
She was sharing her beautiful bedroom with her baby. There was plenty of room for his crib and changing table. The room was enormous, in powder-blue, with a canopy bed and a huge window with a balcony overlooking the lake. Gently lifting her sleeping baby out of the carrier, she tucked him into his bed.
Alone in the room, without her baby’s warmth against her, she felt a shiver of cold air in the deepening twilight. Even here, in this beautiful place, she slept alone.
You are special. I need you as a partner. As my friend. Sex would ruin everything.
Emma took a deep breath.
Tomorrow, their three-day wedding celebration would begin, first with a church ceremony, followed by a civil service the next day. Private celebrations with just a few friends: a white dress. A cake. Vows that could not be unspoken.
How she wished it all could be real. She longed to be his real wife. She looked at her empty bed. She wanted to sleep in his arms, to feel his lips on hers, to feel his hard, naked body cover hers at night. A flash of heat went through her and she touched her lips with her fingers. She could remember him there...
She shivered, closing her eyes.
As much as her brain told her that marriage was the rational solution, as much as her heart longed to be permanently bound to the man she loved, her body was tense and fighting the wedding every step of the way.
Marry a man who would never touch her?
A man who was still in love with his long-dead wife?
A man who would satisfy his sexual needs elsewhere, discreetly, leaving Emma to grow old and gray and die in a lonely, solitary bed?
Emma had been shocked when Cesare had told her in London that he hadn’t slept with another woman since their first night together. But as amazing as that was, she knew it wouldn’t last. It couldn’t. Cesare wasn’t the kind of man to tolerate an empty bed for the rest of his life. There were too many women in the world who would eagerly join him, married or no.
Cesare didn’t equate sex with love the way she did, either. To Cesare, satisfying a sexual need was no different than satiating a hunger for food or sleep. It was just physical. Not emotional.
Lovers are a dime a dozen to me.
Emma swallowed, crossing her arms over her body.
She could ask him outright if he planned to be unfaithful to her. But she was afraid, because if she asked, he would tell her the truth. And she didn’t think her heart could take it.
No, it was easier to live in denial, in the pretty lie of marriage vows, and to try not to think about the ugly truth beneath....
“There you are, cara.”
Whirling around to see Cesare in the doorway, she put a finger to her lips. “Shh. Sam is finally asleep,” she whispered, barely loud enough to hear. “I just got him down.”
His handsome face looked relieved. “Grazie a dio.” He silently backed away, and she followed him out of the room. She closed the door behind them, and they both exhaled.
“What made him sleep? Was it your walk?”
“No,” she said softly. “I think it was coming home.”
For a long moment, they looked at each other.
“I’m glad you are thinking of it as home, cara.” He smiled. “And starting tomorrow, we will be husband and wife.”
A lump rose in her throat. She tried to stay silent, but her fear came out in blurted words. “Are you still sure it’s what you want?”
The smile slid from his face. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“A lifetime without love—without...” She gulped, then forced herself to meet his gaze. “Without sex...”
“The decision has already been made.” His voice had turned cold. “I’ve made you dinner. Come.”
She was very hungry after her walk, but she hesitated, glancing behind her. “I can’t just leave Sam up here. Not until the baby monitor arrives. This house is so big and the old walls are thick. Downstairs in the dining room, we’d never hear him if he cried....”
“I thought you might feel that way.” Cesare tilted his head, looking suddenly pleased with himself. “We’re not going far.”
Placing his hand in the small of her back, he pushed her gently down the hall. A sizzle of electricity went up her body at even that courteous, commanding touch. Biting her lip, she allowed him to lead her...
...a mere ten steps, to his own bedroom next door.
“We’re having dinner in your room?” she said, a little sheepish that he’d guessed her feelings about the baby so well.
He nodded. “A private dinner for two on my balcony.”
“Lovely,” she said. “Um...any particular reason?”
“I just thought before our guests arrive in the morning, it would be nice to have a quiet dinner. To talk.”
“Oh.” That sounded ominous. The last time they’d had a private dinner and a talk she’d walked out engaged, with her whole life changed forever. She was afraid what might come out of it this time. The questions she might ask. The answers he might give. All words that could never be unheard or forgotten.
She licked her lips and tried to smile as she repeated, “Lovely.”