Rising Stars. Maisey Yates
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the Joyería deal,” he ground out. “Now he’s after my expansion in Asia as well. Almost as if it’s—personal.”
“Maybe it is,” she said in a small voice. “I don’t get how you guys fight over things you don’t even need. You have his winery. Call him. Offer an exchange. A truce—”
“Is that a joke?” he said in amazement. “I’d burn down my palazzo before I’d ask Théo St. Raphaël for a truce.” He looked at her, and his voice gentled. “I am just sorry our honeymoon must end.”
She licked her lips, then shrugged. “It’s all right. I love Sardinia, but I’m sure I’ll love Rome as well. I’m excited to see the palazzo. Meet your friends.”
“Lilley.” His good humor fled. “We’ve talked about this.”
“You’ve talked about it,” she said sulkily, her fingertips curling against the dark hair on his chest.
“You’re my wife. You promised to obey me.”
Indignant, she stared up at him. “I did no such—”
“Your place is at home,” he interrupted.
“My home is with you.” She looked down at her bare feet. “Unless you’re ashamed of me.”
Taking both her hands in his own, he pressed them to his lips. “My friends aren’t the warmest, friendliest sort of people. I doubt you’d like them.”
The cuffs of his long-sleeved shirt hung over her hands, making her look very young as she looked away. “You mean they won’t like me.”
“I’ll send for you soon,” he said softly, pulling her into his arms. “I promise.” And to seal that vow, he lowered his mouth to hers in the gentlest, tenderest kiss he’d ever given her.
To his shock, she pulled away, her brown eyes flinty. “No.”
His eyebrows lowered. “Don’t you understand? I’m trying to protect you.”
“I don’t want to be protected, I want to be your wife!”
He exhaled, tried to keep his voice light. “If you’re weary of Sardinia, I could leave you at our country estate in Tuscany. You could see the famous paintings of Florence, decorate the nursery, learn how to make bread—”
“No!” She stamped her foot against the marble floor, a gesture marred by the fact that she was barefoot and it caused a grimace of pain across her face. Rubbing the sole of her foot, she scowled at him. “I’m going with you to Rome!”
“Lilley,” he tried, “please.”
“I’m not afraid of your friends.” When he didn’t answer, she tossed her head. “What do you think they’ll do? Fight me with their bare hands? Wrestle me into the mud?”
“No,” he said quietly. “They’ll be more subtle. They’ll attack any weakness they can find. Your manners, your clothes, even your dyslexia—”
“Are you telling me,” she said scornfully, “there’ll be some kind of reading test before they let me in their little club?”
Trying to keep his patience, he set his jaw. “I am just trying to keep you happy and safe.”
“By keeping me a prisoner?”
He folded his arms. “You’re not exactly suffering here, Lilley. Most people would call this place heaven, not a prison.” At her glare, he amended, “And it’s just until your lessons are done. Until you’re ready.”
“So you are ashamed of me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!”
“I won’t embarrass you,” she whispered. She looked up at him with pleading eyes, pressing her fingertips against his bare chest. “Please. Don’t leave me here without you. I can’t … I can’t bear us to be apart.”
He felt helpless against that gaze. Setting his jaw, he looked down at the floor. “They will hurt you.”
“I’m stronger than you think.”
“Olivia is there.”
For a second, Lilley fell silent. Then she lifted her chin. “We’ll have her to tea.”
He snorted in disbelief. “That might be overdoing it.”
“I’m serious,” she insisted in a small voice. “I feel guilty. She was in love with you, she thought you were going to propose to her, and we eloped. We hurt her.”
“You didn’t do anything,” he said sharply. “And if I treated her badly, she can handle it, believe me. She’ll find someone else to marry, someone twice as rich and better-looking in the bargain.”
“No one’s better-looking than you,” Lilley said, then her smile faded. She looked away, chewing on her bottom lip. “Do you think she was in love with you? Really and truly?”
Mesmerized, Alessandro watched her white teeth sinking into pink flesh that was full and swollen from days of lovemaking. Then he came back to himself. “Absolutely not,” he said sharply. “She just knew as I did, that on paper, we were perfect for each other.”
Lilley’s expression fell, and it occurred to him that such an honest statement might hurt her feelings. “But now I have you,” he said reassuringly. She blinked up at him. “The mother of my precious child,” he added. Her lower lip wobbled. He wrapped his arm around her waist and said hopefully, “The woman who’s given me the best sex of my life?”
A laugh finally escaped her. Then she shook her head, squaring her shoulders. “And I’m coming with you to Rome.”
Alessandro’s instincts screamed No. But he saw the yearning in her eyes and could not deny her what she wanted. What they both wanted. He didn’t want to be apart from her, either.
“Very well, cara,” he said quietly. “Rome.”
She sucked in her breath.
“Thank you!” she cried, flinging her arms around his shoulders. “You won’t be sorry. You’ll see. I can handle them. I’m not scared!”
As Lilley kissed his cheeks over and over, murmuring her appreciation, Alessandro almost believed he’d done the right thing. He would protect her, he told himself. And Lilley was strong. She’d gained a great deal of confidence in the days of their marriage. What had caused such a rapid change in her? The Italian lessons? The etiquette classes?
Whatever it was, she would be fine. He was worrying over nothing. After all, they were married now, and expecting a child. What on earth in Rome could possibly break them apart?
CHAPTER NINE
ROME. Roma. The Eternal City.
What was the Italian word for disaster?
Another fabulous, sophisticated dinner at an elegant restaurant with Alessandro’s friends, and once again, Lilley was hiding in a bathroom stall. She was becoming a connoisseur of fancy Roman bathrooms.
Since they’d arrived in Rome three weeks ago, Alessandro had worked endless hours at the office. The only time she saw him—aside from the middle of the night when he made love to her—was at dinner, and that almost always included his friends, who were thrilled to see him.
They were not quite as thrilled about her.
For the last two hours, she’d sat at the table with a frozen smile on her face while Alessandro and his friends talked and laughed in rapid-fire Italian. And it was her own fault. But their first night in Rome, Alessandro had taken her to an elegant restaurant with an English menu. A kind gesture, but Lilley was so nervous, trying to make his glamorous friends like her, that the letters on the menus had refused to stay still. In the end, she’d tried to laugh it off,