HE WAS CRUEL beyond measure. Rachel’s throat ached and her eyes burned. “I am nothing to you,” she said quietly. “I am as insignificant as a bug, or a twig on the ground. You have no problem stepping on me, crushing me.”
“That is not true.”
“But my life and my dreams, they do not matter, not when you compare my needs to yours.”
“I am responsible for a huge corporation. My decisions impact hundreds of people, if not thousands.”
“You believe what you’re saying, don’t you? You’re a demigod in love with your power.” She hoped he heard the scorn in her voice. She hoped he was offended, because she was disgusted and appalled. There was nothing about him she admired.
“You are so consumed with your business. It seems to be the only thing that matters to you.”
He leaned forward, narrowing the distance between them. “I have never put business before people. The various Marcello enterprises are made up of people, and not just my family, but hundreds of people, hundreds of loyal employees, and those people matter to me a great deal. The best businesses treat their employees like partners...family. Or, if you come from a seriously dysfunctional family, then hopefully you treat your staff better than family.”
He’d inherited his family’s business at a point when the company family seemed irreparably broken. The company was losing money, and his father had decided that he’d rather live with his mistress than his wife. Antonio was in America, working for a business that was not their own, determined to get as far from their father as possible.
Gio envied Antonio, because Gio couldn’t escape, not as the eldest, and he was surrounded by the family drama, ensnared in it as Father’s mistress was none other than his secretary, and the affair had been going on for years, with Father and secretary enjoying numerous “business” getaways and long private lunches behind locked doors.
Italians loved a good drama, especially when it was about sex and a beautiful young woman, a woman young enough to be Giovanni Marcello Senior’s daughter.
Gio knew but couldn’t convince his father to fire the secretary or end the relationship, nor would his mother divorce his father. Every day was grueling and Gio tried to focus on work, not wanting to be pulled into the middle of the family drama more than necessary. Gio, like his grandfather before him, had a sharp mind and a love for engineering and practical design. He disliked the endless conflict that had marked his childhood and adolescent years, and the only reason he’d agreed to work for Marcello Enterprises was because he loved the construction company his grandfather had founded.
But now, suddenly, the construction company, the Marcello holding company and even the family itself, was teetering on collapse. Gio was livid. He’d had enough, and he put his foot down. Either his father left, or he’d leave. That was all.
His father thought it was a joke, but Gio was furious that the company was being drained dry for selfish purposes when there were hundreds of employees that depended on the Marcellos. He’d never forget that last big battle with his father.
“We owe our employees a solvent company. They shouldn’t have to worry if they will have a job tomorrow, or a way to pay their bills. If you don’t care about the future of a company that has been around for over one hundred years, get out now before you ruin the Marcello name.”
And to Gio’s surprise, his father left, abandoning ship, leaving his oldest son to save what he could.
That huge fight had been over fifteen years ago, and Giovanni had headed up the construction division and the holding company ever since. It had been a massive struggle to turn the floundering corporation around, but he had. And so, yes, he was protective of the business, and even more protective of those who worked for him.
“The company is not one thing,” he said. “It’s not a bank account. It’s not an office building. It’s not equipment or real estate. It’s people, my people. And I’m determined to do what is best for them. You see, they all have a vested interest in Marcello’s success because each employee is gifted stock each year on the anniversary of their hire date. The longer an employee is with the company, the more stock they hold, which also means they become deeply invested in the company’s success. When Borgo Marcello goes public in two weeks, my employees will have the opportunity to make some very good money. We’ve never done this before. Until now, all our companies have been privately held, but by going public, a number of my employees should make some good money. And that’s what I want for them. This isn’t about me. It’s about rewarding those who have been loyal, when even my own family was not.”
She exhaled slowly, staring out past Giovanni to the narrow street.
She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know what to do with the information he’d just told her. In some ways she was relieved. But she was also more worried, because if what he said was true, he had very valid reasons for being so protective and proactive about his company.
She didn’t want his employees to lose out on an exceptional opportunity. She’d never been offered stock at AeroDynamics, but Rachel did have friends who worked at high-tech companies and owning stock was huge, especially if a company was close to going public.
“There has to be some middle ground, though,” she said after a moment. “Something that could protect your company and employees, and also protect me.”
He looked at her and waited.
She swallowed hard. “Why does it have to be a real engagement, and a real marriage? Can’t we just pretend until your company has gone public?”
“Pretend to be engaged...for an entire year?”
“A year? Why so long?”
“The first year a company goes public is quite volatile. I have no desire to add risk, or damage credibility.” He paused, drummed his fingers on the table. “And Michael? What about him? A year from now he’ll be eighteen months and walking and starting to talk. Will we want to tear his world apart right when he’s becoming confident and secure?”
“He wouldn’t know. He won’t understand.”
“He would if you suddenly left Venice.”
Her eyes opened wide. “You expect me to live in Venice for the next year?”
“I expect you to live with me for the rest of your life.”
Her lips parted in a silent gasp. Her stomach cramped. He was out of his mind, or far too sure of his power. Seconds passed, and then minutes. Rachel could not bring herself to speak, and Giovanni didn’t seem interested in filling the silence, increasing the tension until she wanted to jump up and run. But where could she go? Nowhere. Because Michael was at the Marcello palazzo and she’d never leave Venice without him.
“You want to protect your company,” she said carefully after an endless stretch of silence. “And I want to protect Michael. Surely we can both agree on that.”
Gio’s dark head inclined.
“I understand damage control is needed, especially since the media is fascinated with this fantasy story of ours, but eventually the media will move on to other stories and other scandals, and we can return to our lives, hopefully relatively unscathed.”
Gio just waited.
She swallowed and mentally went through her thoughts before speaking them aloud, testing their strength and clarity. “Let’s start with the pretend engagement. We can do that. It’s not beyond our ability to smile in public and try to behave in a unified manner. It’s a role we can manage for a few weeks, or even a few months. But let me be clear, I can’t commit to anything longer than that. It’s enough for us to take this first step now, implementing damage control, which should prevent the situation from spiraling.”
He studied her from across the table, his gaze slowly examining every inch of her face. “So you’ll stay here for the duration of the engagement?”
“I have a job, Gio, and I might not be the owner of my company but I have colleagues who count on me, and customers impatiently waiting my return—”
“I don’t want you to return to Seattle, not if you’re going to take Michael.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want him with a stranger all day while you work. You deprive him of you. You deprive him of me. It’s not right, not when I’m here, and I want him in my life.”
“And what would I do if I stayed here?”
“Be his mother. Be my wife.”
“And you’ll compensate me, correct? You’ll give me an allowance or open a bank account for me.” She shuddered. “That is not my idea of a life. There is no independence. There is no freedom.”
“Do you have freedom now? Show me your independence. You were on my doorstep begging for help.”
Her lips compressed. She averted her head, her hands knotted in her lap.
“I know about your life in Seattle. You had a job, and a two-bedroom apartment—two bedrooms because Juliet often needed a place to crash—and a car with one more year of payments left on it. It’s a life, a respectable life,” he added quietly, “but it’s not fantastic. It’s not a dream. There’s no reason you can’t consider other options, and you need to consider other options, if not for your sake, then for Michael’s.”
She was so close to crying that she had to bite the inside of her lip hard, brutally hard, to keep the tears from falling. A marriage without love? What kind of future was that?
As if able to read her mind, he added, “Romantic love isn’t everything. There is companionship. And passion. I will ensure you’re satisfied—”
“Can you please drop this?” she choked, mortified.
“For now.”
* * *
Leaving the café, they walked in silence for several minutes, pausing to let a group of tourists push past. They were talking loudly and in a hurry, and Rachel stepped back close to the building, glad for the interruption as it had been almost too quiet for the past few minutes.
Another group appeared on the heels of the first, and Rachel pressed her back to the building, letting the next group get by them, too.
“The water is receding,” Gio explained. “The tourists have been waiting anxiously in their hotels for the tides to drop, and now that high tide has passed, the tourists are descending on the city again.”
“Does it flood this much every winter?” she asked as they started walking once more.
“We usually have a little bit of flooding every winter, but the amount varies. Acqua alta, which means high water, can range from just a few centimeters to three or four feet. Last year was a bad year. We had over four feet, and over half the island was covered. It was one of the worst seasons we’ve had in one hundred and fifty years.”
“You sound so pragmatic.”
“It can’t be stopped, and Venice is never totally submerged. Even when it’s bad, half the island is dry, and where we are now is the lowest part of the island. The piazza gets the worst of the high water, creating dramatic photos for tourists, but it doesn’t bother residents. We expect acqua alta. Venice is an island, crisscrossed with canals. Water is part of our life. We can’t escape it, nor would we want to.”
“It’s true, though, that the flooding has been worse in recent years, and that’s due to climate change?”
“Venice has been sinking for hundreds of years, but it’s not just because of climate change and the rising seas. The more we develop outlying areas, with the pumping of water and natural gas, the more Venice is negatively impacted. It is serious. It’s devastating for those of us who love Venice.”
She chewed on her lip, as she looked past him to the wet street beyond. “I think everyone loves Venice,” she said after a moment. “How can you not? It’s otherworldly. A fairy-tale city.”
“So you could be happy here.”
She shot him a pensive side glance. “I didn’t say that.”
“Then I will. You could be happy here. It’s a fairy-tale city, a place where dreams come true.”
* * *
Worn out from the emotional day, Rachel had dinner in her room, wanting some quiet and the chance to unwind with Michael.
She held him until after he’d fallen asleep in her arms and continued to hold him for another hour. She loved him so very much. The world was unpredictable and life could be overwhelming, but she was determined to protect him and do what was best for him until he no longer needed her.
He woke in the middle of the night, needing her. She walked him around his green room, and then around her room, making huge loops.
She kept the lights low and tried her best not to engage him, but at the same time she wasn’t going to let him cry as he had last night. She didn’t want a repeat of last night, where Giovanni was up and worrying about Michael, too.
As she paced, she glanced at the huge oil canvases on the wall, the green silk curtains with the thick gold and green fringe, the high ceiling and the gilt trim. Everything here was so old and valuable, centuries of wealth, and it boggled her mind just how different her world was, and how simple her needs really were.
She didn’t need a lot. She didn’t want a lot. Comfort was relative.
For Rachel, a comfortable life meant that she didn’t have to worry about losing her home, or defaulting on car payments. A comfortable life meant that she could see a specialist when a second opinion was needed, or have a dinner out every now and then. Comfortable meant she could take a vacation once a year, renting a little beach cottage on the Oregon coast, something they’d all done in her family each summer when Dad was alive. She’d loved those annual trips to Cannon Beach and the lazy days where they did nothing but play cards and Scrabble and walk down the long sandy beach.
That had been her ideal life, the one she wanted for her children, when she had children. And now she had a child. She had Michael. She’d become a mother much earlier than she’d expected, and it’d been a shock, losing Juliet and discovering overnight that she was a single mom.
It had been beyond overwhelming. She’d never told anyone, but she’d been angry, too. She’d wanted so badly to have someone to confide in, but she’d worried that women would judge her, saying she was selfish, or lacking. But being a parent was such a huge responsibility and Rachel had wanted to do it right when she did become a mom. She’d wanted to have everything ready, in order. She’d wanted to be mentally prepared, and in a position to be able to be self-sufficient, or as self-sufficient as possible.
Not being able to tell anyone that she was scared and worried and also, yes, a little bit angry—or very much angry—had been isolating. It had left her even more alone because she had all these feelings that weren’t socially acceptable, all these feelings where people would judge her for not being a real woman. For not being a good woman.
Rachel’s eyes burned and stung. She blinked hard, trying to clear her vision.
All her life she’d struggled with the sense of inadequacy. She knew she was smart, capable, but it didn’t seem to be enough. People valued beauty. So many in society placed beauty as the ultimate achievement. And beautiful was the one thing she’d never be, despite her attempts to improve her appearance through makeup and exercise and good hair care.
Throughout junior high and high school she’d pored over teen magazines with their tips on how to bring out one’s natural beauty: lip pencil, eyeliner, contour and mascara. She did her face and hair every morning while in college, and continued with the full face routine every morning before work, but the makeup was a mask. It merely served to hide how plain she was beneath, and how fragile her confidence really was.
That was something else no one knew.
She looked polished and professional on the outside, but on the inside, she was filled with self-doubt, and those self-doubts and recriminations had only grown since Juliet died. Like the city of Venice during acqua alta, Rachel was drowning.
* * *
Gio was surprised to see Rachel appear in the doorway of the breakfast room at a relatively early hour. She was already dressed, wearing charcoal trousers and an oversize sweater, and didn’t seem to be wearing any makeup. Her hair had been drawn back into a ponytail high on her head, with just a few shorter wisps loose to frame her face.
She looked pretty, but tired, with lavender shadows beneath her brown eyes.
“Good morning,” she said. “I was told this is where breakfast is being served today.”
“Yes,” he answered, rising and drawing a chair out for her. “Join me.”
She sat down, thanking him in a low voice. With her now seated at his side, he could feel her exhaustion.
“Michael had you up again last night, didn’t he?” Gio asked.
“It’s all right. I’m used to it.”
“I don’t think it’s good for you. I’d like a night nurse to take over in the evenings, at least for the next few weeks. You need your rest, too. It’s hard to keep a level head when you’re short on sleep, and we have a lot going on right now.”
Her brow creased, expression troubled. “So you intend to announce our engagement when?”
Before he could answer, the door opened and the maid appeared. Gio looked at Rachel. “Would you like American coffee or an espresso?”
“Do you have coffee by the pot? I feel like I need gallons of it today.”
Gio gave the instructions to his maid and then waited for her to leave. “It’s been done,” he said as the door closed. “I had my PR firm release the information last night.”
Her jaw dropped, horrified. “What?”
Gio reached for the stack of folded papers on the seat of the empty chair next to him. He’d read them earlier and saved them to show her. He placed the papers in front of her, with the English version on top to make it easier for her, watching her expression as she scanned the paper’s bold headline.
Italian Billionaire Marcello to Marry
American Lover!
“You really did tell them,” she whispered.
“I needed to. Media outlets from all over the world have been calling my company, and the company has been trying to send everyone to the PR agency, but it’s out of control right now.”
She lifted the paper, unfolding it to see the accompanying photo. It was a new one, taken of them yesterday in the coffee shop off the piazza.
For a long moment she said nothing, and then she sighed, the sound that of disappointment and perhaps resignation. “Are they all like this?” she asked, shuffling through the papers to glance at each.
“Yes.”
She flipped through the papers again. “How long will this...attention...last?”
“As long as we remain newsworthy.”
“I’d like to end the newsworthy element as soon as possible.”
“I could not agree more. It’s why we’re going to push forward quickly, and do a news dump, releasing all the announcements and information at one time so there are no more surprises and no more big headlines.”
“How does that work?”
“We’re sending out the invitations for our engagement party today. Once they are in the mail, we’ll make an announcement about the party and perhaps do an exclusive interview with one of the bigger tabloids, inviting them into the palazzo and letting them have a look at the party preparations, or even better, plans for our wedding.”
“But you’re so private. Won’t that just whet the paparazzi’s appetite for more?”
“I think once I’m more accessible, they’ll grow bored.”
“You hope,” she said.
“I do.”
She looked up at him, her eyes bright, her cheeks pink, her emotions right there on the surface. He liked her transparency. He liked that she wasn’t the schemer he’d first thought. She was nothing like the kind of women he spent time with, and maybe that was why he was drawn to her. She was fresh and real and emotionally accessible. Her emotions made her more beautiful: the light that shone in her eyes, the quick curve of her lips, the vexed expression when provoked.
She was provoked now. “You expect me to capitulate, don’t you? You’re expecting me to just acquiesce and marry you.”
“Yes.”
“You will be disappointed.”
“I don’t think so. I think you will soon discover that love is overrated, especially when the sex is deeply satisfying.”
She flushed and her jaw firmed.
“Or perhaps you’ve never enjoyed sex—”
“That’s enough,” she choked. “Nothing about this conversation is appropriate.”
“How are we to make love if we can’t even discuss it?”
“We’re not going to make love, or get married. I have agreed to a pretend engagement. That is all.”
She was so flustered, her cheeks were dark pink, her voice breathless. He didn’t think she was faking it, either. Rachel was a different species of woman, and it made him wonder, if she was this emotional and sensitive at the breakfast table, what would she be like in his bed?
The thought made him hard, and a little impatient. He pushed the papers back toward her. “Then what do we do? Have photographers chase you every day? Lie in wait for you and Michael as you run errands? The life you once had is gone, Rachel. This is your life now.”
She said nothing, her chin jutting in displeasure.
He could change that expression with a kiss. He was tempted, too, but first, he needed to explain something. She needed to understand his concerns.
Gio searched through the papers until he found the one that had reprinted the photo of her carrying Michael to the doors of the palazzo. The photographer had zoomed in on the baby, taken a close-up of him wrapped in the blanket. The headline was simple. It read, The Billionaire’s Baby, but it was enough.
The one photo, coupled with the three words, summed up the dangerous situation Rachel had unwittingly created. Michael was a story, a fascinating story, and people wanted a piece of it. Of him.
Gio placed the Italian paper on top of the English one. He tapped the photo as he read the headline to her, translating it from Italian to English. She looked at him, dark arching brows drawn.
“My grandfather Marcello had an older brother,” Gio told her quietly. “He was kidnapped during an outing, taken right from the arms of his mother during a morning walk. The kidnappers demanded a million dollars. My great-grandparents paid the ransom. Their fourteen-month-old was returned to them, in a box.”
“Dead?” she whispered.
He nodded. “It was a sensational story, and the three men were eventually arrested, tried and found guilty. But it didn’t bring back the child. My grandfather grew up aware that he was the replacement, and equally aware that his birth did nothing to assuage his mother’s grief. Money does not always solve problems. Wealth can make one a target. I do not want Michael vulnerable, and yet you, cara, have made him so.”
Gio could see the effect of his words. Rachel paled and grew still. He almost regretted putting the blame on her shoulders, but she had to understand, the world he inhabited was not like hers. His world was one of power and prestige, but also envy and greed. People could be dangerous. Gio had to protect Michael—and Rachel—from those that would try to destroy them.
The breakfast room was unbearably quiet.
Heartsick, Rachel felt hot and then cold, her stomach plummeting. Last night as she’d paced with the baby, she’d thought about money, and how important it was for her to feel stable and secure. She’d never considered the flip side, and how having a great deal of money could become a trap. “I’m sorry,” she said, meaning it. “I’m sorry to have brought Michael to the world’s attention. It makes me sick—”
“We just need to be careful from now on. We need to make sure he has the right people around him and be sure he’s not exposed to danger.”
She nodded jerkily, eyes gritty, trying to wrap her head around Michael’s future. He would forever be an heir now: the boy who’d inherit a fortune. It wasn’t the life she’d wanted for him. She hadn’t wanted to change his life, just improve it. “I wish I could go back... I wish I’d known.”
“What’s done is done. Now we need to make the best of it.”
“But won’t a party here invite trouble into your home?”
“I have already vetted the guest list, and there will be security, a great deal of it.”
She said nothing and he pressed on.
“The party will be on Saturday, next week. We’ll host the event in the grand ballroom. With the invitations going out in today’s mail, it will keep the ball from looking like a rushed affair.”
“A ball? Not a cocktail party? Something simple?”
“It’s impossible to host anything in a seventeenth-century ballroom without it looking like a major event. Besides, everyone likes to dance.”
“But I don’t see how an engagement ball will solve any of our problems!”
“It will add legitimacy to our relationship, publicly solidifying us as a couple. People will enjoy helping us celebrate our commitment to each other and Michael.”
“Speaking of Michael, when will we tell everyone that Michael is actually Juliet and Antonio’s?”
“Never.”
“What? Why not?”
“There is no need to make an announcement. Those close to us will know the truth. But the rest, why correct them? It’s no one’s business but ours—” He broke off as Anna returned with coffee and breakfast.
Rachel murmured thanks for her coffee but couldn’t even look at the food, far too shaken by the developments. “How many people are you inviting to this party?”
“Two hundred and sixty. I anticipate we will have about two hundred actually attend.”
“That’s a huge party.”
“The ballroom is huge.”
“Then put the party in another room, your mother’s favorite room, for example. We could have twenty in there and it would be lovely.”
“That sounds lovely and intimate, but it won’t communicate what we want it to. A large, lavish party doesn’t just convey confidence, but excitement, and joy...all the things we want the public to associate with our marriage.”
“Our engagement, you mean. A faux engagement, at that.”
He shrugged. “The goal is to present a united front to all. Even to those in our inner circle.”
“What about your mother?”
“I will tell her what she needs to know.”
“The truth.”
“I am not going to create worry and anxiety for her, not if I don’t have to.”
“I am not an actress, Gio. I am not good at pretending. I can’t even lie well. I don’t know why, but if I tell a fib, I immediately blush—”
“That is why you will marry me. Then you won’t have to worry that about your acting skills. You won’t have to act, or lie. There would be no faux engagement, just a real one, ending in a real wedding. Michael will have his family. You will be able to focus on the baby. I can focus on my business. Everything will be as it should be.”