RACHEL HAD NEVER enjoyed a meal in a private dining room before, let alone served by their own waiter, with a crackling fire in a massive stone fireplace keeping them warm.
The food had been amazing, course after course, with far too much wine, and now that all the dishes had been cleared for coffee, she couldn’t help sighing with pleasure. What an incredible restaurant, what a special meal. The company, though, was the best part. Giovanni Marcello had to be the ultimate dream date.
“I don’t want you worrying anymore,” Gio said, breaking the comfortable silence. “There is no reason for you to struggle and juggle and feel desperate about anything. I can provide for you, easily.”
Rachel stared into his darkly handsome face. He wasn’t the stranger he’d been when she arrived at the beginning of the week. She didn’t know him well, but there was an undeniable attraction, as well as a connection between them, that hadn’t been there days ago. “I’m afraid if I married you, I’d lose myself.”
“I’m not going to own you, no more than you’d own me.”
“I don’t think anyone could ever own you. You are far too strong, too independent.”
“You’re every bit as strong as me.”
She gave her head a small shake. “I’m not, though. If you really knew me, you wouldn’t be impressed.”
“Maybe it’s time you explained. Why do you feel so guilty?”
She shook her head, not just unwilling to tell him, but unable. She knew the words would horrify him. They horrified her. “I can hardly admit the truth to myself. I can’t imagine what you would think.”
“Tell me.” He reached across the table and stroked her cheek. “Cara, bella, I promise you it isn’t as bad as you think.”
She didn’t agree, but she was tired of all the emotions bottled inside of her, and truthfully, she wanted him to know, especially since he was so determined to marry her. It might change his mind. “I didn’t want to be a single mother. I didn’t want to do it this way. I wanted to wait until I was ready and I could be a good mom, and I’m not... I’m not...and I hate myself for being like Juliet. Selfish and self-absorbed—” She bit ruthlessly into her lower lip to keep the words from spilling out. Because even now, she could feel how black the truth was, and how ugly it made her.
Rachel had deliberately set the bar high for herself. She’d done it because she was different from Juliet. Stronger. Smarter. Better.
“How are you like her?” he demanded. “What have you done that is so selfish and self-absorbed?”
“I’ve resented that I was needed to help manage Juliet’s life...sorting her problems, fixing her mistakes. And then when Juliet fell in love with Antonio, and ended up pregnant, I was livid, because it’s one thing to overdraw your checking account, but it’s another to have a baby.” She pushed at the lone spoon still on the tablecloth. Her eyes burned but she could not cry. “Juliet never had to stand on her own feet. She’d always had Mother, and then when Mother was gone, Juliet couldn’t cope anymore, and she died, and I inherited her son.”
Rachel let her lashes fall, and she held her breath, wondering when Gio would speak, wondering what he’d say, but he was silent.
After a moment she forced herself to continue. “I wasn’t happy about how my life changed. I resented a three-month-old baby. I resented my own nephew...” She bit down into her bottom lip. “How could I do that to Michael? How could I hate him when he did nothing wrong?”
“You didn’t hate him.”
“No, but I wasn’t happy. And when Juliet died, I didn’t feel love. I just felt anger. And mostly anger with her because I felt like she took my choices away from me.”
“Those are normal emotions,” Gio said quietly. “Anyone would feel that way.”
Rachel swallowed with difficulty. “I lived so much of my life in Juliet’s shadow...and then once she was gone, I still lived in her shadow.” Her head lifted and she looked at Gio. “Being a single mom was not my plan. It was really important to me that I could be self-sufficient and financially independent before I married and had children. Instead, look at me. I show up, begging on your doorstep.”
“You weren’t begging. You were fierce and very defiant.”
She wished she could smile but couldn’t. “I can’t forgive myself for being angry with Juliet, and I can’t forgive myself for resenting my orphaned nephew, and I can’t forgive myself for not being a better sister to Juliet when she needed more of me, not less.”
“Which is why you need to forgive yourself. If you can’t forgive yourself for being real and human, you’ll never be happy.”
“I don’t deserve to be happy—”
“Of course you do. And I don’t know why you feel inadequate, or if you were made to feel inferior as a child, but it’s a lie, and a travesty. You are a beautiful, intelligent woman, a passionate loyal woman, and that is rarer and more valuable than the emeralds on your ears.”
* * *
The gondola ride was quiet on the return home. Gio said no more than two words during the trip and despite the warmth of her cape, Rachel felt chilled to the core, regretting what she’d told him, wishing she hadn’t revealed so much.
Gio took her hand, assisted her from the gondola onto the embankment fronting the palazzo, but didn’t let it go, as he walked her inside. As the door shut behind them, he turned her to face him. “Your sister died tragically, and unexpectedly, but you are not to blame for that.”
She pushed the hood back on her cape. “She was suffering from postpartum depression—”
“I understand you are grieving for her, but you were not responsible for her—”
“But I was—”
“No, and that’s the lie. I don’t presume to understand all your family dynamics, but you were not put on earth to be your sister’s caregiver. You’re here to be you, and live your life, and find happiness in your life.”
“Maybe. I don’t know. But I do know that I can’t fail Michael.”
For a moment there was just silence, and then Giovanni untied the silk cords on her cape. “You mean, we,” he corrected. “We can’t fail him, and we have to do better.”
He held out his hand to her. “Why don’t we go up and check on him together?”
* * *
Reaching the third floor they discovered Michael was asleep in his crib, and Mrs. Fabbro resting in a chair not far away, her hands folded across her middle, her steel-gray head tipped back, eyes closed.
The elderly woman opened her eyes when they approached. Gio spoke quietly to her, and Mrs. Fabbro answered, then with a brief nod and briefer smile in Rachel’s direction, she left.
“It was a good night,” Gio said to Rachel. “No problems. No fussing. She said he’s settling in well here, but thinks we need to think about giving him a proper room.”
“I feel badly that we were out so late. Mrs. Fabbro is not a young woman.”
“Mrs. Fabbro is delighted to be needed. She would take Michael home and keep him all to herself if she could.”
“But I hated seeing her sleeping in a chair.”
“If she’d wanted to, she could have slept on the bed. She used to do that with us when we were small and had nightmares.”
“Your mother didn’t come to you?” she whispered, leaning over the crib to check on Michael.
The baby was fast asleep, his round cheeks rosy. She smiled down at him, thinking he looked like an angel.
Gio reached into the crib and lightly stroked a wisp of Michael’s black hair. “If my mother was home, yes. But sometimes she’d travel with my father.”
Rachel felt a pang as she saw how gently Giovanni touched their nephew. From the beginning he’d been comfortable holding Michael, and she wondered if he’d had a lot of experience with children, or if he was just a natural. Either way, it was reassuring to see.
Giovanni sighed. “Speaking of Madre, I need to tell you something.”
“Is she on her way back home?” she whispered.
“Not exactly.” He hesitated. “Come, let’s go to my room, and I’ll explain all.”
It turned out that “Come to my room” didn’t mean Gio’s office suite, but his bedroom. Rachel felt a flutter of nerves as they entered the high-ceilinged room covered in dark beams with gold stencil, the walls a rustic pumpkin-hued plaster, the bed surprisingly modern and austere with a white linen cover. Two white slipcovered chairs flanked the stone fireplace. Books covered a farmhouse table, with more books stacked on the nightstand next to the low bed.
“Would you like a glass of port?” Gio asked, peeling off his coat.
“I’m good, thank you,” she answered, sitting down in one of the chairs by the empty hearth.
“Do you mind if I have one?”
“Of course not.”
He went to the long wooden table that nearly ran the length of the wall and drew the stopper out of the glass decanter and filled a small glass. He turned to face her, his expression shuttered. “Madre doesn’t live here anymore. And she’s not visiting her sister in Sorrento. She’s in a home in Sorrento. I had to make that decision earlier in the year. She has dementia, and it had become too dangerous for her here. I tried my best to keep her here, but there are so many stairs and halls and empty rooms...as well as windows and water.” He looked down into his glass. “I did have to fish her out of the lagoon more than once. It was awful. And then she didn’t know me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“She doesn’t know about Michael. She doesn’t even know that Antonio is gone. She doesn’t know any of us anymore—” He broke off, brow furrowing. “I go see her once a month. I know it’s not enough, but it is incredibly painful to sit at her side and listen to her ask me over and over who I am.” His jaw jutted. “I don’t like feeling helpless. And every time I see her, I do.”
“I understand,” Rachel said softly, and she did.
“I, too, wrestle with guilt. I feel guilty that I am not there with her more, guilty that I wasn’t able to keep her here, in her own home. But it hasn’t been an easy year. Antonio’s death was impossible. It was like a dance step...quick, quick, slow. The diagnosis was quick, and then he was gone to travel and have his last big adventure, and he only returned when he was ready to die, while the actual dying part was brutal and slow.” He began unbuttoning his dark shirt. “Once he began dying, it took forever.”
“Were you there with him?” Rachel asked, watching his hands work, tackling one button after another.
“Yes. He wanted to die at home—his home, the one in Florence. I was there for the last thirty-five days. I haven’t been back in the house since. At some point I need to do something with it, but I have no desire to return anytime soon. Too many memories. Too much suffering.”
She felt his pain and it ached within her. “We’ve both had so much to deal with this year. I feel badly that I judged you—”
“Don’t go there. We were both doing the best we could. It wasn’t perfect but it was our best. One can’t do more than that.”
“Yet I always feel as if I should.”
Shirt unbuttoned, Gio looked at her, his blue gaze intense, the irises bright and hot.
“You set impossible standards for yourself,” he said.
“I do,” she said softly, thinking she’d never met anyone half so handsome. His cheekbones were high, his eyebrows were straight and black, his jaw was now shadowed, his mouth beautiful.
Her heart thumped as he crossed the room, his shirt open, exposing his broad chest and hard torso, to sit down in the chair opposite her. He was so close now that if she leaned forward she could touch his thigh. Her mouth went dry. She felt positively parched.
“Can I have a sip of your port?” she asked.
He handed her his glass, his fingers brushing hers. She felt a frisson of pleasure all the way through her.
She sipped the warm rich sweet liquor, and then again, welcoming the burst of flavor on her tongue and then the heat that followed, down her throat to seep through her limbs.
She handed the glass back, and then immediately wished she hadn’t.
“Come here,” he said, gesturing for her. “You’re so far away.”
“Not that far.” Rachel’s heart did another painful little beat. “And I think it’s safer here.”
“There’s no canal to fall in. Nothing to hurt you should you lose your balance.”
She tried to smile but her throat constricted, her hands balling at her sides, hidden by the gleaming folds of her gorgeous gown. If she let him, he would be her first. And if they married, her first and her last. He would be everything.
“You could hurt me,” she said, the words popping out before she could stop them.
He looked relaxed, sitting on the arm of the chair, and yet there was something watchful in his manner. “Why would I do that?”
“We’re so different.” Her mouth felt dry. “And our dreams are so different.”
“I don’t know if we are that different. We both value family. We work hard, and try to think of others. We want Michael to be safe, and loved. And we both want to be happy, as well.” He smiled a little, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. If anything it emphasized the shadows in the blue depths, the shadows a testament to his grief over losing Antonio.
“Have I missed anything?” he asked quietly.
The fact that he was still grieving for his brother rendered him human, and vulnerable. Yes, he was still impossibly beautiful but he was a man, and he’d hurt, just as she’d hurt. She wanted to comfort him now, but wasn’t sure how.
She drew a shallow breath. “Can we both be happy?”
“You mean, together?” he asked.
She nodded.
“If we can move forward together and let the past go.”
“It’s not easy to let it go, though,” she said, nails pressing into her tender palms. “Because you couldn’t have saved Antonio, but I could have saved Juliet—” She broke off, chest squeezing, throat tightening, the air trapped in her lungs. She blinked, trying to clear the sting of tears.
“How?” Gio asked, covering her clenched hands with one of his.
“If I’d found all the pills ahead of time. If I’d known she was stockpiling them. If I’d known she was suffering from depression...”
“But you didn’t. How could you?”
Rachel’s shoulders twisted. “I should have realized she wasn’t coping well. In the weeks leading up to her death, she needed more and more help from me, and near the end I had become an almost full-time caregiver.” She chewed her lower lip. “I wasn’t happy about it. I told her so, too.”
“Ah.” His hand squeezed hers. “That’s why you feel guilty.”
“I wish I could go back and do it differently. You have no idea how much I regret those pep talks and lectures. I was trying to help, but I am quite certain they just made her feel worse...they just isolated her further. Rather than giving her tough love, I should have driven her to a doctor.”
He tugged her from her chair and pulled her toward him, settling her on his lap. “Hindsight is always clearer,” he said gruffly, tilting her chin up to look into her eyes. “But at the time, you didn’t know, and you were doing your best.”
Rachel bit harder into her lip, fighting to hold back the tears. She hated remembering, and most of all she hated remembering that last night, because every time she thought about that final evening, she thought of everything she should have said or done. “I’m not disappointed in Juliet,” she whispered brokenly. “I’m disappointed in me.”
He kissed her then, his mouth covering hers, his tongue stroking the seam of her lips, until her mouth opened for him. He kissed her with hunger and need and something else she couldn’t articulate, and her hands came up to press against his warm, bare chest. He felt good, his skin like satin over dense, hard muscle, and she was torn between pushing him away to preserve her sanity and pulling him closer.
She was sick and tired of fighting herself. Sick and tired of fighting him, and her desire for him. Everything had been so difficult for so long, and she was ready for something else, something new. Could they be happy together? Was it possible that out of all the terrible loss and grief they could create something new?
“I think it’s time to take you to bed to stop you from thinking too much,” he murmured.
“I am thinking too much,” she agreed hoarsely.
“I know the perfect solution for that,” he answered, hands sliding into her hair, tilting her head back to give him access to her mouth. He kissed her hard, his tongue first lightly stroking her lips, before finding the roof of her mouth and then the tip of her tongue.
Her pulse jumped and her legs shook as heat flooded her.
The kiss deepened, his tongue taking her mouth, making her melt. Hot sensation rushed through her and her thighs pressed, trying to deny the ache inside her and the way desire coiled within her.
She shuddered as he urged her closer, his strong hand low on her hip, holding her firmly against him, letting her feel his erection. She blushed, and hated herself for blushing. She felt like such a child. It would be a relief to know what to do, to feel confident about herself. Her inexperience had become a problem.
“You’re still thinking,” he growled in her ear.
“I’m sorry. It’s a problem. I’ll try to stop—” She broke off as he reached behind her neck and found her zipper.
With practiced ease, he drew the zipper down and slipped the dress off her shoulders. It puddled to her waist.
And then he stood, rising with her in his arms as if she weighed nothing and carried her across the room.
Panic rushed through her, heightening her emotions, making her pulse race even faster. She wanted him and was glad he would be her first, and yet she also worried she’d disappoint him. Should she tell him that she was still a virgin? Did a man want to know something like that? Or would it put too much pressure on him?
He placed her on the bed and her gown slid all the way down, in a pool of shimmering green and gold.
Giovanni’s gaze swept over her as she lay before him in her delicate lace bra and matching thong panties. His lashes dropped and his firm lips curved in appreciation. “The things I want to do to you,” he said, his voice low.
She exhaled breathlessly, heart pumping so hard she could barely think straight.
Gio joined her on the bed, stretching out over her, his weight braced on his elbows to keep from crushing her. Gazing down into her flushed face, he thought she’d never looked more beautiful. Her dark eyes shone and her soft mouth looked swollen and so incredibly kissable, so kissable that he lowered his head and took her mouth again.
“And Michael? What if he wakes?” Rachel gasped, as he shifted to her neck, kissing down the column to the rise of her collarbone.
He didn’t try to answer her immediately, too intent on claiming one lace-covered nipple, his teeth finding the sensitive tip and tugging ever so gently. She gasped again, her body shifting restlessly beneath his.
“Mrs. Fabbro is with him,” he answered at length, licking the taut peak, the damp lace imprinting on her tender skin. “She returned to the room after we left, and is sleeping in there with him tonight.”
“You didn’t say that earlier,” she choked, and then arched up as he covered the nipple, sucking again in firm tugs that had her panting, her hands going to his back, her nails pressing against him.
Gio welcomed her sighs of pleasure, just as he welcomed the edge of pleasure and pain as her nails bit into his back. He hadn’t wanted to be with anyone this past year. He hadn’t wanted intimacy or sex. He hadn’t felt desire... He hadn’t felt anything, but now he was feeling hunger, desire, need, and he was impatient to have her, impatient to bury himself in Rachel’s soft, wet heat.
“Are you on birth control?” he asked, lifting his head.
She shook her head.
“You’re not protected?” he repeated, struggling to hold back when all he wanted to do was bury himself inside her.
“No.” She drew an unsteady breath. “I’ve never needed it.”
“You leave it to your partner?”
“Yes. No. I mean—” She drew another quick breath, her breasts rising and falling, the dark pink nipples tight buds against the pale creamy skin. “I’m a virgin. I’ve never needed protection before.”
Giovanni stilled, stunned. Was she serious? She was twenty-eight years old, nearly twenty-nine. Were there twenty-nine-year-old virgins out there?
He felt her draw a breath, her rib cage rising and falling. Her voice was tremulous when she spoke. “I realize it’s a bit odd, and probably uncomfortable.” She inhaled sharply and exhaled, the sound half laugh, half sob. “It’s uncomfortable, even for me. I never meant to be this...but here I am. Sexless. Emotionless.” Her hand reached out, searching for something to cover herself with.
He rose up, careful not to crush her. “You are not without emotions. You just lack experience. There is a difference.”
She said nothing. Her gaze was fixed on a point past his shoulder but he could see the shadows in her eyes, and then came the silent film of tears.
“What happened?” he asked, head dipping to kiss just beneath her jaw, and then another kiss to the tender skin of her throat. “Did someone hurt you? Who broke your heart?”
Her slim shoulder twisted. “No broken heart. I was just holding out for true love. It didn’t happen.”
“You’ve never been in love?”
“I think I’ve come close, but it always ended before I was convinced it was a forever love.”
He placed a kiss along her collarbone, and then lower. She shivered and sighed, as he cupped her breast. He eased his hand back and forth over the taut nipple. She inhaled with each stroke, her breathing increasingly shallow.
“And yet you’re so sensitive,” he murmured, stroking down, his hand caressing the length of her, from her full breast, over her flat stomach to reach the soft mound between her thighs.
“You make me sensitive,” she whispered huskily, squirming as he caressed her lightly through the lace panty, light deft touches that made her thighs clench.
“Or maybe you’ve never given someone the chance to please you.” He leaned over and kissed one of her pelvic bones. Her hips rocked against him. He kissed the other and her breath caught in her throat.
“If someone can’t please my brain,” she choked, “he’s not about to get close to my body.”
He smiled as his teeth found the edge of elastic bordering her lace thong. “How do you explain us then?”
“You didn’t waste time. You went straight for my mind.”
He nuzzled her between her thighs, and then traced her with the tip of his tongue. He heard her broken cry as his tongue followed the cleft, the soft shape of her, and then between, where she was so very responsive.
She cried out again when he pushed the scrap of lace aside and touched her with his fingers and tongue, parting her to taste her and tease her. She was tense, nerves wound tight, and trembling as he licked her, slow long flicks of his tongue that had her gasping for air.
Her hips ground up, and he pressed a hand to her tummy, holding her down, holding her still, while he flicked and sucked on her delicate nub, the tender hood hard against his tongue.
“Gio,” she choked, her hand reaching for his shoulder, then sliding into his hair.
He could feel her tighten beneath him, feel her struggling, not wanting to lose control. He eased a finger inside of her, caressing that spot inside her warm slick body and sucked again on her, before gently sliding in another finger, working the inside of her while he matched the pressure on her clit.
She cried out his name as she climaxed, her body tensing, convulsing with pleasure. He held her after, her supple body so warm in his arms.
“That,” she whispered, awed, “was amazing.”
“Good. But that, bella, was just the beginning.”