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No, you’re reinforcing a whole host of self-doubts about what I thought were entrenched beliefs in my rights, and I can’t deal with that, especially not with you sitting so close beside me that I forget to be prudent.
“Am I?” he said again, running his knuckles along her jaw in a caress so tender that it undid her.
Her vision blurred. “No,” she said, blinking furiously. “I’m feeling overwhelmed, that’s all.”
“Understandable.” Another pause followed, this one humming with a different kind of energy, before he said thoughtfully, “Given our common goal, can we not find a way to work together, instead of in opposition?”
Tamping down an improbable surge of hope, she said warily, “Exactly what is it you’re proposing, Paolo?”
“That you give me one year. Put your career on hold and take that leave of absence and live here. With me.”
“With you? You mean, in your house?”
“Exactly. At present, I own an apartment, but for the children’s sake, I would buy a villa on the outskirts of Rome. A place with a garden where they could play—one close to where they lived with their parents, so that they could attend the same school, and keep the same friends. In other words, I would make a home for them—and you.”
“You can’t possibly be suggesting that the four of us would all live under the same roof?”
“Why not?”
“Because your father wouldn’t allow it, for a start!”
“My father does not dictate my choices, Caroline. I am my own man.”
She didn’t doubt that for a moment. “Perhaps. But he’d never accept my place at your side.”
“He’d have no choice but to accept you, if you were my wife.”
“You’re suggesting we get married?” This time, there was no controlling her spiking blood pressure.
“Yes,” he said calmly, as if proposing marriage out of the blue was as common an everyday occurrence as brushing his teeth.
“But you don’t love me!”
“Nor do you love me. But we both love the children, do we not?”
“Well…yes.”
“Then is it not worth trying to give back to them a little of what they’ve lost—a home, two people who love them, a semblance of normality?”
To be his wife, to share a home with him and their children…had this not been the stuff her dreams were made of, for longer than she cared to admit? And yet, to grasp them now, on the strength of a whim, an impulse, was surely courting heartbreak all over again.
Quickly, before her foolish heart led her astray a second time where he was concerned, she said, “With a marriage in name only? I don’t think so, Paolo!”
“Nor do I. Such marriages stand no chance of succeeding.”
By then too confused to be delicate, she said bluntly, “Are you suggesting we sleep together?”
With enviable aplomb, he replied, “Why not? I admit, intimacy coupled with love makes for the best bedfellows, but between compatible, consenting adults, intimacy alone can nurture a closeness they might otherwise never know.”
“What if it doesn’t?”
“Then they part as friends and go their separate ways, which is why I ask you to give me a year. If, at the end of it, we agree we cannot make the marriage work, we will end it.”
“And exactly how does that help the children?”
“It gives them a breathing space, a time to heal, among people who care about them enough to put their personal ambitions aside. At the same time, it allows them the chance to get to know you, which cannot be a bad thing if, as you say, you want what is best for them—because you surely must agree, no child can have too large a loving family.”
“I do agree. It’s this other thing you’re suggesting…this business of…of sex…”
“I’ve taken you by surprise, I know, Caroline, and I don’t expect an answer from you tonight. All I ask is that you consider my proposal.”
Consider it? Good grief, it was all she could do not to grab hold of it with both hands before he changed his mind! But his businesslike approach cooled her enthusiasm. He was proposing a marriage of convenience, even if it did include bedroom privileges, and she’d be a fool to forget that. The odds that they could make a success of such an arrangement were dim at best.
So, matching his detachment, she said, “I suppose that can’t hurt.”
“My father wants us to stay here another week, but I suggest we make it two. That should give you enough time to reach a decision, shouldn’t it?”
“I can’t imagine it’ll take me that long.”
“But if you say yes, as I’m hoping you will, the extra time will give the children the chance to get used to the idea of us being a family, before too many changes take place. Then, once they’ve accepted the idea, we can return to Rome, and concentrate on finding a place to live.”
“That makes sense, I suppose,” she said, and wondered how he managed to make what was surely a rash, improbable idea seem so utterly sane and workable.
“You were gone a long time, Paolo,” his mother said, coming out to where he leaned against the terrace balustrade, nursing a snifter of brandy. “Your father is in bed already.”
“And why aren’t you, Momma?” he asked fondly, noting the long silky robe she wore over her nightgown, and the embroidered satin slippers on her feet. “Aren’t I bit past the age where you have to wait up, to make sure I get home safely?”
“I’m too worried and sad to sleep. First, Caroline told us she’d like to take the children back to America with her—”
“We’ve known all along that was a possibility. It shouldn’t have come as too much of a surprise.”
“No, but it still came as a shock to hear it put into words so plainly. Then, after the pair of you left the house, I found the twins huddled at the top of the stairs, with their arms around each other. They were very upset and confused. I’m afraid, with their grandfather’s shouting, they heard more than was good for them.”
“My father was out of control. People on the mainland probably heard him. Were you able to reassure them?”
“I tried, but they heard Caroline, too. Their English is too good, Paolo. They understood every word that was spoken, and they’re frightened. Everything they’ve always been able to count on is crumbling around them.”
A sigh shook her slight frame, and Paolo realized that Ermanno’s death had taken an even greater toll on her reserves than had first been apparent. The silver in her hair grew more noticeable every day. The spring had gone from her step, and she’d lost a shocking amount of weight.
Nor was grief the only culprit. She was exhausted. Even with Jolanda’s help here on the island, and with the nanny, Tullia, standing by in Rome, caring for the twins exacted too heavy a toll on a woman of their grandmother’s years.
“My heart bleeds for Caroline,” she continued sadly. “She’s in an impossible position, even if she doesn’t yet realize it. She loves those children, and there’s no question but that their lives would be enriched by having her be a part of them. But even if she could force the issue by taking them to live with her in America, what good would it do, if they ended up hating her for it?”
“No good at all. Technically they are half-American, as Caroline says, but in their hearts and outlook, they are as Italian as I am. Their true home is here, and always will be, regardless of who wins this battle of guardianship. Not only that, they’re no longer babies. We speak of rights as if they’re exclusive to adults only, but the children have their rights, too, and they deserve to be heard.”
Another deep sigh escaped his mother. “Oh, Paolo! How are we ever going to resolve the difficulties facing us?”
“We’ll find a way, Momma. In fact, I might already have come up with a solution that will make everyone happy.”
His mother stepped closer, her face illuminated with sudden hope. “What kind of solution? Oh, tell me, please! I crave hearing some good news, for a change.”
“No,” he said. “You’ll have to be patient a little longer. It is too soon.”
Too soon for Caroline, and in all truth, too soon for him. The idea of marriage had struck him out of the blue, and before he’d had time to consider the wisdom of it, he’d proposed. And why? Because of a kiss that had been equally unplanned, yet one which had awoken in him a hunger not easily assuaged in the usual way. Rather, he’d been reminded of that long-ago night when he’d taken an innocent virgin and almost lost his heart in the process.
The depth of his feelings had terrified him then, and it terrified him now. At eighteen, she’d been a girl on the brink of life; one who deserved better than a man unprepared to accept responsibility for anything but his own pleasure and pursuits, and so he’d turned away from her.
Now, she was a woman and, in the space of a few days, she’d shown his life for what it really was: empty and superficial. Granted, at a professional level, he took pride in his accomplishments, and had believed that to be satisfaction enough. But because of her, he’d suddenly glimpsed the fulfillment of a deep-seated personal need that he hadn’t known existed. Plainly put, she exemplified all the things he’d once thought he’d never want.
Children, marriage, a place to call home—they’d taken on different meaning, this last week, yet with one kiss, she’d made them appear not merely appropriate at such a grief-rav-aged time, but eminently desirable, too.
He was not the twins’father, nor was Caroline their mother, but given the will to make it happen, together they could fill the void left by the tragic absence of parents, far better than either could hope to achieve alone. Like her, though, he needed time to adjust to the idea; to swing his mind set around from that of unattached bachelor, to family man. And he needed peace and quiet and solitude to do so.
“You should try to get some sleep, Momma,” he said, urging her inside the villa. “You’re worn-out.”
“Sleep?” She passed her hand over her face in a gesture of utter despair. “How can I sleep, with so much gone wrong in my family?”
“By allowing someone else to carry the load, for a change.” Taking her arm, he walked her to the foot of the staircase. “Put your worries aside, go to bed, and leave everything to me.”
He watched as she took the stairs one at a time. Seeing how slowly she moved, how she clutched the bannister and paused occasionally to catch her breath, reinforced his determination. He would not wait until he buried his mother as well, before he tookthe necessary steps to bring closure to his family’s distress.
When she at last reached her bedroom and closed the door, he returned to the terrace to finish his brandy, and pick up where he’d left off with his earlier musings. He’d always believed a man was responsible for directing his own destiny, but that he’d stumbled across such an ideal solution of how best to fill the hole left by Ermanno’s and Vanessa’s deaths, struck him as nothing less than serendipity.
Admittedly he entertained some reservations about his proposal. Try though he might, he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that Caroline harbored a secret of such momentous proportions that it might one day hurt his family. But that merely made marrying her that much more urgent. As her husband, he’d be in a position to effect some damage control.
There were other advantages, too. Whatever faults she might have, one thing remained unalterably clear: she was devoted to the twins, and ideally suited to share the responsibility of looking after them.
Furthermore, she was unattached, as was he. Even if he’d been seriously involved with another woman, he’d heard enough horror stories to make him reluctant to ask a stranger to step in as surrogate mother to his brother’s children. But Caroline was family. Her blood ran in the twins’ veins, just as thickly as his. Whatever their differences, in this one matter they were united.
If she was secure enough in the marriage, if he could make it so good between the two of them that she’d want to stay when the year was up, wouldn’t that be enough to neutralize whatever threat he feared she posed for his family? Wouldn’t it, in fact, be the best possible outcome for everybody, including the children?
Last, of course, there was the kiss—another unforeseen event which had affected him deeply. In that kiss, he’d tasted something of the ingenue he’d so carelessly cast aside nine years ago, and in his world, that kind of innocence was a rare commodity.
He hadn’t asked her if there’d been other lovers since him, because he hadn’t needed to. It had been there for him to see in her dazed surprise; in the nervous fluttering of her pulse, and her startled, uncertain gaze. A woman of experience did not respond so skittishly to a kiss, or to the suggestion of married intimacy.
And yes, there was that, too. Sharing a bed. Seeing her naked in the tub. Touching her in the privacy of their room, with lamplight casting golden shadows over her cool, smooth skin. Losing himself in her soft, warm folds, under cover of night.
The mere thought was enough to leave him hard and aching.
A sound penetrated the night; a thin, pitiful wail drifting down from one of the bedrooms behind him. Leaving his glass on the stone balustrade, he raced inside to investigate.
He was halfway up the stairs when he heard it again, coming from Gina’s room, at the end of the upper hall. The door to his parents’ suite remained closed, a sign that his mother had managed to fall asleep, after all, but Caroline’s stood ajar. Following the thread of light spilling over the floor from the room next to hers, he found her bent over Gina’s bed, attempting to gather the child into her arms and soothe her.
“Hush, darling,” he heard her murmur. “It was a bad dream, that’s all. You’re safe now.”
But Gina was inconsolable. “I want my mommy,” she sobbed.
“Mommy’s gone to heaven, but you have me, precious,” Caroline crooned. “You’ll always have me. I’ll never leave you, I promise.”
For a moment, he thought Gina was going to accept her. Just briefly, she rested her tearstained face against her aunt’s shoulder. Then she saw him standing on the threshold, and she pulled away, stretching out her arms to him, instead.
“Go away!” she cried to Caroline. “I don’t want you, I want my Zio Paolo.”
Caroline recoiled as if she’d been stabbed in the heart. Without a word, she rose from the edge of the bed to make room for him, and started toward the door.
“Don’t leave, Caroline,” he begged, catching her by the arm as she passed. “Let’s do this together.”
But, “You heard her,” she said. “She wants you, not me.”
“She wants her mother, cara mia, and her father, too. I’m her third choice only.”
“And I’m nothing,” she muttered brokenly, tearing free from his hold, and ran blindly from the room.
He let her go because there was misery enough in the atmosphere at that moment, and Gina needed comfort. But once the child had settled down again, he stopped outside Caroline’s room and knocked.
She didn’t answer, but she’d left it too late to pretend she was asleep. He’d already noticed the seam of light showing under her door, and heard her crying softly.
“You might as well answer, Caroline, because I’m coming in, anyway,” he said.
After a second of heavy silence punctuated only by an occasional sniffle, she spoke, her voice still muffled with tears. “What for? To rub my nose in the fact that my niece would rather deal with the devil himself, than with me?”
“Let me in, and we’ll talk about that,” he replied, not about to engage in any sort of discussion with a closed door between them.
She cracked it open an inch. “What’s the matter?” she inquired bitterly as, taking advantage of the moment, he lost no time stepping quickly into the room and closing the door securely behind him. “Afraid you might be seen fraternizing with the enemy?”
“Yes. The last thing either of us needs just now is for one of my parents to show up. My mother has enough to deal with, and my father would jump to the wrong conclusions. He has rather old-fashioned ideas, one of them being that unmarried female guests do not entertain men in their rooms, at least not when they’re staying under his roof.”
“That must have cramped your style over the years. No wonder you were so fond of the cabana on the beach.”
If he hadn’t known he’d only make matters worse, he’d have laughed at the picture she made. She stood there defiant as a child, hurling insults at him in an effort to stave off another onslaught of tears. She held a wad of sodden tissues balled in her hand, her eyes were all puffy and pink, and her dainty little toes peeped out from beneath the hem of a white embroidered nightgown she’d surely inherited from some oversize Victorian ancestor.
“Caroline,” he said mildly, careful not to betray so much as a smile, “I am not your enemy, nor do I consider you to be mine. This evening, I asked you to marry me, and I’m not here to tell you I’ve changed my mind. Rather, I hope that you now see the wisdom of accepting my proposal.”
“Actually I don’t,” she hiccuped, her words interspersed with a volley of ragged sobs. “Ginahates me, and so does Clemente. They’ll hate you, too, if you make me their stepmother.”
“But I cannot take care of them alone, cara. I need your help, and whether or not you believe it, so do they.”
“They need their mommy,” she insisted, an observation he’d have thought was plain enough for anyone to see, but which, for some reason, brought about an even more violent outburst of tears from her. Turning away from him, she retreated to the bed, collapsed in a heap on the rumpled covers, and buried her face in her hands.
He made a fatal mistake, then. Moved beyond words, he went to her. Lowered himself next to her on the mattress. And unwisely chose to cradle her in his arms.
Her tears splashed warm and salty against his neck, leaving his shirt collar damp. Her hair teased his senses with the fragrance of sweet-smelling shampoo. Her slender frame shook uncontrollably against his chest. And he was lost, all his honorable intentions to give her space and time to consider his marriage proposal, reduced to smoldering dust.
She was a woman in need of a man. And he was not a man to turn away from a woman in need—especially not when her name was Caroline Leighton.
Chapter Six
SHE could have tolerated anything else Paolo threw at her—mockery, scorn, disgust—used it to bolster her battered spirit, and thrown it back at him in kind. But his humanity completed the crushing despair Gina had begun with her rejection.
