Postcards From Rome: The Italian's Pregnant Virgin / A Proposal from the Italian Count / A Ring for Vincenzo's Heir

He turned away from her, facing the rack of clothing and the stack of shoes that was beneath it. “If you cannot walk then you will not present a very convincing picture. We don’t want you to look as though you were only polished today.”

“Why? Why does it matter?”

“Because I associate with a very particular kind of woman. I do not need my parents thinking that I swooped in and corrupted some innocent, naive backpacker.”

It took her a moment to process that. She wondered if he really believed that she was naive and innocent. She was. It was just that he had never seemed particularly sold on that version of her.

“They would believe that?”

He laughed, not turning to look at her. “Oh, yes. Easily.” Then he bent, picking up a pair of bejeweled, flat shoes before facing her again. He moved back to where she was sitting, dropping to his knees before her and making a seeming mockery of her earlier thought that he was unbending.

“What are you—”

He said nothing. Instead, he reached out, curling his fingers around the back of her knee. The warmth shocked her. Flooded her. He let his fingertips drift all the way down the length of her calf, the touch slow, much too slow. Something about it, about that methodical movement, seemed to catch her at the site of their contact and spark through the rest of her. Reckless. Uncontrollable.

She fought the urge to squirm in her seat. To do something to diffuse the strange energy that she was infused with. But she didn’t want to betray herself. To betray that his touch made her feel anything.

He grabbed hold of the heel on her shoe and pulled it off slowly, those searching fingertips dragging along the bottom of her foot then as he removed the shoe.

She shivered. She couldn’t help it.

He looked up then and a strange, knowing smile tilted the corner of his lips upward. It was the knowing that bothered her more than anything else. Because she was confused. Lost in a sea of swirling doubts and uncertainty, and he seemed to know exactly what she was feeling.

You do, too. You aren’t stupid.

She gritted her teeth. Maybe. She really wished she were a little bit more stupid. She had tried to be. From the first moment she had laid eyes on him, and he had looked back at her, she had done her very best to be mystified by what all of the feelings inside her meant.

She wasn’t going to give a name to them now. Not right now. Not when he was still touching her. Slipping the ornate flat shoe onto her foot, then moving on to the next. He repeated those same motions there. His fingertips hot and certain on her skin as he traced a line down to her ankle, removing the next stiletto and setting it aside.

“A little bit like Cinderella,” she said, forcing the words through her dry throat.

Not that she’d been allowed to read fairy tales growing up, but a volume of them had been one of her very first smuggled titles.

“Except,” he said, putting the second shoe in place, then straightening, “I am not Prince Charming.”

“I didn’t think you were.”

“Good,” he returned. “As long as you don’t begin believing that I might be something I’m not.”

“Why would I? I’m actually not just a stupid backpacker. I already told you that my family situation was difficult.” She took a deep breath, trying to open up her lungs, trying to ease the tension in her chest. She wasn’t bringing up her family for him. She was bringing them up for her. To remind her exactly why being bound to someone—anyone—was exactly what she didn’t want.

She wanted freedom. She needed it. And this was a detour. She wouldn’t allow herself to become convinced it was anything else.

She would enjoy this. The beautiful clothes, the expertly styled hair. She would enjoy his home. And maybe she would even allow herself to enjoy the strange twisting sensation that appeared in her stomach whenever he walked into a room. Because it was new. Because it was different. Because it was something so far removed from where she had come from.

But that was all it was. It was all it would ever be.

“But now,” he said, looking down at her feet, “you will be able to walk into my parents’ home tonight without falling on your face. That, I think, will be a much nicer effect.”

He stood completely and held his hand out. She hesitated, because she knew that touching him again would reignite that burning sensation in the pit of her stomach she had when he’d touched her leg. But resisting would only reveal herself more. And she didn’t want to do that.

And—she had to admit—she had perversely enjoyed it. Even though she knew it could never come to anything. Even though she knew there was nothing she could do beyond enjoying it as it was, as the start of a flame and nothing more, she sort of wanted to.

And so, she reached out, her fingertips brushing his palm. Then, his hand enveloped hers completely, and she found herself being pulled to her feet with shocking ease. In fact, he pulled her to her feet with such ease that she lost her footing, tipping forward and moving her hands up to brace herself, her palms pressing flat against that rock-hard chest.

He was so... He was so hot. And she could feel his heartbeat thundering beneath her touch. She hadn’t expected that. She wondered if it was normal for him. For his heart to beat so fast. For it to feel so pronounced.

And then she had to wonder if it was related to her. Because her own heartbeat was thundering out of control, like a boulder rolling down a hill. It wasn’t normal for her. It was because of him. And she couldn’t pretend otherwise, not even to herself.

Was that why? Was that why his heart was beating so fast? Because she was touching him? And if so, what did that mean?

It was that last question that had her pulling away from him as quickly as possible. She smoothed the front of her dress, doing her best to take care of any imaginary wrinkles that might be there, pouring her focus into that, because the alternative was looking at him.

“Yes,” he said, his voice hard, rough, infused with much less ease than seemed typical for him. “Tonight will go very well, I think.” And then he reached out, taking hold of her chin with his thumb and forefinger. He forced her to look at him, stealing that small respite she had attempted to take for herself. His eyes burned, and she wasn’t sure if she could still somehow sense his heartbeat, or if it was just her own, pounding heavily in her ears. “But you will have to find a way to keep yourself from flinching every time I touch you.”

Then, he dropped his hand, turning away from her and walking out of the room, leaving her alone. Leaving her to wonder if she had imagined that response in him because of the strength of her own reaction, or if—somehow—she had created movement in the mountain.

CHAPTER SIX

DINNER AT HIS parents was always infused with a bit of dramatic flair. Tonight was no exception. They were greeted by his parents’ housekeeper, their coats taken by another member of staff and then led into the sitting room by yet another.

Of course, his mother would not make an appearance until it was time to sit down at the table. He had a feeling it was calculated this time, even more than usual. That she was preparing herself for the unveiling of Renzo’s new fiancée.

His father would go along with his mother’s plan. Mostly because he had no desire to have something thrown at his head. Not that his mother had behaved with such hysterics for a great many years. But everyone knew she possessed the capacity for such things, and so they tended to behave with a bit of deference for it.

He turned to look at Esther, who was regarding the massive, Baroque setting with unconcealed awe. “You will have to look a bit more inured to your surroundings. As far as my parents know you have been with me for at least a couple of months, which means you will have been at events like this with me before.”

“This place is like a museum,” she said, keeping her tone hushed, her dark eyes glittering with wonder. It did something to him. Something to his chest. Unlike earlier, when she had done something to him in parts much lower.

“Yes,” he said, “it is, really. A museum of my family’s achievements. Of all of the things they have managed to collect over the centuries. I told you, my parents were very proud of our name and our heritage. Of what it means to be Valentis.” He gritted his teeth. “Blood is everything to them.”

It was why they would accept Esther. Why they would accept the situation. Because except in extreme circumstances, they valued their bloodline in their heritage.

He deliberately kept himself from thinking of the one time they had not.

“Renzo.” He turned at the sound of his sister’s voice, surprised to see her standing there with her husband, Cristian, at her side, Renzo’s niece held securely in her father’s arms.

“Allegra,” he said, standing and walking across the room to drop a kiss on his younger sister’s cheek. He extended his hand for Cristian, shaking it firmly before touching his niece’s cheek. “I did not know you would be here.”

“Neither did we.”

“Did you fly from Spain for dinner?”

Cristian lifted a shoulder. “When your mother demands an audience, it is best not to refuse, as I’m sure you know.”

“Indeed.”

He turned and looked at Esther, who was still sitting on the settee, her hands folded in her lap, her shoulders curved inward, as though she were trying to disappear. “Allegra, Cristian, this is my fiancée, Esther Abbott.”

His words seemed to jolt Esther out of her internal reclusion.

“Hello,” she said, getting to her feet, stumbling slightly as she did. “You must be... Well, I’m not really sure.”

Allegra shot him a questioning glance. “Allegra Acosta. Formerly Valenti. I’m Renzo’s younger sister. This is my husband, Cristian.”

“Nice to meet you,” she said, keeping her hands folded firmly in front of her but nodding her head. He was hardly going to correct her, or direct her to do something different from what she had done, but he could see that coaching would be required in the future.

“It seems the family will all be here,” he said. “Such a surprise.”

“Engaged. You’re engaged. That’s why Mother called us and told us to get on Cristian’s private jet, I imagine.”

“Most definitely,” Renzo returned.

“You didn’t tell me,” Allegra said.

“In fairness to me, you did not tell me that you were expecting my best friend’s baby until it became unavoidable. You can hardly lecture me on not serving up a particular piece of news immediately.”

His sister’s face turned scarlet, and he looked back at Esther, who was watching the exchange with rapt attention. “Don’t pay attention to him,” Allegra said to Esther. “He very much likes to be shocking. And he likes to make me mad.”

“That seems in keeping with what I know about him,” Esther said.

Cristian laughed at that. “You two can’t have been together very long,” he said. “But it does seem you have a handle on him.”

Esther looked down. “I wouldn’t say that.”

Renzo poured himself a drink, feeling slightly sorry for Esther that he could not offer her the same. Especially given what he was about to do. “Since Mother didn’t tell you the great news of my engagement, I imagine she didn’t tell you I have other news.”

“No,” Allegra and Cristian said together.

“Esther and I are expecting a baby.” He reached out, putting his arm around Esther’s shoulders, rubbing his thumb up and down her arm when he felt her go stiff. That didn’t help, but he knew that it needled her. So, he would have to take that as consolation.

Allegra said nothing, Cristian’s expression one of almost comedic stillness. Finally, it was Cristian who spoke. “Congratulations. Start catching up on your sleep now.”

Allegra still said nothing.

“I can see you’re completely stunned by the good news,” he said.

“Well, yes. I know you’ve made many declarations to me about how you intend to be shocking at all times, so I don’t know why I’m surprised. Actually, I heavily resent my surprise. I should be immune to any sort of shock where you’re concerned.”

Of course, she wasn’t. Being his younger sister, Allegra always seemed to want to believe the best of him. Which was a very nice thing, in its way. But he was a constant disappointment to her. He knew that his marriage to Ashley had been something more than a shock. Although, why, he didn’t know. He had told her, in no uncertain terms, that he intended to marry the most unsuitable, shocking woman that he could find.

That was one that had backfired on him.

“Truly, little sister, you should know me better than that by now. Anyway, let us refrain from speaking of the other ways in which I’ve shocked you in front of Esther. She’s still under the illusion that I’m something of a gentleman.”

Esther looked at him, her expression bland. “I can assure you I’m not.”

Cristian and Allegra seemed to find that riotously amusing. Mostly, he imagined, because they thought she was being dry. In fact, he had a feeling Esther was being perfectly sincere. She was sincere. That was something he was grappling with. Because he didn’t know very many sincere people.

He was much more accustomed to those who were cynical. Who approached the world with a healthy bit of opportunism. It was the sincere people who dumbfounded him. Mostly, because he couldn’t figure out a way to relate to them. He couldn’t anticipate them.

Seeing her earlier today trying on all of those clothes, the way she had looked at him when he had touched her leg, when he had bent down to change her shoes, had been something of a revelation. Until then he had still been skeptical of her. Of her story, of who she claimed to be.

But who she seemed to present was exactly who she was. A somewhat naive creature who was from a world entirely apart from the one she was in now. Her reaction to his parents’ house only reinforced that. He had watched her closely upon entry. If she were a gold digger, he felt he would have seen a moment—even if it was only a moment—where she had looked triumphant. Where she had fully understood the prize that she was inheriting.

Frankly, the position he had put her in gave her quite a bit of leverage for taking advantage. Yes, DNA tests would prove that the child wasn’t hers, but who knew how a ruling might go in Italy where there were no laws to support surrogacy. She was the woman who carried the child, and she would give birth to the child. He imagined that legally there was no way she would walk away with nothing.

And he had offered to marry her. Another way in which she could take advantage of him and his money. And yet she had not seemed excited by that either.

That didn’t mean things wouldn’t change, but for now, he was forced to reconcile with the fact that she might be the rarest of all creatures. Someone who was what she said.

“Excellent,” Allegra said to Esther. “I would hate for you to marry my brother while thinking he was well behaved.”

Spurred on by his earlier ruminations, he turned his head, nuzzling the tender skin on Esther’s neck, just beneath her jawline. “Of course,” he said, allowing his lips to brush against her, “Esther is well aware of how wicked I can be.”

He looked up, trying to gauge her response. Her burnished skin was dark pink beneath, a wild, fevered look in her eye. “Yes,” she said, her voice higher than usual. “We do know each other. Quite well. We are... We’re having a baby. So...”

“Right,” Allegra said.

Just then, a servant came in, interrupting the awkward exchange. “Excuse me,” the man said. “Your mother has asked me to ‘come and fetch you for dinner.’”

Likely, those were his mother’s exact words.

Keeping his hand on Esther’s lower back, he led the charge out of the room and toward the dining hall. He could feel her growing stiffer and stiffer beneath his touch the closer they got, almost as if she could sense his mother. He wouldn’t be surprised. His mother radiated ice, and openly telegraphed her difficulty to be pleased.

“Take a breath,” he whispered in her ear just before they walked in. She complied, her shoulders lifting with a great gasp. “See that you don’t die before dessert.”

And then he propelled her inside.

His mother was there, dressed in sequins, looking far too young to have two grown children, one grandchild and another on the way. His father was there, looking every bit his age, stern-faced and distinguished, and likely a portrait of Renzo’s own fate in thirty years.

“Hello,” his mother said, not standing, which Renzo knew was calculated in some way or another. “So nice to meet you, Esther,” his mother said, using Esther’s first name, which he had no doubt was as calculated as the rest. “Allegra, Cristian, so glad you could come. And that you brought my favorite grandchild.”

“Your only grandchild,” Allegra said, taking her seat while Cristian set about to setting their daughter in a booster seat that had already been put in place for her.

All of this was like salt in a wound. He loved his niece, but there was a particular kind of pain that always came when he was around small children. And when his parents said things like this...about their only grandchild...that pain seemed insurmountable.

“Not for long, though,” Allegra continued. “Unless Renzo hasn’t told you?”

“He has not. Good. Well, at least now we’re all up to speed.” His mother gave Renzo a very pointed look. “Do you have any other surprises for us?”

“Not at the moment,” he said.

Dinner went on smoothly, their mother and father filling up most of the conversation, and Renzo allowing his brother-in-law to take any of the gaps that appeared. Cristian was a duke, and his title made him extremely interesting to Renzo and Allegra’s parents.

Then suddenly, his father’s focus turned to Renzo. “I suppose we will see both you and Esther at the charity art exhibit in New York in two weeks?”

Damn. He had forgotten about that. His father was a big one for philanthropy, and he insisted that Renzo make appearances at these types of events. Not because his father believed firmly in charity in a philosophical sense, but because he believed in being seen as someone who did. Oh, he wasn’t completely cold-blooded, and truly, it didn’t matter either way. A good amount of money made it into needy hands regardless.

But bringing Esther to New York, having her prepared to attend such a land mine–laden event with very little preparation was... Well, just thinking about it was difficult.

More than just the Esther complication, there was always the Jillian complication. Or worse, Samantha. They split their time between Italy and the States, so the probability of seeing them was...high.

But he’d weathered that countless times. Esther was his chief concern. She would probably end up hiding under one of the buffet tables, or perhaps eating a bowl of chocolate mousse on the floor. Thankfully, it would be at night, so there would be no sunbeams for her to warm herself beneath.

“Of course,” he said, answering as quickly as possible, before Esther opened her mouth. He had to make it seem as though they had discussed this. That he had not in fact forgotten about the existence of this event—one that he attended every year—due to the fact that he had been shocked by the news of a stranger carrying his child.

“Excellent,” his father said. “I do find that it’s much better for a man such as yourself to attend with a date.”

“Why is that?”

“So you aren’t on the prowl for women when you should be on the prowl for business connections.”

That shot from his father surprised him. Especially in front of Esther. His father was typically the more restrained of his two parents. Still, he was hardly going to let the old man see that it had surprised him. “You live in the Dark Ages, Father,” he said. “Sometimes, women are in high-powered positions of business, in which case, my being single helps quite a bit. However, Esther will not be an impediment, on that you are correct.”

“Certainly not,” his father said. “If anything, she will be something of an attraction to those jaded big fish you intend to catch.”

“Are you going to be there, Father?”

“No. When I said I hoped to see you there, I meant only that I hope to see your photograph in the newspaper.”

Renzo couldn’t help but laugh at that. And after that, conversation went smoothly through dessert. At least, until they were getting ready to go. A staff member waylaid Esther, a maneuver that Renzo fully took notice of only when his father cornered him near the front door.

“I do hope this isn’t some sort of elaborate joke like your last relationship seems to have been,” his father said.

“Why would it be?”

“She is a lovely girl. She’s a far cry from the usual vacuous model types you choose to associate yourself with. I had to cut ties with one of my grandchildren already, Renzo, lest you forget.”

“You didn’t have to. You felt it was necessary at the time and you convinced me the same was true. Don’t pretend that you have regrets now, old man,” Renzo said, his tone hard. “Not when you were so emphatic about the need for it all those years ago.”

“What I’m saying is that you best marry this girl. And that marriage best stick. A divorce, Renzo. You had a divorce. And a child outside of wedlock that none of us can ever acknowledge.”

“What will you do if I disappoint you again, Father? Find the secret to immortality and deny me my inheritance?”

“Your brother-in-law is more than able to take over the remainder of the business that is not yet under your control. If you don’t want to lose dominion over the Valenti Empire upon the event of my death, I suggest you don’t disappoint me.”

His father moved away from him swiftly then, and Esther came to join him standing by the door. She looked like a deer caught in the headlights, blindsided completely by the entire evening.

And he knew he now had no choice in the matter. This farce would not be enough. It had to be more. His father was threatening his future, and not just his, that of his child.

Esther Abbott was going to have to become his wife, whether she wanted to or not.

And he knew exactly how to accomplish it. He had seen the way she had reacted to his touch back at his villa. He knew that she wasn’t immune to him. And a woman like her, naive, vulnerable, would not be immune to the emotions that would come with the physical seduction.

It was ruthless, even for him. He preferred honesty. Preferred to let the women he got involved with know exactly what they were in for. Preferred to let them know that emotion was never going to be on the table. That love was never going to be a factor.

But he would offer her marriage, and she could hardly ask for more than that. In this instance, what would the harm be?

There was no other option. He was going to have to make Esther Abbott fall in love with him. And the only way to accomplish that would be seduction.

“Come on, Esther,” he said, holding out his arm, “it is time for us to go home.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

ESTHER WAS USED to the breakneck pace of working in the bar. Going out every night and working until closing time was demanding. But the routine of getting ready, polishing herself from head to toe, so that she could go out with Renzo for a dinner in Rome, was something else entirely. And it was almost no less exhausting.

Being on show was such a strange thing. She was used to being ignored. Invisible.

But two nights ago they had gone to his parents’ house, and the scrutiny she had been put under there had been unlike anything she’d experienced since she’d lived at home and it had always seemed as though her father was trying to look beneath her skin for evidence of defiance, sin or vice.

Then, last night they had gone out again to a very nice restaurant, and Renzo had explained to her exactly what the charity event in New York was, and how she would be accompanying him.