The Brides of Bella Rosa

And lately, even those dreams had faded. She’d been as wrapped up in finding ways to save the restaurant as her father was. So maybe Max was right. Maybe it did mean everything to her, too.

“Maybe,” she said faintly.

What did it mean when you gave up your dreams? Did they grow mellow and rich, like fine wine, warming you even as they faded? Or did they dry up and turn to powder that blew away with the wind?

“Maybe.”

Snapping back into the moment, she looked at Max, trying to see if he’d come around yet. She grimaced lightly. It certainly didn’t look like it. Those gorgeous dark eyes with their long, sweeping lashes were as cool and skeptical as ever.

She sighed. He’d finished eating and he’d finished looking at her scrapbook and listening to her point of view. She had only one weapon left in her arsenal. Slipping away, she hurried back to the kitchen where she pulled a large portion of a beautiful tiramisu out of the refrigerator. Rummaging in a drawer, she found a candle, which she lit and put atop it. She smiled with satisfaction, then carried it back out into the dining room, singing “Tanti auguri a te,” as she went. She stopped, put the blazing pastry down before him, and added, “Buon compleanno!”

He was laughing again, only this time it was with her, not at her.

“How did you know it was my birthday?” he asked her, letting her see, for just a moment, how pleased he was.

She shrugged grandly. “You told me.”

He frowned. “When?”

“It was the first thing you said when you came into the kitchen, before you realized it was me instead of Renzo.”

“Oh, of course.”

He looked into the flame as though it fascinated him. She watched him. In the afternoon light, his scar looked like a ribbon of silver across his face. She wondered if it gave him any pain. She knew it gave him heartache. And because of that, it gave her heartache, too.

“Make a wish and blow out the candle,” she told him.

He looked at her and almost smiled. “What shall I wish for?”

She shook her head. “It’s your wish. And don’t tell me, or else it won’t come true.”

His face took on a hint of an attitude, teasing her. “Okay. I know what I’m going to wish for.”

She knew he didn’t mean anything by it; still, the implication was there, hovering in the air between them. She felt herself flushing and turned away, biting her lip.

“Go ahead. Blow it out. I won’t watch.”

“Why not?” He blew out the small fire and picked up a fork. “Anyone can watch. It’s not much of an event, you know.”

He broke off a bit of the pastry onto his fork, and, instead of taking the bite himself, he waited until she’d turned back and then popped it between her lips and left it there.

“Hey!” She ate it quickly, half laughing. “That was for you. I ate enough of it myself when I was making the thing.”

He stopped, staring at her. The tiramisu was a thing of beauty, the dark of the coffee flavor and the cocoa topping a striking contrast to the light-as-a-feather, rich, creamy layers. It was a mystery to him how anyone made such a thing, and the thought that she had created it on her own was a revelation. Her talents were legion, it seemed.

“You made it yourself?”

She nodded. Yes, she had, thinking of him the whole time and warding off Susa, who’d wanted to take over.

Max shook his head as he studied her face, searching her eyes, sketching a trail of interest along the line of her chin. “You made me that delicious pasta and you made me my birthday dessert with your own hands.” His eyes seemed to glow with a special light and his voice was so quiet, she could hardly hear him. “What can I do for you in return, Isabella?”

She met his gaze and held it. “You know what I want,” she said, almost as softly as he had spoken.

He stared into her eyes a moment longer, then his face took on an expression she couldn’t translate into anything but regret. Looking down, he began to eat and he didn’t speak again until he had finished.

“Thank you,” he said simply. “I appreciate this.”

She waited. Was he going to relent? Was he going to tell her she could have another try at his hillside? She waited another moment, but he didn’t seem to have anything else to say, so she sighed and rose, beginning to clear the plates away.

“I suppose I’d better get all this cleaned up,” she said, wondering if she’d actually made any impression on him at all. “I’m sure you have people coming over to help you celebrate tonight.”

He looked up at her with a frown. “I don’t see visitors. Not ever. I thought you understood that.”

She stopped, staring at him. “Not anyone?”

“No. Not anyone.”

Her blue eyes betrayed her bewilderment. “Why not?”

He sighed and threw down his napkin, then said in a clipped tone, “I think that’s self-evident.”

She sank back into her chair and gaped at him. She remembered suddenly what Susa had said about his having lost his young wife years ago. She’d implied that the pain of losing her had brought on his lonely existence, but surely there was more to it than that. “You mean, because of your face?”

He merely stared at her, confirming her suspicions.

“But…” She choked, unable to comprehend his motives. “Why would you let something like that ruin your life? You need people around you, you need…”

She stopped before she said something ill-advised. He needed love. That much was obvious. He needed a woman, someone to care for him and make him happy. Every man needed that.

But did she have any business saying such a thing? Of course not. Especially since she needed a man just as badly, and look how she’d been unable to take care of that little problem for years now. She didn’t even have the excuses he had. So who was she to talk?

But she couldn’t leave the subject alone.

“If I were like you,” she said, pointing to her own injured eye, “I would have hidden myself away and we would have had to close down the restaurant for the last week and a half.”

He half smiled at her characterization and he looked at her black eye almost affectionately.

“Did you get any reaction from your customers?”

“Of course.” She stared at him again. He was a prince, rich and probably famous in certain circles, powerful, with resources she could only dream of. So how had he let this happen? How had others around him let it go this far? How had he become such a recluse, and how could he stand it for so long?

“I get plenty of reaction,” she continued slowly, “lots of double takes, people turning back to have another look at me. Then I get the opposite, people who notice, then look away quickly as though thinking I must have been beaten up and would be embarrassed if they acknowledged seeing the evidence of it.”

He nodded, recognizing the experience from his own ventures out into the world.

“I even have little children making fun of me in the street.” She tossed her hair back with a defiant snap of her head. “But who cares? That’s their problem.”

He gazed at her in complete admiration. She was a tough one. She could handle what life threw at her in ways he didn’t seem capable of. But there was so much more to his situation that she didn’t know about. “Our conditions are not comparable,” he said.

She shook her head. “Maybe not to the degree, but the basics are very much the same.”

He frowned, beginning to feel a bit of backlash against her attitude. “You don’t understand.” He glanced at her, then away. “You don’t know why this happened.”

She leaned forward, her elbow on the table, her chin in her hand, ready to hear, ready to understand. “So tell me.”

His gaze darkened. For just a moment he saw it all again, the trees rushing past his window, the huge old bridge standing right in his path, the flash as they hit, the flames, the fire, the horrible sound of metal against concrete. They said no one should have lived through that crash. And there were times when he’d cursed his own powers of survival.

Looking up, he spoke dismissively. “No.”

Her eyes widened. “Why not?”

His own eyes were as cold as they’d ever been as he turned to gaze at her again. “It’s none of your business.”

He was right, of course, but she drew back as though he’d slapped her.

“Oh.”

She rose again and turned toward the door. He’d hurt her with those words, with that manner. She’d thought they were becoming friends and he’d shown her just how far from that they really were. She was not allowed into his real life. Of course, what had she expected? This was a cold, cruel world, after all.

“I’ll just get out of your way, then,” she said stiffly. She walked firmly out of the room, waiting at each step for him to call her back. But he didn’t say a word.

It only took her a few minutes to get her things washed up and ready to go, but she banged the pots a bit more than necessary. She was angry. There was no denying it. After all she’d done, all she’d said, and he still didn’t understand!

She was packing her supplies away in her backpack when he came into the kitchen again. She looked up hopefully, but his eyes were still cold as ice.

“Where did you park your car?” he asked.

She went back to putting her full attention on what she was doing, stuffing the last of her utensils into the bag. “Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

He erased the distance between them and took her chin in his hand, forcing her to look up at him. “I’ve told you I won’t have you wandering around the grounds on your own,” he reminded her sternly. “I’ll drive you to your car.”

A captive, she stared back at him without saying anything. She wasn’t fooled. He wanted to see where it was that she was sneaking in. Good thing she’d parked a distance away from the chink in the wall. If he was going to find her secret, he was going to have to survey the wall himself, brick by brick.

“I’ll do fine on my own,” she said again.

“I’m going to drive you. I brought my car around while you were cleaning up.”

Slowly, deliberately, she pushed his hand away from her chin. “If you insist,” she said coldly.

His mouth twitched, but he managed not to smile at the fierce picture she made.

“I do,” he responded. “Shall we go?”

He helped her carry her things outside and there was a slinky little BMW Roadster.

“Nice car,” she allowed, refusing to meet his gaze.

“It’s a beauty, isn’t it?” he agreed, stowing her things behind the seat and holding the door for her. “It seems like something of a waste. I almost never get to drive it.”

“Why not?”

He shrugged. “The only place I go is to my home on the coast, and I travel in a limousine for that.”

“With darkened windows. I know.” Susa had told her all about it. “All so others won’t see your face?” she asked, troubled by such a denial of life.

“There’s more to it than that,” he said, sliding behind the wheel.

“Of course. And it’s none of my business.” She stared out the side window.

He twitched and gave her a look, then started the car and eased it out onto the driveway.

“I don’t know why you think you should be let in on every little aspect of my interior life,” he said gruffly. “Believe me, the nuances are not all that interesting.”

She whipped her head around. “I didn’t ask just because I was snoopy,” she said indignantly. “I actually care—” she stopped dead, realizing what she was saying “—uh…about you,” she ended softly and lamely, looking away again as quickly as she could.

He didn’t answer.As they cruised down the two-lane road he wondered why her admitting that she cared sent warmth careening through his system. It wasn’t as though women hadn’t cared for him in the past. What made her so special?

“Is that your car?” he asked as they closed in on a silver-blue compact sitting by the side of the road.

“That’s it,” she admitted.

He pulled up behind it and frowned as he studied the wall of his own property. “This isn’t where you go in,” he noted.

She flashed him a triumphant smile.

“You’re right. This isn’t it.”

She began to gather her things for her great escape, slipping out of the Roadster and reaching for her bag before he had a chance to get out and help her.

“Bye,” she said, not meeting his gaze and turning for her car.

“Hey.” He got out on his side and followed her. “Wait a minute.”

Throwing her bags into the backseat of her car, she turned to look at him, though she was poised to jump behind the wheel and race off.

“What is it?” she asked guardedly.

He stood facing her, his legs wide apart, his hands hooked on the belt of his jeans. For a moment, he seemed lost in the depths of her eyes. Then he shrugged and looked almost bored with it all.

“I think I’ve come up with a way for you to get your precious herb,” he said casually.

Her jaw dropped and her eyes opened wide. “What? How?”

“It’s simple really.”

“You mean you’ll trust me to go alone?”

Darkness flashed across his face.

“No, of course not. I’ve told you, I will not allow you to go there unattended.”

“Unattended?” Her frustration was plain on her face. She obviously felt they were just going around in circles. “But who would be available to go with me?”

He shrugged, his head cocked at a rather arrogant angle. “I’ll do it,” he said.

For just a moment, she wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly. “What?” she said. But she could tell he meant what he’d said by the look on his face. Joy swept through her. “You!” And then spontaneous happiness catapulted her right up against his chest.

“Oh, thank you, thank you!” she cried, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing his cheek again and again. “Thank you so much!”

He laughed softly, holding her loosely, resisting the impulse to take advantage of her giddiness.

“Can we go right now?” she cried, looking as though she could fly all the way on her own.

“Today it’s too late,” he said sensibly. “Come tomorrow.”

“Yes.” She knew he was right. “Yes, I will.”

He stroked her temple with his forefinger, smoothing back the tiny curls that were forming at her hairline. “And when you come tomorrow, you can drive in the front gate.”

She stared at him, clutching his arm. “How am I going to do that?”

“I’ll give you the code.”

That took her breath away. “Why would you do a thing like that?”

His gaze was cool, yet intimate. “Why not? I trust you.” For now, it suited him that she have the code, and that was that. He gave her a quick, quirky smile.

“Besides, I can change the code any time I decide I don’t want you to have it any longer.”

There were tears in her eyes. She’d been so downhearted and now she was so happy. “Why are you being so good to me?” she asked emotionally.

His smile faded. He gazed deeply into her eyes and winced a bit from what he saw there. And then, he told her the truth.

“Because I care about you, too,” he said.

CHAPTER SEVEN

“YOU’VE been to see the prince again.” Susa’s tone was quietly jubilant, as though she’d just won a bet.

Isabella turned and glanced at her sideways. “How did you know?”

Susa smiled and looked superior, mixing gelatin into the whipping cream as a stiffener, preparing for the fabulous desserts she would be concocting that evening. Very casually, she shrugged.

“I know many things.”

Susa was like a member of the family. After Isabella’s mother died, it was Susa she often turned to for those familiar motherly things that she needed. It was Susa who taught her how to act with the customers, how to say, “Please,” and, “Thank you,” and look as if you meant it. When Luca was putting her into jeans and plaid shirts as though she were a little boy, Susa taught her how to wear frilly dresses. She had a lot to thank the woman for. But Susa could be annoying, all the same.

Just like family.

Her silver hair was set in neat curls around her head, augmented by tortoiseshell combs. She looked ageless and infinitely efficient, which was just exactly what she was. Looking at her, Isabella had a flash of appreciation for the woman. Without her, they couldn’t run this restaurant these days. If nothing else, she was completely loyal. And very good at making pastries.

Isabella stared at her for a long moment, then sighed. “Someone told you, didn’t they? Someone who saw me driving up there.”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps I saw it myself.” She threw out a significant look. “I’ve told you before, I have the gift.”

Isabella rolled her eyes, turning back to her garlic press.

“I just want to warn you to be careful,” Susa said after a long pause.”

Isabella nodded. “Everyone is warning me to be careful.”

“You need a warning.” Susa looked up sharply. “You’re reckless. You trust people too much and you get hurt.”

Isabella tried to keep her temper. “I also eat too many sweets and stay up too late watching old movies. We should put up a chart with all my vices on it, so everyone can see.”

It was Susa’s turn to roll her eyes and Isabella bit her lip, regretting that she’d spoken sharply.

But the woman wasn’t chastened. “Just a word to the wise,” she said crisply. “In the first place, stay away from the prince. But if you must go to see him, stay away from water.” She got up from her seat and headed for the washroom.

Isabella stared after her, then jumped up and followed her to the door.

“What are you talking about?” she demanded.

“Oh, nothing.” Susa disappeared into the washroom.

“Susa!”

Isabella began to pace impatiently, waiting for her to return. Whatever she was hinting at, she had to know her reasons. There was no doubt something was still bothering Max about his wife’s death. And there was no doubt he was overly worried about that river. She would see how much Susa knew—or thought she knew—and then try to find out the truth on her own.

Susa came back out, smiling happily, knowing she had rocked Isabella’s world.

“Well?” Isabella demanded. “Tell me what you mean by that water crack.”

Susa shrugged. “That was how his young wife died. She drowned right in front of him.”

“What?” Isabella suddenly felt breathless. “Why don’t I know about this?”

“The family kept it quiet.” Susa touched her arm in something close to sympathy. “There were whispers, but no one knew for sure what had happened.” She shook her head. “But signs were not good.”

Isabella regained her equilibrium and frowned, beginning to get suspicious.

“Why would you know about this if nobody else does?”

“I told you.” She pointed to her own temple. “The gift,” she said, her eyes widening.

“Susa!”

She smiled like a cat with a secret. “And also, I know because my cousin was working there, up at the castle, at the time.”

That put a little more credence behind it, Isabella had to admit. Susa seemed to have relatives working everywhere. Isabella shook her head. She supposed that was all a part of having “the gift.”

“So tell me everything you heard,” she demanded.

Susa shrugged, starting toward the refrigerator. “I know she drowned in the river, right there on the estate. The two of them were there alone. There are those who think…” She raised her eyebrow significantly.

“No!” Isabella cried. She was furious, but she had a deep, sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach all the same. “I don’t believe that for a minute.”

Susa shrugged. “You never know.”

But Isabella knew very well that Max could never have hurt anyone. Could he? Of course not. It was inconceivable.

Susa had no more information, but she’d said enough to send Isabella into orbit. This news was all she could think about. Her heart thumped as she went over this possibility and that probability. She wanted to run to Max, to see if he knew about these rumors. But how could she bring something like this up? Impossible. And she knew without a doubt that he wouldn’t want to hear a word about it.

Still, it made her crazy to think of people suspecting him. She ached with it, wanting to defend him even though…

Even though she didn’t even know if anything Susa said was real or just wild imaginings in the woman’s mind. Slowly, she calmed herself. There was really no point in letting herself get so worked up when she didn’t even know if any of this was true.

She looked at the clock. In just eighteen hours, she would see him again. Thinking about it, she felt a strange tingling spread from her chest down her arms to her fingertips, and that was when she knew she was letting herself make too much of this—and it was time to come back to earth.

The whole thing was a mistake and Max knew it. Sitting in his darkened library, he sipped from his third glass of aged port and pondered what he was going to do about it. A wood fire flickered in the stone fireplace. The huge old house creaked with its antiquity and echoed with its emptiness. He was alone—just the way he wanted it to be.

So what had he been thinking when he’d told Isabella she could come back here? He knew very well her presence would begin to eat away at everything he thought he’d settled years ago. He needed to be alone. He didn’t deserve anything else. What he’d done when he’d allowed his wife and the baby she was carrying to die in the river was an unforgivable crime. He would never be able to pay off that debt. It would take the rest of his life just to begin paying.

Closing his eyes, he fought back the doubt that had begun to tease him lately. He’d been sure all along that his scarred face was a judgement of fate, that it was a part of his punishment, that it helped to keep him in the private prison where it was fitting and appropriate that he be. For years he’d been—not content, exactly, but resigned.

Now Isabella had fallen into his life and that was a temptation in itself. He wanted her. He wanted to be with her. He wanted to be happy.

Was it really so wrong to want that? Could he resist all that Isabella had to offer him and his life?

“Laura,” he murmured, shaking his head. “Oh, Laura.”

If only he could feel that she was still there with him, he knew he could be stronger. As it was, he was going to have to count on his own sense of honor.

“Honor,” he muttered darkly, and then an ugly, obscene word came out of his mouth and anger boiled up inside him. Filled with a surge of rage, he threw the glass against the fireplace. It smashed into a hundred pieces with a satisfying crunch. Watching the broken shards of glass fly through the air, he felt his anger dissipate just as quickly.

He could only do what he could do, but he would resist. That was the life he had made for himself. He was stuck with it.

Max was waiting for Isabella as she drove up to the front entry of the old castle. She assumed he’d been warned by a signal from the gate she’d had no trouble opening with the code he’d given her. His shoulders looked incredibly wide in a crisp, open-necked blue shirt. His smooth-fitting chinos accentuated his athletic form, giving her a tiny bubble of appreciative happiness for just a moment. But something about his stance and the way his arms were folded across his chest told her he was bound and determined to get the two of them back on a cool, polite trajectory and away from all the warmth they’d managed to generate between them the day before.

Uh oh, she thought as she slid from behind the wheel, her heart beating a little faster.

Surely he wasn’t going to change his mind about the basil. She gave him a tentative glance, then reached into the backseat to get the basket of sandwiches she’d made for the trip to the hillside. Before she could turn with it, he was there, shaking his head.

“How did I know you would bring a picnic lunch?” he said wryly. “Better leave it here. I don’t think it’s a good idea.”