“Because you’re not letting me form my own opinion. You’ve kept my head in the clouds so much the past three weeks I can’t think straight.”
“There’s a difference between being distracted and placing yourself at risk.”
Valentina slants her head, aligning our eyes. “I’m not distracted.”
“Yes, you are.”
Her laughter is as brittle as her words. “With what?”
I stalk closer, my steps purposely slow. “With me.” My nostrils flare when I breathe in deeply to suck in the scent of her rising arousal. “That isn’t a bad thing,dolcezza. Especially when it keeps you out of trouble.”
Valentina’s throat bobs harshly when she spots the determination in my eyes. It will take a tank to evict us from this room before I have her pliable under my touch… and that’s exactly what arrives when a knock sounds at my door a second later.
33
VALENTINA
The dining room of the Caruso manor glows like an amphitheater dressed for the opera. Crystal chandeliers scatter rainbow hues across polished floors, and the long table covered with used silverware and smeared porcelain plates gleams beneath them. My mother’s laughter rings across the room like a gentle melody, and for the first time tonight, I let myself breathe.
My mother’s birthday celebration is going better than I’d hoped. Even Valeria arrived early and has played the role of family friend and Caruso business associate to perfection. Her sophistication and graciousness have had my aunt searching the many gilded frames on these walls numerous times this evening, seeking her portrait.
Her amicable nature wasn’t what I pictured when I confessed to Giovanni that I’d invited her. I had hoped the extension of an olive branch would free her from the mud the IVF clinic threw on us, but I didn’t think it would actually work.
Valeria has far more at stake than I do. She’s already clutching at straws to keep the interest of a man who doesn’t look at her the way he does me, and in eight cruel months, the final thread may unravel.
I hate myself for saying this, but god, I hope Giovanni is right.This pregnancy was unexpected, and I offered to have a termination when I thought of it as more of an object than a living thing, but the thought of carrying a child for nine months and then handing it to someone else to take care of is worse than a knife to the heart.
I won’t survive it.
That’s why I’m trying to build a relationship with Valeria. It would be easier if Giovanni were on board with my plans. I knew he’d oppose, so I prepared for an argument. Mercifully, I was saved… No.Rescuedfrom reneging on my invitation when his father appeared at our door.
Giuseppe is the head of the Caruso family. When he requested permission to escort me to the dining room, Giovanni didn’t argue. It makes me wonder if his father’s influence is resolute enough to tug Giovanni toward an amicable playing field instead of one shrouded in darkness.
I cling to that thought like a lifeline while straying my eyes across the guests enjoying an after-dinner drink.
Mom is radiant tonight. Happiness paints her cheeks with more color than they’ve had in months, and when Giovanni’s father greeted her by taking her hand and pressing his lips to her skin, the hue stretched to her chest.
Several times tonight, I’ve caught her eyes sparkling as brightly as the chandeliers, and her breath has hitched more than once. I know my aunt sees it too. Her grin is wicked, and her gaze forever darts between Giuseppe and Mom like a gossip reporter hunting for its next scoop.
She’ll corner Mom later, I’m certain.
She lives for gossip like this.
I lean back in my chair and then angle my body closer to Giovanni. He sits beside me with his hand resting on my thigh. Every time his thumb brushes my skin, warmth blooms through me. He’s quiet tonight, but I don’t question it. We’ve never had a discussionwith our clothes on, and I’d rather not test out how much I’ll hate our first one while in the presence of our parents.
“They’re getting along well,” I whisper in Giovanni’s ear before nudging my head across the table to my mother and his father across from us.
The table is a masterpiece. White linen is stretched across a setting that can seat fifty, and hundreds of candles flicker on the faces of those dearest to my mother. I invited only my aunt and Valeria, but it appears Giuseppe took this celebration as an excuse for a Palermo reunion. There are over thirty guests I’ve yet to meet.
Giovanni’s nod causes his pricey aftershave to overpower the scent of the roasted meats and jeweled salads we consumed. “I haven’t seen him like this since Mamma passed.”
There’s no malice in his tone. No anger. Still, I can’t help but ask, “Does that bother you?”
His lazy smile as he shakes his head sends a low, steady pulse throughout my body and makes this gathering feel more like a funeral than a party.
It’s been hours since I’ve been beneath him, but it seems more like a lifetime.
I’ve never been so eager to be the first to leave.