Wife By Force(14)

He used the minutes well. By the time the wedding party had greeted all   the guests and been ushered onto the terrace and lawn, he had himself   back in control. Though his goal for today might push Lara a bit too   much, if well handled, it could still work. He would merely have to be   gentle, go slow, execute everything with delicacy.

Don't chase me.

Now that he knew there were issues behind that statement, issues that   did not involve him directly, he would proceed with more patience.   Whatever her damned dead husband had done to her would be dealt with   during the next few months. He would find out-she would tell him. Then   together they would resolve the problem. At that point, she would be   more receptive to his desires. And perhaps, at some point, he would   forgive himself for his failure to keep her safe.

He could wait. He'd become good at waiting.

Dante strolled onto the terrace. The chattering crowd circled around   him, the ladies smiling and batting their eyes at him, something he'd   gotten used to over the years as his wealth had grown. The men tried to   engage him in conversation which inevitably would evolve into some sort   of business proposal, something he'd also gotten used to.

However, it appeared today he had no reservoir of patience as he usually did.

He withdrew to the far end of the terrace. Taking a deep breath, he looked for Lara in the sea of people.

"Mamma's outdone herself." Tomas strode to his side, giving him a slap on the shoulder. "All you have to do is pay for it."

He flicked a finger in a gesture he'd used with Tomas since they were boys.

His brother chuckled.

But Tomas was right. His job was to provide. He never questioned the   responsibility anymore. He glanced over the rolling lawn stretching out   from the family villa. The hot sunlight brightened the white roofs of   the tents set up to accommodate the wedding reception. Hundreds of   guests milled around white linen tables, chatting, drinking champagne,   nibbling on a variety of olives, peperoncini, mushrooms, and anchovies.   The five-course meal would begin in a few minutes and then there would   be dancing.

As host, he was obliged to stay until the very end.

A sudden impulse to run, to grab Lara and run, tore through him.

He clamped down on the emotional urge immediately. Exactly as he'd been taught.

"I noticed the lovely Lara at your side earlier," his brother said, a hint of teasing in his voice.

"Si."

Tomas slid him a mischievous glance. "I told you she'd turned sexy."

"Si."

His brother laughed. "You're not going to tell me anything, are you?"

"Did you imagine I would?" Turning to stare at his brother, he arched one brow.

His brother chuckled. Tomas was only nine years younger chronologically, yet sometimes he felt a thousand years older.

"Dante." His mother's voice snapped behind them. "It is time for the   meal to begin. Please help me get everyone to their seats. If you seat   yourself, the crowd will follow."

He gave her a quick nod and stepped off the terrace and into the crowd.   Moving slowly but methodically, he greeted guests and urged them toward   the dozens of circular tables spread out over the lawn. Within a few   minutes, he'd made his way to the large family table in the center of   the widest tent. The wooden dance floor was right behind the table, and   already the orchestra played a soft medley of classic love songs.         

     



 

Spotting his name on the place card sitting before the elaborate mix of   polished silver, crystal goblets, and wedding gifts for each guest, he   eased himself onto the puffed seat of the chair. The wedding reception   might be outdoors, but the Casartelli class and clout were on full   display.

As they should be.

Glancing over, he read the name on the place card next to him.

Was this worry suddenly coursing through him? He never worried anymore.   So what could this be, this thread of emotion wrapping around his brain   so he couldn't think, sliding down his spine making it straighten,   tightening around his lungs so he couldn't breathe?

No matter. He'd decided his goal for today and even though subsequent   events and revelations had come, the goal was still solid. He'd make it   work.

The next act in this play between them was about to begin.

The crowd swirled around him, laughing and joking, finding their places.   His family circled the table, arranging chairs, hugging the bride,   kissing the babies.

"Zio Dante." A childish tug on his tux caught his attention. He looked   down into eyes as black and alert as his own. "I fell and bled all   over."

"Ah." The relish in the boy's voice almost made him smile. He examined   the bandaged finger with interest. "Your mamma has fixed it, I see."

"Si." His nephew, Giorgio, clambered onto his lap without hesitation. "She told me I had to be more careful."

Curb your impetuous impulses, Dante.

He heard his father's voice as plainly as if he stood by his side right   now. Some last remnant of his youth rebelled inside of him. "It is also   important to have fun."

His nephew reared his head to stare at him. Astonishment shone in his   gaze for a moment and then a huge grin split his face. "I'll tell her   you said so."

"And get me in trouble?"

The five-year-old laughed.

All at once, she was there. He sensed her presence by his side as if   she'd touched his hair and neck and shoulder. His skin heated and his   blood flowed faster in his veins.

He glanced over and met her intent scrutiny. "Lara."

Giorgio might be young, but he was an Italian male. He eyed the female before them. "Pretty," he blurted.

Lara Derrick, the woman who claimed she was all grown up, the woman   who'd told his sisters she was tough and hard and over men, blushed.

His heartbeat picked up as his heart melted at the same time. She might   claim to be a stranger to him. Yet the charming, loving girl he'd grown   up with, the young lady who'd captured his heart, the devoted friend   he'd leaned on when the demands of his future role seemed too great to   bear...the heart of her was still there, waiting for him to reawaken it   and love her as she deserved.

He would make it happen. He would make up for his failure to protect   her. He would find some way to heal her wounds. Now was the time to   start.

"Go to your mamma," he said to his nephew, easing him off his lap.

The little boy scuttled off, leaving a well of silence between them. She   broke it by turning and frowning at the place card with her name on  it.  "You did this."

"Actually, I hired people to do this." He waved a negligent hand to indicate the elaborate celebration swirling around them.

"You know what I mean." She glanced around, noticed she was one of the   few guests left standing, and with a huff, plopped herself onto the seat   beside him.

"How nice to have you here with us," his sister, Dani, piped up from   across the table. "It's like you're part of the family, Lara."

Dante eased his chair back. With faint amusement and rueful resignation,   he noted how his entire family smiled and agreed and slanted   encouraging looks at both of them. This had been a factor in his   original plot for this day. Now he wished to be with her alone so he   could find out her secrets. Boxing her in when she was hurting was not a   good strategy. He knew this from thousands of business negotiations.

However, it was too late. He'd been too thorough in his usual way and   he'd boxed them both into a long night with his family making many sorts   of hints and suggestions. The thread of worry slithered across his  skin  and he had to focus to keep the bland expression on his face.

She stiffened beside him. "I'm glad to be here with all of you."

Maybe teasing would work to relax her. His teasing had always made her   laugh. Leaning over, he whispered in her ear, "All of us but one. Right,   bella?"

"Exactly." The word was a bullet aimed right between his eyes. No laughing response or teasing as she had done long ago.

He should give her some space. Give himself some time to come up with a better way. Winging it was not in his repertoire.         

     



 

He should retreat.

Yet he could not. His focus could not be drawn away from the faint smell he'd always known as uniquely hers.

Roses. Sunlit sweet. Spicy sass.

Was it because as a child she'd gleefully run through his mother's rose   gardens, weaving the flowers through her hair, laughing as she threw   them in the air to land on her shoulders and head? Had those hours   sitting in his family's park, watching him climb trees, chatting as she   plucked the thorns off the stems, giggling as she tried to put a rose   behind his ear-had those endless, blissful hours imprinted the smell   into her very being?