Wife By Force(48)

She loved him.

Yet hiding beneath this love was a fear. A big, bad fear. Fear that   Dante didn't love her but viewed her as a possession, just as Gerry had.

He trusted her, he said. He respected her.

Still, she wanted more. She wanted him to love her with as much passion   and promise as she did him. And she had no idea if that could ever   become a reality.

Think, Lara, think.

Dante was not Gerry. He could be demanding, but he listened to her,   reasoned with her, and often agreed with her. He was protective, true,   yet not in a malevolent or claustrophobic way like Gerry had been. He   was solid as a rock in his personality, his values, his self-confidence.   He would not feed off her, leech her of all energy, as Gerry had.

Your words hurt sometimes.         

     



 

His accusation pierced her once more, exactly as they had when he'd first said them last night.

It was time to stop punishing Dante for Gerry's sins.

And it was time to forgive him for his worst sin: forcing her to marry   him. Whatever logic lurked behind that act, she would eventually find   out. However, she would never hold the action against him again. He had   earned her forgiveness. She could forgive him.

Couldn't she?

"Enough," she grumbled to herself.

Once and for all, she had to untie the strands binding her first   marriage to her second. She needed to put this issue to rest in her mind   and her heart.

Dante was not Gerry.

Period.

From now on, she would not make him pay for something he didn't do. He   had his faults, he did things that annoyed her, but he was actually   nothing like Gerry. At that very moment, she burned every old tape   running in her memory. A sense of freedom, real freedom, coursed through   her blood. This was what she'd needed when she walked away from the   restaurant. This was true freedom.

It was worth the risk to love Dante.

It was worth taking a chance on finding the loving man behind the mask he wore.

It was worth it to hope he could let himself go and tell her he loved her.

Jerking out of her reverie at the loud honk of a car horn, she glanced   at her watch and grimaced. She'd been gone for almost an hour and was   only now remembering to call her driver. Opening her purse, she dug   through the miscellaneous scramble of lipstick, wallet, pens.

"Bloody hell," she muttered.

She'd forgotten her mobile phone at home. The thing was lying on the   kitchen counter, right where she'd left it after confirming the lunch   date with Daniella. She supposed she could find a pay phone somewhere or   go into a shop, but she might as well just catch the bus and get home   as soon as she could.

By the time she'd caught the correct bus and settled into a corner, a   pang of guilt slid through her. Hopefully, the driver and the bodyguard   hadn't gone crazy and called anyone. Like Dante. Looking at her watch   one more time, she calculated she'd get home way ahead of him. With any   luck, she'd have soothed any of her bodyguard's grumblings by then and   her husband would be none the wiser.

Giving the driver a smile as she got off the bus, she hiked up the hill   towards their home. Perhaps she had been a bit impetuous, a bit selfish   for running away. But she'd truly needed the time to come to grips  with  her emotions and accept them. She'd made some good decisions too.

She would stop taking the pill.

She'd stop fighting the marriage.

She'd risk being in love.

All in all, it was a good thing she'd escaped for a little while. With   some luck, she wouldn't have to justify the decision to Dante. She   wasn't so sure she wanted to admit her love right now. Not until she was   sure she had his.

"Signora." The doorman thrust open the glass door, an expression of deep relief on his florid face. "You are safe."

Uh, oh.

"Obviously, I'm safe." Pinning a bright smile on her mouth, Lara made   for the lifts at a fast clip, the doorman hustling beside her.

"Signore Casartelli will be so relieved," he puffed, his short legs pumping to stay at her side.

"My husband was called?" Double bloody hell.

"Si, certamente." The doorman held the lift open for her. "The driver's   duty was to notify him. Signore Casartelli came home to assist in   finding you. We all have been worried you were kidnapped."

"He's here?" she squeaked. Kidnapped?

The doorman nodded, his blue hat bouncing. "Si, si. I will call immediately and let him know you are here."

"No." She stopped the lift door from closing. "Let me surprise him."

The vigilant doorman's jaw sagged. "But, Signora Casartelli-"

"Please."

His jaw sagged further, yet he nodded his agreement again.

"Grazie."

The lift silently shut. Slumping against the silver-paneled interior,   she couldn't help a groan. A temper tantrum was surely in her near   future. She would have to do some fast talking to settle him down. He   was sure to have on a full steam of anger.

The door eased open and she stepped into the apartment.

Her husband stood looking through the full-length windows at the city,   phone to his ear, furious Italian pouring from his mouth. She took   another reluctant step forward and must have made some kind of sound   because with a jerk, he turned.

His face was pale and his eyes burned like two black holes in his head. "Lara."

Before she could move farther into the room, he was there, wrapping her   in a steely grip, his big body burning with fear and sweat.         

     



 

"I'm okay," she managed to state as he kissed her lips and chin and cheek. "I'm fine."

His arms tightened as if he were afraid she would disappear if he let   her go. Mumbling curses against her skin, he breathed in and out as if   he'd just finished a long distance run.

Her heart beat painfully in her chest. This was her fault he was this   upset. She hadn't thought it through when she walked out of the   restaurant. She hadn't thought it would be such a big deal. Clearly, it   was.

"I'm sorry," she whispered on the rasp of his cheek. "I didn't think."

He stilled beside her, all tense muscle and constricted breath. "What?"

Lara gulped, but pushed forward with her confession. "I'm sorry I walked away."

Pulling back, he stared at her, his eyes dark as coal. "You walked away?"

The incredulity in his voice made her wince. "Dumb. I know."

He yanked himself from her arms and paced in front of her, rage starting to flush his cheeks. "You weren't kidnapped."

"No, no." Flapping her hands in distress, she shuffled to the windows   and peered out at the afternoon sun slanting across the tile roofs   below. "I didn't think it would be that big of a deal."

An ominous silence fell. It reverberated in the air. A still, deep, angry silence.

She wrapped her courage around her and turned to face her husband's wrath. "I'm sorry. I won't do it again."

Dante held himself rigid. He appeared as if he was moments away from   pouncing on her and tearing her limb from limb. "I thought you'd   accepted the protection as a necessary precaution. I see I was wrong."

"You weren't wrong." She clutched her hands together. "I understand about the protection."

Confusion filled his eyes. "Then why did you do it?"

"I needed some space. Some time." She gave him a wobbly smile. "Some freedom."

"Ah." His head jerked back like he'd been slapped. "Freedom."

"I'm sorry."

His bark of laughter cracked across the room. The sound echoed with pain.

She reached her hand toward him, but he shook her off, stepping away from her in a sharp movement.

"Why should I not forgive you?" His voice became distant and muted. "After all, this is surely my fault."

"What?" Now it was her turn to be confused.

The blank expression on his face indicated he was back in charge of his   emotions, yet his fists still clenched at his sides. "I am the monster   who trapped you in this situation, si? No wonder you want your  freedom."

"No." He was blowing this way out of proportion. Stepping boldly   forward, she wrapped her arms around his waist, stopping him from moving   away once more. "No. That is not what I meant."

He stood at stiff attention, and again that awful silence fell.

Looking into his face, she hung tight, willing him to understand. "It was a spur of the moment thing. Not planned."

His countenance might be blank, but the red flags of his rage still colored his high cheekbones.

"I …  I … " She stuttered to a stop. How could she confide the emotions   she'd wrestled with over the past hour? How could she soothe him without   blurting everything out? Telling him she loved him in this kind of   way-no, this wasn't the time to make her confession. He was too angry,   he wouldn't accept her declaration of love at this moment. She would   have to find another way to make him understand. "I needed a bit of   space. I bought some gelato, sat in a park, rested a bit."