Wife By Force(58)

Sudden relief flooded his taut face. "You can do this?"

"Yes." Please God, help me. "Yes."

Digging his car keys from his pocket, Tomas was all action. "It would be impossible for you to find him. I'll drive you there."

She didn't care how she got to Dante: airplane, car or donkey. Just so she could finally see him. "Let's go."



* * *



"We're almost there." Tomas handled his jaunty red Ferrari with the same finesse as his older brother did his elegant Mercedes.

The bats in her stomach commenced a new dance that reached her throat.   Now that she had her goal in sight, the words and phrases she'd   practiced for days fled her mind. The only words she could think of to   say to Dante were …  I love you.

Hopefully, they would be enough.

"You're ready?" Her brother-in-law's question made every bat flying inside her claw madly at the lining of her stomach.

"Yes," she croaked through dry lips.         

     



 

The car slowed to turn into a rutted lane. Rows and rows of grape vines   lined one side, while a wild crop of sunflowers brightened the other.   There was no sign of a house or a villa or even a hut.

"What is this place?"

"My grandfather's hideaway." Tomas had to slow the car's forward   movement to a crawl in order to handle the bumps. "Dante comes here when   he needs to think."

Think about divorcing her.

Glancing around at the rolling hills, the silence of the fields hit her.   This was as far away from her husband's usual life as could be. She   wondered what else he'd been thinking during these silent hours. A   trembling fear swelled in her. Had he had time to button down all his   emotions, tie up all the loose ends of his feelings for her? Was she too   late?

The car popped over a hill and she spotted a small, simple villa perched   on a rolling knoll. The place appeared slightly decrepit, as if it had   long been ignored. A copper shingle flapped on the roof. The windows   were tightly shut, even though the sun tried to penetrate the dark   curtains. But the views of the surrounding countryside must certainly   compensate for the simplicity of the living quarters.

"I like it."

Tomas turned to stare at her with mild incredulity. "Honestly?"

"Yes."

"You and my brother are the only ones, then. The rest of the family won't go near the place."

The car surged down the last of the driveway and came to a stop. The   bats continued their crazy dance and her heart now joined them in a   tribal thudding Lara was sure anyone close to her could hear.

Tomas seemed oblivious. He had his own concerns, mirrored in the slight horror in his face. "I'll come in with you. I guess."

Even in the midst of her own distress, she had to stifle a grin at the fake heartiness of his tone. "I'd rather you left."

"You mean it?" Tomas had not perfected his older brother's ability to   completely wipe any emotion from his demeanor. His relief was palpable.

"Yes." Scrambling out of the car, she turned to give her brother-in-law one last look. "Thanks, Tomas."

He pinned her with his dark gaze. "Go find him and turn him back into the brother I know."

"I will." With more conviction in her voice than she held in her soul,   she marched over to the front door, ignoring the purr of the engine as   it headed down the lane.

Evidently, Dante had not heard the approach of the car because she saw   no shadow of a man waiting for her behind the glass window of the door.   Not wanting to give him any advance warning, she carefully pushed the   door and found it unlocked. Stepping into the cool interior, she tiptoed   down the hall, taking a moment to peer into each room. There was a   simple sitting room on the left, with an ancient stone fireplace for the   winter nights. Another door opened into a small study. A pile of books   stood on a side table by a small sofa.

No laptop. No phone. Very un-Dante.

He was here, wasn't he?

Picking up her pace, she came to the end of the hall and walked into a   charming kitchen. Copper pots hung from scattered pegs. An old brick   oven held a prominent position beside long wooden counters. A bottle of   wine stood by a glass, half-filled.

He was here.

Finally, she saw him through a half-opened, glass-paned door leading out   to a stone terrace that appeared older than Roman times. His back was   to her. He was dressed in a simple, loose white cotton shirt, the   sleeves rolled up. Tan chinos hung on him. His hands were on his hips as   he stared at the land rolling in front of him.

A king surveying his kingdom.

"Dante," she whispered.

He didn't move; he hadn't heard her.

One step closer.

"Dante." His name was a clear call from her heart.

With a sudden jerk, he turned.

And she gasped.

His face was haggard and pale. His eyes held no spark of humor or   tenderness. They were entirely dead. As she watched, a thin line of   white appeared around his tightened mouth.

"Dio maledetto Tomas." Before she could say a word, he strode off the terrace and started jogging down a long row of vines.

"Wait." Running out the door, she jumped down the old steps, trying desperately to keep up with his retreating figure. "Stop!"

He ignored her and his long legs soon put a significant distance between   them. She was determined, though, on fire. She'd found her quarry and   he was not going to get away. For a second, she halted and impatiently   slid off her high-heeled sandals; she'd picked them out before leaving   with Tomas and now wished she'd dressed for a marathon instead of   lovemaking.

Hiking up her skirt, she sprinted after her husband. It wasn't worth   yelling at him, he wouldn't listen, and she didn't have any excess   breath as it was. Huffing and puffing, she kept after him, gaining a bit   as he came to a halt to glance around.         

     



 

He cursed again.

"I'm not going to give up," she cried between gasps.

He turned and continued at a faster pace.

"This is ridiculous," she muttered.

Down one rolling hill and up another. His shirt became plastered to his   sweating back in the heat of the late afternoon. Long legs flexed and   bunched, his butt a piece of pure poetry in its movement. Even in her   breathless state, she admired the shift of his muscles beneath his   clothes.

He was her man. He was hers. She would never let this gorgeous male go.

Abruptly, he stopped.

At last, she got to within a few feet of him and stopped herself. "Dante."

He was breathing hard, his shoulders rising and falling, the sweat   rolling down his neck. "Why are you here?" he growled over his shoulder.   "I've given you everything you want."

"A divorce?" Taking deep breaths, she tried to marshal her thoughts,   tried to remember the words she'd put together as she rode to this   place. "I don't want a divorce."

His shoulders stiffened and his hands fisted by his sides. "You don't want to be married to me."

"I do. I want to be married to you." The fancy words fell away and blunt   truth was the only thing she had to offer. "In fact, I'll force you to   stay married to me if I have to."

Wrenching around, he stared at her with blank astonishment. "What?"

"It's true." She met his glower without flinching. "I'm not letting you go."

He paced away and she prepared to chase him once more, but he turned   around and looked at her instead. His face was pale, but his eyes were   now alive. Burning and alive. "I don't understand."

"Why did you let me think I had to marry you to save my family?" It was   time they put everything on the table and cleared it away. Then,   hopefully, they could move on to fulfill the promise of the marriage   they could have. The happy marriage she'd sometimes glimpsed between   their fights and misunderstandings.

Dante closed his eyes at her question and stood silent.

"Well?"

"You found out."

"I talked to Papa."

"Ah." Running his hand through his hair, rumpling it into a complete   mess that tugged at her heart, he paced away again. "Finally. The shoe   drops. I thought you would find out way before this."

"But I didn't." She wrestled with the chain of logic. There must be some   kind of strange logic behind his actions. Her husband was not a man   without a strategy. "What were you thinking? If I'd found out before the   marriage-"

"You wouldn't have married me," he said with a wry grimace. "I was fully aware of that."

"So you-"

"Hoped. Prayed." His words landed between them, laced with a raw pain   that caught at her throat. The steel cage of control he kept himself in   was gone. In its place was a seething mass of emotion. It flowed  through  his words, contorted his face, stiffened his big body.