Except she hadn't had to resist him at all lately. At least not personally.
He hadn't touched Scarlett in bed since their baby was born. It had been two months now since they'd last made love. At first, healing from the birth and exhausted from waking up with their baby, sex had been the last thing on Scarlett's mind. But now her body was starting to feel normal again, though she hadn't quite lost all the baby weight, and her breasts were still very full. Did he not find her attractive anymore?
She tried to ignore the feelings of rejection. She focused on the baby, who was growing chubby and starting to babble and coo. She made friends with her neighbors and started private Italian lessons with Mrs. Spinoza, a kindly widow who lived down the street. But it hurt.
Then one day while she was despondently surfing the internet, she had an idea about how to bring them close again.
According to what she read, men's needs were simple. Food. Home. Sex.
All she had to do was turn herself into the perfect wife.
Step one. Food. A man's heart was through his stomach, according to what she read online. So Scarlett learned how to cook. She started with boiling water, but within a week, she'd graduated to simple, fresh pasta dishes, which Wilhelmina tasted and pronounced, with some surprise, to be "delicious."
Vin didn't notice, of course. He generally got home late at night and would eat whatever wrapped dinner plate he found in the fridge, by the light of his computer at the dining table at midnight, usually long after Scarlett had gone to bed. But she learned new skills when he wasn't looking.
Step two. Home. A man's house was his castle. Make it warm and comfortable, and he'd never want to leave it. She looked around their newly remodeled, redecorated home. Check.
Step three. Sex.
For Scarlett, this was the hardest thing of all.
But on Christmas Eve morning, she woke up knowing that it was now or never. Today was the day.
She felt like Vin had barely talked to her in weeks. He always made an effort to play with the baby right before work, but all Scarlett seemed to get from him were cold lectures when she evaded her security detail or told her assigned bodyguard, Larson, he didn't need to follow her. Which was exactly what she was getting this morning, too.
"Stop it." Vin glowered at her, coldly handsome in his suit and tie. "I specifically assigned Larson to keep you safe. Don't make it so hard for him to do his job."
Still wearing her nightshirt and white fluffy robe, Scarlett rolled her eyes. "You seriously think I'm going to be attacked on the streets of Rome in broad daylight while I'm pushing the stroller to Mrs. Spinoza's apartment? It's silly! How am I supposed to practice my Italian with Larson glaring at her through his sunglasses? He makes her so nervous she stutters!"
"I mean it, Scarlett," Vin replied. "Either do what I tell you and let him do his job, or..."
"Or what?"
His jaw was tight. "I can't answer for the consequences."
Then he coldly left the villa, briefcase in hand. Without so much as a goodbye kiss!
She prayed her outrageous plan would solve everything. Otherwise, she was about to make a horrible fool of herself. But she had to take the chance. As her father had always said, if you want things to change, change yourself.
The moment Vin left the villa for work, Scarlett got to work, too. The enormous tree was delivered to the great hall, along with boxes of beautiful decorations. She sent the last members of the household staff on surprise vacation, leaving Scarlett and the baby alone in the villa, with her bodyguard, Larson, at the tiny gatehouse across their private cobblestoned drive.
Holding Nico on her hip, Scarlett decorated the tree herself, talking happily to her baby, singing him Christmas songs, including one in Italian. Later, she started a roaring fire in the enormous fireplace and prepared a dinner she thought Vin would love. Leaving the sauce simmering on the stove as evening started to fall, she gave her sleepy baby his dinner and bath, changed him into his footsie pajamas and tucked him into the nursery.
After Nico was safely asleep, she went into her luxurious master bathroom and started a bath. She groomed herself as carefully as a bride on her wedding night-the wedding night they'd never actually had, since she'd gone into labor on her wedding day-and moisturized her body with lotion to make her skin soft as silk. She brushed out her long red hair until it gleamed.
She didn't get dressed. Following the advice she'd read online, she left off her clothes entirely, for maximum visual impact. Not even lingerie. Not even panties. She just covered her naked body with only an old-fashioned pinafore apron.
Then Scarlett waited, terrified and breathless, for Vin to come home from work.
Tonight, she would tell him she loved him.
And then he'd tell her he loved her, too, and their lifetime of happiness would begin.
Either that, or...
She shuddered, caught between longing and terror as she waited for the door to open.
As Vin stepped out of his chauffeured Bentley into the frosted darkness of his street, he felt bone-weary.
It was late on Christmas Eve night, almost ten o'clock. He gave a low curse as he looked at his expensive watch. "I'm sorry, Leonardo," he told his driver in Italian. "I've kept you from your family. Thank you for staying."
"No problem, Mr. Borgia." His driver beamed at him. "The Christmas bonus you sent is sending our whole family on vacation to the Caribbean next month. My wife also appreciated the delicious homemade panettone from Mrs. Borgia." He kissed his fingertips expressively. "Delizioso."
Vin stared at him blankly.
"I need to thank you, too, boss," Beppe, his bodyguard on duty, interrupted. The hulking man actually blushed. "I used the bonus to buy an engagement ring for my girlfriend. I'm giving it to her tomorrow morning. And Mrs. Borgia's panettone was delicious. I ate the whole cake watching last night's game."
Vin was shocked. Scarlett had learned how to bake? She'd arranged Christmas gifts for his staff? And not just the practical gift of money, but a personal gift of homemade Christmas cake? "Oh. Yes." He cleared his throat. "I'm glad you liked it."
He hadn't even known. Hadn't realized.
But then, he'd been distracted lately. As his bodyguard raced ahead to enter the security code, Vin trudged to the door. He'd really thought he'd be able to convince Salvatore Calabrese to sell him Mediterranean Airlines. But the man still wouldn't talk to him. Through his skinny assistant, he'd sent Vin a single cold message: "I'm interested in selling to sharks, not minnows." And no amount of corporate diplomacy could now convince him Vin was a shark. Not since he'd put his family's needs over a business deal.
Vin felt like he was failing. At his company. At home. Working such long hours, he barely saw his baby son an hour a day. As for his wife...
Vin shivered.
He wanted to see more of her.
Much more.
They hadn't made love since Nico's birth, and at this point, all Vin could think about when he was around her was that he wanted to throw her against the wall and take her.
But he couldn't.
After what he'd seen Scarlett go through in the hospital, he didn't know when-or even if-she'd ever want him to touch her again. He didn't even know how to broach the subject. He'd never had to struggle with this before. So rather than constantly feel sexually on edge around her, like a mindless beast with only the barest thread of self-control, it was almost easier to avoid her entirely.
Looking up at the four-story elegant villa that had become a palace beneath her magical touch, and his wife the untouchable princess living inside it, Vin felt weary.
"Go home," he told his bodyguard. "We'll be fine tonight."
Beppe looked doubtful. "That's not protocol. Especially when there's the danger of-"
"It's Christmas Eve," Vin cut him off. He didn't want to think about Blaise Falkner tonight, or the fact that the man had disappeared from New York two weeks ago and couldn't be found. Another arena in which things hadn't gone to plan. "Go home. We have the security alarm. I saw Larson in the gatehouse. He'll call you if he needs you."
"If you're sure..."
"Go home to your girlfriend."
Beppe's eyes lit up. "Thank you, Signor Borgia. Buon Natale!"
"Merry Christmas," Vin replied dully. Alone, he pushed open the tall oak door of the villa. He went into the foyer.
Yawning, he closed the door securely behind him, turning on the security alarm. Tossing his briefcase on a table, he hung up his long black coat. Wondering if Scarlett had already gone to bed, he walked into the great room.
And he stopped.
An enormous Christmas tree, twenty feet tall, now stood in the great room by the blazing fireplace, lit up with thousands of brilliant lights like stars beneath the wood beams of the high ceiling.
Beneath the tree, he saw something even more dazzling.
"Welcome home," his wife murmured, smiling as she held out a martini on a silver tray.