Although there were the inevitable school and work obligations, it was rare when there wasn’t some relatives at the gracious estate. Clearly, this was true whenever Vico was in residence, and even when he was not.
This was a family home. A home for love and affection, not sex and business.
Two of his sisters sat at the edge of the pool, feet dangling in the cool water, chattering in fast Italian about a sale going on in a Naples’ fashion house. Lise couldn’t decipher much, but she’d been studying the language since she was forbidden any kind of work other than casual glances at her email.
“No,” he’d said when they’d arrived. “Your precious company will be there after the bambino arrives safely.”
Your precious company.
He’d said the pronouncement with a curl of tease on his lips. She hadn’t been sure if he were teasing or if it was a poke at her pride. So she’d ignored him. Or tried to.
Ignoring him was impossible.
Vico’s laugh came from the pool, deep and filled with joy.
Her heart responded by jumping.
Lise jerked her straw hat down farther to cover her face and forced her gaze to stay on the magazine she’d been trying to read. Every day, she lectured herself. If she let him near her physically, he’d damage her emotionally. He only wanted sex from her, not her heart.
Except apparently, he no longer wanted even that.
His laugh came again, and this time she couldn’t help herself.
She looked.
His teeth flashed white in contrast to his dark skin. His tan had deepened over the days into a golden color that matched the glint in his eyes. His head was thrown back, highlighting the arch of his strong neck.
This time, it wasn’t her heart that jumped. This time, it was her entire body that reacted.
Her nipples peaked. Her skin heated. Her inner core tightened.
She found it impossible to ignore anything about him.
When they’d first arrived here, she’d been too scared and too tired to do much more than follow his directions. The only trip she’d made away from the villa was when Vico had hustled her to the leading obstetrician in Milan. The doctor had agreed the baby was healthy, but she needed to relax and recover.
So she’d relaxed. And slept. And ate.
Yes, yes, she’d eaten.
Vico had a chef. A chef. She had never liked cooking and having a chef around had been something close to living in a fantasy. Plus, the chef had an uncanny ability to know exactly what she wanted to eat—morning, noon and night. Delicate broths with white beans and chicken started the temptation. Then had come the sturdier minestrone and hardy beef stews. She’d gobbled down plates of fluffy risotto and crunched on the crusts of endless pizzas. Inevitably, even as she moaned she couldn’t eat another bite, her husband waved in the dessert. And of course, she managed to stuff down the lemon custard tart or sugary struffoli or chocolaty tiramisu.
As the lazy days went by, she relaxed into the warmth of the sun and the warmth of his family. She napped. She read. She dozed. She laughed.
Just like when she’d been in Paris, she bloomed.
Shining eyes. Glowing skin. Silky hair.
She let go of the anger and pain. What was the use in this sunny, happy place? She let go of the misery she’d held in her heart before the crisis. Why think of the worst when she felt her best? And she’d finally decided to stop blaming Vico for something he couldn’t help. Why should she demand an emotion he didn’t feel?
Another screaming body plummeted off the diving board straight into a waiting father’s arms. Vico’s brother smirked at his youngest as he threw him into the air, eliciting another shriek of excitement. The couple of dozen adults rimming the pool paid no attention to all the noise. They were making their own.
Her husband stood in the middle of the pool, grinning. Looking gorgeous. Looking…good enough to eat.
“My brother is a good-looking guy, isn’t he?” The comment came soft and from her side.
Lise glanced over, glad for her sunglasses, hoping the blush was slight enough not to be noticed under her glowing tan.
His sister’s brown eyes sparkled with knowing.
“All of your family is gorgeous,” she replied.
“You’re part of the family too.” Chiara’s smile was wide and welcoming. “And you fit right in with your own gorgeous self.”
She responded with a weak smile of her own and turned back to the magazine lying on her fat stomach. Her breasts were no longer refined and ladylike. They were huge melons. Her hips filled out every skirt she owned and she’d stopped trying to get into any of her pants. His momma had tisked only last night that it was time to take her new daughter-in-law shopping for some real maternity clothes.