Bought by Her Italian Boss(12)

He was closing the door behind someone as she came out and waved at a  stack of clothing that had been delivered. "See if that fits."

She didn't know what to say and found herself fingering through the  clothes. There was a clean shirt for him, a short-sleeved, collared one  in cobalt blue along with clean socks.

For her, he'd ordered clean underpants, a camisole with a shelf bra in  butter yellow, palazzo pants with a subtle floral print and a sheer top  that picked up the colors in the pants with splashes of emerald and  streaks of pink.

"We're going shopping so you won't have to wear it long if you don't like it," he said, making her realize she was frowning.

"No, it's fine. I thought I'd be wearing the robe back to the house."  She looked for price tags, didn't find any and started to worry. How  would she pay for this?

"Let's eat," he said, indicating the set table before the now open window.

Their view looked onto the red umbrella tables six stories below, the  marina of bobbing, million-dollar boats and the deceptively placid lake  glinting in the cradle of mountain peaks.

"Is the shopping really necessary?" she asked, breaking the yoke of her poached egg with the tine of her fork.

He shrugged. "It's a parade for the cameras and you need clothes for all  the circulating we'll be doing over the next few weeks, so, yes. I  would say it is."

She watched her fork tremble as a fresh wave of helpless anger swamped her.

"I would like to remind you that I don't have a job. How am I supposed to pay for a new wardrobe?"

"You are so cute, Gwyn," he said, so patronizing. "I am indulging my innamorata. It's what besotted men do."

Her appetite died. She put down her fork, vainly wishing she wasn't  sitting here naked under a robe he had funded. She wished she had a  better choice than walking out of here in clothes that were borrowed or  an outfit chosen and paid for by him. She wasn't used to being this  powerless. Even when Travis had been unknowingly annihilating her sense  of self-worth, she'd had a job and enough savings to get herself and her  mother started over in a cheap room if Henry had called off the  wedding.                       
       
           



       

"Women love shopping, Gwyn. Why are you so upset by the prospect?" Vito asked, tucking into his breakfast with gusto.

"Because this isn't like me," she said, tartly quoting her stepbrother.  "My mother didn't have much. She made ends meet, but we lived very  simply and I still do."

She typically ate scrambled eggs she cooked for herself, not delicately  poached orbs on toasted ciabatta with garlic and a pesto hollandaise,  garnished with shallots and plum tomatoes. She drank orange juice she  mixed from concentrate, or instant coffee, not mimosas and rich, dark  espresso that made her want to moan in ecstasy with the first taste.

She swallowed her tentative sip of the hot, bitter brew and set down her  tiny cup, noting that Vito was watching her, like he was deciding  whether to believe her. She hesitated to open up, but figured it was  better to be honest about her background than to hide it.

"Mom met my stepfather while working as a janitor in his office. Travis  was not impressed by his father's choice in second wives. He was at  university and I moved into his old room for my last year of high  school. I guess it was weird for him to suddenly have this geeky girl  underfoot whenever he visited his dad. Strangers living in his house."

She had taken refuge in homework when Travis was around, only emerging  to eat dinner where Henry had put her at ease and made her laugh.

"My mother genuinely loved his father," she said, silently willing Vito  to believe her. "She never would have brought me into any man's home for  any reason except to give me a father. I think of Henry that way." She  had to drop her gaze as she admitted, "But the day before their wedding,  I overheard Travis warning Henry that we might be gold diggers. I  thought his mind would change over time, as he saw that we were just  trying to be a family, but a year into their marriage my mother was  diagnosed with cancer. I was supposed to move out, go to college, but  instead I stayed to help Henry nurse her. I took some online courses,  but Mom felt like such a burden on us. Travis didn't come around much. I  know how it looked to him, like Henry was stuck with a pile of medical  bills for someone he shouldn't have to support."

She stared into the harsh glare of sunlight on the water to sear back the tears gathering in her eyes.

"It was such a raw deal that she finally found a man who loved her, who  wanted to take care of her, and she died before she could make a proper  life with him. Make him happy."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Vito said, sounding sincere, covering her hand.

She removed her hand, forcing herself to shrug off the bleak sadness.

"I'm very conscious of the fact that Travis thinks I'm only maintaining a  relationship with Henry because he has money and I don't. I never take  any when he offers, so letting you swan me in and out of Italian  boutiques is not exactly the picture I want to paint so my stepbrother  will let me continue visiting the only father I've ever had."

She looked at him, blinking several times to bring her vision back from a  wall of white to see his toughened yet brutally handsome expression.

"But I'm hardly in a position to demand the luxury of pride, am I?" she added caustically.

He was watching her with a gravity that made her feel naked all over  again. "Would he really stop you from seeing him?" he asked.

She shrugged. "I don't know," she muttered. "He loves his father as much  as I do and wants to protect him. He wasn't trying to be cruel. I mean,  you'd probably say the same thing to your own father in that situation,  wouldn't you?"

Vito's stare was inscrutable. He held her gaze for a long time, like he  had a million responses and was sifting for the best one. He settled on  saying, "Eat," and lowered his attention to his plate.

Well, that settled that, didn't it, she thought facetiously, and forced herself to take a bite.

* * *

No matter how sincere Gwyn seemed, Vito couldn't afford to let himself  be swayed emotionally. While she finished getting ready, he reviewed her  background more thoroughly.

She interrupted, emerging from the bathroom with a more natural look  that was infinitely more beautiful than last night's smoky eyes and  sharp cheekbones and red, glossy lips painted by the stylist. Gwyn had  frowned when he'd handed her the pots of color and paint, grumbling  about not wanting to look like a ghost if she was going to be  photographed. If not for that, she implied, she wouldn't have accepted  the makeup at all.

"What do we do with last night's clothes?" She looked for them.

"I've made arrangements."                       
       
           



       

She stared at him.

He lifted his brow in inquiry.

"I borrowed something. I want to be sure it's returned in good condition," she said.

"It will be." He frowned, annoyed by what sounded like a lack of faith,  but also seeing yet more evidence of the do-it-myself streak of  independence she seemed to have. "I reviewed your file and some other  details," he told her as they left the room.

She looked over her shoulder at him, dismayed, but not fearful. "Like?"

Her financial situation. Her debt level was low, but she had a little,  and hadn't made any significant payments or purchases recently. There  had been nothing to red flag her as possessing or spending a sum that  might have been embezzled. Instead, he'd found more evidence that she  was exactly as she portrayed herself.

"You've worked hard for the education and position you've attained," he  acknowledged once they were in the privacy of the elevator. "But  Fabrizio signed off on your transfer despite there being two candidates  with more experience. It supports what you said yesterday, that you  might have been recruited because you were green and possibly more  likely to let things slide out of ignorance."

"So you're willing to believe it based on your own assessment of hard  evidence, but nothing I say has any bearing. My word means nothing to  you. Isn't that the story of every woman's life." She shrugged on the  cloak of righteous anger she'd been wearing since he met her, but he  could sense the hurt beneath.

He wasn't sure what kind of reaction he expected, but he hadn't expected  that. His belief in her meant something to her. It made him realize  exactly how much power he had over her and he wasn't sure he was  comfortable with it.

Since when did he not embrace power? He loved it!

But he was suddenly confronted with how vulnerable she was. To all the  men in her life, but especially to him, right now. It slapped at his  conscience, made him think again about her saying he would protect his  father. The joke was on her. His real mother had been light-years ahead  of his father in social status, belonging to the Donatelli banking clan.  His father had been on the bottom of society's spectrum. A criminal of  the vilest order.