Dante stared at her angrily. ‘This is not true. When I first saw you at Fabio’s wedding I was entranced.’ He turned her face up to his. ‘It is plain you did not share my feelings.’
‘Of course I did,’ she said impatiently. ‘I fell madly in love with you, Dante. Otherwise, the...the episode in the hotel room would never have happened.’
‘The episode that changed your life. When you cried in my arms that night I meant only to comfort you, but the moment we kissed I felt such desperation to make love to you I was lost. When I was forced to leave you so suddenly I felt torn, as though I had left part of myself with you. Which I had,’ he said bitterly. ‘Dio! How fate must have laughed when Elsa told me her lies.’
‘Tears are something I must try to avoid in future,’ Rose said darkly. ‘They get me into too much trouble.’
Dante seized her hand. ‘You cried the night in your house when we quarrelled, yes?’
‘Yes.’ She smiled brightly. ‘So no more quarrelling, either.’
‘This is a good plan,’ he agreed. ‘So now when I say we must marry you will not argue?’
If he made it clear he loved her for herself, rather than part of the deal that gained him a daughter, there would be no argument at all. He made it crystal clear he wanted her physically, but she would have to be convinced that his heart was involved, too, before she agreed to anything permanent between them. And if that was asking for the moon, so be it. She’d managed without him in her life before and she would do it again rather than enter into a relationship where her feelings were greater than his.
‘I still think we should take more time to get to know each other first.’
‘Gran Dio!’ Dante thrust his free hand through his hair. ‘How much time do you need? We have wasted too many years already.’ He released her hand and sprang up. ‘Scusi!’
Rose watched, dismayed, as he strode from the room. Did he intend on coming back? But, to her relief, Dante returned quickly, holding out a leather-bound diary.
‘Open it,’ he ordered.
Her eyes widened as she saw it was dated the year they’d met. As she took it from him, a withered rosebud slid out.
‘It fell from your hair at the wedding,’ Dante informed her curtly. ‘I have kept it all this time, like a sentimental fool.’
She felt her throat thicken and blinked furiously as she carefully replaced the pressed bud. ‘I must check on Bea,’ she said, getting up, but Dante barred her way.
‘I have just done so. She is sleeping peacefully.’ He took her hand and drew her down on the sofa beside him. ‘You say we do not know each other well enough to marry yet, but the best way for this is to live together, the three of us as a family.’
She looked at him squarely. ‘And there’s the buzz word. Without Bea in the picture, would you be in such a hurry?’
Dante dropped her hand and moved away, his face drawn. ‘What more can I do to convince you? I even embarrass myself by showing you the rose I kept. You say you fell in love with me at first sight, but now your feelings for me are very different, yes?’ He shrugged. ‘Non importa. For Bea’s sake, we shall marry, and soon. My child shall not grow up believing I do not want her.’
‘But what shall I do here?’ she said unsteadily. ‘You’re away a lot. At home I have my work—’