"The paintings?" She knew he wasn't a monster now. She knew he was more than all about the money. But she hadn't made the leap-the leap into warmth.
"I enjoy art. Not traditional."
"Obviously." Not obvious up until this point, but now the knowledge slammed inside her. Dante wasn't only about tradition and heritage and pride. Could it possibly be that behind all this, behind his mask...
"If you don't like any of the paintings-"
"No, no," she rushed in, her brain whirling. "I think they're beautiful."
He stilled. "You mean that?"
"Yes." She gave him a tentative smile. "You have good taste."
"Well," he coughed. "Grazie. Again."
It was her turn to chuckle. "Are you surprised I can compliment you?"
"About as surprised as you were that I could say I am sorry." Once more, his dry humor surfaced, reminding her of how she'd laughed on their honeymoon.
A surprisingly contented silence wafted between them. His warm, broad hand slipped around hers and grasped it in strong fingers. "Come to bed, Lara."
There were problems and feelings right below the surface needing to be aired and argued and addressed. The only thing she wanted to do right now, though, was be with him, remember the fantasy and enjoy it.
At least for one more night.
* * *
Bright sunlight dappled the terra cotta tiles and splashed across the white linen tablecloth. A light wind brushed over the blooming flowers, making them bob back and forth as if saying hello to the day. The sharp tang of coffee and rich, warm pastry stirred Lara's taste buds.
Her husband sat like a king in all his glory. The sun played with his hair, shining bright glints of white against the deep blackness. The golden rays burnished his profile, lovingly highlighting the arc of his nose, playing with finesse on his mouth. His brow furrowed a bit as he stared at his mobile phone.
Her movement caught his eye and he raised his head. "Ah," he murmured. "You are finally awake."
"It's still morning." Barely. With a grimace, she walked to the outdoor table and slipped into a wicker chair.
His lips curled with humor. "I am not complaining. A wild man kept you busy until late last night. Sleeping in is to be expected."
Hot, passionate memories flooded her brain and threatened to initiate a blush if she didn't stuff them down. She ducked her head from his keen inspection and turned her attention to the table. Italian breakfasts were simple, if eaten at all. But there was enough food covering the pine table to feed an army. Her focus zeroed in on her favorite. "Yum. Absolutely what I need. A cornetto."
Dante reached for a plate and slid one of the golden brown horns onto it. "Apricot filling," he said. "I went to the bakery earlier this morning."
She hummed as she bit into it and closed her eyes. The sweet slurp of the fruit combined perfectly with the buttery taste of the pastry.
He'd gone out early. For her. There was that caring attitude again. A tiny thrill ran through her.
"Would you enjoy an espresso? Or a cappuccino?"
Within minutes, a hot frothy cup of coffee sat before her. Made by her husband.
"No servants?"
He glanced at her. "Not here."
Not like the Casartelli villa. The words were left unsaid, yet they floated in the air. The stark contrast between the two sides of him hit her once more, but her brain was too foggy with leftover sleep to focus on the disparity. So instead, she indulged herself with another cornetto, this one filled with cream, while she sipped the cappuccino and enjoyed the warmth of the sunlight on her skin.
Time enough to understand Dante.
She was married to him after all.
Her husband resumed his seat and took up his phone. The silence was comfortable, exactly like the times they'd sat on the veranda in Barbados. Perhaps being in Italy would not be so different from their time in the Caribbean. Last night still held the passion and vibrancy that had existed when they enjoyed each other on the island. She hadn't forgotten their aborted fight about security, yet it seemed the wrong time to bring the whole thing up and spoil this lovely moment.
Lara sank onto the soft padding of her chair and tried to imagine a life like this forever. A warm Florence sun. The richness of food and tartness of coffee. A husband, sitting companionably across from her, reading his email.
Was this what she wanted? With Dante?
This was a fantasy, she told herself stoutly. Just as the honeymoon had been.
For a moment, though, she let herself dream. A warm glow of contentment filled her.
Putting down his phone, he glanced across the table. "What are your plans for the day, bella?"
"The day's half gone," she ruminated. "But I need to check in with the school. There's going to be a pile of work for me to get through and the sooner I start, the easier it will be."
The wind lifted the edge of the cream linen shirt he wore, exposing his strong neck and the cut of his collarbone. The beginning of the dark curls that covered his chest showed at the V of his shirt. The sight made the muscles in her lower stomach tighten. She still found it incredible the effect he had on her. Even after a night of prolonged and ardent sex, he merely had to sit there, and she was turned on.
"Then we will go to your school."
"We?" Her attention jerked away from his body and back to his words.
"Si." He took a sip from his espresso, his gaze mild. "I want to see your school. If that is acceptable."
The protective instinct she had for the school reared its head. Barriers rose inside her and she bristled. "Inspect it, you mean? Check out whether your investment was wise?"
A black brow lifted and his eyes grew cool. "No. The school is important to you. So it is important to me. I want to see what my wife will be doing with much of her time."
A flush of guilt ran up her neck and she sipped her coffee to give herself some time before responding. She'd overreacted, which wasn't unusual when it came to her school. The children deserved her loyalty and she would never expose them to ridicule. Now she'd had a moment more to think, however, she must acknowledge the fact she couldn't imagine her husband ridiculing children. He might be cool and calculating, but not cruel. She'd learned enough about him during the past two weeks to know this.
Still, it stunned her.
He cared about her school? Cared about what she was going to do while he worked his million euro deals?
She'd supposed he would want her to be like so many other Italian wives married to wealthy men. Shopping and lunching and shopping some more. She'd anticipated a fight on this issue as well. Another situation where she'd have to put her foot down and state her intention to do worthwhile things with her time.
"Lara?" His voice held a thread of exasperation.
"Don't you have to go in to work?"
"I am the boss." A long finger tapped on the edge of his mobile phone. "I can do what I want."
He wanted to see her school? Instead of resuming his role as Entrepreneur of the Decade? She couldn't wrap her head around it. Frowning, she tried to re-orientate her impression of what was vitally important to her husband. Her school had to be low on the list.
"Lara?" The thread of exasperation had turned into whole cloth.
"I didn't think you'd care that much."
"Not care? Not care what my wife is so passionate about?"
"I would have thought you'd see the school as some kind of distraction. Something I shouldn't spend my time on."
His mouth tightened. "Why would you think that?"
"I don't know." She managed to give him a nonchalant shrug.
"You assumed I would tell you to quit after our marriage." His stark words plunked down between them.
"Yes." All the old memories, all the old putdowns and dismissals by her first husband, echoed inside her.
"You were wrong."
His harsh tone drew her gaze to his. Black intense eyes. Telling her clearly this husband was not like her last. His eyes also held … hurt. Her heart slipped into the wretched guilt she kept trying to keep at bay. "I'm sorry."
Grimacing, he relaxed in the wicker chair. "I admit when our children come, I hope you will cut back on your time. But I would never ask you to quit something I have come to realize is so important to you."
A quick twist inside made her take a deep breath. There would be no children and all of a sudden that hurt. Which was crazy and pointless. But guilt pumped, pummeled. Pushing the thoughts and emotions aside, she agreed with some reluctance, "Okay, you can come with me if you want."