Italian Prince, Wedlocked Wife Page 13

  Lucy pleaded, “Giuseppe Ferrazzi?”

  For a long moment, the old woman stared at her. Then, with a reluctant sigh, she nodded.

  Leaving the stroller behind, Lucy carried Chloe in her arms as she followed her old nanny through a web of alleyways in the back streets of the village. Beckoning her with a trembling hand, Annunziata suddenly pointed up. Her grandfather’s villa.

  “Grazie,” she said, kissing the woman’s cheek. She turned toward the door of the half-ruined villa, her heart singing with optimism and hope. She’d made it! She would speak to her grandfather, and hear his side of the story. Surely two proud men who had both lost so much could come to some peace.

  “You’re going to meet your great-grandfather,” she told Chloe happily as she knocked on the door. “You’ll see—it’s all going to work out!”

  But an hour later, Chloe was wailing unheeded in her arms as Lucy looked at the old man in shock. Cold tea had been left untasted on the table as she tried to comprehend what he’d just told her.

  “No,” she whispered. “Maximo didn’t do that. He wouldn’t.”

  Her grandfather gripped the faded gold-painted arms of his antique chair. His raspy voice had a heavy accent. “So you see why you must help me destroy him.”

  “Destroy him?” she repeated numbly. She thought of the times Maximo had been kind to her. He’d saved her from Darryl in Chicago. Comforted her after she saw Alex in Rome. He’d carried her across the field of flowers, kissing her beneath the hot Sicilian sun.

  The images stabbed at her like a knife.

  He hadn’t done it out of some hidden spark of good in his soul. He’d done it out of guilt. Bone-crushing, hellish guilt.

  Abruptly the sound of her daughter’s crying cut through her thoughts, focusing her. “Shh, baby, shh.” She held Chloe close, snuggling her, breathing in her baby scent. Her daughter was soon comforted, but who would ever comfort Lucy…ever again?

  “Have no fear, mia nipotina.” Her grandfather’s rheumy eyes were bright and wild. “We will get vengeance.”

  Vengeance? Her mother hadn’t raised her to be so heartless. “No,” she said faintly. “That’s not what I want.”

  “You will listen to me. I am your grandfather,” he demanded. “You will do as I say—”

  “No.” She rose abruptly from the chair. “I will do as I think best.”

  Vengeance wasn’t what she wanted.

  But justice…

  She recalled Amelia pleading with her the first day they’d arrived in Aquillina, begging her not to humiliate Maximo in front of the village, begging her to keep their quarrels private. But privacy had been her undoing. Maximo had charmed away her suspicions and fears beneath the force of his arrogance and strength…and unexpected kindness.

  A prince. A handsome prince.

  Coming for her. Saving her. Taking care of her and Chloe forever. Teaching Lucy to feel again. To be brave. To risk her battered heart one last time.

  She’d known all along it was too good to be true.

  She closed her eyes, took a deep breath. When she exhaled, all her hopes and dreams left her body with the breath.

  Leaving room for only one thing.

  The truth.

  She lifted her chin.

  “I’ll make Maximo confess,” she said. “Tonight, at the wedding, he will admit…to everything.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  MAXIMO gasped when he saw her.

  His princess stood at the other end of the aisle. Lucy’s dark hair was pulled back beneath a veil, held in place by the priceless diamond tiara that matched the necklace at her throat. Her white gown had long, form-fitting sleeves and a tight corset bodice that exploded into a frothy, wide skirt. Her red lipstick emphasized her full mouth, and the color matched the long-stemmed scarlet roses in her hand.

  As if of one accord, the wedding guests rose to their feet with an appreciative gasp. Scores of the world’s rich and famous were packed into the tiny private chapel. But even the jaded movie stars, princes and prime ministers, politicians and billionaires were in awe.

  Lucy appeared like a vision in the ancient chapel, lit by hundreds of candles on the cold, wintry night, bedecked by roses red as blood.

  Goddess of winter, he thought with a lump in his throat. Donna molto bella. So beautiful it made him hurt to look at her.

  Lucy.

  Staring at her was like staring at the sun, and Maximo couldn’t take his eyes away from her.

  What had he done, what had he ever done in his whole life, to deserve her as his wife?

  Fate had forgiven him.

  He needed no other proof than this. He’d never known another woman like Lucy. So beautiful, so loving, with such a pure heart. She’d made him see how rich and deep his world could really be. She was his partner—his equal in every way. No, he thought suddenly. Not his equal. She was more than that.

  She was his heart.

  I love her, he realized in shock.

  He didn’t just want to make love to her every night. He wanted to wake up to her every day for the rest of his life. He wanted to possess her forever. And more…

  He wanted her to possess him.

  Dio santo, he loved her!

  He’d never felt like this before. Never even imagined that he could. His princess. His bride.

  Lucy. He stared at her, willing her to look at him, trying to show in his eyes all the love he felt in his heart. Lucy, ti amo.

  He’d married her to get his hands on Ferrazzi—to get control of the company and his revenge on the old man. He’d married her to end his old guilt, to give her the security she’d lost as a baby.

  But a miracle had occurred—he loved her.

  He, who’d never been caught by any woman, who’d never once experienced a broken heart, was utterly captivated by his wife.

  Ti amo, Lucy.

  But she wouldn’t meet his gaze. And the longer he looked at her, he realized that something was wrong. Very, very wrong. Why wouldn’t she meet his gaze?

  Non è niente di grave, he tried to convince himself. It is nothing. The flicker of the candles—the angle of her veil—they cause shadows.

  He’d spoken with her just that morning. He remembered the warmth of her voice as she’d scolded him through the door. What could have changed since then?

  Then, for the first time, he saw the man behind her. Hanging over her like a wraith.

  Giuseppe Ferrazzi.

  Hatred ripped through him so great and powerful that he couldn’t move.

  How had Ferrazzi reached her? In spite of all his bodyguards? In spite of everything?

  They came down the short aisle. As the audience sat back down, still murmuring appreciatively over the stunning beauty of the bride, they had no idea of what they were about to witness.

  But the villagers in the back of the chapel knew. He saw their stunned faces, their wide eyes. Amelia, holding a slumbering Chloe in the front row, had a face as white as snow.

  How…? How was it possible?

  There could be only one explanation. Lucy had defied him. Ignoring his orders, she’d risked everything, going behind Maximo’s back to visit the old man.

  Leaving only one grim question.

  What had Ferrazzi told her?

  As Lucy finally arrived by his side, he gently reached over and lifted her veil. He looked into her beautiful face, and knew the answer.

  Ferrazzi had told her everything.

  All the light had gone out of her expressive brown eyes. All the warmth. And it wasn’t until now, when it was gone, that he realized that it was her light which had kept him warm since the day he’d plucked her from the gas station in Chicago and forced her to become his bride.

  He’d meant to save her.

  But she was the one who’d saved him, from a cold life of vengeance and empty pleasures.

  Why had she spoken to Ferrazzi, today of all days? Why, when they could have been so happy?

  “Why did you do it?” he said in
a low voice, for her alone. “Why did you defy me?”

  She didn’t look at him. Her voice was hollow. “Because I loved you.”

  Loved. Past tense.

  The priest began the ceremony, speaking first in Italian, then in English. Ignoring the man, ignoring the eighty guests watching them, Maximo grabbed his bride’s shoulders. He stared down into her tearstained face. “Lucy.”

  Defiantly she looked toward the chapel’s dark windows. He wanted her—not just her body but her soul—in a way that made him catch his breath. He wanted her to look at him as she had just yesterday. He hadn’t realized until now just how truly happy they’d been…

  “Lucy, look at me.”

  “No.” Candlelight flickered against the cold beauty of her face.

  “Look at me!” he thundered.

  Lucy turned, and her brown eyes blazed.

  “Why?” she cried. “So you can use your charm to make me forget that you kidnapped me as baby? That you murdered my parents?”

  The whole chapel was suddenly quiet as a forgotten grave. From a distance, he could hear water dripping from melting icicles outside, hear the cold wind howling across the lake.

  Standing behind her, Giuseppe Ferrazzi glared at him with bright, beady eyes. This was his final vengeance. The dying old man didn’t care whose life he ruined, even his granddaughter’s. If he couldn’t have his old life back, with his power and money and family, then he wanted retribution at any price.

  Exactly how Maximo had been before he’d fallen in love with Lucy.

  “Cara, per favore.” His hand tightened around her shoulder. “If I could speak with you alone—”

  “No,” she said in a choked voice. She pulled her arm away. “You lied to me. All this time, I knew—I knew!—that there was some other reason you were being so good and kind.” She shook her head, and tears spilled over her lashes. “It just never occurred to me it was because you were racked with guilt.”

  “Let’s go talk—”

  “No!” She stepped back as he tried to reach for her. “Here and now, Maximo. Tell me the truth.”

  He looked around the chapel, at his friends, his business rivals, people he admired and respected from around the globe. They all watched the scene with fascinated horror. The photographers in the back were wildly snapping pictures. The society wedding of the season had just turned into a garish tragedy that would sell even more papers than before.

  The humiliation and shame of this moment washed over him. He wanted to lash out. Shout his frustration. Mostly he wanted to punch the old man in the face.

  But he did not.

  Because of her. This was his chance. His only precious chance to fight for the only woman he’d ever loved.

  If this was to be the place, so be it.

  Tightening his hands into fists, he raised his chin.

  “I never hurt your parents,” he said quietly. “They were already dead when I found their car at the bottom of the cliff. Your grandfather never believed that, but it is the truth. The truth,” he repeated in a hard voice, looking at Ferrazzi over Lucy’s head. “When your men beat me for two days afterward, you were trying to make me confess to something I didn’t do. They were already dead.”

  “You beat him for two days?” Lucy whirled to face the old man. “He was just a child!”

  Ferrazzi didn’t even look at her. His lip curled. “My only mistake was in letting you go, D’Aquilla,” he rasped, “so you could grow up and take my company from me. I should have dumped you in the lake in a weighted sack!”

  Lucy sucked in her breath, looking between them. “Monsters,” she whispered. “You’re both monsters. And I don’t want any part of you. Either of you!”

  She turned to go. Maximo stopped her, blocking her from the aisle.

  “Please. Don’t go.”

  “Why?”

  “You’ve always asked me for the truth. The truth is, Lucy…” He took a deep breath. “I love you.”

  “You…you what?”

  “I love you,” he said quietly. “Ti amo.”

  “Admit what you did to me,” she whispered. “I want to hear it from your lips.”

  He closed his eyes.

  Then he looked into her face and told her the truth.

  “I heard the car go off the cliff. I heard the crunch of metal as it hit. I rushed toward the car, and heard a baby crying. I pulled you out of the car before it exploded.”

  Her eyes widened imperceptibly. “So you’re saying…you saved me?”

  He wished he could be so noble. He shook his head. “When I took you from the car, I knew it was my chance for revenge at last. There was an American woman staying at my aunt’s pensione. She’d said she was desperate for a child. So I…gave her one.”

  “That’s how you knew I was in Illinois,” she said. Unshed tears shone from her eyes. “All these years, you’ve known I was alive. But you let me be neglected in foster care, forgotten until you found another selfish use for me.”

  “No, Lucy, no!” He shook his head vehemently. “I realized my mistake long ago. I wouldn’t wish my greatest enemy to be raised by a man like Ferrazzi—” he gave the man a hard look “—but I tried to find you. But your mother just disappeared. Changed her profession. Even changed her name. I couldn’t find you. Until I looked into Wentworth’s past for something to use against him…and found you. It was fate, cara,” he whispered, reaching out to stroke her dark hair. “Il destino.”

  “Fate.” Her beautiful red lips curled. “I asked you for the truth. Begged you. And you lied to me. Your kisses, comforts, sweet words—all lies.”

  “No—not a lie. I just didn’t tell you everything.” He moved toward her in the candlelight, desperate to touch her, to caress her cheek, to make her understand. “At first there didn’t seem any point, and later, I was afraid—”

  “You. Lied.” She backed away, hurt and anger and confusion mixing in her expression. “Alexander only took a year from me. You took my whole childhood. And you made me love you,” she whispered. “I’ll never forgive you for that.”

  She started to turn away.

  “Marry me.”

  She stopped, whirling to face him. “What?”

  The ache in his throat was so great that he could barely summon his old bravado, his old charm. But he tried like hell.

  “Let me make it up to you.” He held up the priceless eight-carat diamond ring set in platinum. “I will never keep another secret from you. I will spend the rest of my life trying to make you happy. Not because of what you own, but because of who you are. I love you, cara. Stay with me. Be my wife forever.”

  Furrowing her brow in hurt and confusion, she gasped, “My God, is there anything you won’t lie about in order to win?”

  “I’m not lying!” In front of the whole roomful of people, Prince Maximo d’Aquilla allowed himself to reveal his vulnerability. Every muscle in his body was tense as he held the ring out to her, hardly daring to breathe. “I’m asking you to love me. I’m asking you to be mine.”

  Slowly she took the ring from him. She looked at the endlessly sparkling facets, the cold shine of the perfect diamond.

  Va bene, he thought suddenly. She’s going to forgive. I will spend the rest of my life loving her…

  “You really love me?” she said softly.

  “Yes!” he nearly shouted.

  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened her eyes, they were as cold as the old man’s.

  “Good,” she said. “Then this will hurt.”

  She threw the enormous diamond ring at his face, drawing blood on his cheek where the prongs scraped against his skin.

  The crowd gasped.

  Touching the drops of blood, Maximo watched as she turned on her heel. Snatching up her sleeping child in her arms, Lucy fled the chapel in a swirl of frothy silk and tulle. He heard a single sob as she disappeared, echoing like a swan’s plaintive cry across the lake.

  “Now,” he heard Giuseppe Ferrazzi say wit
h satisfaction behind him, “I can die a happy man.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  HALFWAY on the drive to Milan, Chloe woke up crying for her purple hippo, and Lucy realized to her horror that she’d left it behind.

  She’d been so rushed when she left the villa, so desperate to get out before Maximo could follow her and convince her to stay, before he could repeat the lie that he loved her. Love her? He would never love her. It had just been his last, heartless attempt to beat her grandfather.

  Leaving her wedding dress and the priceless diamonds on their bed—the bed where they’d been so happy together—she’d packed a few items of clothing for herself and Chloe. And her three Ferrazzi handbags. She no longer wanted the thirty million her husband promised her. Let Maximo and Giuseppe fight over her family company till doomsday; she didn’t want it. She was going back to Chicago where things made sense.

  But things were going to be different this time.

  Her alligator satchel would be worth thousands of dollars even on the secondhand market. That would be enough to pay her back rent and set up a small nest egg for emergencies.

  And she wouldn’t get her job back at the gas station. She would fight for the promotion she’d earned. Once she went to the H.R. department of the gas station chain and explained what had happened with Darryl, she knew she could convince them to still make her the assistant manager of a different store. Then she would start taking night classes. It might take a few years, studying at night while Chloe slept, but she would get her college degree. She’d be a school librarian and teach kids to love books as she’d dreamed.

  Lucy had once thought that being a mother meant she had to give up her own dreams. But in the last few weeks, she’d learned that wasn’t true. Fairy tales could happen at any age. It was never too late to dream—never too late to achieve anything she was willing to work for.

  Except for one dream. That was lost forever.

  The dream of loving Maximo.

  Even after she’d realized she’d left the purple hippo behind, she hadn’t been able to go back and face the man who’d lied to her and broken her heart. Pressing on the gas, she’d cried with her baby all the way to the airport in Milan. Then using five different credit cards, she bought a plane ticket to Chicago.