His eyes locked with hers. “I want you—I need you to come back to Montedaluca.”
“What?” She stared back in utter horror. “No way!”
“It is legally required that you do,” he assured her.
“You mean I actually have to go back there to sign something before you can get a divorce?”
“It is vitally necessary for you to return, yes.” He looked at her intently. “For years I have carried in my mind the look in your eyes that night—”
“Our wedding night,” she said bitterly, then sighed. “It seems I have no choice.”
“Since you have so graciously consented to come,” he said with irony, “I will not put you to the expense of a plane ticket. I assume it must be in the name of Miss Alicia Cross, not La Contessa da Luca?”
“You assume right! That was your mother’s title.”
“It is also yours.” He bent and took her hand to pull her to her feet. “Whether it pleases you or not, you are still married to me, Alicia.”
“It takes more than a few lines on paper and a church full of lilies to make a woman feel married,” she retorted.
Francesco’s eyes flared dangerously. “I know other ways to achieve this.” He pulled her close. “Shall I demonstrate, sposa mia?”