SITTING in the backseat of the Rolls-Royce, traveling from Milan to Lake Como that afternoon, Lucy barely recognized herself. Or Maximo, for that matter.
What had happened to the selfish, arrogant prince? In the hours since they’d arrived in Italy, Maximo had been nothing but charming. He’d spent the entire morning following her from one exclusive baby boutique to the next, carrying bags, pushing Chloe in a gorgeous new stroller. It was only when the trunk of the Rolls was full of baby clothes that he’d put his foot down and demanded she buy some clothes for herself.
From Prada to Chanel, Versace to Valentino, he’d patiently waited in every store. While Lucy tried on clothes, he had read new books to Chloe until she fell asleep in her stroller. Then, when Lucy blushingly came out of her dressing room, he’d given his verdict on each outfit with a flash of heat in his eyes. And the occasional murmured “Bellissima.”
At every shop, she’d been flattered and complimented, waited on hand and foot. Her last stop, at the most famous day spa in Milan, she’d had six people waiting on her at once: the first doing her makeup, the second her hair, the third her nails, the fourth her toes, the fifth rubbing her shoulders as the last brought her a caffè americano.
Lucy’s glasses had been replaced by contacts. Her messy ponytail had been washed, cut and carefully blown into a sleek chignon. Her makeup was natural, artless. Wearing a sophisticated blouse and pencil skirt beneath a belted camel cashmere coat, Lucy had never felt so womanly—or so elegant. Her old glasses, along with necessities for Chloe, were now tucked into her patent leather Ferrazzi carryall.
Her three-thousand-dollar diaper bag.
She crossed her high-heeled ankle boots, stroking the exquisite pearls at her collarbone. Maybe Maximo had a point, she mused. Maybe clothes really could change the way a person felt about herself.
Not that she would ever admit that to him. He was too smug already by half.
“You are magnificent, cara,” he said, looking at her in amazement.
She blushed, glancing at him over Chloe’s baby seat. “I was hoping you’d just say I was passable as your wife.”
“Passable? Dio santo! Sei bellissima. You are beautiful, Lucia.”
Lucia. Dressed like this, riding in a limo on the way to an Italian villa, married to a prince, she almost felt like she fit the name. New name. New look. New hope.
It still troubled her that their marriage was timed to last until some poor old man’s death. But as Maximo had said, people died every day. The world was a harsh place. Lucy knew that from experience. Her own mother had died when she was twelve, and she’d never known her father.
But now Chloe would never know such a precarious existence. She would be safe and financially secure. And after she spoke to Alex, she’d have a father. Lucy would make sure of it…
She looked at her baby. Buckled into the child seat, Chloe was contentedly gulping down a bottle. Instead of her ratty old pajamas, she wore a pink dress with a rounded collar, thick white tights and white suede boots lined with sheepskin. Her beautiful new Italian wardrobe would last until she was three years old, and each outfit was softer and cuter than the last. Looking at her happy, adorable baby, grateful tears rose to Lucy’s eyes.
“Thank you,” she whispered. She turned to look at her husband, smiling through the tears. “I can’t thank you enough for this.”
“For shopping?” he said, sounding surprised. His dark eyebrows lowered. “Don’t thank me. I’m starting to regret I ever had the idea. You look far too beautiful. Every man who sees you will want you for himself. In fact,” he growled, “I’m beginning to reconsider that sweatshirt.”
She looked at him with an intake of breath.
His blue eyes twinkled at her, warm as May sunshine.
He was flirting with her!
She tried not to respond, to not let it affect her, but it still made her catch her breath. “You’re a hard man to please.”
“No,” he said. “I just want you to be happy.”
His gaze was like a pure Italian spring warming her soul. Half-dead flowers unfurled in her heart, basking in his light and heat.
No!
She couldn’t be pulled in. She couldn’t let him seduce her. She couldn’t let him have her body—or her heart. Because when he left her—as he would in a matter of months—she’d be a ruined wreck. Three months. Just three months, and she and Chloe would be safe forever. How hard could it be to resist a man for three months?
Very hard, when the man was Prince Maximo d’Aquilla…
Biting her lip, she turned to look out the window as they traveled the snowy single-lane road. Even in Italy, winter held sway. But this winter was different than it’d been in Chicago. Warmer, for one thing. Lake Como was an Italian winter fairyland. The limo sped down the slender dark ribbon of a street into a village clinging to mountains. Snow sparkled in the sun like diamonds, on the edge of a sapphire lake.
“Aquillina,” he said. “My home.”
She looked out her window in wonder. Villagers were strolling down the main street in the sunshine, chatting with each other in front of charming, decorated shops. Bright-eyed old men raised their caps in greeting as the Rolls-Royce passed by. Young mothers pushing strollers pointed out the car to their rosy-cheeked babies. A group of boys, six or seven years old, chased the limo down the street, shouting after them with hearty cheers.
Lucy looked at Maximo in wonder. “It’s beautiful.”
He smiled at her, and his eyes caressed her face, lingering on her lips. “I’m glad you like it.”
Her whole body vibrated under his gaze. Stop it, she told her body furiously. He’s nothing to you! But her body laughed at her orders, as uncontrollable as a rebellious child. With Maximo so close to her, the roomy backseat felt way too small.
She swallowed, looking away. “Are we almost to—what did you call it?”
“The Villa Uccello. It’s been my family’s home for many generations. We lost it briefly when I was a child, but now it is mine again.” He gave her a brief smile. “And for the next few months, it is yours.”
Pushing her empty bottle away, Chloe accidentally knocked her purple hippo out of her lap. She started to whine. Maximo and Lucy both reached to the floor at the same time, their fingertips brushing together over the plush fur.
Lucy yanked her hand back as if she’d been burned. Hiding a smug smile, he handed the stuffed animal to Chloe.
“Hold on to your toy more carefully,” he admonished the baby. Lucy frowned in surprise. It was one thing for him to take that tone with her, but how dare he order her child to…
Then she saw Chloe smile, reaching for his nose. Maximo crossed his eyes playfully, and the baby’s laughter rang like the chimes of bells. He laughed with her, and his eyes were warm, crinkling at the sides.
It took Lucy’s breath away.
“You’re good with her,” she blurted out. “Do you have children of your own?”
His face instantly shuttered.
“No,” he said brusquely, sitting back. “I’ve never been married.”
“But that doesn’t mean—”
“I would not have a child without being married to the mother. That would be irresponsible.”
She flushed, feeling the sting of his words. He obviously thought she’d been irresponsible to get pregnant.
And she had been, she thought with a lump in her throat. She’d trusted Alex’s pretty words and promises of love. She’d made excuses for him—justifying why, after proposing to her with a big diamond ring and getting her pregnant, he’d suddenly been reluctant to pick a wedding date.
She’d been so stupid. She’d thought she’d found a real man, a real home, a real family after so many years of being alone. And for that, she gave up everything. She threw away the college scholarship she’d worked so hard to win, tossing aside her plans to be a school librarian, teaching children to love books.
Blinking back tears, she looked away. She could never let herself forget the pain—never let herself be vulnerable and weak like that again. She was her daughter’s only protection. Her only support.
“Children need a father,” Maximo said, and she again felt the sting of blame.
Suddenly furious, she shook her head. “Do you think I don’t know that?” she bit out. “I grew up without a father. My mother moved us from place to place, and when she died I was totally alone. Do you think I want that for Chloe? It’s why I—”
“Why what?” he said sharply.
She bit her lip. “Why I think even a selfish, shallow father is better than none at all.”
“Wentworth doesn’t deserve to be her father.” Maximo’s lip curled. “He fled America to avoid taking even the most basic responsibility.”
She swallowed, pressing her fingernails into her palms. “But he’s her father, Maximo. She has no siblings. No cousins. No one. If anything ever happens to me, I need to know she’s safe, that she’ll be loved and protected.”
“Not by Wentworth.” Maximo’s gaze was stony. “He’s lost his chance.”
She stared at him. “What do you mean?”
“Alexander Wentworth is going to sign away his parental rights to Chloe and you are going to convince him to do it.”
Lucy stared at him in shock.
“Make Alex sign away his parental rights?” she gasped. “No! Whatever he’s done to me, he’s still her father!”
“You promised to obey, Lucia.”
“Sure—about stupid things, like who gets the remote control! Not something like this!”
Maximo’s face was cold. “Unless Wentworth’s rights are terminated, he could decide to challenge you for custody of your daughter at any time.”
“Custody?” She gave a harsh, bitter laugh. “I’m just praying to convince him to give her an occasional phone call, or a gift for her birthday!”
He looked at her for a long moment. “He will never care about her. He only cares about himself. That makes him dangerous.”
“He wouldn’t try to take Chloe away from me!”
“You never thought he would abandon you, either. Excuse me if I say you’re a poor judge of character.” But before she could get hurt by this rude statement, his gaze softened. “Perhaps because you believe the best of people. An admirable quality. One I’ve never shared.”
“Well, I’ve never believed the best of you,” she muttered.
He ignored her. “Wentworth might try to use Chloe against you for reasons you cannot imagine. To blackmail you out of an inheritance, for example.”
She laughed incredulously. “What inheritance?”
“Remove him from your life. Either you do it the easy way—or I’ll do it the hard way.”
“Why do you care? You don’t give a damn about me—or Chloe!”
“You’re wrong.” His dark blue eyes focused on hers. “You are both under my protection now. Do you not understand what that means? I must keep you safe. And he is a danger to you both.”
“But Chloe needs a father. You said so yourself!”
“If he asks to be her father, it won’t be because he’s looking out for her interests. Just his own.”
“But—”
“You will obey me, Lucia.” His voice held a steely edge. “I know what is best.”
He expected her to submit to his will. Of course he did. Women didn’t say “no” to Prince Maximo d’Aquilla, did they?
But Lucy couldn’t cut Alex out of Chloe’s life. She couldn’t make a choice that her daughter might someday regret. But under Maximo’s commanding gaze, the best she could do was look away. She scowled at the passing landscape.
“What is that?” she said suddenly.
“What?”
“That.” She pointed at a run-down mansion on the edge of the village. It must have once been an elegant villa; but the windows were all boarded up, the stucco walls falling into ruin, the yard overgrown. “Who lives there?”
His whole body sat up straight in his seat, on the alert. “Why?”
“I don’t know,” she said, wondering why he seemed so tense. “It just looks…out of place.”
His jaw tightened. “An old man lives there. A man nobody cares about.”
She frowned. “But surely, if he’s elderly, someone should…”
“Forget him,” he said sharply.
His fierce anger made her draw back in hurt and confusion. They sat in silence until the limo finally pulled through a wrought-iron gate.
“Bene,” he said shortly. “We’re here.”
The limo stopped, and the chauffeur opened her door.
She saw an enormous multitiered villa, white as a neoclassical wedding cake, surrounded by elaborate gardens overlooking a crystal-blue lake. Put all together, it was white and blue and wide as heaven…
“This is my home,” he said quietly. “The Villa Uccello.”
Then she saw the crowds of people lining the front steps.
“Who are they?” she whispered.
“Servants. Neighbors. Here to meet you.” Maximo un-buckled Chloe from her car seat, smiling down at the baby warmly. “And to celebrate your birthday, little one.”
Chloe chattered and waved her hippo in reply as he lifted her from the car.
Maximo had remembered Chloe’s birthday? Lucy rose from the car. She forgot all about the decrepit villa, the wedding-cake Villa Uccello, even forgot the crowds of people waiting for her.
All she could see was her baby, happy in Maximo’s arms.
Why hadn’t Alex ever held Chloe like that? Why had he never held her at all? He hadn’t cared about her birthday—he hadn’t even cared about her birth. He’d ignored his own child, brushed her off like an embarrassment, sent her pictures back unopened. He had abandoned her to struggle—left her to starve.
Maximo, though unrelated by blood, was already acting more like a father to Chloe than Alex ever had. Unlike Alex with his sweet words and faithless proposal of marriage, Maximo d’Aquilla hadn’t bothered to explain a damn thing. In fact, he’d barely bothered about the niceties of proposing—he’d just married her practically by force.
But he’d taken both Lucy and Chloe under his wing. He’d taken her away from desperate hardship, made her his princess and brought her to Italy. He’d made sure she and Chloe would be secure for the rest of their lives.
Maximo d’Aquilla was a man of deeds, not words. And unlike Alex, he told the truth. He’d even had the decency to warn her never to love him…
No problem, she told herself. She wouldn’t love a playboy. Couldn’t.
But she couldn’t prevent the memory of their kiss last night from replaying in her mind. She could still feel his mouth against hers. Demanding. Insisting. Possessing her against her will…Making her want and demand and insist on possessing him in return…
Maximo held out his free hand to her.
“Come, my bride.”
And she obeyed.
As they walked up the steps to the glamorous, palatial villa, people followed them inside the ten-foot-high doors, chattering happily in Italian. A smiling maid took her coat as three footmen carried bags from the car, and the chauffeur drove the Rolls-Royce to park it in the mews.
I’ve entered a fairy tale, she thought in wonder. Just like Cinderella’s castle.
Past the foyer, they entered a large salon with a high ceiling, covered with frescoes of cherubic angels and embracing Renaissance lovers. Lucy sucked in her breath at the sheer size of it—and the elegance. This palace was to be her home for the next three months?
But there was more. Past the antique furniture in the salon, above the soaring marble fireplace, she saw a big silken banner with handpainted words.
Happy First Birthday. Buon compleanno, Chloe!
The room was decorated with hundreds of pink flowers and balloons. Next to the fireplace, she saw a mountain of gift-wrapped presents. Presiding over the gifts was a stuffed giraffe nearly as tall as Lucy wearing a pink bow. And on the table behind the elegant upholstered sofa, there was a pink birthday cake, six tiers high.
Maximo had done this all—for Chloe. A child he’d only met yesterday.
Lucy stopped as tears rushed to her eyes. Yesterday, she’d had neither gifts nor a cake for her beloved daughter. Today, everything had changed.
“Thank you,” she whispered, clutching his hand. “I can’t believe you did this for Chloe.”
“No.” He looked at her. “I did it for you.”
His blue gaze went through her soul. How had he known the deepest longing of her heart? Prince Maximo d’Aquilla really was too good to be true.
But as happy tears streamed down her face unchecked, and she was trying to think of a way to express the depth of her gratitude and joy, his hand tightened on hers.
Turning to face the crowd of people in the salon, he spoke in English, his voice commanding and clear. “My dear friends, thank you for coming today. Allow me to introduce my bride. After twenty years, she has finally come home. Allow me to present…Lucia Ferrazzi.”