ONCE seated at the best table at the Met, one of Venice’s finest restaurants, Ana took in the glamorous couples all around them, the women all in designer gowns like the one she could have worn, and she felt another shaft of regret that she’d spurned Vittorio’s generous offer of a dress. Even if it had been the safe—and even the right—thing to do.
Still, Vittorio seemed utterly unperturbed by the difference between her own attire and that of every other woman in the room. He gazed down at the menu, tapping it with one finger. ‘The mussels are particularly good.’
‘I’ll keep that in mind.’ Now that she was here, seated across from Vittorio, contemplating actually marrying him … Ana swallowed. Her throat felt bone-dry. She felt as if she were poised to jump off a cliff and she had no idea what waited underneath her, water or rocks, life or death.
They chose from the menu—Ana decided on chicken over fish—and Vittorio ordered the wine, a local vintage, of course, although not one of either of theirs. ‘Always good to consider the competition,’ he said with a smile, and Ana nodded. She did the same when she dined out, which admittedly wasn’t all that often.
When their first courses arrived and the wine had been poured, Ana gave Vittorio as direct a look as she could and said, ‘I have some questions.’
Vittorio took a sip of wine. ‘Very well.’
Nerves made her hands slippery around her wine glass and her voice came out a little breathless. ‘What would you expect of … of a wife?’
Vittorio’s expression was annoyingly inscrutable. He took another sip of wine, cocking his head to regard Ana thoughtfully. ‘I’d expect my wife to be a life partner,’ he said finally. ‘In every sense.’
The answer, so simple, so honest, made Ana feel even more breathless and her cheeks heated. She looked down. ‘Without knowing me, that’s quite a big gamble.’ She looked up at him again, searching for some clue to his emotions, trying to discover just why he had, over all women, chosen her in this surely coveted role.
‘It’s not,’ Vittorio said after a moment, ‘as big a gamble as you think.’
‘What do you mean?’
He shrugged. ‘I’m not about to embark on one of my life’s major decisions without any knowledge at all, Ana. I did some research.’
‘Research?’ she practically spluttered. ‘On me?’
‘Of course.’ He smiled, amused by her outrage. ‘And you can research me if you like. As I said, we are each other’s best assets.’ He sat back, still smiling, and Ana found she was annoyed at his smug confidence. He was so very sure that any research she did would show him to advantage and, annoyingly, she was quite sure of it too.
‘What did you learn?’ she finally asked, her voice stiff with dignity.
‘That you are a hard worker. That you are healthy—’
‘You accessed my medical records?’ Ana squawked, wondering how he had managed to do that, and Vittorio gave a negligent shrug. Nothing, apparently, was beyond the power—or the pale—for the Count of Cazlevara.
‘Now I really feel like a horse,’ she muttered. ‘Would you like to see my teeth as well?’
‘I see them when you speak,’ Vittorio replied with a little smile. ‘They’re very nice.’
Ana just shook her head. Was there any aspect of her life—her body—that he had not researched and inspected? Should she be honoured that she’d passed all these nameless tests? She wasn’t. She was furious and, worse, she felt horribly vulnerable, as if Vittorio had spied on her when she was naked. At least he seemed to have liked what he’d seen.
‘I also learned,’ Vittorio continued blandly, ‘that you are passionate about wine and this region. That you are a good friend to those who know you. And, most importantly, that you are loyal.’
She looked up in curiosity and surprise, remembering how he’d spoken of loyalty the other night. ‘And loyalty is so important to you?’
‘It is,’ Vittorio said and his voice, though still low and modulated, seemed suddenly to vibrate with intensity, ‘paramount.’
Ana stared, trying to digest this new bit of information. Loyalty was surely so important mainly to those who had once been betrayed. What had happened to Vittorio? ‘Are you speaking of fidelity?’ she asked.
‘No, although of course I would expect you to be faithful to me and our marriage vows. I speak of another kind of loyalty. I would expect you to stand by me and the decisions I make, never to take another’s position against me.’ His dark eyes caught and held hers. ‘Can you do that, Ana? It will not always be easy.’
The conversation that had started so matter-of-fact had suddenly become emotional, intense. Dark. ‘If you mean will I never question you—’
His hand slashed through the air. ‘I’m not asking for blind obedience. I want a wife, not a lapdog. But you must realize that, because of my position and my wealth, there are those who seek to discredit me. They would even enlist your aid, attract your sympathy by the foulest and most devious motives. Can you—will you—be loyal to me against those enemies?’
Ana suppressed a shiver. She wanted to make a joke of it, tell Vittorio to stop being so melodramatic, yet she had the terrible feeling that he was deadly serious. ‘Vittorio—’
‘I mean all that I say, Ana,’ he said quietly. He reached across the table to encircle her wrist with his hand, his fingers pressing against her bare skin. Nerves jumped at the touch. ‘I can tell you think I exaggerate, that I am seeing shadows where there is only light. But I will tell you that the quality that attracted me to you most of all was your sense of loyalty. You’ve lived with your father for nearly ten years, ever since you returned from university. You’ve helped him and taken care of him in a way that is gentle and beautiful. Of course, he is your father and he commands your loyalty because of his role. I will ask you now—do you think you can give such allegiance to me?’
‘If I were married to you,’ Ana said slowly, ‘then, yes.’
Vittorio released her wrist and sat back with a deeply satisfied smile. ‘Then I know all I need to know. Now it is your turn to ask questions of me.’
‘All right,’ Ana said, still a bit shaken by the intensity of their exchange. ‘If we were married, I would still expect to work for Viale Wines. Would that be acceptable to you?’
Vittorio lifted a shoulder in assent. ‘Of course. Naturally, I would expect our children to take the reins of both the Cazlevara and Viale labels. Truly, an empire.’
Ana nodded slowly. Children. Under the table, she pressed a hand against her middle. ‘And my father,’ she said after a moment. ‘Of course, he would still live at Villa Rosso, but I would want to see him often, and invite him to be with us whenever possible.’
A bubble of sudden nervous laughter escaped her and she shook her head. ‘This is so crazy.’
‘It seems so, I agree, but actually it makes wonderful sense.’
And she was a sensible person, which was why she was considering it all. Because it was so logical. It just didn’t feel that way at the moment. It didn’t feel logical when he kissed her.
It felt wonderful.
‘I’m scared,’ she whispered, her voice so low she didn’t know if Vittorio had heard her. She didn’t know if she wanted him to.
In fact, she thought he hadn’t heard her, for he didn’t reply; then she felt his hand on hers, his fingers warm on her skin, curling around her own fingers, squeezing slightly. She took a deep breath and let it out in a shuddering sigh. ‘I never thought I’d marry, you know.’
‘Why not?’ Vittorio asked, his voice as quiet as hers.
Ana shrugged, not wanting to explain. Vittorio squeezed her fingers again, and she felt a lump at the back of her throat. ‘What if we end up hating each other?’
‘I have too much faith in both of us for that.’
‘But we might—’ she persisted, her mind coming up with every possibility, every consideration, now that she was actually at the moment of decision. Now that she was ready to jump.
‘All good business decisions require a certain amount of risk, Ana. They also take courage and determination.’ He smiled and released her hand to take a sip of wine. ‘I recently closed a deal with several major hotels in Brazil. South America has never imported much Italian wine, and some would have said I was wasting time and money going there.’ He leaned forward. ‘But, when I went there, I did so knowing I would do anything to make it succeed. Once the decision is made, all it requires is a certain amount of persistence and follow-through.’
What clinical terms, Ana thought. Although she knew Vittorio meant them to be comforting, she found a certain coldness settling inside her instead. ‘This really is … business.’
‘Of course.’ He glanced at her sharply. ‘I told you last week, I’m not interested in love. You agreed with me. If you were not telling the truth—’
‘I was.’ Ana swallowed. ‘Why?’ she whispered. When Vittorio simply looked nonplussed, she continued, her voice only a bit ragged, ‘Why do you not want to fall in love?’
He didn’t answer for a long moment. ‘Love,’ Vittorio finally said, his voice flat, ‘is a destructive emotion.’
‘It doesn’t have to be—’
‘Invariably, because we are all imperfect people, it becomes so. Trust me, Ana, I have seen it happen.’ He swivelled his glass between his palms. ‘Time and time again.’
‘You’ve been in love, then?’ Ana asked, her voice small, far too small and sad. Vittorio shook his head and she felt an absurd leap of relief.
‘No. Because I have never wanted to be. But don’t think that a loveless marriage must therefore be joyless. We will have affection, respect—’
‘You sound like you’ve been speaking to my father.’
‘He is a wise man.’
‘He loved my mother,’ Ana countered a bit defiantly.
‘And yet he recommends you marry me?’ There was only the faintest questioning lilt to Vittorio’s voice and he smiled, leaning back once more, utterly confident. He arched an eyebrow. ‘Why are you not interested in love, then?’
‘I was in love once,’ Ana said after a moment. She saw shock ripple across Vittorio’s features before it was replaced by his usual bland composure. She wondered at her own answer. She didn’t think she’d actually loved Roberto, but he had hurt her. ‘I decided not to experience it again.’
‘This man—he hurt you?’
‘Yes. He … he decided he …’ She faltered, not wanting to spell it out. I never thought of you that way. How could I? She’d left Roberto utterly cold, and Ana felt cold herself just remembering it. At least Vittorio desired her, to some degree. She could not deceive herself that he felt even an ounce of the overwhelming attraction she experienced with him, but at least he felt something. He wouldn’t have kissed her otherwise. He wouldn’t have responded to her own clumsy kiss.
That, at least, was something. Something small, pathetically so, perhaps, but it was more than Ana had ever had with a man before.
‘We need not discuss it,’ Vittorio said, covering her hand briefly with his own. Ana heard a hardness in his voice and his eyes flashed darkly. ‘That man is in the past. We are forging something new, something good.’
‘You sound so sure.’
‘I am.’ Ana just shook her head, still too overwhelmed by the speed with which these negotiations had been conducted. ‘Why is it so difficult?’ Vittorio asked. His voice remained bland, reasonable, yet Ana thought she heard the bite of impatience underneath. He’d made up his mind ages ago; he’d decided he wanted a wife and so he immediately went out and acquired one. For Vittorio, without the complications of any emotions, it was easy. Simple. ‘There is no one else now,’ he asked sharply, ‘is there?’
She looked up, surprised. ‘You know there isn’t.’
‘Then surely I am the best candidate.’
‘If I even want a candidate,’ she returned, her tone sharpening too. ‘Perhaps living alone would be better.’
Vittorio’s lips twisted wryly. ‘Ouch.’
Ana’s own mouth curved in a reluctant smile; even now he could make her laugh. ‘What’s your favourite colour?’ she asked suddenly, and Vittorio raised his brows.
‘Blue.’
‘Do you like to read?’
‘Paperback thrillers, my secret weakness.’ He leaned back, seeming to enjoy this little exchange. Ana searched her mind for more questions; she should have dozens, hundreds, yet in the face of Vittorio’s sexy little smile her mind was blanking horribly.
‘Do you like dogs?’
‘Yes, but not cats.’
‘What food do you like?’
‘Seafood. Chocolate. I keep a bar of dark chocolate in the kitchen freezer for my own personal use.’ He was still smiling that incredible little smile that melted Ana’s insides like that bar of dark chocolate left out in the sun.
‘What food could your mother never get you to eat?’
His smile faltered for the merest of seconds, barely more than a flash, yet Ana saw it. Felt it. ‘Broccoli.’ He loosened his collar with one finger. ‘Now I’m almost embarrassed.’
‘For not liking broccoli?’ Ana returned, smiling too. ‘Surely you have more secrets than that.’
Vittorio’s lips twitched even as his eyes darkened. ‘A few.’
She thought about asking other questions. What makes your expression change like that, darkening as if the sun has disappeared? What memories are you hiding? How many lovers have you had? Why do you think love is destructive? She swallowed, forcing them away, knowing that now was not the time. ‘Tell me something about you that I’d never guess.’
‘I play the trombone.’
She laughed aloud, the sound incredulous and merry. ‘Really?’
Vittorio nodded solemnly. ‘You had to take music lessons at school, and the trombone was the only instrument left in the music cupboard.’
‘Were you any good?’
‘Awful. I sounded like a dying sheep. My music teacher begged me to stop eventually, and I played football instead, thank God.’
Ana pressed her lips together against another laugh, and shook her head a little bit. Don’t make me fall in love with you. She pushed the thought aside. ‘If you could go anywhere or do anything, what would it be?’
His little smile widened into something almost feral, his eyes glinting in the candlelight. ‘Marry you.’
Her heart leaped and she shook her head. ‘Be serious.’
‘I am.’
‘Only because I tick the right boxes.’
‘I have a lot of boxes.’
‘Just when did you decide I was such a suitable candidate?’ Ana asked. She looked up to see Vittorio tilt his head and narrow his eyes; it was a look she was becoming used to. It meant he was thinking carefully about what to say … and what he thought she wanted to hear.
‘Does it matter?’
‘I’m curious.’
He gave a tiny shrug. ‘I’ve already told you, I first read about you in the in-flight magazine. It was a short article, but it piqued my interest.’
‘Enough to dig into my background?’ Ana guessed, and Vittorio’s mouth tightened. He gestured to the waiter to take their plates, and the man scurried forward.
‘I don’t particularly like your tone or your choice of words,’ he said calmly. ‘I’ve been honest from the beginning.’
‘That’s true.’ Yet, for some reason, his honesty hurt all the more. ‘It’s just so … cold-blooded.’
‘Funny,’ Vittorio said, taking a sip of wine, ‘I thought you said you weren’t a romantic.’
‘I’m not,’ Ana said quickly. She wondered whether she was lying. Had she actually been waiting for her knight in shining armour all this time? Was she really such a lovelorn fool?
No. She would not allow herself the weakness.
‘It is a big decision, Vittorio,’ Ana replied, a hint of sharpness to her tone. ‘As you said before. I don’t make such decisions lightly.’ She took a breath. If he wanted businesslike, then that was what he would get. ‘What about a pre-nuptial agreement?’
Vittorio arched his eyebrows. ‘Are you worried I’ll take your fortune?’ he asked dryly, for the Viale wealth was a fraction of his.
‘No, but I thought you might have that concern.’
Vittorio’s mouth hardened into a thin line. ‘Divorce is not an option.’
Ana swallowed. ‘What if you meet someone else?’
‘I won’t.’ The steely glint in those dark eyes kept Ana from even asking the question about whether she would.
‘Children?’ she finally managed. Vittorio regarded her coolly, waiting. ‘You said you needed an heir. How many?’
‘Several, if God wills it.’ He paused. ‘You intimated you wanted children. Will that be a problem?’
‘No.’ The ache for a baby had only started recently, her biological clock finally having begun its relentless tick. Yet right now she couldn’t think of babies, only how they were made.
Her and Vittorio. Her mind danced with images and her body ached with longing. She’d never realized how much desire she could feel, how it caused a sweet, sweet pain to lance through her and leave her breathless with wanting. The knowledge that Vittorio surely did not share it, or at least feel it as she did, that he could talk about the consummation of their marriage—the joining of their bodies—without so much as a flicker of emotion or longing made Ana ache, not just with desire, but with disappointment.
She wished he desired her the way she desired him, a wonderful consuming ache that longed only to be sated. Yes, she knew she could stir him to sensuality, but surely any man—well, almost any man—would have such a response.
Was it enough?
‘Ana, what are you thinking?’ Vittorio asked. His voice was gentle, and Ana saw a wary compassion in his eyes.
‘I’m thinking I don’t want to marry a man who doesn’t find me attractive,’ she said flatly. The words seemed to lie heavily between them, unable to be unsaid. Vittorio’s face was blank, but Ana sensed his withdrawal, as if he’d actually recoiled from the brutal honesty of her words.
‘I think you are being too harsh.’
The fact that he did not deny it completely made her heart sink a little. ‘Am I?’ she asked, and heard the hurt in her own voice.
‘You felt the evidence of my desire for you the other night,’ Vittorio told her in a low voice. A smile lurked in his eyes. ‘Didn’t you?’
Ana flushed. ‘Yes, but—’
‘Admittedly, you are different from the other women I’ve … known. But that doesn’t mean I can’t find you attractive.’
Having drunk enough whisky and given the right inducements, Ana silently added. ‘Have you had many lovers?’ she asked impulsively, and almost laughed at Vittorio’s expression of utter surprise.
‘Enough,’ he said after a moment. ‘But there is no point raking over either of our pasts, Ana. As I said before, we should look now to the future. Our future.’
Ana tossed her napkin on the table, suddenly restless, needing to move. ‘I’ve finished. Shall we? The last boat back to Fusina leaves before midnight.’
‘So it does.’ Vittorio raised one hand with easy grace to signal for the bill, and within minutes they were winding their way through the tables and then outside, the spring air slightly damp, the heady scent of flowers mixing with the faint whiff of stagnant water from one of the canals, an aroma that belonged purely to Venice. ‘Shall we walk?’ Vittorio asked, taking her arm; it fitted snugly into his and her side collided not unpleasantly with his hip. She could feel the hard contours of his leg against hers.
The piazza outside San Marco had emptied of tourists and now only a few people lingered over half-drunk glasses of wine at the pavement cafés; Ana saw a couple entwined in the shadows by one of the pillars of the ancient church. She found herself hurrying, needing to move, to get somewhere. Her thoughts—her hopes, her fears—were too much to deal with.
They didn’t speak as they made their way back to the ferry and, even once aboard the boat, they both stood at the rail, silently watching the lights of Venice disappear into the darkness and fog.
Ana knew she should have a thousand questions to ask, a dozen different points to clarify. Her mind buzzed with thoughts, concerns flitting in and out of her scattered brain.
‘I don’t want my children to be raised by some nanny,’ she blurted and Vittorio glanced sideways at her, his hands still curved around the railing of the ferry.
‘Of course not.’
‘And I refuse to send them to boarding school.’ Her two years at a girls’ school near Florence had been some of the darkest days she’d ever known. Even now, she suppressed a shudder at the memory. Vittorio’s expression didn’t even flicker, although she sensed a tension rippling from him, like a current in the air.
‘On that point we are of one accord. I did not enjoy boarding school particularly, and I am presuming you didn’t either.’
‘No.’ She licked her lips; her mouth was suddenly impossibly dry. ‘You can’t expect to change me.’ Vittorio simply arched an eyebrow and waited. ‘With make-up and clothes and such. If you wanted that kind of woman, Vittorio, you should have asked someone else.’ She met his bland gaze defiantly, daring him to tell her—what? That she needed a little polish? That her shapeless trouser suits—expensive as they were—would have to go? That she wasn’t beautiful or glamorous enough for him? Or was that simply what she thought?
‘There would be little point in attempting to change you,’ he finally said, ‘when I have asked you to marry me as you are.’ Ana nodded jerkily, and then he continued. ‘However, you will be the Countess of Cazlevara. I expect you to act—and dress—according to your station.’
‘What does that mean exactly?’
Vittorio shrugged. ‘You are an intelligent adult woman, Ana. I’ll leave such decisions to you.’
Ana nodded, accepting, and they didn’t speak until they were off the boat and back in Vittorio’s Porsche, speeding through the darkness. A heavy fog rested over the hills above Treviso, lending an eerie glow to the road, the car’s headlights barely penetrating the swirling mist. The air was chilly and damp and Ana’s mind flitted immediately to the vineyards, the grapes still young and fragile. She didn’t think it was cold enough to be concerned and she leaned her head back against the seat, suddenly overwhelmingly exhausted.
Vittorio turned into Villa Rosso’s sweeping drive, parking the car in front of the villa’s front doors and killing the engine. The world seemed impossibly silent, and Ana felt as if she could nearly fall asleep right there in the car.
‘Go to bed, rondinella,’ Vittorio said softly. His thumb skimmed her cheek, pressed lightly on her chin. ‘Sleep on it awhile.’
Ana’s eyes fluttered open, his words penetrating her fogged mind slowly. ‘What did you say?’ she asked in a whisper.
Vittorio’s mouth curved in a small smile, yet Ana saw a shadow of sorrow in his eyes, lit only by the lights of the villa and the moon, which had escaped from the clouds that longed to hide it from view. ‘I told you to sleep. And preferably in a bed, I think.’
‘Yes, but—’ Ana swallowed and struggled to a more upright position. ‘What did you call me?’
‘Rondinella.’ His smile deepened, as did the sorrow in his eyes. ‘You think I don’t remember?’
Ana stared at him, her eyes wide, thoughts and realizations tumbling through her now-clear mind. He remembered. Suddenly she was back at her mother’s graveside, her hand still caked with mud, tears drying on her cheeks. Suddenly she was looking at the only person who had shown her true compassion; even her own father had been too dazed by grief to deal with his daughter. And suddenly the answer was obvious.
‘I don’t need to sleep on it,’ she said, her words no more than a breath of sound.
Hope lit Vittorio’s eyes, replacing the sorrow. His smile seemed genuine now and he touched her cheek again with his thumb. ‘You don’t?’
‘No.’ She reached up to clasp his hand with her own, her fingers curling around his. ‘The answer is yes, Vittorio. I’ll marry you.’