Chapter Seven

 

Cristo leaned against a column and surveyed the room. One thing you could say about the Bernini family, aside from their monumental stubbornness: they loved a good party. His cousins had rarely been off the dance floor since the music started, which clearly amused the few local guests. Sabrina and Carlos had cajoled almost everyone into doing the Macarena. And Zia Beatrice had insisted Cristo, his male cousins, and Mario perform a traditional Sicilian dance, much to Farrah and Bella’s delight.

The food was incredible. Mario confessed he’d brought in an Italian chef for the occasion, and Bella and Zia Beatrice had designed the menu. But despite the delicious offerings, Farrah had taken only small bites of a few of the appetizers. He’d tried to get her to eat more, but she didn’t want to risk being sick and missing the fun. And even though this probably wasn’t her dream wedding, she’d laughed and smiled and greeted every guest as though their attendance was what had made her day special.

She was good at hiding her true emotions.

He suppressed an inner sigh as he caught himself once more scanning the crowd for his parents. It didn’t seem quite real without with his mother’s interference.

His gaze sought out his bride, as it had all evening when they were apart. Farrah was stunning. He loved her curls, but with her hair straightened she’d achieved another look: that of a sexy seductress. And once she’d removed the jacket over her dress, it had taken all his self-control not to tempt her into a nearby room to consummate their marriage. Technically, it had been pre-consummated. But that didn’t count, did it?

Farrah hid a yawn behind her hand. It was the second indicator of her exhaustion he’d seen in the last five minutes. He strode over, grateful when a warm smile curved her lips.

“Are you ready to leave?” Damn the catch in his voice. He was supposed to be the cool, controlled, dispassionate one in this relationship. Instead, his hands shook, there was a swarm of butterflies in his stomach, and the pressure to make this night epic nearly unmanned him. This was no casual encounter, no quickie to appease a need. This was the foundation for a lifetime.

She glanced once around the room. The few attendees that were her friends, mostly fellow artists, had all gone. Only his family hogged the dance floor and propped up the bar.

“Yes, I’m ready.” She placed her hand in his, and once again the urge to protect surged through him.

Mario and Bella met them in the hallway outside the reception room.

“The honeymoon suite is ready and waiting for you. No need to leave,” Mario said. “It’s an hour-and-a-half drive to your place.”

Cristo glanced at Farrah, who shook her head minutely. “Thanks for the hospitality. But we want our first night to be in our new home.” He took his bride’s hand and laced his fingers with hers.

“We’ll see you in a couple of days?” Bella asked. She’d wrapped an arm around her husband. All these years Cristo had imagined being the man she embraced. It now seemed a silly fantasy.

“Yes. I’ll definitely be back in the office on Wednesday.” Farrah shifted her weight and leaned into him.

“If you want a few more days—”

“No,” Farrah said. “Cristo will be gone, so there will be no point in staying at home alone. I need to get back to work.”

An unwelcome twinge of guilt pricked his heart. This is what they’d agreed—separate lives, both of them keeping their busy work and travel schedules. So why did he feel a failure already?

Their driver was leaning against the trunk, smoking a cigarette. At their approach, he stubbed it out, donned his hat, and opened the back door.

“All this VIP treatment is new to me. I guess you’re used to it,” Farrah said as they settled into the back of the limo.

“Somewhat. Although I’ve never had such a beautiful woman at my side.”

“Charmer. We’re married now. No need for you to flatter me.” She held herself stiffly next to him. Not an auspicious start to an epic wedding night.

“One thing you’ll learn about me: I don’t give empty compliments. You truly are beautiful today. I couldn’t have dreamed up a lovelier bride.”

She lowered her eyes at his words, but some of the tension left her frame.

“Why don’t you take a nap until we get home?” he suggested.

He didn’t have to say it twice. She curled up—unfortunately away from him—and, based on the even rise and fall of her chest, she fell asleep within minutes. She was still fast asleep when they arrived as close to their new residence as the car could get. He was quickly discovering the disadvantages of living in the medina: no vehicular access. How would they cope once the baby was born?

“Tesori, we’re here.” He tried to rouse her, but she was dead to the world. He’d have to carry her. Merda, the driver spoke only Arabic. How could he ask him to escort them to the house? Cristo hadn’t paid enough attention when Mario dropped him off there yesterday evening. He pictured himself wandering around Tunis for hours with an unconscious bride in his arms. That wouldn’t look suspicious at all.

The driver, however, apparently didn’t need prompting. He grabbed a bag—Farrah’s, Cristo assumed—from the trunk and then set off with Cristo carrying his wife behind. The man even opened the door when Cristo managed to get the keys out of his pocket without dropping the precious bundle he carried.

A few lights had been left on, and he made it to the bedroom, where he gently laid Farrah on the bed. She immediately rolled onto her front. Okay. Clearly, he was not going to have the wedding night he’d been wanting since he first saw Farrah standing hesitantly in the doorway of the city hall.

Scratch that—he’d wanted her again since he’d seen her standing in the lobby of his bank. But one more night without sinking into her glorious heat and losing his mind wasn’t going to kill him. He’d been abstinent for much longer periods in the past. He could do this.

Or maybe she’d wake in half an hour or so, refreshed from her nap, and want to consummate their marriage then.

He stared at his wife, lying in what technically was his bed, and worked out his next move. She couldn’t sleep all night in her big poufy wedding dress. At least with her lying on her front, he could ease down the zipper and make her more comfortable.

But by the time he had her undressed to her strapless bra and tiny panties, Cristo was sweating and in need of a drink. He draped a sheet over her and then took a cold shower in the adjoining bathroom.

She still hadn’t moved when he returned. He slid into bed on the other side of her, lay on his back, and stared at the ceiling.

Well, no one said married life was easy.

***

What have I done?

Farrah didn’t need to open her eyes to know there was a man in bed with her. As she came more fully awake, memory returned. It was all right; he was her husband.

Oh dear, she’d fallen asleep on him in the car. She couldn’t have slept through the consummation of their marriage too, could she? Shifting slightly in the bed, she discovered she was still in her underwear and bra. Good. She hadn’t missed anything.

A wave of nausea hit her so hard she had to breathe in through her teeth.

“Buongiorno.” Cristo’s voice, deep and gruff with sleep, reached her ears the same time his warm hand touched her shoulder.

She’d give up two months of her kiln time to roll over and welcome him into her body as they started their first day of married life. Instead, she flung back the covers and ran for the bathroom, praying she made it in time.

She was still vomiting when a glass of water appeared in her peripheral vision. As she leaned back against the cool tile of the bathroom wall, Cristo handed her the drink then gently mopped her face with a damp washcloth.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes. I just need—”

Another round of “let’s review what we’ve eaten in the past twelve hours” resumed. But because she hadn’t consumed much at the reception—her stomach and nerves had conspired to kill her appetite—it soon turned into dry heaves, which hurt even more.

Cristo disappeared again, and she didn’t blame him. What a wonderful way to start married life: seeing your bride with her head in the toilet. He wasn’t gone for long, however, and he returned with a tray holding a teapot and some dry toast.

“I know it’s probably the last thing you want right now. But the pregnancy book I read says that having something in your stomach can help with morning sickness. Do you want to try? I’ve made mint and ginger tea, and there’s some toast. Or I could get you some crackers or anything else you prefer.”

There she was, sprawled on the bathroom floor in the most undignified heap possible, yesterday’s heavy wedding makeup undoubtedly smeared all over her sweating face. And he looked so incredible she wondered if she was hallucinating. A tight pair of black boxers clung to his very manly form, his rippled abdomen and hairy chest visible past the tray, and he was offering her advice he’d read in a book about pregnancy.

Dammit, how was she supposed to keep her heart from hoping for love when he was so wonderful?

“Thanks.” Her throat hurt from throwing up, and she felt disgusting. “Give me a few minutes of privacy and I’ll come out and have the tea.”

“Yes, of course. But call me if you need me.”

He turned, and she caught sight of his delectable ass in the form-fitting underwear before he pulled the door closed behind him.

When she emerged fifteen minutes later, she at least resembled a human being. She’d washed her face, brushed her teeth, and had a quick shower. As she hadn’t any clothes to put back on, aside from her uncomfortable strapless bra and wedgie-loving underpants, all she wore was a towel. Any moisture left on her skin immediately evaporated when Cristo raised his eyes from the tablet he was reading. His hot gaze scorched her skin. The morning’s ignominious start clearly hadn’t dampened his desire for her.

“I should have brought some clothes in for you,” he said. “Although I’m not complaining. You are a vision I’ll remember every day we’re apart.”

Before she could grab something and retreat to the bathroom to change, he pulled a long satin wrap off the end of the bed and held it out for her to slip her arms into. Unfortunately for her, he was now fully dressed in lightweight beige pants and a blue button-down short-sleeve shirt. At least his feet were bare. For some reason, seeing his sockless toes made her feel less vulnerable.

He held out a chair for her at the little round table in the corner of their bedroom. It was going to take a while before she got used to living here. This room alone was bigger than her whole apartment on the other side of Tunis. Thankfully, they were only renting, so if it didn’t suit them, they could move easily enough.

“Sorry about last night,” she said after taking a sip of the tea. It was sweeter than she usually liked, but she probably needed the instant energy.

“I should have called an end to the evening sooner. I didn’t realize how exhausted you were.” He pushed the plate of toast closer to her.

“Are you going to be one of those terrible overprotective husbands who thinks his wife is unable to look after herself even though she’s been doing so for eight years?”

Instead of the expected anger, a crooked smile lifted one side of his mouth, making him even sexier. “Probably. Give me a break, though. I’ve only been a husband for a few hours. It’s going to take me a little while to get used to the role.”

Her eyes flitted to the bed, and a soft chuckle came from Cristo’s side of the table. “When you’re feeling better,” he said.

Warmth flooded her cheeks, and she kept her eyes on her cup as she took another sip. The tea really did help—her stomach felt better already. She picked up the toast and took a tentative bite.

Cristo’s hand covered hers on the table. “Farrah…” He waited until she met his gaze. “There is only one thing I want more at this moment than to make love to my wife. And that is for her to want that, too. When you’re feeling better, and ready, that’s when we’ll consummate this marriage. Until then, relax and let me take care of you.”

She nibbled more of the toast, and as she drained her cup, Cristo refilled it from the pot on the tray.

“I know I promised to stay out of your business life, but I’m curious. When we first went to Mario and Bella’s to tell them we were getting married, he asked if you’d recruited me to oust him from IAA. What’s that about?”

She chewed on the edge of her thumb, not sure how honest to be in her reply. Should she mention she’d not wanted to see Mario day after day? That motivation had faded somewhat in the past few weeks. “We’ve had a few disagreements about the future of the company. I want to expand. He and Bella want to keep things as they are.”

“Are you still wanting to expand? Or has the pregnancy put that on hold?”

She pretended great interest in the contents of her cup. “Mario and Bella’s refusal to consider more locations has temporarily halted my plans. I’m thinking of branching out on my own. I know they’re your closest friends—”

“And you’re my wife. I’ll support you in whatever you decide. Though I will ask you to tread gently. I’d like to remain friends with them. And also bear in mind how much energy you’ll have to put into a new business while your body is busy building another human being.” Excitement lit his eyes. “Did you know that you’re making the vocal cords this week?”

She chuckled at his earnest expression. “You bought a pregnancy book?”

“Yes. I’m going into this blind. I don’t like not knowing what to expect.”

“Most first-time parents are in the same situation.”

“We don’t have to be. For instance, did you know that our baby is now the size of a lemon?”

She smiled. He sounded so enthusiastic. Her father had greeted his wife’s last few child-bearing announcements with anger and accusation, like he’d had no responsibility in the matter. They’d lived in a two-room hut. Farrah knew exactly how much of a part her father played in her mother’s pregnancies, each more destructive than the last.

“This lemon is creating a lot of havoc.” The toast was gone. As was the second cup of tea. She shifted in the chair, waiting for the nausea to return. Miraculously, it didn’t. “Cristo.” She couldn’t quite meet his eyes. “If it’s a girl, will you be—?”

“Absolutely not. In fact, I’d love to have a little girl. One with her mother’s curly hair and dark eyes. But maybe not as beautiful as you. I’d have to give up work to be her bodyguard and make sure no boys get too close.”

He looked so fierce, planning to protect a daughter that may or may not exist. Farrah laughed again.

An answering smile curved his lips. “That’s better,” he said. “You look too serious these days. It’s my job to worry. You just have to stay healthy and grow our baby.”

She nodded, her throat too tight to answer. Bella was right. Cristo was going to be an amazing father.

“What do you want to do today?” she asked when she could finally speak again. She deliberately kept herself from glancing at the bed.

“After yesterday’s excitement, we need a quiet day at home. Let’s shop online for furniture and baby things. Then maybe go out for a walk and dinner later.”

“That sounds like an excellent way to pass a day.” Second only to spending it in bed with you. Wow, she really was feeling better.

The line between making their marriage work and keeping a part of herself separate suddenly became thinner.