His Two Hidden Masks: Steamy International Billionaire Romance

Chapter 1

The day of my wedding to Roberto Bianco, I sat beside my Man of Honor, Leo, and pretended I wasn’t on the verge of a panic attack that was all my fault.

The Church of San Polo bridal room was cramped and cluttered. Religious icons, paintings, and shelves of Venetian glass baubles covered the walls. A spectacular blue chandelier hung from the center of the room.

It was so damn hot. There was no air conditioning in the church or in the waiting room. The church looked like so many beautiful things in Venice, gilded, glittering, and crumbling underneath.

I squirmed beside Leo, trying to adjust my corset. My dress was ivory satin and lace, beaded with a scooped neck, capped sleeves, and a skirt full enough to hide a pack of flower girls.

I joked with my mother that my dress had more layers than a five-tier wedding cake. My comment had not been well received, like most of my attempts to connect with her. My whole life, my mother and I viewed the world through different colored lenses. Where I saw a beautiful sunset, my mother saw air pollution.

I knew that life had not always been kind to her. My father was a workaholic with moods that shifted as quickly as the rising water levels of Venice.

I was only five when my older sister, Sara, died after a short illness at age eighteen. I wondered sometimes what my mother was like before grief changed her, before it changed both my parents.

“Is my face melting?” I said, turning to Leo.

I picked up an Architectural Digest magazine and waved it in front of my face. “I’m melting, or dying. I’m dying, am I right? And why is there an Architectural Digest in here and not a fan?”

“You are not melting or dying,” Leo said, his voice calm. “You look beautiful now, and you looked beautiful before Mama Uzano hired someone to paint your face.”

I waved my make-shift fan and resisted the urge to touch my skin.

Leo sat beside me, legs crossed, hands clasped in his lap, totally unflustered. Tall and muscular, Leo looked like a runway model in his smart black tuxedo. His shaved head and perfectly groomed goatee were on point. His blue eyes stood out like gems against his olive skin.

Leo and I both grew up in Venice and were childhood friends. He worked at the Lido Glass Factory just off San Marco Square and could sell glass to a post.

He was also in a long-term, long-distance relationship with his boyfriend, David, who worked in fashion in Milan. David wasn’t at the wedding, as he had a runway event in Paris that he couldn’t miss.

“How are you not sweating?” I said, waving my magazine in Leo’s beautiful face.

“I don’t sweat,” he said, brow wrinkling as if this were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Everybody sweats.”

“Give me the damn magazine,” Leo said. “You look like a beautiful little bird flapping your wings. It’s adorable and sad.” He took over as my human fan.

“Thanks,” I said, closing my eyes.

“Better?” he asked.

“Little bit,” I said, taking a deep breath.

The Bianco family was one of the few “titled” families left in Venice with a bank account large enough to back their claim to royalty. Our families had been in business together for years.

My family ran Uzano Properties with a portfolio of hotels and restaurants across Italy. Roberto’s family, the Bianco’s, were money managers and trusted advisors to my parents.

Roberto was twelve years my senior. He’d largely grown up in boarding schools throughout Europe, returning to Venice for the holidays. When he moved back to Venice permanently, he pursued me with focus. We used to joke that his love for me was as serious as running the numbers.

Roberto was measured, thorough, loyal, and never wavered in his belief that our marriage was a perfect plan. Roberto was the cautious introvert with beautiful green eyes, and I was the dreaming extrovert with an insatiable love of chocolate. We balanced each other like two sides of a coin.

Falling in love was our destiny, and as a team, we would transform Uzano Properties. Roberto was positioned to eventually run my parents’ company. My dream was to add to my family’s empire by turning my line of hand-dipped chocolates into a real business.

Nothing made my heart soar more than being in the restaurant kitchen, stirring pots of caramel and experimenting with flavor. Over the past year, I’d poured all my time into developing my own brand of hand-dipped sweets that I gifted to guests of my family’s restaurant and hotel.

Roberto and I supported each other’s dreams. The fact our marriage also provided an influx of Bianco cash to my family’s portfolio was a happy coincidence.

Everything would be perfect once I said two magic words. I do.

“Earth to Bella,” Leo said, waving the magazine in my face. “This is the part where you tell me what is going on with you. You look like you’ve eaten something that tastes bad. Your face is all,” he screwed up his mouth, “Ewww.”

“Rude.” I laughed. “Nothing is going on. I’m hot.”

“Of course, you are hot. It’s Venice in July.” He enunciated the month as if I were his elderly aunt. “It’s always hot, which you know because you’ve lived here since birth. You and Roberto picked this date.” His eyes narrowed. “Something else is bothering you.”

The room felt small, my dress too tight and I couldn’t stop thinking about all the people on the other side of the church door, waiting to watch me walk down the aisle and promise to love Roberto until death parted us.

I wanted to believe it was the heat, but I knew that this rising anxiety was all my fault. I wished I was assembling beautiful white boxes of my chocolates, instead of pitting out in my ivory satin and beaded dress. I was the worst bride, ever.

“Seriously, Bella,” Leo said, putting down the magazine. “Talk to me before you barf all over that enormous, yet beautiful, dress.”

I feigned a smile. “The fan helped. I’m feeling better.”

Leo gave me a look.

“Fine, it’s heat and nerves and nothing important,” I said. I ran my fingers through the ends of my hair. It was loose and held back by a rhinestone clip on one side, ends curling on my shoulders.

“Do you need a mirror?” Leo asked.

“Did I screw up my lips or my lashes?” I panicked. “I don’t want anything sliding off my face on the altar.”

Leo laughed and pulled a hand mirror out of his bridal support bag. He was the most prepared Man of Honor ever.

I glanced at the mirror, relieved to see that it was still me. Coppery eye shadow shimmered above my brown eyes. My cheeks flushed. I worried my red lipstick was too dark.

I wasn’t melting or dissolving on the outside, but on the inside, something was not right. I wasn’t sure how a bride was supposed to feel, but the emotional cyclone swirling inside me felt like a fail.

“Am I making a mistake?” The words tumbled out unplanned. I looked into Leo’s bright blue eyes.

“Bella.” My words stunned him.

“I can’t believe I said that,” I said.

“I can’t answer that for you, darling.”

“I know,” I said, closing my eyes and tapping the toes of my white, silk high heels.

“Did something happen?”

“It’s me. I happened,” I blurted. “I did something so stupid last night.”

“After the rehearsal?”

I nodded. “I got nervous and I asked Auntie Aurora to read my cards.”

“Isabella,” Leo said. “Why would you do that?”

“I know I looked calm last night, Leo, but I wasn’t,” I said, remembering how my stomach had been in knots as I walked down the black-and-white marble aisle of San Polo, clutching a paper plate bouquet made of shower ribbons.

“Never mind. I sound like a crazy woman. I’m fine. It’s fine.”

“Stop it,” Leo said, his voice even and firm. “First, crazy woman is sexist as fuck. Second, you have the right to feel not fine. What happened?”

I pulled on the beads on my skirt. “At the rehearsal, I broke out in goosebumps when I passed our family crypt. It was as if I wasn’t supposed to be there. It felt wrong.”

“Beside the crypt where your grandparents and Sara are buried?” Leo said.

“Yes, they are all there. Nona, Papa and my sister.”

“The crypt you and I walked past for first communion?”

“Yes, and Confirmation and most Sundays, until Mama stopped forcing me to go to church.”

“And you never felt weird before?” he said.

“Never, and then last night, big goosebumps. Who gets goosebumps in July, Leo?”

“Well, clearly,” he said, “you do.”

“I felt cursed. And you know how I am when I get an idea in my head. Last night, I asked Auntie Aurora to read my cards so she could tell me everything was going to be wonderful.” I looked over at Leo and tried to force a smile.

His eyebrows arched. “And am I to guess you didn’t hear what you wanted?”

“Of course not,” I said. “The cards were not just bad. The cards were very bad, very very bad. Horrible, Leo. I know it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have insisted on the reading. I believe in fate. I believe in signs. I also know that the cards can be wrong.”

“Just forget it, honey. Focus on what you and Roberto are starting together. You’ve told me again and again how much sense this marriage makes.”

“Right, right,” I whispered. I had been looking for a sign and hoped Auntie Aurora’s cards would promise me a life of love and fortune. I had wanted the cards to take my fear and sweep it away like bread crumbs under the family dining table.

I drew three cards, the Lovers, the Wheel of Fortune, and the Sun. Good cards. Amazing cards about love, prosperity, and positivity, except my cards were all upside down, which reversed their power. In a quick glance, I knew my cards told a story of doubt, despair, and betrayal.

Auntie Aurora swept them off the table in one quick move. She murmured something about the cards not feeling right in her hands, kissed me on the forehead, and told me to sleep well.

“Darling.” Leo reached over and squeezed one of my perfectly manicured hands. “Do I need to recite to you all the times your Auntie has been wrong?”

“No. I mean, maybe,” I said. “Yes, please.”

“Remember when Auntie Aurora predicted you would be a brain surgeon?”

I giggled. “Oh, yes, and I flunked chemistry that semester and enrolled in culinary school, much to Mama’s horror.”

Leo held his finger in the air and nodded. “And there was the time she predicted you would fall in love with someone in the moonlight whose name began with a D, or was it G?”

“It was D, and I remember, because, Dante.”

“Oh, my God!” Leo laughed. “You rejected every boy in lower secondary school that year, except that idiot, Dante Camarda, and he was an emotionally stunted disaster.”

“And a bad kisser,” I said. “So sloppy and his tongue was like a lizard.”

“The worst,” Leo said, wrinkling his nose. “And can we ever forget the best prediction of all? My future wife is a beautiful woman with long red hair who loves the water.”

I laughed out loud.

“I mean, your aunt basically told me I would marry Ariel,” he said, “and I think we all know that Ariel is not my type. So, do we need to keep doing this?”

“No,” I said.

“How about champagne? Limoncella?” He stood and picked up his bridal support bag, pulling out bottles. “I did not come without alcohol, in case you are wondering.”

“Yes, and yes, and did you bring chocolate?”

“Of course, I brought chocolate.” Leo grinned. “You are the only woman I know who eats chocolate for breakfast, her own chocolate.” He handed me a square and poured me a glass of champagne.

“Let’s start with one glass, and do not get any of this on your dress or Mama Uzano will murder me with her strong, tiny hands.”

“She would murder you,” I said, taking a bite of the chocolate. “But it would probably be over quick.”

“Drink carefully, for my sake.” He smiled.

Leo always made me feel better. We met in kindergarten during the strange, sad days after Sara died, and he never left my side. Hearing Leo tell me that everything would be all right was almost as soothing as chocolate.

My marriage to Roberto was meant to be. Auntie Aurora’s cards were wrong. I repeated these thoughts like a mantra and held my left hand in the air. My diamond engagement ring cast a spray of tiny rainbows on the walls.

Leo gently touched my arm. “Remember when you first started dating Roberto, and I had reservations?”

“Is that what you call them now?” I said. “I believe you told me not to waste my youth and future, peaking sexuality on an old man like Roberto.”

“I did say that,” Leo said, “and that’s not personal. It’s just science. Women peak sexually much later than men. We peak in our twenties.”

“I’m twenty-five, and you want me to find an eighteen-year-old to grow old with?” I laughed.

“God, no,” Leo said. “The problem with an eighteen-year-old is great dick that never quits, but an eighteen-year-old mind.” Leo tapped his head with his finger. “I’m being serious now. I trust you and I want you to trust yourself. You have told me that Roberto is exactly what you want and what you need.”

“I have,” I said. “I have said that.”

“Love doesn’t always make sense,” Leo said. “And you know I love you.”

“I love you, too,” I said, my vision blurring with tears.

“And do not cry, or you are going to fuck up that gorgeous makeup.” Leo grabbed a pack of tissues from his pocket and handed me one. “Fix up your eyes, darling.”

I dabbed the tissue in the corner of my eyes, soaking up the tears that threatened to spill down my perfectly painted cheeks.

“You know that I am on Team Isabella Carmen Uzano. Always. And seriously,” he lowered his voice, “you want out? You just give me the code word.”

“What’s the code word?”

“Obviously, it’s ‘fuck all this.’” He paused for effect. “One ‘fuck all this’ from you and I will cause a scene while you slip out the back. I’ll pick you up on a Vespa.”

“That is more than one word and you don’t have a Vespa.”

“I should have a Vespa,” Leo said. “I’ll steal one.”

“You are my best friend,” I said, squeezing his hand. I knew he was kidding, but I also knew that if I asked him to run, he wouldn’t hesitate. I took another sip of my champagne as the distinct click of heels approached.

The door to the rectory opened. Mother strode into the room wearing a gorgeous, full-length, light blue, beaded dress, her silver hair knotted in a low chignon. Petite and curvaceous, my mother never left the house without lipstick.

Auntie Aurora followed a step behind Mother, wearing a lavender dress that complemented the hues of my mother’s beads. It was from the same fashion house, but had been selected to complement and not outshine her older sister.

“Is that chocolate on your lips, Bella?” my mother asked, eyes narrowing.

“No.” I shrugged, glancing at Leo.

“No chocolate here,” he said in wide-eyed agreement.

Auntie Aurora walked past me and cracked open the church door. “Isabella, it’s gorgeous out there. A perfect day to marry,” she said. I caught a glimpse of the church through the open door.

There were rose flower sprays of blue, purple, and peach dotting the end of each pew, a thick white ribbon connecting them together like a garland. Topiaries dotted the altar with tall, flickering candles.

“A perfect day,” I agreed, hoping my voice didn’t sound too thin.

The muffled plucking of the string quartet began. In the church, the low murmur of voices thrummed beneath the sound of my breathing and my beating heart. My hands felt clammy.

“It’s time,” my mother said. Her lips puckered. She looked beautiful and in control, which was her happy place. “Leo, make sure you walk her around the back so no one sees her until the right moment. And your veil, Bella. Put it over your face. Papa is already in the vestibule.”

“Yes, Mama,” I whispered.

“I will make sure she is in the right place, at the right time,” Leo said, winking.

My mother nodded. She loved Leo, but she had not been thrilled when I told her I was having no bridesmaids and had chosen Leo as my Man of Honor.

“I will see you inside, Bella,” Auntie Aurora said. She nodded and leaned down to grasp my hand. “I want you to be happy, my beautiful girl.”

“I am happy, Auntie,” I said.

She opened her mouth as if she wanted to say more.

“Aurora,” my mother hissed, her eyes locking on my Aunt with a fierceness that told me she probably knew about the late-night card reading. “Of course, she is happy. That is the only truth that matters.”

“Maria, I am just checking in with my only niece,” Auntie Aurora fired back.

“You have two nieces,” my mother said. “One is buried in this church and the other is getting married to Roberto Bianco here today.”

At the mention of my sister, Sara, I broke out in another round of goosebumps. The memory of Sara was always present in our lives, but today was different. Today she was a ghost haunting my wedding day.

“I would never forget Sara,” Aurora said, glaring at my mother. “Never.” The sisters faced each other for a moment, saying nothing.

“All right, let’s walk,” Leo said, standing up to break the tension. He slipped his arm through mine. I took a deep breath and tried to ignore the feeling that my dress had gotten even smaller in the last two minutes.

A series of hooked buttons were essentially sewn up the back. I was a little afraid Roberto would need to cut me out of this dress on our wedding night.

Leo opened the side door that led to the church. Just over the gate and across the campo, sunlight glinted on the sign of my family’s restaurant, Andiamo.

On the other side of the fountain, I could see into the ballroom on the second floor of my family’s hotel, the Mia Sorella. Servers in white coats were doing final preparation for the reception and dancing.

“I’m scared,” I whispered to Leo, leaning into his arm.

“Are you scared of the people in the church?” Leo asked, his voice low.

“I don’t know,” I said, softly. We were only a few steps behind my mother and Aunt.

“Just breathe,” Leo said. He leaned down as he spoke. “Remember our code word.”

“Fuck all this?”

“Yes, ‘fuck all this’ and we run away together.”

“Will David mind?” I managed a smile.

“No, he’d get over it. He loves you, and besides, if things fall apart with David and me, you can be my wing woman and we’ll spend our days lazing about the Mediterranean, making love to the most beautiful men in the world.”

“That sounds a little too amazing to me right now.”

“I know, right?” Leo paused. “I have great ideas.” He held open one of the double doors to the church and we stepped into the vestibule.

My family had all gathered for the procession around the baptismal fountain. The family crypt was just in front of it. I took a breath, noticing no goosebumps. Perhaps my feeling of dread was gone.

“Thank you, Leo,” my mother said, taking my hand she looked up at me. She was only five-foot-one, and with my heels, I towered over her at five-foot-five.

“Your veil, Bella.” She sighed, lifting a layer of white tule and pulling it over my head so it covered my face.

“Thank you, mama.”

“Remember,” she said, “marriage is not always an easy path. It’s a commitment. The vows you make will bind you together, body and soul.”

Leo glanced back his eyebrows raised as he overheard my mother’s less-than-inspirational walk-up speech.

“Thank you, Mama,” I said, wishing I could tell my mother the truth. Surrounded by all this beauty, and dizzy with fear, every breath filled my lungs only half-way.

“Now, go become a wife,” she said, patting my hand.

The church bells rang, marking the hour, and the quartet began to play Luna Mezzo al Mare, signaling the family to enter. Leo blew me a kiss and held out his arm for my mother. They walked down the aisle.

Roberto was already at the altar. Auntie Aurora and Uncle Lorenzo went next, their steps timed to the notes of the music.

My father moved beside me and held out his arm. Tall and lean, with cropped silver hair, he was the physical opposite of me and my mother. “Isabella, I am so proud of you,” he said, leaning down, his voice in my ear. “This is a wonderful match, wonderful for our family.”

“Yes, Papa,” I said. The music stopped. My heart beat so strongly in my chest, I feared everyone in the church could hear it. I was becoming a wife for the family, for the business.

The quartet played the Bridal Chorus, the doors opened, and we walked. On unsteady legs, I crossed the black-and-white tiles in my heels, all eyes on me.

I was grateful a veil covered my face. It made the procession easier. With my eyes focused on the cross above the altar, I didn’t make eye contact with anyone in the church. The aisle looked impossibly long.

As the music ended, my father and I reached the steps to the altar. To my right stood Roberto. To my left, my father, and Leo.

“Who gives this woman away today?” Father Dominic asked.

“Her mother and I do,” my father said.

The priest nodded at me, and my father took my hands and placed them in Roberto’s.

Through my veil, Roberto looked softer, his features muted by a web of white tulle. Still, I recognized the angular cut of his cheekbones, his strong jaw, and bright green eyes.

Roberto was tall and muscular. He wore his salt-and-pepper hair cropped short. He was only thirty-seven, but there was more salt than pepper.

Today, Roberto was clean shaven, which made him look boyish and unfamiliar. I focused on his eyes, hoping they would ground me. These were the eyes that charmed me during our first date, a day trip to Pisa. These were the eyes that asked me to be his wife as we sat across a candlelit table at Andiamo.

Roberto leaned toward me and smiled. “We are a perfect match, Bella,” he whispered. “Today our love will right a wrong.”

Right a wrong? What was he talking about? The same wave of dread from rehearsal settled in my belly. My thoughts spun in circles, questions with no answers filling my head.

Why didn’t Roberto say he loved me? Why didn’t he say he needed me, that he couldn’t imagine life without me?

I stood perfectly still, my face hidden by my veil, my mouth opening and closing like a fish. What was wrong with the air in this church? I couldn’t breathe.

“Ladies and gentleman, we are gathered here today to witness the union of Isabella Carmen Uzano and Roberto Tomas Bianco. These two people…”

As Father Dominic droned on, I held Roberto’s hand, feeling dizzier with every passing moment. The wedding ceremony was in progress, and I couldn’t hear the words anymore.

There was a humming in my ears and a spinning feeling in my belly that made me feel unsteady on my feet. I can’t do this, my mind whispered, until I realized I was saying the words out loud.

Leo was the first to hear me, his voice like a finger snapping me out of a trance. “Bella?”

“I can’t,” I said.

“Bella?” Roberto said, his face strained by a smile. He squeezed my hand tighter, his eyes darting between me and the congregation. “Bella, I’m right here.”

I dropped his hand and lifted up my veil. There was a collective gasp from the guests. I spun around to face the pews of the packed church. In the front row, my mother stood on her feet, her face pale, my Auntie Aurora frozen beside her.

“I can’t do this,” I stuttered as my inside voice aligned with my outside voice. I was in my family’s church, standing on the altar, and everyone I knew in the world was watching me.

I took a step forward, stumbling on the stair. The congregation cried out in shock as I caught myself and stepped out of one of my ivory heels like Cinderella.

I picked up the shoe and took another awkward step back. In one hand I held my bridal shoe, the other gripping the heavy skirt of my wedding dress. I looked back at the altar one last time to see Roberto’s green eyes wide with shock.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

I ran from the church and I never looked back.