Chapter 11
Millie
Ifrowned at the view out the window; my nose almost pressed against the thick glass as I focused on Alessio's family villa. I glanced curiously at my husband, but he simply answered with a gentle flex of his fingers in mine, his expression so hard to read behind his designer sunglasses.
The helicopter landed on the designated helipad, and relief washed over me when I finally unbuckled my belt.
I'd travelled in a helicopter many times, yet I always hated the experience. When Alessio chose to sit next to me on this ride, instead of his usual spot beside the pilot, I was surprised and grateful—especially when his large hand reached across to clasp mine. The trip didn’t seem so bad this time.
I turned to my husband once the noisy helicopter had flown away. My fingers were still entwined with his and had been since he'd helped me out of the helicopter.
"Where is everyone?"
The driveway was empty of cars, and I only saw one lone gardener flitting about the grounds when we came in to land.
Even though the only occupants were Cesare, Katherine, and Dante, they were never without company.
Someone was always popping over to visit, or Cesare was entertaining a dinner party.
The weeks leading up to Christmas were hectic, with family stopping by to stay for the festive season.
I hadn't been back to Sicily since last Christmas. We stayed for three days, and on one of those days, Alessio was in Rome while I stayed back. Now we would be staying here for a whole week. Together.
"My father, Katherine, and Dante are at his apartment in Rome, and Giada and her family are staying at my hotel."
"Why?"
His hand landed on the small of my back as he guided me to the double doors. I smiled and waved at Francesca, the family housekeeper, who was waiting to greet us.
"I thought we could have a second honeymoon," he explained, his voice low and intimate. “The first time we came here, I remember you were very happy.”
My breath stilled at his words, and a kaleidoscope of memories filtered through my mind. It was a simpler time back then. Of course, my initial recollection was the anger I felt at being forced to spend time with him when I'd wanted to stay in Keating.
But he wasn't wrong—I did end up happy. I fell in love with my husband on this island, and then swiftly had my heart broken by him in one fell swoop. Christ, that felt like a lifetime ago.
"You don't think I'm happy now?"
He paused by the large marble staircase, his expression unreadable. "Are you?"
I met his piercing stare and, for a moment, we simply gazed at each other. An array of words left unsaid, afraid to be uttered into reality, lingered between us.
His eyes held a rare vulnerability as he waited for a response, and I knew that later he would hate himself for exposing his weakness so openly.
His naked scrutiny finally became too much, and I glanced away, rubbing at a spot on my arm. "I'm content with my life."
His breath exhaled, slow and pained. I felt his warm palm land on the back of my neck before he threaded long fingers through the strands of my locks. A tingle of desire shuddered through me at the intimacy.
"As amazing as that sounds," he muttered sarcastically against my skin, "I do not want my wife to just be content."
I had nothing to say to that, and Alessio didn't wait for a response. With shaky legs, I followed him to our private wing that boasted our large bedroom, sitting room, and mini kitchen. I also had my own dressing room and bathroom.
The staff had already unpacked our bags, and I smiled at the pile of Christmas presents I'd shipped here ahead of us.
"You certainly went overboard this year." With an amused smile, Alessio lifted a box from the small pile.
"Careful, that's fragile," I warned gently, taking it out of his hands. "It's a one-of-a-kind glass figurine for your Aunt Chiara. She mentioned last year that she collects them."
A whisper of a kiss touched my hairline, and a hand of appreciation squeezed my hip before Alessio crossed over to our shared wardrobe.
My hand touched the spot his lips had just left. He was being confusingly affectionate lately. Usually, he reserved such open touches for our public outings—his possessiveness unable to let me go unclaimed to those who questioned our devotion.
"So, when do your family actually get here?"
"Tomorrow morning." His muffled voice came through the open door before he exited. He'd changed into black jeans and a white T-shirt, his muscles tensing as he fastened a gold watch around his wrist.
"We have dinner tonight on the terrace." His hands circled my waist, and I instinctively slid mine up his chest, feeling his muscles bunch under my palms. His eyes were hooded as he stared down at me with naked desire. "What would you like to do today?"
The question was innocent enough, yet from the way Alessio's eyes flashed, he knew where my mind had instantly gone. I swallowed and glanced away, stepping out of his arms. "Maybe a swim and a nap before dinner."
As it turned out, swimming was a bad idea. I'd forgotten just how utterly sexy my husband was, half naked. I'd seen him nude many times, of course, but usually in the throes of pleasure when I was often too caught up in making love to take the time to admire his chiselled frame.
He was also up early, showered, and out the door before I even woke up. So to see him now in his black swimming trunks that moulded to him like a second skin, and drips of water that clung to his abs, it was hard to pry my admiring eyes away.
I took a leisurely swim, dipping in and out of the heated water as I watched Alessio swim laps up and down the pool.
He always had to be doing something. He couldn't just laze in the water or bask in the shallow end like I did.
Or, God forbid, lie on top of an inflatable pool lounger.
My lips twitched at the image of Alessio's large frame lounging on a pink Lilo.
No, Alessio wasn't the type to partake in lazy activities. Even when we went skiing at my family's home in the Alps for two days, he skied black runs or off-piste. No average runs and day drinking in the mountain bar for him.
He was just so serious all the time. So stoic and unemotional.
The only time I'd seen him almost lose his cool was when he discovered me at The Glen with Archie. But even when he threatened Archie’s family, he'd done it with a quiet, stealthy constraint that didn't match the level of intimidation that was dished out to me.
And he never once followed up with me on a response, never demanded to know whether I had stopped seeing Archie.
He played on my tender heart and knew he would win.
After our swim, I retired for a nap and was stunned when Alessio joined me.
He often told me that afternoon naps were only something bored people did when they hadn't planned their day accordingly.
Not that I was complaining. The feel of his strong arms surrounding me as my eyes fluttered shut had me sighing in contentment.
"Sleep, tesoro," he murmured against my ear. "I will wake you when it's time to eat."
I murmured a thanks to Alessio as he held my chair out. My keen gaze surveyed the romantic set-up, and my heart lurched at the familiar scene. An intimate dinner table out on the terrace with a small vase of flowers and candles. An ice bucket with Dom Pérignon.
Déjà vu hit me hard, and I wondered whether this romantic dinner would end the same way as the last one we'd attempted.
Francesca appeared with water glasses and a small basket of breads, dips and oils. I chatted briefly with her, asking about her Christmas plans and how her daughter and grandkids were.
"Your Italian is getting better," Alessio observed as he poured me a glass of champagne.
"Yes, well, if I'd known in advance that I would marry a Sicilian, I'd have chosen Italian over French in school," I quipped.
A masculine laugh echoed around us, and my lips curved in response. He looked so much younger and carefree when he laughed. The rare moments he did, I would wrap them up and stow the precious memory away, ecstatic that I was the cause of my tightly wound husband's uninhibited reaction.
"How are your studies going?"
Our conversation had been flowing freely and wasn’t as awkward or stilted as the last time we attempted a romantic dinner.
We seemed to have reached an impasse in our relationship, and we proceeded to do what we did best—carry on as usual and presume everything was fine.
It was our thing. Whenever a bump in our marriage arose, we would flail for purchase in an attempt to navigate anything that threatened to rub our neatly smoothed shine.
Once the issue had been neutralised, we simply carried on.
"It's going well. It's hard, of course, but I'm learning a lot. I'm really enjoying my volunteer work," I shared as I cut into a tender piece of chicken. "Especially when they let me observe procedures."
His eyes crinkled as he sat back and watched me eat. "I'm glad to hear that." At my look of surprise, he flashed me a wry grin. "I know you do not think I care about your work and your studies, but I do. I'm very proud of you."
I stared down at my almost empty plate as I let his praise wash over me. I never knew how he truly felt about my studies. He'd seemed affronted at first that my attention would be split and then indifferent. I didn't think I needed it, but hearing his words of pride felt like the sun after a storm.
"Thank you," I murmured.
He inclined his head in acknowledgement before picking up his cutlery. For a while, the scrape of our knives and forks hitting our plates was the only sound that filled the still night air. Francesca popped in and out, ensuring our glasses were full and our dinner courses were up to par.
Once she cleared our mains, she quickly scurried away with the promise of dessert not too far behind.
I sighed tiredly as I leaned back in my chair. It had been an early start today, and travelling always knocked me out. Despite my earlier nap, I was ready to hit the hay again.
"Are you the only volunteer at the pet shelter?" Alessio suddenly asked. "Or is it a class placement thing?"
I slowly slid my hands out of my hair, where I had been in the process of gathering the locks to tie away. My stomach hollowed out at his words, and I could feel the blood drain from my face. "You…don't know?"
His brow raised in question, and I swallowed thickly.
"Archie volunteers with me."
His face stilled, his expression immobile as he watched me through eyes that had grown impossibly darker. For a breathless second, he simply stared blankly at me, his eyes still unreadable. Finally, he came out of his trance.
"I'll have him moved." He took a long sip of his water.
I let out an exasperated sigh. "You can't just throw your money at every problem."
The glass landed back on the table with a hard thud. "Is he still a problem?"
I lifted my chin. "What are you asking?"
His hand tightened around his water glass before his fingers flexed and loosened again. "Are you still sleeping with him?" His low voice held a dangerous lilt of warning.
"After your blackmail?" I bit out. "No."
Tense anger licked along the edges of our exchange. The next bump in our road was careening towards us when we'd barely cleared the last.
"What?" I asked, and his eyes fell away, his jaw pulsing with restraint.
"Does that mean without my…interference…you would still be with him?"
Now it was my turn for my eyes to flit away. I could answer that, but Alessio did not deserve the truth. Despite the desire to rid this barrier in our path, a part of me—the part that was still so bitter at his actions—wanted to pay him back in kind.
"Right."
I exhaled and refilled my water glass. "Don't move Archie," I gritted out. "He loves it there, and I can easily find another shelter to volunteer at."
A forlorn expression washed over his features before his mask of stoicism returned. "You care for him."
I shook my head. "He's brilliant and will make an excellent veterinary surgeon. But he doesn't deserve to be caught up in the games of bored, rich people."
His brow furrowed, and he pushed back in his seat. "Is that what you think this is?"
The sound of the patio doors closing broke the heaviness of our conversation, and I was thankful not to be put on the spot. Our plates were collected, and a dessert of Tiramisu, tea, and coffee was placed before us.
I slid my spoon through the layers of the decadent dessert before scooping a bite-size portion into my mouth. The rich flavours burst against my tongue, and I hummed my appreciation.
Alessio didn't touch his dessert right away, instead choosing to sip at his espresso. I could feel his thoughtful eyes watching me, could sense his mind ticking over as he scrutinised me for any sort of weakness in my cold armour.
"Have you thought more of my suggestion? That we close our marriage?"
My laugh was harsh and hollow. Was he having a laugh? His question was redundant, and I slid him a look of incredulous outrage at his boldness.
"Is it really a suggestion when you'll end up threatening any man I dare to take an interest in?"
Unperturbed, he simply lifted his small cup and tossed it back. I placed my spoon back on my plate. He'd successfully succeeded in ruining one of my favourite desserts.
When it was clear that he viewed my question as rhetorical, I lifted my chin at him over the rim of my teacup. "Will you give up your women?" I challenged.
"I already have. Annabelle was the last, and I only slept with her once."
I rolled my lips in and glanced away, fighting hard against the wave of bitterness that threatened to crowd me.
"I won't take another mistress," he breathed, regret etched in the deep timbre of his words. "Regardless of what you decide."
I glanced at him in surprise, and the vulnerability I spied there had me turning away in discomfort.
Was this another brief moment of reprieve?
Another inch in our marriage, he would bestow on me before he returned to forgetting I existed—except to scratch his carnal needs and be his escort to social functions?
My eyes dipped down, the turmoil in them hidden beneath my long lashes.
"I'll…I'll think about it," I finally said. It was all I could offer right now.