CHAPTER EIGHT
T HINGS MOVED VERY quickly after Lark had agreed to be his wife. Cesare Donati was a man who apparently didn’t let any grass grow under his feet.
He gave her some time to collect her and Maya’s most important items from her flat, and to hand in her notice to Mr Ravenswood, then a week or so later, Lark found herself on a jet back to Italy.
Mr Ravenswood hadn’t been too happy to lose her, though he’d been even more unhappy at losing the antiques since Cesare was now not going to sell them. However, he was mollified by Cesare promising to use his connections when it came to sourcing other items, and soon gave Lark a glowing reference.
Cesare had also organised for his staff to pack up her flat and clean it, which was a relief since she didn’t relish having to do it herself.
As far as the whole marriage thing went, Cesare had asked her what she preferred in terms of a ceremony since he didn’t much care, though he did warn her that since he was quite a public figure, media interest would be high. But she didn’t want to make a big deal of it since it wasn’t as if theirs was a love match and told him so.
He didn’t waste any time with that either and as soon as they’d landed, Emily was sent to the palazzo with Maya, while Lark found herself having an impromptu wedding ceremony in a tiny chapel near the airport.
Afterwards, she sat in the limo staring at the rose-gold ring on her finger as she and Cesare drove to the palazzo. Somehow he’d found the time to get her the most beautiful ring. It was inset with tiny emeralds and was actually very beautiful.
She could hardly believe it. She was Signora Donati now and Maya had a little family. Perhaps she should have felt afraid or even had a hint of foreboding, but she didn’t.
This had been the right thing to do, she knew it.
Of course, what life would be like now she was Cesare’s wife was another story, as was what kind of marriage they’d have once they were settled.
He’d been true to his word and had had another agreement drawn up, and this time he’d had a third party look over it for her. There had been nothing in it to cause alarm. He hadn’t even bothered with a prenup about his wealth in the event of a divorce. There had only been mention of custody arrangements for Maya and a certain amount of money for her upkeep too.
Lark had signed the agreement without protest, though she still felt a degree of uncertainty.
She couldn’t stop thinking about the day he’d asked her to be his wife, and how he’d knelt before her chair, his hands stroking her, telling her that she was strong and beautiful, and that she’d been an excellent mother for Maya. And that she wasn’t alone any more.
The sincerity with which he’d said it, so totally unexpected, had made her heart clench tight in her chest and unexpected tears rise. She had no idea how he’d known about the doubts she’d buried so far down she’d forgotten they were there. Doubts about the kind of mother she was, and whether she’d made the right choice in bringing Maya up by herself. They were always there, those doubts, and somehow Cesare had seen them, had brought them to the light, and then had looked into her eyes and told her that yes, she’d made the right choice. That he was glad she had, and that Maya was happy and healthy and that was the important thing. That she’d done a good job and he appreciated it.
He appreciated her.
Then he’d given her the most intense pleasure, taking her quickly and skilfully apart with the touch of his mouth and hands. He’d told her she was beautiful and brave and then he made her feel both of those things. He’d told her she wasn’t alone and for the first time in her life, she actually felt it. Even as a child, loneliness had stalked her, because although she’d had her mother, it had never seemed as if Grace was really there. She was either in the depths of a depression, or staring off in the distance, turning that ring on her finger, gone somewhere in her thoughts that Lark couldn’t follow. Her mother’s attention had seemed a fleeting thing. There and then gone again in the blink of an eye, even though she was physically present.
But Cesare had knelt at her feet and looked at her, seeing her. Focusing all his intense attention on her, and she’d felt the weight of that attention settle on her. It wasn’t heavy though, only deeply reassuring on a level she couldn’t describe.
He meant it though, she’d seen it. Every word he’d said to her that day, he’d meant.
And now he was her husband; she didn’t have any desire to go searching for a lover. She’d half thought, before he’d got down on his knees and made her feel so unbelievably good, that perhaps she wouldn’t mind being celibate, since it had never bothered her before.
But he’d shown her the error of that particular piece of thinking, and in addition to reassuring her doubts, he’d somehow awakened the passion inside her, until she hadn’t been able to think of anything else but him. Of what it would be like to be in a bed, naked, with him. Of how good it would be and how starved she’d been for physical touch.
As they pulled up to the palazzo, her new home, Lark made a decision. They hadn’t discussed what kind of marriage they were going to have in the days leading up to it, such as whether they’d share a room and sleep together every night, or whether she’d have her own.
But she knew what she wanted. Sharing a room, sharing a bed.
He might not like that, but she was going to ask for it nonetheless.
Cesare got out of the limo, opened the door for her. ‘Emily will be looking after Maya all afternoon,’ he said as she stepped out onto the gravel, the blue of his eyes burning fiercely. ‘I organised specially so you and I could have a wedding night.’
Emily had been looking after Maya on and off over the past few weeks, and Cesare had employed her to come to Italy with them since he wanted Maya to have someone familiar looking after her when her parents weren’t able to.
Lark could feel her own desire start to rise in response to his, yet he must have picked up on some of her uncertainty, because he frowned all of a sudden. ‘What is it?’ he asked. ‘Did you not want—’
‘No,’ she said quickly. ‘No, it’s not that. We just...haven’t discussed anything about this marriage, Cesare. I mean, how it will work and what it will look like.’
‘What is there to discuss? You’ll be living here with me and Maya, and I’m hoping you feel the same way I do about sharing a bed.’
She swallowed and looked him in the eye. ‘Every night? And it will be “our” bed, not just yours?’
‘Yes.’ He held her gaze. ‘You will have your own space, but it will be “our” bed and “our” room.’
The last shred of tension left her and she let out a breath. ‘Okay, so apart from the living arrangements and sex,’ she said, as staff bustled around, taking luggage out of the car and into the house. ‘I also don’t know anything about you and I’d like to.’
He shut the limo door then paused. ‘What do you want to know?’
‘I told you all about my childhood and my past. About my mother and growing up on the run. You know about me, but I don’t know anything about you. Unless you told me that night?’ She looked up at him, part of her hoping that it hadn’t only been her who’d opened her heart, that he too had reciprocated.
But slowly he shook his head. ‘No. My past, my family history is...dark. And I didn’t want to talk about it that night. You were so warm and open, and you needed someone to talk to. I didn’t want to make it about me or drag you down into a discussion about my family’s dramatics.’
The words sounded casual, but she heard it again, the slight edge. The edge that always carried in his voice whenever he spoke about his family.
It was something bad—she could see the shadows stealing through his gaze—and part of her wondered if now was a good time to talk about it, especially since they’d only just been married. Then again, maybe now was the perfect time, so she knew immediately what she and by extension Maya were getting into.
‘Well, I’d like to know,’ she said. ‘I mean, shouldn’t I know something about the man I married and the family I married into?’
‘You are looking at the entirety of the family you married into.’ His voice had gone curiously blank. ‘I’m the last heir. Or at least I was until Maya appeared.’
She’d heard about that. It was what the media called him. Perhaps she should have done some internet research on her own about him, but she’d been too busy the past week with moving and getting things organised.
‘Will you tell me about it?’ she asked.
His blue gaze had gone dark. ‘Are you sure you want to know? A quick internet search should tell you everything.’
‘Maybe. But I’d rather not get Maya’s family history from the internet. I’d prefer to hear it from her father.’
He was silent a moment. ‘Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.’ He held out a hand. ‘Come with me.’
She took it, his fingers threading through hers warm and strong, then followed him as he led her in through the palazzo’s ornate entrance and into the huge salon where she’d first met him only a couple of weeks earlier. He let go of her hand, stopping before the fireplace and glancing up at the portrait hanging above it, of the stern-looking man and the pretty woman with rose-gold hair.
‘Those are my parents,’ he said. ‘Giovanni and Bianca Donati. They married for love by all accounts, not that you’d know it in the end.’ He put his hands in his pockets, still staring up at the portrait. ‘I don’t remember a time when they weren’t fighting. My first memory was of them arguing about whether I should have a nanny or not. My father insisted that I should, while my mother insisted that I shouldn’t, that I had her. Mama was intense about her opinions, hated to conform, harboured grudges and never admitted she was wrong, while my father was proud and rigid and fanatical about traditions. Compromise wasn’t a word either of them understood. They spent an entire month arguing about it. Papa kept hiring nannies and Mama kept sending them away until she eventually got her way.’
Lark folded her arms, watching him.
‘Then came my schooling. Papa wanted me to go to the boarding school he attended, Mama refused to let me go. She wanted to teach me herself. They argued about that on and off for six months, until eventually Papa hired tutors for me at home. That wasn’t good enough for Mama and she continued to complain about it both to me and to Papa. She didn’t like it when I was given riding lessons at six either. She thought I was too young and she and Papa had a shouting match about it. Papa won that round too.’
A sense of foreboding crept through Lark. This was not going to end well she could feel it.
‘Papa had a business trip to London not long after that, and so my mother took me to America without telling him for a fun “holiday”. He found out and was furious that she hadn’t told him and that we went without security. She accused him of stifling me, he accused her of being lax and not putting my safety first, and so it continued. For some reason I became the thing they argued about almost constantly, and because they couldn’t let anything go, it escalated.
I fell off my horse one day—it wasn’t anything major—but Mama ordered my riding lessons to stop, and when Papa told her she was overreacting, it blew up into this huge screaming match. She demanded a divorce, but he refused, so she retaliated by waiting until he was on another business trip, then walking out and taking me with her.’ Cesare’s blue gaze came to hers and there was something in his blue eyes she didn’t recognise. ‘Donati staff found out and alerted Papa. He arrived at the airport in Rome just as we were about to go through security and he stopped us. Mama didn’t care that we were in a public place, she screamed at him and he shouted back, while I was pulled between them.’
Lark’s chest tightened. ‘How old were you?’
‘Eight.’
God. Eight and caught between shouting, screaming parents. She couldn’t imagine how awful that must have been for him.
‘Oh, Cesare,’ she said softly.
‘You think that’s bad?’ He smiled, but there was no amusement in it. ‘Just wait. It gets worse. Papa took me home and refused to let her see me, telling her that he was happy for her to leave, but she wasn’t taking me with her. Mama of course couldn’t let that go. She always hated it when Papa won. So she told him the only way she was leaving was with me, and stayed. She camped out in one wing of the palazzo, arguing with him constantly, insisting that I be allowed to see her, that he was cruel to keep a mother from her child, etcetera, etcetera.’ Cesare turned back to the portrait, his expression bitter. ‘Eventually she wore him down and he allowed her supervised visits with me, but that only enraged her more. She didn’t consider it a victory, telling me that he was a terrible father and didn’t I want to be with her? That she loved me more than he ever would.’
Cesare paused a moment and she could see the tension in his tall figure, could feel it thread through her too, a crawling, aching dread.
‘I was ten by then and one day she turned up for a scheduled visit after my riding class. We were going to have a picnic, she said, and somehow she managed to send the staff member who was supposed to be supervising us away. I hadn’t seen her for about two weeks and I was...reluctant to go with her. She could never leave the subject of her grudge with Papa alone, and I always felt as if it was my fault somehow, especially since all they fought about was me. Anyway, that day she was...happy and seemed excited to see me, so I went on her picnic. We had it beside the river and there was delicious food. She poured me an orange juice from a thermos and gave it to me. Told me to drink the whole thing.’
His voice had become colder and Lark felt herself get colder too, the dread tightening.
‘I started feeling dizzy and sick, and very sleepy, so I lay down, and she stroked my hair telling me that soon we’d be together and free of him. My last memory before I blacked out is of my father suddenly arriving and shouting, and her screaming back, and when I woke up, I was in hospital.’
Lark caught her breath in shock. ‘What happened?’
Cesare glanced at her once again. ‘Mama wanted to punish Papa once and for all and had poisoned the orange juice. Apparently she’d planned to poison me then herself. But the staff member she’d sent away went straight to Papa and he found us before she could drink the rest of the juice. He’d brought a gun and when he found out what she’d done, he shot her. Then he shot himself.’
Lark stared at him, horrified. She’d thought her childhood had been pretty bad, but that was nothing in comparison with his. That his own mother had tried to kill him and herself... Then his father shooting her...
‘Cesare,’ she began faintly yet again, only to stop, because she couldn’t think of a word to say.
‘Yes,’ he said, the word full of bitterness. ‘What kind of response can you to make to that? It’s almost farcical in its dramatics, don’t you think? But then that’s the Donati family way. Our history is full people shooting, stabbing or poisoning people we don’t like. It’s a history of self-involvement. Of selfishness. Of putting our feelings ahead of anyone else’s including our children’s.’ He gave a laugh that was utterly cold and cynical sounding. ‘It wasn’t exactly the world’s most loving environment as you can imagine.’
Lark’s mouth was dry, her chest tight. She felt almost crushed by the weight of a terrible sympathy for him, for a little boy caught between two self-involved individuals who’d cared more about their grudges than for their son.
At least her mother had cared. She’d escaped her marriage because she’d wanted to keep Lark safe.
Sure, but let her fear and paranoia make things difficult for you. You weren’t allowed any bad feelings either, because it upset her.
Lark shoved the thought aside. That might be true, but if it hadn’t been for Lark then her mother would never have had to run at all; she was not forgetting that.
Anyway, this wasn’t about her. This was about Cesare.
She wanted to cross the room to where he stood and put her arms around him, give him some kind of comfort because it was the only thing she could think of to do.
It was a horrible story, a terrible one, and no child should ever have to experience their own parent trying to harm them the way he had. No child should ever have to think that it was their fault either, and from what he said, it was clear that part of him still blamed himself.
She took a step towards him, but he’d turned back to the painting, going over to the fireplace and putting his hands on the mantelpiece, staring up at the portrait. And there was something about his posture now, a subtle change in tension that kept her frozen where she was.
He didn’t seem bitter now. He seemed furious.
‘Anyway,’ he went on. ‘For years I ignored what they did to me. My aunt cared for me until I reached my majority, but she wasn’t exactly a loving caregiver either. She died two years ago and it was then that I decided I was done with the Donati legacy. That I was going to burn it to the ground, break it up, sell everything and donate the proceeds to charity.’
Yet more shock echoed through her. ‘What? All of it?’
‘Yes.’ He pushed himself away from the mantelpiece and turned to face her. ‘Don’t mistake me, little bird. I’m as selfish and self-serving as my parents. I tried to be good for them, to be the perfect son for them. I listened to my mother’s complaints and I obeyed my father’s every directive. I thought that if I was only good and obedient enough they’d finally stop arguing about me. But nothing I did made any difference, and for a long time I blamed myself for their deaths. They hadn’t made a will, because they couldn’t agree on the terms, at least that’s what my aunt told me before she died, and that’s when I realised the truth.
‘Nothing I did made any difference to them, because they didn’t care about me. Their arguments and grudges and petty slights were more important to them than providing for their child. So why should I care about them? Why should I blame myself for something that wasn’t my fault? They were gone, but I still had their toxic legacy to look after and that’s when I decided I was done looking after it.’
She didn’t have an answer to that, mainly because she could understand why he felt that way. Who wouldn’t? After they’d been treated the way he’d been treated?
‘But you changed your mind about that, didn’t you?’ she asked.
‘I did,’ he agreed. ‘I changed it the minute I saw Maya’s picture on your phone and I knew she was mine.’ His blue gaze gleamed suddenly. ‘I decided she would be my new start. My new beginning. A chance to create a different Donati legacy, a better legacy. She’s untouched by my history, by what my parents did to me, and I want her to stay untouched by it. I want her to grow up knowing what happiness is like, to put something better out in the world that isn’t just selfishness.’ He paused a moment. ‘I want her to grow up to be a better person than I am, a better Donati.’
The tightness in Lark’s chest wouldn’t ease. He saw himself in such a negative light, didn’t he? He called himself selfish, thought he wasn’t a good person, though she didn’t understand why. Then again, he’d grown up in the middle of a cold war, where the people who were supposed to protect him had been more interested in hurting each other. And they’d argued over him as if he was the problem, and he’d felt that way too. And she suspected that no matter what he’d told her about deciding he was done with blaming himself, a part of him still did. Why else would he keep seeing himself as selfish when everything he’d done so far was the opposite?
Well, however he felt, while she hated that he’d been forced into that position, she admired his resolution. Sometimes when she’d been younger, she’d often used to wonder what it would be like to just be allowed to be angry. To shout if you wanted to, cry if you wanted to. Not be told that your smile was the best thing about you and how great it was that you were always happy. How your positivity made the world a better place.
Then how your one bad mood could cause a depression spiral that ended with your mother not leaving her bed for days.
What would have happened if she’d been a little bit selfish herself?
But there was no point in thinking that. Her mother was gone and those kinds of thoughts were disloyal. She’d been in a terrible situation and she’d done her best with Lark, so who was Lark to criticise?
‘You’re not a bad person, Cesare,’ Lark said. ‘Why demonise yourself? It was your parents who had the behavioural issues, not you.’
‘I’m not demonising myself. I’m only accepting who I am. No one wins in a situation like that one and certainly not the child caught in the middle of it.’
‘You’re not selfish, though. Why would you think that?’
He lifted a shoulder. ‘Because I want what I want when I want it. I wanted revenge for what my parents did to me, so I put it in motion. And then when I realised I had a child, I wanted to make sure she was the new legacy I put out in the world. It’s not about her, Lark. It’s about me and what I want. Don’t ever forget that.’
But there was something in that statement that just didn’t ring true, especially not after seeing him with Maya. And not after he’d knelt at her feet, the look on his face nothing but sincere as he told her she wasn’t alone.
‘You do care about her, though,’ she said. ‘You wanted me to come with her because she needed her mother and her happiness was important to you. And what you said to me—’
‘It’s the legacy, Lark,’ he corrected her gently. ‘That’s all I care about. Creating a new and improved dynasty, that’s all. Now.’ The flame in his eyes leapt. ‘I’m tired of talking about this. Why don’t we get to our wedding night?’
There wasn’t much distance between them and yet he felt suddenly as if any distance at all was far too much.
Nothing about his recitation of his terrible childhood should have been difficult, because it had been a very long time since he’d woken up in that hospital bed and his aunt had told him the truth about what happened.
Yet...he’d found himself tensing as he’d told Lark about it. Found that the fury he’d thought he’d buried, the fury that had consumed him as a teenager and that had no outlet because the people he was furious at were gone, was back. It simmered like a field of burning magma just under the earth’s crust, scalding, melting anything in its path.
He’d hated that anger. It reminded him of his parents, of his mother’s shrill rage and his father’s outraged roaring. Of standing in that airport as the two of them had yanked him back and forth, fighting over him as if he was a bone between two dogs. Of the feverish brightness in his mother’s bright eyes as she’d poured him that orange juice, and the satisfaction in his father’s expression as he’d told Cesare that he was forbidding Bianca to see him.
No one could understand what had happened in their marriage to make the two of them hate each other like that. Cesare had read all about it in the media, the articles and the think pieces, the theories on why, but he knew, because he felt it himself.
The why was in the ferocity of his anger, an anger that had come from love.
Love was the issue. Love was the problem.
He’d loved his parents, yet they’d continually made him feel as if he was failing one or the other of them, and so that love had turned to rage. He hated them now and that hate was the same hate they’d turned on each other, which was why he had to be careful.
Anger could turn into toxicity so quickly, and he himself might have been consumed back when he was younger, if he hadn’t funnelled it into determination. A determination to not let his parents ruin his life. To not be scarred by it or harmed by it. To come out of it unmarked and strong and successful.
So that’s what he’d done. Yet his anger was still with him, still bubbling away under the surface. He’d thought he’d managed to get rid of it, but clearly he hadn’t, which meant he’d made a mistake somewhere along the line.
He’d let himself care; that was the issue. He’d let himself care about Lark, about what she thought of him, and now he was angry that he cared. So he’d thrown his own selfishness back in her face so she knew what kind of man he was. Yet she hadn’t flinched from him. She’d only looked at him levelly and told him not to demonise himself, that he wasn’t selfish and why would he think he was?
He didn’t like that and he didn’t like the way she was staring at him now, with an expression of sympathy and understanding. Looking at him as if he was still that hurt little boy all those years ago.
‘Don’t look at me like that,’ he said abruptly. ‘I don’t need your pity. It was years ago. I am done with it now and I am done with them.’
‘It’s not pity.’ Her voice was quiet. ‘I’m sad and horrified for you, Cesare, and I’m sorry you had that happen to you. No child should be treated that way. To be fought over like a...a possession. And then to make you feel as if you were to blame—’
‘I don’t feel that way,’ he interrupted harshly. ‘Not any more.’
She didn’t even blink. ‘Don’t you? You’re certainly still angry with them.’
‘Perhaps,’ he forced out, not wanting to admit it, yet not being able to deny it either. ‘But having you and Maya here will be a new beginning. A way to leave this particular piece of the past behind.’
Lark nodded slowly, studying him for a long moment, making discomfort twist inside him. He didn’t like the way she looked at him, as if she could see right through him, through every lie he’d told himself since his parents’ death, even the lie that he was done with both it and them.
Then she said, ‘You have every right to be angry with them, Cesare. They were terrible parents and they should have done better.’
It was such a simple statement and trite in its way. Yet he felt something twist inside him, though he wasn’t sure what it was. He didn’t want to examine it, though. Neither did he want a conversation about his own motivations and thoughts with Lark.
‘Yes,’ he agreed, keeping his voice very neutral. ‘They should. But now you know my history and Maya’s.’ He took a step towards her, taking his hands from his pockets. ‘Come upstairs with me. I want you naked.’
She didn’t move, her gaze level. Today she wore a plain blue linen dress that caught the blue hints in her green eyes and her golden hair was loose and curling over her shoulders. It wasn’t a white wedding dress, but she didn’t need a white dress to look feminine and delicate, like a princess. A princess he wanted to ravish completely.
His wife now.
If you’d really wanted to create a different legacy you should have had a different beginning. You should have married her properly. Given her a beautiful dress and a wonderful ceremony, then taken her on a honeymoon that she’d remember for ever.
Perhaps he should, but it was too late now. It was done. He’d been impatient to get his ring on her finger and now she was his wife.
The primal, possessive part of him, the part that he never let out from its cage, growled like a beast. He wanted her in his bed and now, and what he wanted he got.
He’d told her he was selfish and what he wanted was all that mattered.
He stalked towards her, closing the distance, loving the way she gave a little gasp as he reached out and gripped her by the hips, pulling her hard up against him. She was all soft and warm against the hard length of his sex, and he was starting to think that maybe he’d just have her here, on the sofa. Or perhaps he’d bend her over it. Either way would suit him nicely.
Lark lifted her hands and put them on his chest, not pushing him, but certainly holding him at bay.
‘Wait,’ she said breathlessly. ‘I need us to discuss a few things first.’
‘Things?’ He slid his hands over her rear, fitting the soft heat between her thighs over his aching groin, impatience gripping him. ‘What things?’
Lark’s hands remained firm on his chest. Her face was delightfully flushed, but the expression in her eyes was all determination. ‘I told you, Cesare. Our marriage.’
‘You wanted my history so I gave it.’ He flexed his hips against her, watching with satisfaction as her gaze darkened, arousal glowing hot beneath her determination. ‘What else do you need?’
She took a sharp breath. ‘It’s not just that, and it’s not just being in your bed and living together. It’s about how we treat each other. That will have an effect on Maya—you can’t deny that. We’re both living examples of it after all.’
She’s right. She has thought about this. Have you?
No, if he was honest with himself, he hadn’t. All he’d thought about was making her and Maya his and then having Lark in his bed. That was the extent of it. And he was finding it difficult to think about it now, because her warmth and vanilla scent was driving him crazy.
Still, she had a point, they did need to talk about it. ‘We can discuss later, surely?’ he asked, his voice now slightly roughed with desire.
‘I don’t want us to start this marriage off in a way that might end badly for all of us.’ There was doubt in her eyes beneath the determination and the arousal, and that doubt caught at him. He didn’t like it. He didn’t want her doubting this new life. He wanted her feeling safe and secure and happy.
So he forced his desire aside for a moment and met her gaze. ‘I don’t either,’ he said, letting her see the conviction in his eyes. ‘So know that I will always treat you with the utmost respect. Any issues or disagreements we have, we discuss privately and do everything we can to find a compromise if we can’t agree. Aside from that, you and I will share a bed every night, but during the day we can go our own ways. We will come together as a family when it’s required for Maya, and we will never, ever argue about her in front of her.’
Lark stared up at him silently for a long moment, searching his face. Then the doubt in her eyes began to fade. ‘We both want what’s best for her, don’t we?’
‘Yes,’ he agreed and meant it. ‘She comes first. Always.’
Lark’s hands relaxed, desire glowing bright in her eyes. Then her fingers curled in the material of his shirt and she tugged him close. ‘Good,’ she murmured. ‘I like the sound of that.’
Then she went up on her toes and pressed her mouth to his.