Chapter Thirteen
Rafael
Getting deliveries on Christmas Day is difficult, but nothing is too much trouble when you have money and today I spend mine like water.
After another few incredible hours in bed, I leave Olympia sleeping.
I can’t lie there when there’s work to be done and certainly not after that conversation.
I’m strangely energised at the thought of preparing things for her, especially when it comes to making things legal between us.
I want that to happen as soon as possible, especially with her brother knowing where she is.
He might decide to come after her immediately, regardless of how she told him not to, and if so, I want us to be married before he arrives.
Again, getting a priest and a witness is difficult on Christmas Day, but I have favours I can call in—Sicily is a small place in many ways and plenty of people owe me.
Tomorrow will be the day we tie the knot.
It takes only a couple of hours to organise the things that I need for the marriage to take place, then I go into my office at the back of the house, grab a blank sheet of paper and a pencil and sit at my desk to start sketching the bare bones of the little studio she wants.
It’s been a long time since I’ve done any drawing.
I used to when I was a boy, finding a simple pleasure in sketching.
I like the tactile feel of a pencil and paper rather than a tablet, and buildings are a favourite of mine to draw.
Before my father died, I wanted to be an architect, but he didn’t approve.
He wanted me to work in the family business and all I wanted was to make him happy, make him proud, so I did what I was told.
Afterwards…well, there was no time for drawing.
I had to earn money and fast, and being an enforcer for one of the local Cosa Nostra families was the only way to do it.
Now, though, it feels good to hold a pencil in my hand.
To draw straight, bold lines across a crisp, clean sheet of paper, and curved lines too, because my dragonfly is not only bold, but she has curves and arcs too.
Her little studio needs to encapsulate the iron of her spirit, yet not only the iron.
There’s a softness to her, too, an essential femininity that makes my breath catch and sends all the blood to my groin, and that needs to be there as well.
I lose myself in the pleasure of sketching and I’m not sure how long I sit there, but suddenly there’s a touch on my shoulder and a soft, sweet scent, the brush of silky hair over my arm, and I realise that Olympia has come up behind me and is leaning over me, staring at the sketch.
I have a strange urge to cover the drawing, to hide it from her until I’m ready for her to see it, because it’s not done. But I resist the urge. It’s childish and, besides, does it matter what she thinks? I can always change it anyway.
‘What’s this?’ she asks, her voice close to my ear.
Even after the hours spent in bed, her physical presence distracts me, so it takes me a minute to answer. ‘Your studio,’ I say. ‘I had an idea for it so I thought I’d do a quick sketch to see what you think.’
I push my chair to the side to give her room, glancing at her face as she leans down to get a closer look.
She must have gone through one of my drawers because she’s wearing one of my T-shirts and seeing her in it makes me suddenly ravenous.
Before I can think, I reach for her, pulling her down into my lap, her warmth and gentle weight soothing for reasons I can’t explain.
She doesn’t resist, settling back against me as if she’s been sitting in my lap for years and it’s as natural for her as breathing.
‘This is wonderful, Rafael,’ she murmurs, staring at my sketch.
There’s wonder in her voice and I can’t stop the boyish pride that rushes through me. ‘You can really draw.’
I don’t want to give away how much her pleasure means to me, so all I say is, ‘I used to when I was a child.’
It comes out much gruffer than I intended and she turns her head, glancing up at me. ‘You don’t any more?’
‘No. I’m a CEO. Not much time for drawing when you’re managing a huge company.’
‘Well, it’s amazing.’ She glances back at the drawing. ‘I love all the windows and the little porch out the front.’ She touches the roofline where I’ve drawn in some skylights. ‘Will it face the sea?’
‘Yes. There’s a place on the edge of the cliff overlooking the ocean where this would be perfect.
’ I pause, looking at her face. She’s still staring at the sketch, but all I can see are the elegant lines of her cheekbone and nose, the soft curves of her lips.
My chest tightens for reasons I can’t explain.
‘If the sea reminds you too much of Athens, we can build it somewhere else.’
‘No,’ she says, still looking at the building I’ve drawn for her. ‘No, this is absolutely perfect.’
I shouldn’t care what she thinks of this sketch. It shouldn’t matter at all, yet I’m savagely pleased with the wonder in her voice. With the way she’s tracing the lines of the drawing as if she’s never seen such an amazing thing in all her life.
Perfect, she said. It’s perfect.
She’s perfect.
I slide my arms around her, holding her close. ‘Is this what you’d like me to build for you?’
‘Yes,’ she says emphatically and then twists around to look at me. Her golden eyes are glowing, her cheeks pink with pleasure. ‘This is exactly what I want, Rafael. The sea and the light…it’s perfect. How did you know?’
‘You said you wanted to make jewellery, which means you need light. And again, the sea means something to you, I think. I also thought you’d like it to be set away from the main house so you could feel as if you’re really in your own space.’
‘Yes.’ Her mouth curves in the most beautiful smile. ‘Yes, it’s all exactly right.’ She turns back to look at the sketch again. ‘Your drawing is so good. You should do more of it.’
‘I used to love drawing buildings,’ I say, not sure why I’m even telling her this and yet unable to stop. ‘I had a sketchbook I used to carry around with me. I actually wanted to be an architect.’
‘Oh, did you?’ This time, she leans back in my arms, her head resting on my shoulder, looking up at me again. ‘You didn’t pursue it?’
‘No. My father wanted me to work in the family business and I wanted to please him, so that’s what I did. And then…’ I stop.
‘And then Ulysses took your family’s business,’ she continues for me, her gaze enigmatic. ‘What about after that?’
I don’t want to get into this, but it’s not as if I haven’t told her. ‘You know what happened after that. I already said. I worked for the consiglieri of one of the Cosa Nostra families.’
She blinks. ‘So, the Mafia, then.’
‘Yes.’ I give her a thin smile. ‘I wasn’t much interested in architecture after that.’
‘Why not?’
The question discomforts me for reasons I can’t articulate. ‘Why draw when you can hire someone to draw for you?’ I say casually. ‘I have an entire department of architects now. I don’t need to do it myself.’
‘And yet you enjoyed drawing this. I know you did.’
She’s not wrong, but I don’t like her saying so. ‘Yes, I did. But why should my enjoyment matter?’
‘Because you’re uncomfortable with me pointing it out,’ she shoots back. ‘Why is that? Does it remind you of your family?’
‘Why do you care?’ I turn the question back on her.
‘I’m going to be your wife, Rafael,’ she says without hesitation. ‘Shouldn’t I care?’
She’s so close, her scent and warmth distracting me and making it difficult for me to think.
And I need to think. Especially if we’re going to be having this conversation.
‘No,’ I say and gently ease her from my lap.
‘You shouldn’t.’ I push back my chair and stand.
‘Don’t waste any emotion on me, dragonfly.
That’s one thing I won’t require of you. ’
She leans against the desk and frowns. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, you don’t have to care about me.’
‘But aren’t I supposed to care? In sickness and in health, I thought.’
‘That’s not the kind of marriage we’ll be having,’ I say, my voice flat. ‘Certainly it will be physical and obviously there will be respect between us, but nothing more.’
Her frown deepens. ‘I know we’re not in love right now,’ she says with such blunt honesty that I’m taken aback. ‘I mean, we barely know each other. But surely after some time has passed and we—’
‘No.’ I can’t help myself interrupting. ‘There will be nothing more between us, Olympia. I can’t do love. I won’t, understand?’
Something in her gaze flickers. ‘Why not?’
I can’t tell if there’s a deeper meaning in her question, but I can’t lie to her. I can give her only the truth. ‘Because love is not something I’m prepared to give anyone.’
Her expression doesn’t change. ‘That doesn’t answer my question.’
‘Love didn’t save my father,’ I say, unable to stop the bitterness from leaking into my voice. ‘I loved him very much, but in the end it didn’t mean anything to him. I know it didn’t, because if it did, he wouldn’t have taken his own life.’
Again, something flickers across her face, and I have a horrible feeling it’s sympathy. ‘Rafael…’ she murmurs.
But I don’t need sympathy from her. I don’t need it from anyone. What happened to my father was years ago and I’ve long since got past it.
‘I loved my father,’ I repeat, pressing my point home. ‘And all I wanted was to make him proud. But that wasn’t enough to save him and it only ended up devastating me, so I’m not doing that again. Not ever.’
Her eyes darken. ‘What about our child? Surely, you’ll love them?’
There’s an odd tension in me and I’m not sure why.
Possibly it’s because discussing this is forcing me to revisit memories I never wanted to revisit, making me re-examine choices I’ve already made.
Since my parents died, love has never been part of my life and I’ve never wanted it to be.
I haven’t had any reason to regret that decision and I don’t regret it now.
But she’s forcing me to look at that choice again, and I can’t brush it off, not when it’s about our baby.
‘Yes,’ I say carefully. ‘I will love our child. But to be very clear, that’s not something I have a choice about.’
She stares at me silently for a long moment. ‘So…loving someone else is a choice?’
‘Yes.’ I hold her gaze. ‘And if that’s something you want our marriage to have then you’re going to be disappointed.’
‘What about me? Don’t I get a say in that?’
I fold my arms. ‘You want love, dragonfly? Is that what you’re after?’
It’s not a question I want to ask, because I don’t know what I’ll do if she says she does. But just when the silence becomes too long, she lifts a shoulder and glances back down at the drawing. ‘No, of course not,’ she says. ‘I mean, I will at some point. But I don’t need it from you.’
Instantly the tension in me pulls tight. Because now all I can think about is who she would get it from and where. ‘You won’t get it from anyone while you’re married to me,’ I say through clenched teeth. ‘We’re staying faithful to each other, remember?’
Her pretty mouth hardens and I’m regretting that the warmth and closeness of five minutes before is already evaporating under the weight of this conversation. I don’t want her angry and I don’t want this tension between us. Not on Christmas Day, for God’s sake.
Making an effort to push aside my temper, I let out a breath, drop my arms and then hold out a hand. ‘Let’s not fight now, dragonfly. I have a few nice things prepared for this evening, and then tomorrow, we’ll marry.’
Surprise chases the golden sparks of temper from her eyes. ‘Tomorrow? Are you serious?’
‘Very,’ I confirm. ‘I’m an impatient man and the sooner we’re married, the better.’
‘Better for who?’ she asks, her gaze narrowing the way it often does when I say something she doesn’t like. ‘For you or me?’
‘For both of us.’ I still have my hand extended in her direction, waiting for her to take it. ‘You promised me, remember?’
For a second I think she won’t let me drop the subject, but then she sighs and reaches for my hand, her slender fingers threading through mine. ‘Yes, I suppose so. But I’m just warning you that the nice things you’ve prepared for tonight better be damn nice, otherwise there’ll be a riot.’