Chapter Eight
The evening of their dinner with Renzo’s friends snuck up on Mimi, leaving her staring blankly at the meager selection in her wardrobe.
She was never going to be as good as the elite set that Renzo called friends, but she didn’t want to embarrass herself or him by proxy.
Of course, she should have known that her very efficient husband would not only foresee her little problem but arrange a prompt solution.
Multiple outfits, along with sophisticated accessories and shoes, had been delivered right to their penthouse an hour before he’d informed her he would pick her up later that night.
Suddenly, she understood what an embarrassment of riches meant.
Silk A-line dresses with cashmere shawls in warm earth colors greeted her eyes. Her heart beat out a staccato rhythm as she realized he’d noted she didn’t wear too-bright, dazzling clothes.
His powers of observation and his perception, his ability to see her as she was…astounded and aroused her equally.
Bright colors and daring outfits had been Pia’s domain.
Since there had never been a chance that she could outshine her stepsister—nor did she want to declare a challenge that she was trying to—Mimi had always picked earthy, jewel tones.
Also, as a documentary maker, it helped to blend into the surroundings, to put her subjects at ease and to gain their confidence on hard subjects.
And now, staring at herself in the full-length mirror, Mimi amended the narrative in her head.
From the moment she’d understood Pia’s nature, those muted colors had felt safe. But now, it was what she preferred, she told herself.
She would always be the woman behind the camera, watching life wield its magic in the most mundane moments and recording it for posterity. It didn’t, however, mean that she played it safe or that she was afraid of standing out.
Grief struck her like sudden lightning flashing across the sky.
Would Pia have been more reasonable if Mimi had learned to assert herself early on in their relationship?
If she had refused to give in to her every whim so easily?
If she’d just believed in herself a little more and been stronger?
If her mom had taken her side and disciplined Pia’s extreme demands and tantrums?
Would Pia have been alive today?
Groaning, Mimi fell onto the bed, next to the neat piles of her new wardrobe.
Would these thoughts ever stop haunting her? Could she and Renzo ever make this work for each other with such guilt and grief hanging over them? Was that what she wanted for the future—Renzo as her partner, her lover, her husband for real?
Suddenly, she felt far too fragile to expose herself to Renzo’s friends and their scrutiny. In addition to his.
Then her gaze fell on the last outfit.
It was a single-breasted tuxedo-inspired pantsuit in a emerald green, crafted from a luxe crepe material. The jacket had a plunging neckline with satin lapels and a cinched waist. It looked like it had been made for her, in body type and color and fabric.
High-waisted slim trousers with a subtle flare to them immediately accentuated her long legs as she pulled them up over silk panties.
She tied the dramatic black silk sash belt at her waist and sighed.
The belt added a hint of femininity to her structured look, which was her exact preferred style.
Her usual bold red lipstick added a splash of color, and she finished with a slightly smoky eye.
Her long hair—her crowning glory—she left in its naturally glossy waves down her back.
Put together, she looked effortlessly glamorous, two words she would have never applied to herself. And all thanks to Renzo’s thoughtfulness. He can’t have you embarrassing him, whispered that sneaky, distrustful voice that had always urged her to back down with Pia.
With a shake of her head, Mimi shut it down. The last thing she’d ever wanted in life was to become this…negative person who never trusted good things happening to her. But clearly she had. And that wouldn’t do, not for her, and not for Luca.
Renzo had been more thoughtful and attentive than she’d ever imagined, and she wasn’t going to ruin it with old patterns of thinking.
It was time to move forward, away from the grief and guilt, time to embrace her own desires and wants.
The private launch glided smoothly through the Venetian lagoon, its polished mahogany hull gleaming under the moonlight.
Mimi sat on one of the cream leather seats, the buttery-soft material cool beneath her fingers. The interior was a masterclass in luxury, with brass accents on the handrails and a small built-in bar stocked with sparkling water and champagne.
Outside, the rhythmic hum of the engine was a soft counterpoint to the gentle lapping of water against the hull.
Lanterns strung along nearby buildings cast shimmering reflections on the water, creating a kaleidoscope of colors that danced around them as they passed.
But the magnificent beauty all around her paled in front of the man sitting across from her.
She should be used to Renzo’s sensual appeal, and yet her belly sloshed with fizzy tingles near him. Even if she could fight the attraction on a physical level, the fact that she was beginning to like him and admire him was another thing altogether.
Overdelivering on his promise, he had had her bodyguard, Enrico, escort her to the most interesting places in the city all week—off-the-wall places imbued with history and art. She couldn’t deny the gut feeling that he had chosen those places specifically with her in mind. That he knew her.
It was exactly what she’d needed to find her footing again, to spark her own creativity back to life.
She’d shot so much B-roll and had been editing and playing with it when he returned to the penthouse at night.
There had been no cuddling in the bed, and she had lost even that little contact with him.
For the last two nights, though, he hadn’t returned home at all, and she had eventually slipped into a restless slumber.
Now, with his long legs stretched out casually, his focus was anything but relaxed. From the moment he had seen her step out of the penthouse elevator, something had come over him. He hadn’t even paid her a compliment, and it pinched.
Pity she had never learned the art of decoding powerful, breathtakingly handsome men like Pia had.
But she wanted to understand this one desperately.
His dark eyes rested on her even now, intense and searching, making her feel more exposed than the low neckline of her jacket ever could.
“Is everything okay at work?” she said, her voice thankfully breezy. She’d had a lot of practice with burying her emotions under a calm facade, and yet she was sure it was becoming a barrier with Renzo that she didn’t want to keep up. “You didn’t come home for two nights.”
“Are you thinking of the penthouse as home now, bella?”
“That’s not an answer to my question.”
Renzo’s eyes narrowed slightly, but instead of replying, he looked out toward the horizon. The rhythmic hum of the engine filled the silence, accompanied by the faint scents of brine and of roses from the gardens lining the canal.
Mimi let the moment stretch, wary of pressing further but wanting to know.
He rubbed a long finger over his temple, his hesitation crystal clear. “Massimo got into trouble with some rival fraternity club at uni and ended up in jail.”
Her mouth fell open, and she snapped it shut. “Is he okay? Did you get him out?”
“Not the first night, no.”
“Oh.” She frowned, confused. “Pia used to go on about how powerful your family was. Which I now realize is mostly you. But you weren’t able to get him released?”
A half smile touched his lips but didn’t reach his eyes.
At least the reason behind his brooding was partly clear.
“Pia was right. I slogged to build up the DiCarlo name to what it used to be during my grandfather’s reign.
But Massimo, like my father, has gotten used to that privilege far too much.
From everything I learned, he was the one who started that fight after several warnings from the provost. Beating someone up as if he were a street thug…
” A vein pulsed in his temple. Exhaustion coated his words when he spoke again.
“He deserved to rot in jail for both nights and learn a lesson, but Mama’s tears were endless. I got him out after thirty-six hours.”
Mimi’s stood up suddenly, eager to touch him. She nearly toppled into him before he steadied her with his hands on her hips. “I’m sorry that you had to make such a hard decision,” she said, sitting by him. “But I’m sure it’s for his own good.”
“Such implicit trust, Mimi?” His lips quirked into a tight smile.
“Even my own family won’t afford me that.
Papa…” the one word dropped into the silence with all the weight of a thousand-pound anchor “…whipped them all into a frenzy about how harsh and ruthless I was growing. Apparently, all this power is going to my head. And Massimo should be forgiven however many mistakes he makes because he’s of the tender age of twenty-two. ”
Her heart ached for the sliver of hurt in those words. “I don’t care what they think. But I do trust you, Renzo. Luca’s fortunate to have a father like you. Santo would have loved him, but you will also teach him how to be a good man.”
He looked so stunned that she felt heat creeping into her cheeks.
“If I haven’t made that abundantly clear already, I’m sorry.
” She tapped his knuckles gently. “Our son is very lucky. As am I, at least temporarily.” She hated adding the last bit but forced herself to. It tasted like dust on her tongue.
He gave a curt nod and again, that tension rolled back in like a relentless cresting wave.
“Will you be gone for more nights?” she asked, trying and failing to not sound like a clingy wife.