Chapter 6
In the morning, Dante paused outside Abby’s bedroom.
He leaned his head against the door, his hand clenched on the brass doorknob, fighting the impulse to enter.
But after a sleepless night, his willpower seemed to have deserted him.
He opened the door softly, and one look inside had his body instantly as taut as a high wire.
Abby had kicked the sheet off likely because of the high humidity.
It lay bunched at the end of the bed, exposing tantalizing skin.
His fingers itched for a touch. She was lying on her back, arms flung wide, and she had slept in a horrible T-shirt.
He made a mental note to get Rachele, his housekeeper, to destroy it.
His eyes swept over his sleeping wife. His pulse hitched and his mouth dried.
Wife. His. As reluctant as she was. The T-shirt had ridden up and lay bunched at her waist. The cool dawn light stealing between the shutters caught the blond curls at the top of her slender legs.
His mouth began to water. He could imagine selling his soul for a taste.
Go to her. Take her. She’s your wife. He took a tentative step into the room, then stopped.
A recollection of their past lovemaking flashed in his head, tormenting in its vivid detail.
She’d always been so responsive in bed. He bit his lower lip as the little devil on his shoulder urged him to take a little morning delight.
Besides, her grandmother was arriving this afternoon and Abby would want to be with her at the hospital for much of the next few days.
He would surely combust if he had to wait until she returned to sample the treats she displayed so blatantly. But he’d promised Abby he would wait.
As if on automatic pilot, he stole into the room silently.
Stop! his mind screamed. Think of the plan.
Think of your purpose. He stood still. His heart was pumping as though struggling through the last lap of his morning swim.
He couldn’t find his legendary control to assert his will and turn and walk from the room.
Imagine awakening her with passion, the treacherous little demon whispered.
He had been without her for three years. Surely he could wait another few days. He’d learned to bury his sexual needs in work and punishing physical activity, had he not? He’d never been so fit, so focused. To succumb would lend her too much power.
Anger finally allowed his feet to move. He turned and left the room, quietly shutting the door behind him.
A loud knock on the bedroom door woke Abby from her slumber.
She stretched like a cat, realizing she’d never felt so refreshed.
Funny, she’d always slept like the dead when at the Villa Lombardi, even when Dante hadn’t made love to her half the night.
In Southport she’d had trouble sleeping, dreams of Dante awakening her over and over, hot and bothered.
The knock came again.
She realized that more of her body was on display than she’d like. She quickly pulled the sheet over herself and called, “Incerisci.”
The door opened, admitting the smell of fresh coffee and hot pastry.
“Buongiorno, Contessa. I’ve brought you your favorite breakfast. It’s good to have you home.”
Abby sat up against the quilted headboard, and Rachele placed the breakfast tray over her legs.
“Rachele, you used to always call me Abby. Please, don’t be formal now.”
Rachele had been the one person who had not taken sides in her marriage.
Dante’s family had made her feel very welcome, but she was the outsider.
It didn’t help that they thought Dante was a god, incapable of wrongdoing.
They would never side against him, never accept any thinking that contradicted his.
But Rachele had listened to her problems. She’d listened and tried to help Abby with her difficult and demanding husband.
She reminded Abby to be true to herself, that Dante had married her and that there had to be a reason why, of all the women in the world, he’d selected her.
A woman who wasn’t even Italian. That had to mean something even if Dante didn’t recognize it.
Abby was not at all sure Rachele was wrong. In leaving, maybe she’d given up too soon.
Rachele gave a soft laugh and clapped her hands together. “I thought your time away might have changed you, but I see it hasn’t.” She gestured toward the tray. “Come, eat up. Your scrambled eggs will get cold.” She moved around the room picking up Abby’s discarded clothes.
Her stomach rumbled. The thought of Rachele’s scrambled eggs on a lightly toasted croissant made her mouth water. But her grandmother came first. “Is Dante up? I have to talk with him about my grandmother.”
Rachele stopped tidying to give her a mocking smile. “Goodness, Dante has been up for hours. It’s almost ten o’clock. But he told me to let you sleep. He said you looked a bit peaked. He was right. All that worry about your grandmother. You poor thing.”
Abby almost choked on her croissant. Her grandmother was not the only cause of her strain. “Where is Dante? I need to telephone my grandmother and confirm when she’s arriving.”
Rachele moved to her bedside and patted her hand. “It’s all taken care of. Dante has organized your grandmother’s flight here.”
She moved the tray aside. “There is still my business to check on.” Her friend Colin had agreed to manage the store; he might even be able to buy it... However, with a permanent manager in the shop, she could run the business from Italy.
Rachele pushed her back down. “Sit. Eat. Dante has arranged for one of his bookstore managers to help out.”
Abby slowly slid her legs back under the sheets.
Her stomach began churning again, in anxiety and dismay.
The Lombardi Group owned one of the largest bookstore chains in England, Books 4 Less.
This had been her motivation to set up her own bookshop, to hit back at him and prove she was capable of more than breeding children.
It was also so that she could still feel part of his world.
She toyed with her eggs. What would his loyal, professional manager report back to Dante? She hoped he would be impressed with what she had built. That Dante would be impressed. She scoffed. Why should it matter? Business relationship—remember.
On the Shelf Books made a modest profit and provided her with a good income. Not good enough to pay for an expensive heart operation, especially after her accountant embezzled the money she’d put aside to pay her business taxes.
The door flew open, and a little body hurtled across the room to pounce on the bed. The coffee slopped over the side of her cup and onto the tray.
“Lorenzo, get off that bed at once,” Rachele said.
Huge dark eyes gazed at Rachele as Lorenzo dutifully slithered off the bed and came to stand beside her. He gave Abby a tentative smile. He looked so much like Dante, it took her breath away.
“Good morning, Lorenzo. I’m your Auntie Abby.” She smiled at him. “Does he understand English?”
Rachele nodded.
He stood silently, twisting his feet and shyly looking at her from under lowered eyelids. Finally, he reached out and touched one finger to her hair.
“Pretty hair.”
Abby laughed. Everyone in the Lombardi family had dark hair and olive skin. She was like a piece of chalk among them.
“Lorenzo’s fascinated by fair-haired women. I hate to think what he’ll be like when he’s older. Blondes will be his preference.”
Abby looked up to see Dante’s sister Salice standing in the doorway with a toddler riding her hip. Rachele tapped the little girl’s nose as she squeezed past mother and daughter on her way out.
“Welcome home, Abby. It’s been too long. I’m sorry for this intrusion, but the children are eager to meet their Aunt Abby. I tried to keep them away, but Lorenzo here is impatient.”
Salice didn’t appear to be judging her, but Abby sensed wariness in her approach. “Gosh, he’s grown.” Abby sighed.
“A lot has changed in your long absence.”
Perhaps not totally without censure. Abby felt her face heat at the subtle accusation.
“Pretty hair!” Lorenzo’s pudgy hand grabbed a fistful and pulled, breaking the awkward silence.
“How’d you like to brush it once I’m showered and dressed?” Abby asked with a smile.
Lorenzo hugged his mother’s leg and grinned. His black curls bobbed in agreement.
Salice smiled at her. “It’s quite a surprise to have you home. Dante kept it very quiet. We had no idea you were returning.” She started to pull Lorenzo from the room. “Come to the sunporch by the pool when you’re ready. Mama, Marcia, and the children are waiting to see you.”
Abby’s face must have betrayed her apprehension.
Salice grinned. “It won’t be so bad. We all know our brother is not easy to live with. You’re back. That is all that matters.”
With that, Salice left her in peace.
Being back wasn’t all that mattered to Abby. As she stood under the shower, Abby knew that keeping a check on her heart while fulfilling her obligations was the key to, if not happiness, her sanity.
The scene of easy domesticity on the patio under the pergola brought a small smile to Abby’s lips, and the stifling heat was forgotten.
She’d missed the joyous contentment of Dante’s large family. Her younger brother, only eight years old, had perished with her parents in the car accident. Her grandmother was her only living relative, and it had been the two of them ever since.
The children were the first to notice her presence. The toddlers stopped running around, and the eldest, Marcia’s boy Enrico, pulled himself up out of the pool and made his way across the marble slabs, dripping water.
“Abby. Look how much I’ve grown!” he called to her.
A lump stuck in her throat. Enrico had grown, and grown uncannily like his uncle. Emotion threatened to throttle her. This is what Dante’s son would probably look like. Their son.