Chapter Twelve
CHAPTER TWELVE
Emilio lay on the leather couch, a blanket tossed over his body, staring at the patterns in the ceiling of his bedroom.
He traced every crystal in the chandelier with his eyes.
He had barely slept. He kept thinking of everything Jasmine had said.
How she couldn’t trust men. Couldn’t trust him, until he opened up.
Emilio couldn’t allay any of her fears. He didn’t want to lie to her, and he couldn’t tell her the truth. Being honest with her about Gia would only lose him any hope of having his child in his life, because he knew she would leave.
He couldn’t have that.
And keeping something from her wasn’t the same as lying.
Jasmine was able to make a clean break from her past, but Emilio’s followed him.
He might hate his brother for everything Enzo had taken from him—his father’s affection, Gia—but he would always be in Emilio’s life.
Emilio had worked too hard for his position in the company to leave, and once the issue with vineyards was settled there would never be any escape.
He reached for his watch and in the sliver of light leaking through the curtains saw that it was still very early. Jasmine wouldn’t be awake for another few hours, but he could get up and start his walkthrough of the vineyards.
He tossed aside the blanket and crept to the bathroom as quietly as he could, trying not to disturb her.
But he couldn’t resist looking at her. So peacefully asleep.
Her curls wild, falling over the pillow like a halo of gold.
She was so utterly beautiful, and she was married to him.
But she was not his. She was so close but beyond his reach.
How would he survive this marriage? How could he wake up to her every morning and see her every night and not lose his mind to this longing, this constant ache?
Every single time he saw her he had to fight the urge to kiss her senseless.
To lose himself in her. He had felt her around him once and craved to feel it again—and wished in equal measure to have it wiped from his mind.
At least then he wouldn’t know how perfectly they fit in passion.
‘Emilio,’ she mumbled in her sleep and his heart rate notched up a beat. Was she dreaming of him? Were her dreams anything like his?
He forced himself into the bathroom and turned on the shower.
Hard, and lusting after his wife, he took himself in hand, thinking about her taste.
About Jasmine’s lips on his. Her lips around his hardness.
The euphoria of plunging into her over and over.
Then, with her name on his lips, he was spilling into his hand, his release washed away in the current of water.
It cleared his mind a little, but not enough to rid himself of this need for her.
It was always there.
Emilio dried off then dressed in a suit.
He’d intended to walk out of his room without a backward glance but found himself lingering, going over and tucking her in firmly.
It put a small, content smile on her sleeping face, a softness she wilfully kept at bay when awake.
That fun, devil-may-care Jasmine was in there somewhere.
Maybe one day she would trust him enough to let him see her again.
Trust you without you telling her about Gia?
Maybe not.
Emilio left the room and headed outside.
The sun was low in the sky and there wasn’t a soul out in the vineyard yet.
He hadn’t seen it this quiet in a long time.
Before his mother had died, he’d spent every moment he could spare with her.
In fact, he hadn’t even come out here the last time he had been to Perlano.
But how well he remembered running around here as a small boy, brandishing his tiny tools.
‘I want to help, Mamma! See, I brought my shovel!’
‘Very good, piccolo re . Are you ready to get dirty? There’s a lot of mulch here and I need a very strong helper.’
‘I’m strong!’
‘The strongest, mio figlio .’
‘Emilio!’
The memory of his mother in her sun hat and gloves dissipated like smoke. He wasn’t five years old now. He had to keep his mind focussed.
‘I wasn’t expecting you.’
Emilio turned towards the voice. ‘ Buongiorno , Marco. How busy is your morning?’
Marco managed production here from seed to cellar, so Emilio suspected the answer was ‘very’. But he’d make time for the head of De Luca and Co’s North American empire.
‘It depends.’
‘I need a full tour.’
‘Of course,’ Marco replied, attaching a stylus to his tablet. ‘Where would you like to start?’
They walked amongst the rows of lush green plants, Marco talking about current projects, changes they’d implemented, the health of the plants and expected harvest dates. He emailed copies of reports to Emilio from his tablet, which Emilio skimmed on his phone as they spoke.
‘How often would my mother come out here?’
‘Before she became ill, most days. Afterwards, whenever she could manage. Even then we kept her abreast of operations. When she was well, she would do a full walkthrough and inspection every quarter, but she kept a close eye on the plants through each stage of growth.’
Emilio lived in New York and would have a baby soon enough. How would he manage to keep a similar schedule?
‘It wasn’t necessary. I assure you, Emilio, production is well in hand.’
That was beside the point. His mother had trusted him with her most prized possession. He couldn’t let her down. But he couldn’t let his family down either. Jasmine would be fine without him, but he didn’t want to be away from his child.
Truth be told, he didn’t want to be away from Jasmine either. No matter how maddening her presence was.
‘I’m certain it is. Show me the rest.’
***
Jasmine was awake and working in the kitchen when he returned.
For a moment, he couldn’t speak, couldn’t think.
The sunlight fell over her and, with her curly hair loose, she radiated gold.
He found himself being carried to her—unsure of what he would do when he reached her, only knowing that he needed to touch her, to feel her sun-kissed warmth against him.
‘Emilio, what are you doing back so soon?’
He stopped before he could reach her, the spell broken. Why did this woman affect him so? ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Isabella said you were gone before breakfast. She said not to expect you until much later.’
Sometimes it was easy to forget how well Isabella knew him. Especially considering how cold she had turned after Emilio had slept with Gia. He had been so close to her, and he felt the loss acutely. Gone was her pet name for him: her peluche. After that, he’d become nothing but Emilio.
‘I was able to get what I needed done quickly. We don’t have time to waste. Make sure you’re ready to leave this afternoon. We’re going to Vozzano.’
***
Jasmine buckled herself into the back seat of a gleaming black saloon as Emilio shut the door. She looked in the mirror, watching their luggage being moved from the plane to the boot of the car. Once it was in, she watched Emilio round the car and join her, slipping in elegantly.
‘How are you feeling?’
He had been so attentive since leaving Perlano. She could see some of the Emilio that she had been growing accustomed to in New York come out again. He clearly loved the place, but it dimmed his light.
‘Still fine,’ she said. He had asked her the question when they’d left Perlano, on the plane and now again.
She had to admit, the attention felt good.
While she wasn’t relying on him, he was choosing to take care of her.
And, even though she didn’t mean to, her brain automatically compared him to Richard.
A man who would be chivalrous to a point in public but not when they were alone.
Emilio was the same person all the time.
When Jasmine had woken that morning, she’d found herself so comfortably tucked in that she had slept far later than she usually did.
And, even though they’d had to share his room, he hadn’t pushed her to ignore her boundaries for him.
Emilio had made sure she was comfortable before he’d slept on the couch.
Jasmine hadn’t anticipated feeling guilty about that.
Hadn’t considered that she might want him next to her, might crave his warmth and that open-sea scent.
Or that she’d be so acutely aware of his presence in the dark that it would take a long time for her to fall asleep.
When she had slept, she’d dreamt of his hands on her body, his mouth trailing her skin. She’d awoken with his name on her lips.
She’d wanted to see Italy for so long—the landscape, the fashion.
But she’d been so focussed on SOP that she hadn’t been able to take a holiday in years.
And yet now, she didn’t look out of the window in wonder.
She watched Emilio. She took in the relaxed posture of his body, the suit that fit him so deliciously.
A suit that belied the power hidden beneath.
She had seen that body. Felt it. It still haunted her dreams.
‘Why are you staring?’
She startled. ‘What?’
‘I can feel the way you’re looking at me, belleza . It’s distracting.’
Jasmine laughed. ‘I would have thought you’d be used to it.’
‘I’m not used to it from my wife.’ He turned to her and winked. Such a small action, but still it got her heart fluttering.
She rolled her eyes at him, pretending to be unaffected, but the smile on his face told her she was fooling no one.
‘We’re not far from Vozzano now,’ he told her. ‘I’ll take you to the house and get you comfortable, then go check on the vineyards here.’
Jasmine thought about how desolate he had seemed when they’d spoken the day before and how agitated he’d been when he’d returned from the vineyard earlier. She didn’t want him to face this alone. He was the father of her baby, after all. His wellbeing was a concern to her.
Is that all? You’re lying to yourself, Jasmine.
‘I’m going with you,’ she said.