Chapter 20
ALESSIA
I am angry.
Like, really angry.
I can't stand Chiara—especially after she tried to pull that stunt at the Palazzo at the anniversary of the launch of Valdoria.
"Not here," I mutter and walk to the house. He follows.
"Alessia," he tries somewhere in the merlot parcels, and I hiss at him.
He lets out one of his arrogant "she's crazy" sighs, which just enrages me some more.
By the time we get home, the light has slipped into indigo.
The windows are open. The smell of crushed fruit clings to my clothes.
And Nico stands in my living room like a man bracing for bad weather.
I can’t sit anywhere until I take a shower—I’m filthy.
But then…so is he.
“You brought her here," I manage to say calmly.
A flicker of impatience crosses his face, but when he speaks, he sounds just as composed as I do. "I didn't plan it—"
"But it happened,” I interrupt him.
"Si. We have the Vendemmia Gala coming up. And, Alessia, I have to work just like you do."
Oh, no, no, no.
He doesn't get to bring that woman to my home, my place of work, and pretend it's the same thing as working in Florence with that bitch.
For months, he pretended that he was screwing her and cheating on me. So, no, he doesn't get to act like I'm being unreasonable.
"This is my home," I continue, my hands steady even as my chest tightens. "My work. Harvest. And you brought along a woman”—I stop myself, swallow—"who has told me in as many words that she and you are fucking."
Nico drags a hand through his hair. "She said something to you at the Palazzo."
I spit out a laugh, all edge and no warmth. "She told me that Florence is unforgiving of women who don't understand how it works."
"Cazzo." Now he tucks his hands in his jeans. I know he does that when he isn't feeling sure of himself.
Slowly but definitely, I have started to learn who my husband is.
"Oh, and then she mentioned"—I pause for effect and also to rein in my tears because I'm close to them, which happens when you don't sleep enough and work all the time—"that I mustn't misunderstand certain arrangements. I assumed that was about how you and she—"
"Cara, I have not been unfaithful to you." He takes a step toward me. "Not in action and not in thought."
I'm not usually this sensitive.
I am not.
But it's harvest time, and we're all stressed beyond belief. I have to stay controlled for the team, but here with Nico, I know I can fall apart, which I think I am. That realization is daunting—that I trust him so much despite his bringing that woman to Pietra Alta.
"But you know how I feel," I accuse him, feeling more than a little petulant. "And then…you joke about it. Say, oh, cara, I missed you, too, like I'm a child who needs you to pat her head."
"Oh, for fuck's sake," he snarls.
"You know I don't like her…you know, and yet, you bring her here? And she's taking pictures like she owns you or something."
He flings his hands up in frustration. "She takes pictures of me all the fucking time. She's my head of communications, and I am the Goddamn CEO of the House of Alighieri."
"I am the Goddamn CEO of the House of Alighieri," I repeat to mock him, using his deep pitch.
Anger storms his blue eyes. They go dark. He prowls toward me. I resist taking a step back.
"If you cared about how I felt, you wouldn't have let her step onto that helicopter in Florence," I insist, not sure why the hell I am provoking him.
Yes, we're having our first proper fight as a couple, and at this point, I don't even know clearly what I'm angry about.
Well, yes, Chiara being here is a problem, but is she worth this much consternation? Am I exaggerating my feelings because I'm just tired?
His jaw tightens. "I didn't give her an engraved invitation. It was a meeting. I didn't want her there."
“A meeting?” My eyebrows wiggle as my hands go to my waist in the quintessential Italian gesture of a woman on the verge of a nervous breakdown. “One you couldn’t do with her in Florence? Or couldn’t you finish the damn meeting before you came here?”
I see the storm of fury break on his face. "I was missing you and didn't want to stay away," he shouts.
I don't know how to respond to that so I just…shut up. He does, too. The house creaks softly, settling around the argument like it wants no part of it.
"I…don't like seeing her with you…it makes me insecure," I admit softly.
Nico puts his hands on my shoulders. "Because she wants you to doubt me. Stop giving her that upper hand."
I look up at him, feeling very close to tears.
I'm hungry. I'm thirsty. I'm overtired.
"She wants it to look like she belongs beside you." I sniffle sorrowfully.
He cups my cheek and winces when a tear flows down my cheek. "Ah, dolcezza, she isn't worth it." He licks the tear and kisses the corner of my mouth. "I used her to keep you at a distance."
"You used her to hurt me." I can't keep the anguish out of my voice.
He kisses my lips this time. "I did. I'm sorry. She means nothing. She's just someone who works for me—someone I don't like very much. Would it help if I told you that after our engagement, she made a pass at me and I threw her out?"
I straighten. "Where did you throw her out of?"
That makes his lips twitch into a smile. "My hotel suite."
“What was she doing in your suite to start with?” I hiss.
He grins now. "It was in Mallorca. She tried to—"
"Seduce you?"
He thinks about it, and I slap his chest. He laughs, takes my offending hand in his, and brings it to his mouth, kissing my knuckles.
"Today, I told her if she ever tries to insinuate to you that she and I have anything going on besides Public Relations for the House of Alighieri, I will fire her."
I glower at him. "Why can't you fire her now?"
He leans close and nuzzles my nose with his. "Because she's good at what she does and as long as she behaves, I'm not letting go of someone who knows our media and industry as well as she does."
I understand making business decisions without letting personal influence affect it.
He kisses my forehead and holds my gaze. "I don't want you to ever wonder about her. About anyone. I choose you now, tomorrow, and the day after that."
Does he mean he chooses me forever? And what does that mean?
I close my eyes for a moment.
When I open them again, he's watching me like he's afraid I might disappear.
I love you, I think, and the realization is so sudden, so complete, it almost knocks me over. I don't say it out loud to him, though. I’m not ready.
But I step into him, wrap my arms around his waist, and rest my cheek against his heart.
"I need a shower. I need food. I need some sleep."
He laughs softly. "Cara, I can help with all of those things."