had no idea what she’d been about to say because his infernal cell phone had rung, disrupting the pregnant moment.
Somehow, what had begun as a convenient arrangement had morphed. It wasn’t just the prize of finally owning Vito Automobiles that lured him anymore. It wasn’t the convenience of returning all the favors Gio had bestowed on him by marrying Pia. It wasn’t taking on the responsibility to protect her and Gio’s wealth.
It was Pia herself.
He knew as surely as the beat of his heart, while he waited at the center in front of Teatro Alla Scala for her to arrive for her special opera night, that he wanted Pia in his life.
He wanted the woman who looked at him as if he were the world to her. And in return, he would give Pia everything she could ever want, everything that he was capable of giving.
* * *
Pia stepped out of the limo on a side street, an unnecessary indulgence Raphael insisted on, and walked the last few steps to the front of the historical opera house Teatro Alla Scala and gaped with her mouth open. She could have just as well caught the light rail, but of course he wouldn’t listen.
Glad that she had worn her soft silk emerald-green dress that made Milan’s humidity bearable, she looked around herself. Typical of the busy city’s evening, Piazza della Scala was busy and noisy, mostly with tourists. Locals, she’d learned, had already escaped to the beach, especially as it was the weekend.
She had barely breathed in the architectural marvel all around her when the hairs on her nape stood up with that familiar prickle. Turning around, she spotted Raphael instantly among the elegantly dressed men and women in front of the famous opera house.
Tall and wide and impossibly gorgeous, he stood out. His shoulders looked broader than ever in the handmade suit, his looks even more breathtaking in the magnificent lights of the square.
Clad in a black suit with a white shirt underneath, hands loosely tucked into his trouser pockets, he was leaning against a pillar and watching her with a curious smile playing around his lips. As if knowing that she wanted to linger, he crooked a finger at her.
That playful arrogance, that wicked promise in his eyes sent a shiver down her spine. He looked good enough to be devoured. And he looked at her as if he was ready to devour her.
It had been a whole long, utterly miserable ten days since she had last seen him, ten days since he had sent her into spasms of unbearable pleasure with his mouth at her most private place. Just thinking of that scandalous moment, the pleasure that had filled her sent blood rushing to her ears.
And he knew. Even across the ten feet or so that separated them, she could see the gleam of that hunger in his eyes, sense the attraction arc between them.
Heart beating a thousand beats a minute, aware of more than one woman stumbling to a stop at the breathtaking sight of him, Pia reached him.
He is mine, a part of her cooed in joy.
Holding her at arm’s length, he swept that possessive gaze over her arms and shoulders left bare by the thin straps of the dress. A much-needed breeze wafted by, revealing the thigh-length slit in her dress. She saw him swallow as a partial view of her toned leg flashed and she was fiercely glad for swimming all those hours and keeping herself fit.
And then his arm was around her, his mouth at her ear. “I do not like any other man getting such a good view of your legs, cara mia. They are only for my pleasure, to be wrapped around my hips while I move inside you.” His hand rested possessively on her waist as if to warn off any approaching man. “I think I like you all covered up in your jeans and my shirts.”
Luckily, Pia wasn’t required to respond as the ushers were showing them to their seats on a balcony, which she was delighted to find was an individual room with a private coat closet across the hallway from the box.
While Raphael exchanged words with the usher, Pia took in the historical circle-style theater that she’d heard so much about. The energy of the place was incredible. Gorgeously decorated in gold and stunning red velvet, the teatro was everything she’d hoped it would be. Pushing up her glasses, she began to people watch, because the women and men were dressed in elegant designer outfits that would probably rival the costumes themselves.
When Raphael tapped on her shoulder and showed her to a seat, Pia smiled sheepishly. “I’m sure my enthusiasm must look very provincial to you. But Nonni described this very theater to me so many times and all the wonderful productions she had seen here before she left Italy that I can’t believe I’m finally here.
It feels as if I have waited forever to see this. I think she wanted me to come here too.” Tears filled her eyes, a sudden ache filling her to her very soul.
She knew Lucia had come here with Giovanni once. The special friend her Nonni had always mentioned with melancholy in her eyes could be no one else. And yet, soon after, they had had a big row, and Lucia had fled Italy while Gio, in a fit of anger, had engaged himself to a heiress.
Suddenly, that Raphael had brought her to the same theater, to the same opera, struck a chord of fear through her. She shivered, and instantly Raphael pulled her into his embrace.
Pia hid her face in his chest, embarrassed by her irrational fear. This was ridiculous. She and Raphael were different from Gio and Lucia.
For one thing, they were older and wiser. They understood each other much better. And yes, at every chance possible, Raphael stubbornly claimed that he didn’t believe in love while she still did. But hadn’t he shown her that he cared for her in a million ways over the last month and a half?
Weren’t actions worth more than words?
Despite his cynicism because of his marriage to Allegra, despite his hardened exterior from having to raise his family from sudden calamity to prosperity, wasn’t his desire to marry her based on loyalty and respect? Didn’t it prove that somewhere in his heart Raphael did care for her?
The man who had so ruthlessly accused her of being an impostor and a cheat the night of the ball, the man who had threatened to cut his ex-wife out of their child’s life, Pia would have never expected him to consider marriage at all.
But it was he who had accepted the consequences of their night first. He who hadn’t hesitated even for a moment over the step they would have to take for the future.
What she felt for Raphael—she was so scared of calling it love—was so much more complex than what she felt for Frank. Frank had only pandered to what she had so desperately needed at that time in her life whereas Raphael could be infuriating and arrogant but he would never lie to her.
He would never deceive Pia, would never make her feel as if he needed an added incentive to be with her, to somehow make up for her plainness and her shyness. For the glitter she lacked.
So what if he would never admit in so many words that he loved her? Wasn’t what they had better, more real than some notion of love she had cooked up in her head?
His abrasive palms covered her bare arms and moved up and down. “Your skin is ice-cold, Pia. What is it?”
“Nothing. Thank you so much for this, Raphael.”
“Never apologize for your enthusiasm for everything in life, cara mia. Haven’t I convinced you yet that your pleasure,
