was scary as hell.
And it had made him finally face the truth. Well, this—and the e-mail messages he’d found in his in-box. It was all he could think about. What was happening to Rafe…
What he was finally ready to admit was happening to him.
Had already happened to him.
Dear God, how could a man fall so hard, so fast? How could he have been blind to it? Gabriella had to feel the same way. She had to, because if she didn’t…
He had to be alone with her. Take her in his arms. Tell her. Tell her—
“Gaby,” he said abruptly, turning toward her, looking at the woman who held his life in her hands, “I know there’s lots more to see, but—”
“Dante.” Her eyes met his. “Please,” she said in an unsteady whisper, “I would like to go home.”
Mrs. Janiseck was off on Saturdays. So was Stacia.
As soon as they were alone, Dante cleared his throat. “Gabriella. We have to talk.”
Her heart fell. “All right,” she said tonelessly.
He flashed a quick smile. “I’ll, ah, I’ll put Daniel to bed. Why don’t you, ah, why don’t you start supper?”
She nodded, went into the kitchen. Actually, there was little to do. Mrs. Janiseck did almost all the cooking. Cold roast chicken and a green salad, prepared yesterday. There it was, on the top shelf in the fridge. Lovely to have it waiting, but somehow—and Gabriella knew how ridiculous the thought was—somehow, it made her feel even more a guest in Dante’s life. Yes, of course, a woman to whom he had a permanent commitment would have a housekeeper and cook. Dante’s income, his lifestyle, meant the woman to whom he had such a permanent commitment would have a staff to help run her home. But a woman to whom he had…
Gabriella laughed out loud, though it wasn’t a happy sound.
What kind of phrase was that? ‘A woman to whom he had…’ Was there no word to describe what she should be to him? Not his mistress. Mistresses didn’t come equipped with babies, and besides, a mistress was a woman whose lover owned the roof over her head, the food on her table, the clothes on her…
Which was exactly what she had become.
She closed the refrigerator door with a slam and went out to the terrace. It was cold outside. The city was wrapped in darkness and you could not only sense winter coming, you could feel it in the marrow of your bones.
Dante paid all her bills. Food. Daniel’s clothing. Diapers. The furniture in the nursery. The rent or the mortgage, whatever it was. He paid for her clothes—she’d left so much at the fazenda, and she’d needed warmer things after arriving here.
It would take her years, a lifetime, to pay him back, even if her agent lined up the kind of modeling deals supermodels got, and the truth was, she’d been a successful model but not one who earned six figures a day.
He owned everything in her life and her son’s life.
How had she let such a thing happen? What had become of her independence? Her sense of autonomy? Her determination, from childhood on, to rely on nobody but herself?
What had become of her responsibility to Daniel?
He deserved stability. Security. Not just financial security but the kind that came from the heart. A father’s heart. She, of all people, knew how much that meant. Daniel was only a baby but already he smiled and laughed when Dante reached for him. Another few months, ba-ba-ba would turn into ma-ma-ma and da-da-da, but would Dante be there for him? Would he be there for her?
She took a deep breath. The word of the day was commitment.
As in forever. As in a man and a woman who were building a life together.
As in—
“Married,” Dante said, and she spun toward him, heart pounding.
“What?”
He was smiling but the smile was a lie. She could see it in his eyes, the set of his mouth.
“My brother Rafe.” He dug his hands into his trouser pockets as he stood beside her, his gaze on the skyline beyond the park and not on her. “When I checked my e-mail this morning, I found a couple of notes. Seems he’s getting married tomorrow. Well, it turns out he’s already married, some kind of quickie deal that happened in Sicily, and tomorrow, he’s doing it for real. Meaning, in church where my mother can get all misty-eyed over it.”
He sounded as if he were describing an auto-da-fé rather than a wedding but then, being burned at the stake might seem more appealing to a man like him. Was that why he’d been so distant all day?
“Oh,” she said, because she had to say something. “Well, that’s…that’s—”
“He’s been trying to reach me. The whole family has. But I’ve been out of touch.”
He made it sound like an accusation. Gabriella narrowed her eyes.
“I did not keep you from checking your messages.”
“Yeah, but who would ever expect a message like this?” Dante ran his hands through his shower-damp hair; it stood up in little black peaks. “I mean, this is crazy. He only just met this woman.”
“Yes, but—”
“Marriage is a forever thing. A man needs to give it thought.”
“And you assume he did not?”
“What I assume,” he said, “is that I always thought a man should not leap into marriage as if he were leaping into the currents of a rampaging river.”
She could feel the anger forming inside her. Or maybe it had been there all along, just waiting to surface.
“Your brother is not the only one who is leaping. The same applies to the woman.”
Dante snorted with derision. “It isn’t the same.”
“Isn’t it?” Her voice had gone from cool to frigid.
“Men are meant to be hunters. To roam. Women are meant to be gatherers. Of course it isn’t the same.”
Gabriella was looking at him as if he’d turned into an alien life form. Well, hell, he couldn’t blame her. He knew he sounded like an idiot, but how could he not after finding Rafe’s Hey, man, I’m getting married! e-mail in his inbox this morning? It had shaken him to the core.
Rafe, married?
It had to be a joke.
He’d phoned Rafe, got no answer, phoned Falco, got nothing there, connected with Nick who said, yeah, it was a shocker and, yeah, it was fast, and then he finally got through to Rafe who babbled like an idiot about how he’d fallen crazy in love even if he’d only married Chiara Cordiano the first time around so he could Do The Right Thing
