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He would never pretend to like it. There were days when, if he was being honest with himself, he would admit that he despised it. He would never pretend it didn’t require a strong stomach, but Scotch was a good settler. Especially a couple of large Scotches.
His father might not be happy with his eldest son’s choice of investment and even less happy with his choice of business partner, but surely he would understand. Wouldn’t he...?
The acidic churning in his guts answered that question for him.
And what would Pietro say if he knew his firstborn son was forcing his own wife to wear a dress she hated out of a perverse sense of punishment and revenge? Would he understand that...?
‘What do you want?’
Grace stood in the doorway, Lily in her arms, glaring at him.
‘I wanted to remind you that you’ll need to be ready to leave after breakfast tomorrow.’
She rolled her eyes and walked past him, placing Lily on the centre of the bed. Immediately their daughter stuffed a foot in her mouth.
‘Where have you been?’
‘Running through some stuff with your mum about Lily’s routine.’ She sat on the bed and placed a hand on the baby’s belly.
‘Any problems?’
‘No. She’s all good to go.’
Which is more than you are, he thought. Grace looked wan. ‘Are you feeling all right?’
‘Me?’ She smiled tightly. ‘I’m absolutely fine. On top of the world. Leaving my daughter for the first time fills me with nothing but joy.’
He raised a brow at her sarcasm.
‘What?’ she demanded. ‘That’s what you want to hear, isn’t it? Take some of the guilt away.’
‘I don’t feel any guilt about leaving her with my mother.’ It was one of the only things he could think about without feeling as if a heavy weight were slowly crushing his insides.
‘Well, you should.’
If he hadn’t recognised her belligerence as a mask, he would have left her to stew. Except her hands were trembling and she was blinking too rapidly to be doing anything other than fighting tears.
As much as he hated her, witnessing her trying so hard not to cry tore something in him.
Stepping over, he sat on the bed next to her and took her hand. It was cold.
‘I don’t feel any guilt because I know my mother will take the utmost care of her. Lily will be spoiled rotten—if she wants caviar in her milk I promise my mother will provide it.’
The tiniest hint of a smile played on the corners of her lips. ‘I know. I know. It’s just...’
He waited for her to continue. ‘It’s just what?’
She pulled her hand away and gazed at Lily. It hadn’t escaped his attention that, apart from her initial glare, she refused to look at him.
‘Florence is so far away.’ She sighed. ‘Maybe it would be easier if the party was in Lebbrossi or Palermo; places we can nip back from quickly if anything were to happen...’
‘Nothing is going to happen.’
‘It might.’
‘Grace, look at me.’ When she kept her focus on Lily he repeated his command, catching her chin with a finger and forcing her attention. Her hazel eyes were bright with unshed tears. ‘I’ll arrange things with the aviation authorities in Florence so that, in the case of an emergency, we can take the jet back to Palermo at any time necessary.’
‘Can you do that?’
‘Yes.’
‘But if we’re flying from the main airport, aren’t we supposed to select an advance time slot and—?’
‘I’ll fix it. It will not be a problem.’
She continued to look at him dubiously.
‘Does this solution not ease your mind?’
‘Only if you promise not to use intimidation or violence to get your own way.’
He should be affronted that she would think such a thing of him. Yet he could not blame her. Grace was the sort of person who would rather rescue a bug than kill it. Any form of violence was alien to her way of thinking—even if he went through everything about his business ventures and partnership in detail, and explained why things were the way they were, she would never understand. He’d known that from the start, within days of buying into that first casino, when the first man had been foolish enough to steal from it and Francesco’s men had been set upon him. He’d known Grace would never accept it or understand the necessity behind it.
There were times he struggled to accept and understand it himself. There had been many a time when only the stiffest of Scotches had allowed him to blur the images that played behind his retinas and dulled the nausea that lined his stomach.
Rubbing his thumb along her soft cheek, he said, ‘The only asset I will use to get my own way will be of a monetary value.’
