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It struck him as he eased past a family grouped on the walkway that this was the first time he could remember chasing after anyone since he’d broken off his engagement. He hadn’t cared enough about any woman to chase her. It’s why he’d taken mistresses. It was a purely sexual relationship, a relationship he controlled, beginning and ending with gifts, leaving his emotions untouched.
He hadn’t thought he’d ever feel again but the arrival of Michael unsettled him, and Rachel was waking him up, making him feel. He wasn’t comfortable feeling anything. But he didn’t seem to have a choice at the moment.
Gio followed the route he was certain Rachel had taken, splashing through water and then following the elevated boards as he approached St. Mark’s Square.
Most of the shops and cafés surrounding the square were closed, but a few had remained open, with intrepid storekeepers placing wooden boards across the bottom of their open doors, keeping the water out while allowing customers in.
Gio checked in each open shop and café for Rachel. She wasn’t in any of the bigger ones on the piazza, and he exited the square and turned a corner, spotting the small narrow coffee shop preferred by locals who’d stand and drink their espresso, and then leave, not requiring one of the three small tables at the rear.
Opening the door of the café, he stepped inside. There were just a few people at the counter. Beyond the counter were the tables, and two were empty, but at a third sat Rachel. She had a small cup in front of her but she wasn’t drinking. Her hands were in her lap and her gaze was fixed on an unknown point in the distance.
She looked troubled. Lost. Gio’s chest tightened. He drew a quick breath, surprised by the pang.
He nodded to the staff as he passed and drew out one of the empty chairs at Rachel’s table. She looked up at him, the expression in her wide dark eyes a combination of sadness and despair, before her expression firmed, hiding her emotions. “What are you doing here?”
“Hunting you down.”
“Why? I don’t have a passport. I can’t go anywhere.”
“I was worried about you.”
She exhaled softly, and he could see the sadness again, fear and vulnerability shadowing her eyes.
It made him uncomfortable, seeing her so fragile. His mistresses were strong and confident and needed nothing from him but sex and gifts. They didn’t require excessive attention, never mind tenderness or protection.
“I’m tougher than I look,” she said, chin jutting up, but there were tears in her eyes and she looked anything but tough.
Gio struggled with himself. He had been rough on her. He’d frightened her. He took little pleasure in wounding people. Much less women. But he also wasn’t afraid of doing what needed to be done. Marrying Rachel would keep Michael in Venice. It was a contract, much like his arrangements with his mistresses. He wasn’t doing it out of emotion, but practicality.
Yes, there were other ways to keep Michael in Venice. He could sue for custody. But legal cases of this nature took years, and he didn’t want to spend years battling for custody when he could secure it quickly through marriage.
“I do not doubt that,” he answered.
“I’m not afraid to fight you,” she added.
“Obviously.” He waited a moment. “But you won’t win.”
She searched his eyes, and he let her look, not hiding anything from her, because she needed to see who he was, she needed to understand what he was. Tough, driven, uncompromising. He did what he had to do. Always. And it’s why he’d succeeded, because he always did what he had to do, even if it was painful.
“I keep trying to decide if you were teasing or bluffing,” she said unsteadily.
“I don’t bluff.”
She looked hard into his eyes again, and then away. She sat across from him, cradling her cup, expression miserable, and the tension in his chest returned.
Despite the tension, he didn’t try to fill the silence. He had learned early in his career to become comfortable with discomfort. He wasn’t Antonio; his job wasn’t to encourage or inspire. Gio’s job was to make money and grow the company and take care of the Marcello employees, and that’s what he did. Day in, and day out. Feelings didn’t matter. Results mattered. Success. Stability. Financial accountability.
But it was hard to enjoy his single-minded focus when he sat across from a woman like Rachel. She wasn’t Adelisa. He wasn’t even sure what that meant, only she wasn’t his ex-fiancée.
* * *
Rachel looked shattered all over again. “You know it’s impossible.”
“That, cara, is an exaggeration. It’s not impossible. It’s just...difficult.”
“I don’t want to marry you.”
“And that is the difficult part.”
