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His voice was deep with emotion. Hallie looked at him, her heart in her throat.
Coming back to himself, he smiled at her. “Come.”
As they walked through the hotel lobby, everyone beamed at Cristiano, and not only him.
Somehow, weirdly, everyone in the hotel seemed to already know Hallie. As if, simply by marrying Cristiano Moretti, she’d suddenly become a celebrity in her own right—famous, beautiful and adored. They all beamed at her.
“Buongiorno.”
“Buongiorno, signor e signora.”
“Benvenuto, Signora Moretti.”
After three different people of different ages greeted them, Hallie turned to Cristiano in bewilderment. “They know who I am?”
He gave her a crooked grin. “Of course they do. We were married yesterday. By now everyone in Rome knows you are my wife. You’re a celebrity here, cara.”
“Why would I be a celebrity?” Then, looking at his face, she gave him a sheepish grin. “You’re teasing me.”
“I don’t tease,” Cristiano said. Taking her hand, he brought it to his lips for a brief, hot kiss, then whispered, “At least not that way.”
She shivered until he released her hand.
“Be serious,” she pleaded. She saw several people in the lobby covertly lifting cameras to take her picture. Why? Was something wrong with her? She looked down at the simple outfit that Cristiano’s concierge had packed for her in New York. It was sleek and severe, less comfortable than her beloved sundresses: a black dress with a sweetheart neckline and black high heels.
Cristiano had assured her that the outfit would be appropriate in Rome. Now, her heart pounded at all the curious eyes staring at her. “Why is everyone looking at me?”
“Because many Italian women want to know your secret.”
“What secret?”
His dark eyes flickered. “Of how you hooked me into marriage.”
“Um, by letting you accidentally knock me up?”
With a snort, he said mildly, “In New York, I am not that unusual. There’s a Sicilian tycoon in my hotel who is a well-known playboy, in addition to being a cold bastard. Even Ares Kourakis, my best man at the wedding, was called uncatchable before he fell for some little waitress from the West last year. But here, in Rome and Naples, everywhere in southern Italy, I am famous.” He looked down at her, caressing her with his eyes. “And now, so are you.”
Butterflies skimmed through Hallie. As he led her to the extravagantly gilded elevator, and they rode it to the top floor, the butterflies only increased. Marco and Salvatore went ahead of them, carrying their luggage.
Cristiano stopped at the penthouse door with the stroller. “Welcome to our home.”
“Our home?”
He smiled. “For now.”
Following him inside, Hallie saw a large suite of rooms, all decorated as lavishly as the lobby. The baby’s blue-walled room was furnished with every luxury and comfort, with books and lavish toys. Next to that, she saw the enormous master bedroom, with a huge bed and walk-in closet.
Through sliding doors, she walked out onto a terrace. Purple flowers laced the edge of the railing and she felt the hot Italian sun beating down from the blue summer sky. Looking out, she gasped at the panoramic view, gaping in wonder at the old buildings, domed churches and Roman temples spread out across the seven hills.
Coming from behind, Cristiano wrapped his arms around her, pulling her back against his chest, nuzzling her neck.
“It’s so beautiful,” she whispered, and turned around in his arms, feeling she was in a dream.
He smiled. “You’re beautiful, cara mia,” he said huskily, lowering his head to hers. “And now that you’re my wife, I intend to give you the world...”
* * *
For the next two weeks, whenever Cristiano wasn’t working, checking every detail of this hotel—which had prepared strenuously for his inspection—he took Hallie and the baby to explore the city.
