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“Why isn’t it?” Vitt asked, repeating his question.
She turned toward him, seeing his black tailored trousers, the white shirt, the expensive black blazer. But then everything about him oozed money, success. “You’ve always lived in one place, and been raised around the same people. You’ve never had to be anyone but Vittorio d’Severano. It was different for me.”
“You moved a lot when you were growing up?”
“Yes.”
“Your father was in the military?”
She nearly laughed. Her father in the service? Her father an honorable man? “No.”
“What did he do?”
Lied. Cheated. Backstabbed. But she couldn’t say that. “Business. Sales. Things like that.”
The jet had stopped taxiing to park at a small executive terminal.
“You never wanted to work with him?” Vitt asked, ignoring his flight crew as they prepared the aircraft for deplaning.
“No.” She felt Joe wiggle on her lap, his small body warm and compact against hers and she glanced down at him, thinking there was so much she wanted for him, so much she wanted to give him if only she had the chance.
“What about you?” she asked Vitt as he unbuckled his seat belt and got to his feet. “Did your father expect you to go to work for him?”
Vitt towered above her, his expression somber. For a long moment he was silent before he gave his head a brief shake. “No. In fact, the opposite was true. He begged me to go somewhere else, do something different, but I wouldn’t.”
Her forehead furrowed. “Why not?”
Vitt shrugged as he reached for Joe and swung him into his arms. “I was a d’Severano. And my father needed me.”
The door opened and sunlight filled the front cabin. Vittorio waited at the head of the stairs for Jillian before descending the staircase. Jillian descended more slowly, cautious in her high heels. She actually felt pulled together this morning in her brown sheath dress and chocolate suede pumps. All she needed was a great pair of sunglasses and she could pretend she was a movie star.
Vittorio’s hand was on the small of her back as they started across the tarmac. A line of black town cars waited, each with tinted glass. Vittorio almost always traveled with escorts and bodyguards. He was rich. And he was a d’Severano. Therefore he could never be too careful.
They were nearly to the cars when a door opened on one of the black sedans. A slim blonde woman emerged.
Vittorio stopped in his tracks, his expression hardening. “She never listens,” he said, shaking his head. “I told her not to come.”
Jillian shot a swift glance at the sophisticated blonde in the pale blue suit. “Who is she?”
He sighed. “My mother.”
Jillian stiffened. “Your mother?”
“She’s what I like to call an independent thinker.”
Until this moment, Jillian had been almost excited about arriving in Catania. She enjoyed travel and usually loved the moment she stepped off an airplane, thrilled by the sense of freedom and possibilities that came from being somewhere new. Every place had a different feel and unique energy. But all sense of wonder abruptly disappeared.
Vittorio’s hand remained on her back. “This might be rough,” he said. “But just remind yourself that you will survive.”
Her heart fell. His mother sounded awful. “You’re telling me her bark is worse than her bite?”
“No.” His full sensual mouth twisted, dark eyes narrowed. “I’m telling you that no one yet has died from her bite.”
“And that is really not very comforting.”
He smiled suddenly, dark eyes glinting with humor before he dropped a kiss on her lips. “Oh, she also thinks we’re radiantly happy, and completely in love. Can you manage that?”
She pressed her lips together, mouth tingling from his brief kiss. She wished he’d kiss her again. There was something dangerously addictive about his mouth. “I’ll try.”
