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“It’s over.”
“I know, but I still hate it.”
“But if we didn’t have turbulence, we’d never appreciate a smooth flight.”
Their dinner was a strange meal, an almost painfully civilized meal, with Vittorio playing the role of attentive host. They discussed only safe topics—their mutual love of Turkey, favorite European cities, the stunning Dalmatian coast as if both were determined to put their best foot forward.
Could they really start fresh? Could they make their relationship work?
“We’re not entirely incompatible,” he said just moments later, as if he could read the emotions flitting over her face. “We both like sex and apparently still enjoy it together.”
She felt as though he’d dashed cold water over her head. “And that’s enough for you?”
His dark eyes met hers. “It wouldn’t be, but we also have Joseph and we share responsibility for him.”
And that was a terribly important responsibility. Jillian couldn’t imagine anything else ever being so important. “Yes.”
Vitt continued to hold her gaze. “Maybe another ceremony wouldn’t be a bad idea. Maybe we should renew our vows at the chapel, and include our families. It would be good to have them on our side.”
“They won’t be now?”
“No. Not entirely.”
“Why not?”
His mouth quirked. “You’re not Sicilian.”
They left the small elegant dining room for the staff room and found Joe happily playing with a set of toy cars with one of Vitt’s bodyguards. Maria watched from an armchair nearby.
Looking at Joe it struck Jillian that in Vitt’s world Joe was royalty. He was treated like a young prince. Protected. Pampered. He was the heir to his father’s throne.
It was both a terrible truth and a heartbreaking reality. Joe was no longer her baby, her son. He’d already become Joseph d’Severano, inheriting all the power, wealth and control that accompanied the d’Severano name.
They stayed in the staff room for a few minutes and Vittorio talked to his bodyguards as if they were close friends. And maybe they were. Then conversation ended, he swung Joe into his arms and led the way to Jillian’s room where the baby’s travel cot had been set up.
Her tiny plush bedroom felt absolutely claustrophobic with Vittorio there. She did her best to pretend he wasn’t watching every move she made. Acting as natural as possible, Jillian gave Joe a sponge bath and then dressed him in his footed, zippered sleeper for bed.
Vitt half smiled at Joe’s bright blue footed pajamas. “Babies all over the world must wear these.”
“Snug sleepwear is essential,” she answered, fastening the little flap that covered the zipper head. “You don’t want a baby to get tangled up or in trouble.”
For a moment Vitt was silent, his powerful body still. “Was it hard raising him on your own?”
“Yes.” She looked up at him, her expression rueful. “Especially in the beginning. I was so tired. So terribly sleep-deprived.”
“Did you have anyone to help you?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Not even your mother?”
“I haven’t seen her in years.”
Vittorio watched as she expertly juggled Joe on her hip and prepared a bottle. “So there never were any worries? He’s given you no fits? No scares?”
“I didn’t say that. I worried about him every single night. For the first six months of his life I woke again and again during the night to make sure he was safe, to make sure he was breathing. I was absolutely terrified that when I closed my eyes, something would happen to him.”
“You mean like SIDS?”
