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Especially hot.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
* * *
Alessia is wearing a blue scarf around her head that conceals her hair and a blue robe, reminding me of when she was in my flat.
What a time that was… Me lusting after her while she ignored me.
She’s as lovely now as she was then. More so, and I’m still lusting after her. She gazes at me, a mountain of hurt in her eyes.
“What is it?”
She pales a little.
Shit. It’s bad.
“Tell me, please.”
“It was… just words.”
“Tell me,” I insist.
“Your sister-in-law.” Her voice is barely audible.
“Caroline?”
She nods.
“Ah.” I knew it. “What’s she said?”
She seems to be debating whether to tell me. I watch her inner struggle play out on her expressive face. Finally, she swallows. “She said that you are a better…fuck”—she whispers the word—“than her husband.”
I inhale sharply as my temper flares. I’ve never heard Alessia use crude language before, and hearing that word come out of her mouth has shocked me more than it should.
What Caroline said is more shocking and un-fucking-becoming.
No wonder she’s at breakfast, hanging her head in shame.
So she should be.
Caro’s come here to cause trouble. And she’s succeeded. I bridle my anger, knowing I can deal with her later. “I’m sure she was drunk,” I mutter charitably.
“I could not stop thinking about that last night. As I was trying to sleep.”
Shit. We’re having this discussion now—on the day of our wedding?
“Do you love her?” Alessia asks.
I gape at her, stunned into silence. What? How can she think that?
“You are not answering my question. In Cornwall, you said, ‘talk to me,’ ‘ask me questions.’ I am asking you now.”
“No, I don’t love her like that.” I’m emphatic. “I used to, a long time ago. But I was fifteen. She’s family. My brother’s wife.”
“And physically?”
I frown, not entirely understanding what she’s trying to ask.
“Did you have sexual intercourse with your brother’s wife?”
Hell.
“Um… no. But I had sex with his widow.”
Alessia winces and closes her eyes, and her expression slices me to the bone.
Shit. And I’ve never felt quite as ashamed as I do now.
“When I last saw her,” Alessia says as she opens dark, dark wounded eyes, “she was in your arms, on the sidewalk outside your apartment building.”
“In my arms?” I frown, desperately trying to remember, feeling like I’ve been caught on the back foot.
“I was in Anatoli’s Mercedes.”
A chill grips my heart, and I’m transported back to that dreadful night. “Oh, yes. She was apologizing, and she ran into me. We would have fallen had I not caught her.” I swallow. “We had a fight. A big fight.”
“It makes sense. You and her. You are the same. The same class.” Her voice gets quieter and quieter.
“No! I don’t want Caroline. I want you, Alessia. When I went to see her, I told her I was in love with you. She threw me out of the house and then came running to apologize. And it was just as Anatoli was getting into the car. I didn’t listen to what Caroline was saying. I knew something was wrong. I recognized the Albanian plates on his car, and I cannot tell you how harrowing it was to watch in complete helplessness as it drove off into the distance.” I close my eyes and remember the feeling of utter impotence and despair as the Mercedes disappeared from view. “It was one of the worst days of my life.”
Her fingers find mine, and I open my eyes as she squeezes my hand.
“What’s going on, Alessia?” I return the squeeze.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” she asks. “She loves you too.”
I pull her into my arms and hold her. “It’s you I love, not her. It’s you I want to marry. Not her. Please don’t let her ruin our day.”
I can’t believe we’re having this discussion.
Alessia lets out a sigh, her dark eyes on mine.
“Baby, let’s do this.” I stroke my thumb over her lip. “I want to grow old with you. And I don’t want my family to be in any doubt about how I feel about you, Alessia Demachi—you are the love of my life.”
I hear her small gasp. “You are the love of mine.” And she presses her lips against the pad of my thumb.
“Thank God.” I exhale with relief. “I’m not going to kiss you. I want to save that for tonight.” As the words leave my mouth, a frisson of desire skates over my skin, lifting the hairs on my body.
Wow.
Alessia inhales sharply. “Okay.” She sounds a little breathless.
“Okay.” I grin.
Her answering smile is shy, and I know I’ve won her back.
“That was a stunning piece you played. Knocked the socks off my friends and family.”
“I was angry.”
“I could tell. I’m sorry.”
She shuts her eyes and quickly shakes her head as if ridding herself of a terrible thought.
“Are you packed?”
