The Italian's Revenge

‘Well, that is just something else you are going to have to learn to do without,’ he informed her deridingly. ‘Because sex is out for the next nine months, if you recall.’

‘Are you joking?’ she flashed. ‘I’m not giving up sex until I have to!’

‘You will do as you are told,’ he informed her coldly.

That’s what you think, Catherine thought, with the light of battle burning in her eyes. On an act of rebellion she whipped both towels away, then, with a push to his arrogant chest, sent him toppling backwards onto the mattress.

‘I want you now, while you are still wet from your shower and I am dripping in diamonds!’ she informed him as she followed him down so she was stretched out down his full length. Then she kissed him so sensuously that he didn’t stand a cat in hell’s chance of arguing the point with her.

‘You are right; you are a witch,’ he muttered when she eventually released him.

‘A happy witch, though,’ she said. ‘I love you. You love me. It makes me feel so wickedly aroused,’ she confessed as she trailed the heart-shaped diamond locket across his kiss-warmed mouth. ‘So, do you want to fight some more or make love?’ she asked. ‘Bearing in mind, of course, that you have just ordained that we are not allowed to fight any more...’

* * *

Eight months later, Catherine was relaxing on one of the sun loungers reading a book while Santo played around in the pool. It was April, and the weather had only just turned warm enough to indulge in this kind of lazy pastime. But she put her book aside when Vito suddenly appeared around the corner of the house and came to join her.

‘You’re home early,’ she remarked, accepting his warm kiss as he bent over her.

‘I have some news for you,’ he explained. ‘But first—how are my two precious females?’

Catherine smiled serenely as his hand reached out to lay a gentle stroke across her swollen stomach. Learning the sex of their baby had been a decision they had made together very early on in her pregnancy, when neither knew what the future was going to offer them. Catherine had wanted to know as much about her baby as she could know—just in case. And Vito had not demurred. So Abrianna Luisa had become a very real little person to all of them, and that included her brother and her grandmother. But in the end they needn’t have worried, for she had sailed through this pregnancy without so much as a hiccup to spoil its calm, smooth development.

‘We are fine,’ she assured him. ‘But—what is this?’ She frowned as he dropped a very official-looking document with red seals and signatures on her lap.

‘You can read Italian,’ he reminded her lazily, then walked off to collect a red and white football that was lying beside the pool and toss it playfully at his son.

It was several minutes before he came back to her. By then Catherine had finished reading and was waiting for him. ‘She sold out to you at last,’ she said.

‘Mmm,’ was all he said, but his brief smile held a wealth of grim satisfaction. ‘Once our daughter has arrived as safely as the doctors have assured us she will, I will have the stock transferred to her.’

‘Not Santino?’ Catherine queried.

Vito shook his dark head. ‘He already has a similar block of my own stock placed in his name. So...’ He bent down to touch a gentle hand to Catherine’s stomach. ‘Marietta’s block will belong to my Abrianna Luisa,’ he ordained. ‘And we can now put Marietta out of our lives.’

With a sigh, Catherine gazed out in front of her and thought about Marietta, living in New York now and working for another investment bank of great repute. She was happier there, so they’d heard via the Neapolitan grapevine. Like any addict denied her fix, she had eventually learned to overcome her obsessive desire to be a Giordani. And, as Vito had just more or less said, her willingness to sell him her shares in the company was final proof of that. ‘It’s time Santo came out of the water before he catches a chill,’ she murmured. And just like that Marietta was set aside.

Vito nodded. ‘Santino!’ he called. ‘Come and help me heave Mamma off this lounger. It is time for her rest!’

‘Rest,’ Catherine mocked as she watched her son power his wiry little frame to the edge of the swimming pool. ‘What else do I ever get to do but rest?’

‘Ah,’ Vito smiled. ‘But this one will be different. For I shall be there to share it with you.’

And his eyes were gleaming, because he was talking about spending an hour or so loving her—not the sexual kind of loving, but the other kind, that nourished the soul...

* * * * *