Claiming His Wedding Night Consequence

Chiara watched as Nico strode back up the garden towards the castello. For a moment she could almost imagine he was one of his ancestors—a marauding Greek or Moor.

The truth was that Chiara wouldn’t ever have got close to a man like Nico if it hadn’t been for extraordinary circumstances. She was average in height, and looks, and was becoming more like a beached whale with every passing day.

Yet, remarkably, they still had insane chemistry. Which was all very well—for now. But what would happen when Nico’s desire for her fizzled out, as it invariably would? And what would happen when the baby was born and they had to deal with a whole new reality? Babies tested the best of relationships.

Would she have the strength to keep up the pretence that she was okay with just this and not more? Or would the huge cracks that she knew were ever-expanding just below the surface of their relationship appear and tear them apart completely?

She couldn’t imagine a man like Nico settling for life with a wife he no longer found attractive, and she wouldn’t be able to bear it if he took mistresses.

She was going to have to talk to him. But while the after-effects of his lovemaking still flowed through her blood like nectar she thought Just not yet.

A week later

Nico leant against the door that led outside from the kitchen, where a small vegetable and herb garden was laid out. Chiara was on her knees, planting something in the ground, wearing a huge sun hat to keep the sun off her face. Her hair was long and tangled down her back, and with irritating predictability all Nico wanted to do was go over, wrap her hair around his hand and tug her head back so she presented her lush mouth to him.

Irritating because he couldn’t see an end to this desire that seemed to pulse through his system with growing force. Not less force. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to find his wife attractive, but her role as his wife of convenience wasn’t meant to include mak

ing him feel insatiable lust.

At least if that diminished Nico might feel some semblance of control returning. Right now, control was an elusive concept.

She must have sensed his presence, because she turned around and looked up. Her face was flushed and she smiled and Nico found it hard to breathe.

He said, ‘What are you wearing?’

The smile slid off her face and Nico could breathe again—but he felt like a heel.

‘They’re old dungarees belonging to my father. I thought they’d be perfect for doing some gardening.’

Nico couldn’t take his eyes off her. She shouldn’t have looked remotely sexy in a sleeveless vest and cut-off voluminous dungarees, but right then he was hard pushed to drum up a sexier image.

Chiara clambered to her feet, which were in bright pink flip-flops. Today her toenails were painted purple. Desire hit Nico directly in his solar plexus and moved down lower.

She said, ‘Actually, I’m glad you’re here—there’s something I want to show you.’

Nico saw how flushed she was and said, ‘When was the last time you drank some water?’

She blinked. ‘Um...lunchtime?’

He made a disapproving noise and called back into the kitchen for some water. Maria came out with a bottle, clucking like a mother hen. Chiara took it and rolled her eyes at Nico before taking a few big gulps. It didn’t help Nico to cool down when he saw drops dripping down her chin and under the neck of the T-shirt.

Dio. He was a walking hormone and she was the pregnant one. Pathetic.

‘You said you wanted to show me something?’

She nodded and started to walk out of the small garden towards the area where the chapel and graveyards were situated. He stopped in his tracks when he saw that the old graveyard, full of his ancestors, had been completely cleared of foliage and that men were working on the gravestones, cleaning them and re-engraving them.

He could feel Chiara’s eyes on him and his skin prickled.

‘When did they start this?’ His voice was sharp.

Chiara sounded nervous. ‘When you went to Rome. I asked the landscape gardeners to look at it and one of them knows someone who cleans headstones. Do you mind?’ she asked.

Nico felt as if a layer of skin was being peeled away to reveal the tender underside of a wound. It was disconcerting. ‘Why would I mind? The truth is that it should never have been allowed to become overgrown in the first place.’

‘No, it shouldn’t,’ she said quietly. ‘And I thought that this would at least go some way to rectifying the situation.’

What Chiara had done cut right to the heart of him. Nico knew his reaction was irrational, but he couldn’t control it—there was much he couldn’t control at the moment. He felt as if his heart was expanding in his chest, cutting off all the oxygen, making it hard to breathe. He also—ridiculously—felt his eyes stinging.