Hired:The Italian's Bride

“If it is easier for you to be angry with me, then so be it. I only want your happiness, Mari.”

And for the first time in his life, he knew it was true. He wanted her happiness ahead of his own. And a flash of fear: never did he want to become his father. Papa had dedicated his life to his wife’s happiness only to have it mean nothing. Luca had seen how Papa had been destroyed when his mother left them all. He also remembered the exact moment when his own innocence, his own belief in happy endings was so cruelly broken. And he knew now that it was nothing compared to the power Mari could have over his heart.

She turned away and wiped a finger beneath her lashes, catching the tear before it could trickle down her cheek. How could she explain that somehow her happiness was now bound up in him, too? He was right about everything! How they had both known this time would come. But she remembered being held in his arms as she’d explained about Robert and feeling safe and loved. All that would go with him when he went away. She’d utterly despised him that first day in her office, and now she’d give anything to have him stay.

“And I want yours,” she replied. She looked up into his eyes, wishing she were in his arms once more. It suddenly struck her that she wouldn’t kiss him ever again and a surge of emptiness engulfed her. All this time she’d fought to go back to her old life. And faced with it now, it seemed cold and pointless.

“Luca?”

His fingers were gripping hers so tightly they pained.

“Will you kiss me one more time?”

She heard the plea in her voice but for once didn’t care. She stood and walked into his embrace, felt his hands gently cup her neck as his lips grazed her temple.

She barely breathed, her chest rising and falling in shallow breaths as his mouth toyed with hers, treating her like precious china. Her lids drifted closed as the soft skin of his lips touched the crest of her cheek, her forehead, her lashes before tentatively settling on her mouth. The kiss there shattered her with its innocence and purity. Her wrap floated to the floor but she didn’t care. Three little words hovered on her lips but she held them in. There was something tenuous and fragile between them and Mari would not break that connection by voicing protestations of love. Instead she kept the words treasured in her heart until it hurt so much she knew she had to leave before breaking down completely.

“I need to go,” she gasped, pulling back and grappling for her purse. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this.”

She rushed out of the alcove before Luca could utter a single word.

Luca bent and picked up the wrap she’d left behind, turning it over in his fingers. Mariella, with her innocent pleas and courageous heart.

Summons be damned. He’d come here tonight to reinstate the status quo with Mari and all he’d done was stir things up more. He ran a hand over his face. He’d never had this trouble before. He was good at moving on. And he couldn’t figure out why this time was different.

He’d simply let himself get too involved, that was all. He was just being a fool, thinking this was love. He folded the wrap and gripped the soft fabric in his hand. Maybe she wouldn’t see it now, but his leaving was the best thing for both of them.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

THE house was dark when Mari entered. Times like this her heart always beat a little faster; no matter how much she told herself the past was over, she knew it really wasn’t. She’d always have that little bit of fear lurking behind dark and closed doors. It was simple preoccupation that had caused her to forget to leave a few lights burning. As soon as she stepped inside, she flicked on the kitchen light, the instant glow alleviating some of her anxiety.

Luca was leaving. All the turmoil of the past weeks would be gone, like they’d never happened. She was getting her life back. It was what she wanted.

Aimlessly she let her fingers drift over the mail she’d brought in earlier and had thrown on the table in her distraction of getting ready for dinner. Her fingers paused over an odd white-and-red envelope that meant Express service…and opened it to find another letter-size envelope bearing an insignia and the words Toronto Police Service.

She held the letter in trembling hands. After a few minutes of staring at it, she turned it over, ripped the flap and pulled out a single sheet of paper.

It was over.

Mariella sat heavily in the kitchen chair, the paper still open and shaking in her fingers. Tommy’s nails tapped on the floor and he sat beside her, putting his head down on her knee. The warmth from it soaked into her leg, anchoring her to the present.

This was her life. Hers. And now, hers alone. The past was gone, melted away in a few short paragraphs.