But as Alex led her into the dining room, Rosalie was forced to admit what her senses had been screaming at her for days. She didn’t know why, or how. But for whatever reason, it was true.
Alex wanted her.
In the elegant, oversize dining room with its chandeliers over its table for twelve, Alex pulled out a chair for her, his eyes hungry. As she came forward, no matter how she tried to tell herself that their desire didn’t matter, that it was forbidden, all she could hear was the husky echo of his words.
There is always a choice.
CHAPTER SIX
FIRST THING THE NEXT morning, as threatened, Alex took Rosalie to the best obstetrician in Venice, who’d opened up her private clinic two hours early for them.
When he first heard his baby’s heartbeat and saw the sonogram, he was overcome in a way he’d never expected. He actually felt tears in his eyes. He blinked them away before either Rosalie or the doctor could notice. But as she was stretched out on the examination table, looking at the ultrasound pictures of their son, Alex reached for Rosalie’s hand and held it very tight.
But other than that, he was careful not to touch her. It was too dangerous, tempting him to do more. Instead, after she’d gotten a clean bill of health from the obstetrician, who’d told them the baby would arrive in early August, Alex introduced her to her new city. They explored Saint Mark’s Square early in the morning, before the cruise ships arrived. He watched her laugh as she saw the pigeons flying up against the sky.
After breakfast, they went to luxury clothing boutiques, at his insistence, and he bought her and the baby anything he wanted, anything Rosalie’s gaze lingered on, even for a moment. When she protested, Alex reminded her of his promise to her great-aunt that he’d take care of them. “I do not intend to cross her.”
“Probably wise,” Rosalie sighed, but she seemed to find shopping uninspiring, even when he insisted on buying her a formal ball gown “just in case.”
“I just don’t see the point,” she argued. “I don’t know how long I’ll be staying in Venice. It’s not like I’ll need any ball gowns after I leave. I doubt
I’ll even need one here.”
Alex didn’t like to think of her leaving. “I’m buying it.”
“It’s not necessary—”
“Pick out some dresses. Or I’ll pick them for you. Then I’ll drag you to the jewelry boutique and force you to pick out diamonds to match.”
Faced with such an awful threat, Rosalie dutifully picked out a fancy ball gown, as well as a cocktail dress, both of which were bagged up by the delighted shopgirls. “I chose the most expensive dresses in the store,” she grumbled. “I hope you’re happy.”
“Very,” he said, but as they passed a lingerie shop, he thought he would have been even happier to buy her everything in that particular store. He resisted. After a few more shops, as his bodyguard discreetly arranged for all the packages to be sent home, Alex turned to her with a smile. “All right. I suppose you’ve suffered enough. Shall we explore?”
As they explored the tiny alleys and winding byways, he entertained her with the history of the city, which had been a republic for a thousand years—even in the Middle Ages, when all the countries around them had been feudal kingdoms.
She asked him questions about what a doge was—apparently the elected leader of the council. She wanted to know when Venice had become a republic—697—and how it had ended—Napoleon.
“This city has always been fought over, by men who lusted after it to the death. It’s ironic that Venice is called La Serenissima when men have gone mad trying to take it. Men have gone mad,” he said in a low voice, looking at Rosalie, “trying to possess what they cannot have.”
Her eyes became dreamy. “I think it’s beautiful.”
“Yes.” The city was beautiful, Alex thought. But growing up here, it had always felt cold. Beautiful and cold. Like his family’s palazzo. Like Chiara.
Rosalie was not cold. She was warm, like the earth. Being around her made him feel like himself, the man he really was beneath the title and vast fortune and expensive designer suits. Just as he felt most himself while overseeing the vineyards of his country estate, ninety minutes outside the city.
Venice, as beautiful as it was, had never truly felt like his home. For many reasons.
It was when they stopped for a late lunch at the most exclusive restaurant in the city that Rosalie first noticed they were being followed. As they went inside, she glanced nervously behind them at the people who were stopped by the man at the door.
“Are they following us?” she whispered.
“Yes,” Alex answered grimly, as they were led to his preferred table, private in the back.
But even here, inside this elegant ristorante, some of their fellow diners were surreptitiously watching them. One young woman at a nearby table lifted up her phone to take a photo.
“Why are they looking at us?” Rosalie asked uncomfortably.
Alex shrugged. “People have been following us ever since we left the doctor’s office. It is normal.”