Scalding tears burned the back of her eyes but she wouldn’t let them fall. Instead she tipped her head back and let the water course down, drumming strength into her, drumming confidence.
There’d be no more tears.
She needed to be focused and smart and think about what would happen when they reached Sicily.
She was entering Vittorio’s world tomorrow morning, arriving in Catania as his wife. That should make her feel protected. Respected.
Unfortunately the rushed ceremony made her feel exactly the opposite. The ceremony did not seem binding. Never mind honorable. Maybe the marriage gave Joe Vittorio’s name, but it did nothing to ease her fears, or her sense of isolation.
She was still vulnerable.
In Sicily, she’d need Vittorio’s protection.
How to get his protection and his family’s respect? It wouldn’t be with a quickie wedding, she knew that much. If Vitt’s mother was as devout as Vitt said she was, she’d never accept Jillian as her daughter-in-law, not unless she believed their union had been sanctioned by the church. But how could their union be blessed by the church, if they hadn’t even married in a church, or by a priest?
Her stomach did another nervous flip as she realized she needed a public acknowledgment that she and Vitt had indeed exchanged vows, and that they viewed their vows as holy and binding.
Which meant they needed a church wedding.
Fast.
Jillian dressed and blew dry her hair with care. She was just putting on earrings when a knock sounded on the door and she opened the door to discover Maria in the hall with Joe.
“Mama,” he said, smiling and reaching for her.
What a lovely surprise! Jillian took her baby from Maria and hugged him tight. His small sturdy arms wrapped around her neck and she kissed his neck, his cheek, loving the sweet smell of him. Her baby. Her boy.
“Signore, Signor d’Severano has said dinner will be served in fifteen minutes.”
“We’re dining with Joe?”
Maria shook her head. “I do not think so. I believe it is just you and Signor, although he thought Joseph could join you for the first few minutes.”
“Come in, then. I’m almost ready. Just need to finish styling my hair.”
In front of the mirror in the bathroom, Jillian gathered her blond hair, shaping and pinning it into a soft French twist before stepping back to examine her reflection. With her fair hair up, and in the soft silver knit top and dark pewter slacks, she could almost pass for elegant. The top and slacks were big on her, items left over from her transition wardrobe following Joe’s birth, but with pink lipstick, silver bangles on her wrist and a sophisticated hairstyle, she looked polished. Serene. Strong.
Serene and strong was good, because when she joined Vittorio for dinner, she had a purpose.
She was going to convince Vittorio that they needed to marry again, but this time in a beautiful ceremony in his hometown, in his family’s church, in front of his community of family and friends.
She wasn’t sure how he’d react to the proposed ceremony. She only knew she had to convince him it was necessary.
Finished dressing, Jillian thanked Maria for taking care of Joe and then carried her son to the dining room. Vittorio joined her almost immediately and she watched as he entered the room in a crisp white dress shirt with dark tailored trousers. His black hair was again damp and neatly combed, his hard, handsome features set.
She should hate him. She should.
She couldn’t.
Because just looking at him, she wanted him all over again. Just seeing his beautiful face with that chiseled jaw and full, sensual mouth made her body warm.
Was it only an hour ago he’d parted her legs and covered her most sensitive skin with his lips? She remembered the way he’d sucked and licked and tasted her. It’d been wanton lovemaking. So very carnal. And yet it’d been exquisite, too. Who knew such pleasure was possible?
Yet desire came with a price. And hadn’t she learned by now that those who needed others gave up power?
And wasn’t she sick of being powerless?
Ever since she was a child, she’d been at the mercy of others. First, her father. Then, the government. Between twelve and twenty they’d lived in five different states with four different identities. Each new identity required a new image, a new name, a new history.