The Italian's Token Wife

Magda bit her lip. Rafaello tried not to let his gaze focus on it. There would be time enough for what he intended, but for now the day stretched before them. He wanted to show Tuscany off to Magda—wanted to get her to himself again, truly to himself, without the watching chorus of not just his aunt and uncle but Maria and Giuseppe as well.

‘Please,’ she said, ‘you don’t have to show me around—really.’

‘It is my pleasure,’ he replied airily. ‘You have but to choose your destination. How about Firenze? The most magnificent jewel in the crown of Tuscany—whatever the quieter charms of Lucca.’

She smiled, but still looked uncertain.

‘Please—don’t think me ungrateful, but I feel I cannot leave Benji here—it is not fair either to him, to Maria or your aunt.’

‘Then we take him with us.’ It was not what he particularly wanted to do, but he could see her point.

Her uncertainty persisted. ‘A busy city is perhaps not the best place for him, let alone art museums and historical monuments.’

With a wave of his hand Rafaello disposed of this objection, too. ‘The solution is obvious—we’ll go to the beach.’

As if he had uttered a magic word, Magda’s face lit up. ‘Oh, can we really? Benji would adore a beach. He’s never been—neither have I…’

Her voice was wistful. Something about it stabbed Rafaello. She had never been to the beach.

But then she had lived such a deprived life—not just in poverty, but with no family. A foundling—abandoned by her mother. Could such things happen? Anger shot through him. No wonder she had clung to this boy from the orphanage, this Kaz of hers. No wonder she had sought comfort in his arms—his bed.

A shadow crossed his eyes. And even that had been taken from her…

‘Then it is decided,’ he announced decisively. ‘The beach it is.’

It was, thought Magda by the afternoon, the best day of her life! Even better than yesterday—for today she had with her both Benji and Rafaello. And Rafaello as she had never yet seen him—as gorgeous as ever, as bewilderingly attentive and approving as yesterday, but as playful as he had been with Benji in the pool at the villa.

And something more as well. She didn’t know what the ‘more’ was, only that it set the blood singing in her veins—a song that soared to the highest notes whenever she and Rafaello exchanged glances.

She knew she was living in a dream—knew that as she sat on the beach at Viareggio, Benji snug between her outstretched legs, Rafaello industriously rebuilding the sandcastle that Benji, without fail, would take exuberant pleasure in demolishing, sun glinting off his golden torso, bronzing his dark silky hair—knew that all she could do was make a memory of the moment.

And she knew, too, how dangerous was the tempting, impossible thought that was seeding itself against all reason, all reality, in the deepest part of her—the sweet, utterly unattainable fantasy that she could rewrite reality and be sitting here, not with a man who had married her solely to thwart and insult his father and safeguard his inheritance, but with her true husband, the father of her child…

But they were not a family—no such thing. Rafaello was being kind towards her, that was all. He was just trying to prove wrong the ugly words his father had thrown at her. She felt bad that he was moved to do so. It had hurt, knowing Rafaello had deliberately chosen her for her undesirability, both social and personal, but for herself she did not take shame in it. She was not responsible for her origins, and Benji was a gift from Kaz that she treasured beyond her own life, for whom she would do whatever it took to keep him safe and raise him well. Whether it was working as a cleaner or marrying a stranger who despised her for doing so…

Her eyes flickered to Rafaello again. But he was not despising her now! He was going to great lengths to be kind to her. She felt her heart squeeze.

He caught her gaze, pausing in the act of restoring—yet again—the sandcastle, and as his eyes held hers she felt colour stain her cheeks. He gave her a slow, intimate smile that deepened the colour along her cheekbones. For a long, timeless moment he held her gaze, and what flowed between them made her feel weak.

Benji, sensing distraction, launched himself forward and fell full-length on the castle, demolishing it utterly.

‘Oh, Benji, you little monster!’ cried Magda, laughing, breaking eye contact with half a sense of relief and half a yearning sense of loss. Rafaello was laughing, too. He climbed to his feet, taking Benji with him in a swinging arc.

‘Come,’ he told him with mock sternness, ‘time to get you wet!’ He held a hand down for Magda, and self-consciously she placed hers in his. His grip tightened and he pulled her to her feet. ‘You, too!’ he told her.