The Price Of A Dangerous Passion

“You could have said ‘wedding and honeymoon’ and everyone would have been delighted, instead of worried.” He saw her expression and shrugged. “It’s the perception of things, isn’t it? One sounds as if you’re in the midst of struggle and sorrow, whereas ‘wedding and honeymoon’ sounds festive and celebratory.”

“I can’t tell my clients I’m getting married!”

“Why not? You are. Why not let them be happy for you?”

“But we don’t know when we’ll get married. It might not be for months.”

“Cara, we’re marrying soon. I’m determined we marry before our son is born, and since he seems to want to arrive early, I don’t think we should wait.”

She closed her laptop and pressed it to her chest. “How soon?”

“As soon as it can be arranged.”

Brando was still with her when Dr. Leonardi returned late afternoon to check on Charlotte but stepped out while the doctor examined her, returning when it was over.

“Everything still looks good. I think she’s out of the woods, but I want her on bed rest for the next few days, and then modified bed rest Friday.”

Charlotte glanced hopefully at Brando. “Does that mean I can leave?”

“Perhaps tomorrow.”

“But if everything looks good, can’t I just rest at home?” she pressed.

Brando’s gaze swept the sterile room. “I’d prefer for her to rest at my home. I’m not a fan of hospitals, and Charlotte is right, it’s not very restful here. It’s noisy and chaotic and I’m not sure how this is the best environment for her, or the baby.”

“But we have nurses here, staff here. Equipment here,” the doctor answered.

“Can’t I get the same equipment for the house? Couldn’t I hire a nurse to be with her at home?”

“That’s a huge expense—” The doctor broke off when he saw Brando’s expression. “But yes, she could be monitored at home. It’s essential, though, that she rest, or you’ll be right back here, and I don’t know if we would be successful stopping labor next time.”

“We have no intention of being back until the baby is full term,” Brandon said.

Dr. Leonardi nodded. “I’ll sign off on her leaving tomorrow. I still want her here tonight, but remember, no stress, no excitement. There isn’t to be any drama or pressure.”

“Understood.”

Charlotte had imagined they’d be going to Brando’s city house when she was discharged the next day. Instead the helicopter was waiting to whisk them back to the castello.

“There is more fresh air, more peace in the country,” Brando said as they made the fifteen-minute trip by air.

Now that she wasn’t in pain, Charlotte enjoyed the trip, thinking the Tuscan hills looked like a striking quilt from the air, patches of light green and dark green intermixed with squares of pale gold, which turned out to be villages and castellos like Brando’s.

On landing at his estate, Brando swept her into his arms and carried her back to the house, despite Charlotte insisting she could walk partway. He ignored her completely, and made short work of the distance, carrying her up two flights of stairs as if she weighed nothing at all.

She’d wondered about the third flight of stairs, and it wasn’t until they reached a different bedroom that she realized Brando wasn’t returning her to the bedroom she’d had before, but moving her into his room. “What are you doing?” she asked lowly as she was settled onto the enormous bed.

“Keeping you close,” he said. “Doctor’s orders.”

“I thought you were getting a professional.”

“I am, for the day. But at night, you’ll sleep with me so I can keep an eye on you.”

“And you don’t think that will be a source of stress or excitement?”

“I think it will be a greater source of stress and excitement if I come check on you three or four times a night.”

She pulled herself up, sitting a little taller. “You don’t need to do that. I can just shout.”

“Right.” But his lips twisted. He’d caught her attempt at humor.

She appreciated that, and him. More than he’d ever know. “I don’t know that I can sleep in here with you.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t sleep well with others.”

“Build a pillow wall.”

“Can I really?”

“No. I need to be able to see you—”

“Nothing is going to happen! I’m not going to disappear in the night or give birth in ten seconds. Everything is fine. I just need to stay put—”

“In my bed.”

“Brando, you’re causing me stress and excitement.”

“Bella, you’re causing stress and excitement by arguing with me. Accept the inevitable. You’re stuck with me.” And then he closed the distance, bent down and kissed her, in a long, tender, melting kiss that made the hair rise on the back of her neck and her nipples peak and tighten. By the time he lifted his head, she felt like he’d poured warm honey into her veins. “It won’t be all bad, though,” he murmured, his lips brushing across hers in another slow, maddening kiss that had her squirming and breathless. “You just have to relax,” he murmured, kissing her cheek and then just beneath her earlobe. He’d found an incredibly sensitive spot there, and then another one just beneath her jaw.

She sighed, and arched, pleasure suffusing her. “I’m not sure the doctor would approve,” she whispered.

“I promise not to give you an orgasm.”

She laughed softly, and the husky laugh turned to a smothered moan as his teeth scraped the side of her neck, setting her on fire, and sending hot sparks all the way down to her toes. She reached for him then, her hand wrapping around his nape as she buried her fingers into his thick, crisp hair. “If your kisses send me back to the hospital, I will—”

“Never forgive myself,” he answered, lifting his head, to gaze down into her eyes. He pushed back a heavy wave of her hair, tucking strands behind her ear. “I know you showered at the hospital earlier, but would you like a bath now that you’re home? I can send one of the girls up to draw you one.”

“I don’t need anyone to draw me a bath, and I don’t want you to fuss over me. It’s enough to know that you’re here in case something goes wrong, so please go do whatever it is you need to do, and you can relax knowing I’ll be here taking my first nap of the day.”

Charlotte was relieved when Brando left the room. Her luggage had already been moved from her bedroom into his, and one of the maids brought up her briefcase and bags from the hospital. Once she was alone, she locked the bathroom door, stripped off her clothes and took a long soak in the deep tub. She washed her hair, rinsed and conditioned it, before climbing out and patting herself dry. With her long hair still wrapped in a towel, she climbed back into bed and fell asleep, grateful to be in a quiet room. Charlotte slept for over an hour and when she woke up, she discovered someone had placed a water bottle and glass next to the bed for her, plus a bowl of fresh fruit and a small plate of biscotti. But that wasn’t all. Leaning against the lamp was a tall leather-bound book with a sticky note.

Charlotte, pick out your favorite.

She recognized the handwriting. Brando had written the note and she reached for the book and positioned it on her lap before opening the luxurious soft cream leather cover. The Ricci-Baldi Bridal Collection, the title page read.

Puzzled, Charlotte quickly flipped through the pages, from beginning to end. There were maybe twenty gowns in the book, and the entire book consisted of couture bridal gowns, exclusively designed by Livia, Brando’s sister, and Livia’s designer husband, Luca Baldi.

Brando wanted her to pick out her favorite bridal gown. Was this really happening?

She suddenly wasn’t sure she could go through with the wedding, at least, not like this. She was scared, and troubled.

Exhaling in a rush, she closed the design book, carefully replacing it where she’d found it, leaning against the glass lamp on the side table.

Intellectually she understood why marrying Brando was a good idea. But emotionally she couldn’t see herself wearing a formal white gown, never mind a couture gown from one of Italy’s top design teams. She wasn’t having a dream wedding. The wedding was business, and the ceremony was for legal purposes. She and Brando were choosing to be responsible, and practical, and she didn’t need a formal gown, or veil, or even flowers for that. She could wear a suit, or a smart dress, and Brando would wear one of his tailored suits, and they’d be married quietly, privately, by a government official without fuss.

It was better they not start their marriage under any illusions that this was a love marriage, because she had to manage her expectations, or beautiful, brilliant Brando Ricci would break her heart.

Brando returned from the winery to discover Charlotte had moved herself back to her bedroom.