The Price Of A Dangerous Passion

“And that’s changed?”

She couldn’t hold the tears back. “Yes.”

“Why? Because you’ve heard some story about Adele and her pregnancy that had nothing to do with me?”

“You were prepared to marry her. You would have married her—”

“It wasn’t my child. I didn’t get her pregnant.”

“It doesn’t matter. What matters is that we’re all interchangeable in your eyes. You love making love, but you don’t really love, and then when you’re faced with the consequences, you think you’re doing the right thing, but marriage isn’t the answer, not when there’s no love.”

“It’s a little late for regrets, though. We’ve said our vows, we’ve made a commitment. There’s no backing out of it now.” He released her then and she took a step back, and then another, her chin high, spine straight.

For a long moment she just held his gaze, expression defiant, before regally turning around and walking away from him, aware that his gaze followed her every step of the way.

Brando watched Charlotte return to the castello, gut on fire, head throbbing. What the hell had just happened?

How had everything gone sideways?

She’d been happy last night, radiant in her bridal gown, and breathtaking in her shimmering satin nightgown. He’d slept with one arm around her last night, savoring her warmth, her softness, feeling overwhelmed with his desire to protect her. And then the baby kicked, right against his hand where it rested on her belly, and he’d known then that he would sacrifice everything for them, his wife and son. They would want for nothing. They would always have him, a devoted husband and father.

All day he’d felt renewed. Purposeful. There was a reason now for him to work harder, to push to be more successful. Everything he did would be for them... And yet Charlotte now wanted none of it.

And nothing from him.

He was baffled, but also angry. Angry that she didn’t trust him. Angry that she would judge and condemn him. Angry that she’d be so selfish that she’d put her needs before their son’s needs...before the needs of the family.

Apparently, he didn’t know her.

Apparently, she wasn’t who he’d thought she was, either.

There was no honeymoon, and they spent the next week living like strangers in the castello. Charlotte moved out of the master bedroom and back into hers. He never once commented on her decision.

After she returned to her own room, they still had dinner together twice, but each evening they barely spoke, the atmosphere tense, so severely strained that Charlotte couldn’t manage a bite. After the second miserable dinner, she told him she couldn’t eat with him anymore, it was too upsetting, and it was true. After that last dinner, she threw up after crying so hard. This wasn’t the life she wanted. This wasn’t the marriage she’d agreed to.

Days passed and the first week of July had come and gone, the summer heat making the air hot, and heavy. The heat gave Charlotte a headache and she stayed in her room, in the dark, heavy coral silk curtains drawn to keep her room cool and dim.

She felt listless and lost, confused as to why she was here in this place, living this way. Brando didn’t seem to care that he never saw her anymore, either, and he came to her room only after hearing she hadn’t gotten out of bed again one day.

He didn’t bother knocking. He opened her bedroom door, stood on the threshold, gaze sweeping the room, before crossing the floor and drawing back the heavy silk drapes, allowing sunlight to pierce the darkness. “Are you having contractions? Is there pain?” he asked brusquely.

“No,” she whispered.

“Then what are you doing still in bed?”

“I’m on bed rest, Brando.”

“The midwife said you should get up and walk a little. She said you need fresh air.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine.” He crossed to the side of the bed, narrowed gaze raking her, the curl of his upper lip revealing disdain.

“I want you to get up.”

“Why?” she asked, rolling onto her back to look up at him.

“Because this isn’t good for you, or the baby.”

She hated his tone, hated his arrogance, hated his superiority. She pushed herself up, the covers heavy on her legs. “Do you only care about the baby?”

He rolled his eyes. “That’s absurd, and you know it. I care about you. I’m concerned about you. You can’t keep this up. It’s not healthy, and it’s not good for any of us—”

“You don’t seem overly troubled by it. You’ve gone about your life this past week without any trouble.”

“I was giving you space.”

“Thank you for the profound emptiness.”

“I was respecting your wishes.”

“You don’t know me at all, do you?”

“I don’t play games. I didn’t think you played them, either.”

“You’re above all of this, aren’t you? How nice not to have emotions—”

“Charlotte, I’m genuinely worried about you. You’re clearly having a breakdown of some sort.”

She stared at him in wonderment. “What is your solution to the problem, then, Brando?”

“Get some sun, go for a swim, take short walks, read something interesting, take the focus off you.” His broad shoulders shifted carelessly. “You’re not the only one whose life has changed. We both have adjustments to make.”

“And yet this is your house, and your country. You are surrounded by your family and your employees, and your friends. The only thing you have lost is your ability to bed new women.” Her lips curved, but it wasn’t a smile. The pain inside her was blistering and raw. “Is that your hardship, Brando?”

Brando couldn’t remember the last time he was this angry. He felt as if he’d married a stranger. Who was this woman in his house? What had happened to the Charlotte he knew? Where was the woman he’d been so enamored with? “Do I need to call the doctor?” he asked, struggling to contain his temper. “Should I make an appointment for tomorrow?”

She averted her face. Her lower lip quivered. “I’m not sick.”

“Something is clearly wrong, though. You’re not yourself. If you don’t try to pull yourself together, then I’ll find help.”

“You don’t need to find ‘help,’” she said, still not looking at him. “I’ll be fine once I’m away from here. I need a break. I need to go somewhere for a while. I’m suffocating here.”

“No, I’m not going to let you go ‘somewhere.’ You’re not running away. You’ve made a commitment. We both made a commitment, and we’re going to honor the commitment.”

Her head jerked around. Her gaze met his, eyes flashing fire. “You’re not my father. I don’t work for you. I don’t belong to you, which means you don’t get to tell me what to do, or how to behave.”

“You’re my wife. That gives me some authority—

”

“Authority?” she laughed. “Oh, that’s fascinating, but also wrong. You have no authority over me, and you trying to manage me will backfire. It’ll destroy everything I feel for you.”

“Obviously, you feel very little if you’re already determined to leave me.”

“Speaking of feeling very little, Brando, just because you throw huge sums of money around doesn’t mean you’re being kind or loving. It means you’re paying for things, but I don’t need your money, and I don’t need you to buy things for me, and you can’t buy me. Maybe everyone else is taken in by your extravagance and generosity but I know the truth. You dazzle with your gifts and your generosity, because it’s all you offer. Our elegant wedding...the dinner reception...even the fireworks... It was to make up for the fact that you don’t love me, and you will never love me. Instead I’m supposed to be satisfied—”

“You don’t know what you’re saying.” His hands balled into fists. He was at the end of his tether.

“No? Then tell me about one woman from your past that you deeply loved. Tell me how it broke your heart when it ended, and you didn’t think you’d ever be able to continue without her.”

“This is ridiculous. You’re hysterical. It’s not good for you, and it’s not good for the baby. Clearly you need space, space I’m happy to give to you. I’ll be heading out to the vineyard near Greve and then having dinner with my winemakers. I’ll have my phone with me. Call if there’s an emergency. Otherwise I’ll check in on you after I’m back.”

Hands bunched in the covers, heart thudding hard, Charlotte watched him leave her room, and listened to him close her door, firmly.

Part of her wanted to fling pillows at the door. Part of her wanted to hurl insults at him, because who was he to tell her anything? Who was he to lecture her on behavior? He was the one who’d slept with legions of women, never truly caring for any of them. But on the other hand, she’d known who he was when they went to bed together. She knew he was a powerful, sexual man who had no intentions of settling down.