The Vows He Must Keep

He shed his shoes, wincing at the stiffness in his injured leg as he lay back on the bed alongside her sleeping form. His fiancée had revealed far more tonight than she would likely have preferred.

He thought of her words—‘my ex was very honest’. His fists tightened by his sides and he resisted the urge to wake her and demand to know exactly what her idiotic English lawyer ex had said. He had never met the man, couldn’t even recall his name, but he had heard enough from Duarte to know that Dani deserved more.

Still, the violence of his outrage on her behalf was enough to stop him in his tracks. But it was entirely appropriate for him to feel protective towards the woman he’d vowed to protect, wasn’t it?

There had been nothing ‘appropriate’ about his reaction to their kiss earlier. Nothing innocent or protective in the way he’d fought the urge to haul her towards him and devour her. Claim her as his own in front of the entire party—including Tristan Falco.

But he knew that he was not the kind of man she deserved, either. She needed someone whole. Someone who didn’t abandon her and keep secrets. He had always been happy to live the life of a bachelor, thinking that maybe one day he might settle down. But now he knew that day would never come.

He wasn’t built for family life the way his father and brother were. The Marchesi men were known for their reliable leadership and level-headedness. Somehow Valerio seemed to have missed out on that genetic component and that had always been fine with him. He was the wild one...the joker.

Cursing under his breath, he closed his eyes and saw again Daniela’s golden gaze meeting his as he slid that ring onto her finger. For that split second she hadn’t looked as if she hated him quite as much.

They both knew that even if it was only a legal arrangement this marriage needed to look real. Neither of them could afford any bad press, and the distraction of their supposed romance would work in their favour. He needed to make sure she understood what that meant. He needed to know she understood that while she might deserve better, for now he was the only man she would be seen with.

Forcing himself to look away from her sleeping form, he rested his head back against the pillows. He would stay until he was sure she was asleep—surely he owed her that much?

Not for the first time since he had woken up to see her furious form twenty-four hours before, he wondered how on earth his life had become so complicated.

Dani awoke with the most painful headache of her entire life, inwardly cursing whoever had thought endless flutes of champagne was a good idea—then realised that it had, in fact, been her. She rolled over in the bed, freezing, and realised she was wearing only her underwear. Not only that—she wasn’t alone in bed.

Valerio lay on his back, one arm behind his head as he slept. Fuzzy memories of him helping her to bed came to her, making her flush with embarrassment. She had practically ordered him to take her clothes off and then begged him to stay. Good grief, had she really told him about the things Kitt had said to her?

She stared at his sleeping form for a long while, noting the deep frown line between his brows and the sharp staccato of his breathing. There was nothing peaceful about the way this man slept—it was as though he were in pain. Even as she watched, he kicked out one leg at some invisible form, and a deep rumble sounded from his chest.

She sat up, clutching the covers to her bare breasts, and laid one hand on his chest. His hand shot up to grab hers so fast she jumped with fright.

It seemed one moment she was staring at him, the next he was gripping her shoulders painfully tight and pushing her onto her back. He loomed over her, caging her with his arms, and for a moment she felt a flash of unease at the zoned-o

ut look in his eyes.

She pushed at his chest, feeling the silk of his shirt and the heat of his hard muscles under her fingers. It was like trying to shift a hulking great pillar of marble. Had he always been this physically defined? She tried to find words, only managing a tiny gasp in the tense silence.

He watched her through hooded eyes, barely controlled violence in the tension of his shoulders. But when she let out a small whimper from the force of his grip, something finally seemed to shift in his eyes, as if he had only just awoken.

‘Dannazione...never touch me while I sleep,’ he rasped.

‘You...you’re the one in my bed.’ She pursed her lips, all too aware of her lack of clothing and the intimacy of their position. The thin sheet was the only thing covering her body from his gaze.

Her mind went back two nights, to when he’d attacked her bodyguards on his yacht in Genoa. He had been awoken from sleep then too. His eyes had been wild and unfocused, as though he had been possessed.

‘Did I hurt you?’ he asked quietly, his eyes scanning the bare skin of her arms as though he expected to see something terrible there.

She watched as he swept his fingers up her arms, seeing the faint red skin on her shoulders from his grip. He tucked his fingers under her chin, gently tilting her face up to look at him.

‘No, you were just startled. It’s fine,’ she said shakily. ‘I’m fine.’

His head momentarily sagged against her, his forehead pressing gently on her collarbone as he let out a long, shaky breath.

‘Do you see now? This is why I stayed away for so long. Every damn time I feel like I’m getting it all under control...’

She felt every breath he took fanning gently against her skin. It was shockingly intimate.

All too soon she felt him pull away. He sat up on the side of the bed, leaving her shivering at the sudden loss of his heat. She wanted to ask him what he was talking about, if these moments of trance-like behaviour happened often. But she feared him shutting down, freezing her out again. She needed to wait for him to open up, no matter how much she craved to know what had happened to him during those awful weeks and the months that followed.

She sat up, moving beside him and fighting the urge to cover one of his large hands with her own. She couldn’t stop wanting to touch him, to be near him. It was ridiculous—she was supposed to hate the man.

‘Look...you don’t have to tell me any details. But you didn’t hurt me, okay?’