Hired:The Italian's Bride

He took her hand and showed her his favorites. She dutifully nodded and commented. She ignored the way he looked at her with his brows meeting in the middle.

She bluffed her way through it, going through the motions as best she could. The paintings he liked were lovely, she could see that. They were mostly landscapes, and with the Rocky Mountains being their backyard, sweeping mountain scenes were prevalent. He favored those over the wildlifes or stills, she noticed numbly.

“Whichever ones you want will be fine.”

He stopped in his tracks. “You have no opinion? You’re not going to pull out your calculator and quote budgets to me?”

Mari swallowed. “You’re going to do what you wish anyway, Luca. Why argue?”

“Because it’s what we do best,” he replied.

“I don’t want to argue. The paintings are fine with me. They are very nice.”

He stepped closer, his face puzzled. “But how do they make you feel, Mari?”

Feel? “Luca, it’s paint on canvas.” She didn’t want to talk about how she felt. Today she’d felt like she was the girl she’d always wanted to be but hadn’t been allowed. She could do what she wanted, buy what she wanted, feel what she wanted, and no one would punish her for it. She could take a morning off and no one would berate her. She could splurge on vanity and it was fine. The self-indulgence had been heady. Then reality had crashed in and she felt alone again, too weary to fight. Luca could make her forget, and it was wonderful while it lasted. But coming back to earth was a big thud and it hurt a little more each time.

“Yes, and the Cascade is a hunk of rock on a hillside. Even you know better than that.”

“I’m afraid I’m not an art aficionado.”

“You don’t have to be to have feelings, Mari.”

“Of course I have feelings!” she snapped.

She turned away, ashamed. Even-tempered, reliable Mari was suddenly all over the place. One moment she was sighing into his eyes and the next she was so overwhelmed she was biting his head off. She didn’t know who she was anymore. He kept pushing at her, demanding things of her and her well-ordered life wasn’t so black and white. She certainly didn’t feel up to dealing with everything she was feeling.

He led her around a corner. “Look at these. Tell me what you feel. Let them speak to you. You’ll know it when you see it.”

She sighed, put upon. When he got like this, there was no deterring him. She had learned that already. She may as well humor him.

These were no landscapes. The paintings here were different, angled shapes and colors and impressions. Mari walked past, feeling no connections. Longing simply to return to the hotel. She was tired. She was drained. The whole day had been something special, but she doubted he’d understand how much it had meant to her. She’d felt a part of something.

Something based on a lie.

And then she turned a corner and saw it. Sweeps of blue with a brilliant core of red, exploding out from the middle in splashes.

It made no sense. But something about it spoke to her and she stepped ahead, lifting her fingers, coming close but not actually touching the canvas.

“Mari?”

Mari ignored his voice, but knew he’d been right all along. As hard as she’d fought, he’d been sure of himself. There was something inside her that Luca had set free, and it was right here in oil and canvas, looking back at her. She couldn’t explain why, but she knew she had to have it.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“YOU like it.”

She nodded, her eyes roving over the blend of paint and canvas. “I don’t know why…it isn’t even of anything at all.”

“But…” he prompted.

She looked over her shoulder. “But it speaks to me somehow. I can’t tell you what this is a painting of. I can only tell you that I feel connected to it somehow.”

She turned back to the painting, her eyes drawn to the scarlet centre.

“So my Mari feels first and thinks later. I’m surprised.” His words, his breath caressed the skin behind her ear, sending a delicious shiver down her spine. A warmth flooded her at being called his. It made her feel protected, like she belonged somewhere. And that with belonging, a sort of freedom she hadn’t expected. She remembered how he’d described the view from his suite that very first day. Freedom. Little had she imagined then. Had she ever felt this way before, in her entire life? Like around every corner was an open door?

Had Luca changed her that much? How had he snuck past all her defenses so easily?

She half turned. “Surprised? Didn’t you think I had feelings, Luca?” She did have feelings, so many of them that she refused to show the world. Letting people see inside her gave them power. It was much better to think, and wait. She’d been thinking a lot about Luca lately, and letting him in bit by bit, despite reservations. She couldn’t seem to help herself, and couldn’t pinpoint it any more than she could say exactly what it was about the painting that was so striking.