Hired:The Italian's Bride

She took a grateful sip. Wondered what she could possibly say to make him understand. Understand both why she’d reacted the way she had and also understand how much it meant to her, having him there with her.

“Mariella, is there anything you could have done to make Reilly happy?”

She took another sip. “Short of magically making the Primrose Room appear out of our new massage facility, I doubt it. But I should have found a way. We were the ones who inconvenienced him. I should have found a better way. He was within his rights to be angry…”

“Don’t you dare make excuses. Don’t you dare, Mariella. There is no excuse for a man raising his hand to a woman. Ever.”

In the moment when Reilly had grabbed her arm, she had forgotten everything she’d learned since that day seven years ago. She’d forgotten how to be right and instead had only known what it was to feel wrong. And Luca was right. She was making excuses. She’d been good at it. Good at blaming herself, at playing the “if only” game. If only she’d been smarter, prettier, better behaved. If only she’d said something different, or nothing at all. If she hadn’t looked into his eyes, if she’d cooked the pasta a few minutes longer, if only, if only, if only.

And for a few seconds, she’d truly believed, if only she had looked away, said something differently, maybe Mr. Reilly wouldn’t have grabbed her. Seven years of progress down the drain.

“Mariella.” Luca knelt by her knees. “Sweetheart. I saw your face when he put his hands on you. You went so pale. That’s happened to you before, hasn’t it.”

She would not cry. She would not.

She nodded, a tiny affirmation.

“Oh, Mariella, I am so sorry.”

This kinder, gentler Luca was tearing her defenses apart bit by bit. Every place his hand touched was warmed and reassured. Every word he said healed something inside her. She didn’t want his pity. All she wanted was his understanding and…and…

And his love. It was all she’d ever really wanted and she hadn’t even known it.

Luca continued on. “It all makes sense now. That day in the attic, all those times you didn’t want to be touched. Who was he, Mariella? An ex-husband?”

She shook her head.

“A boyfriend then.”

Mari shook her head again. “No, nothing like that.” She could trust Luca, she knew that in her heart. They could deny their feelings all they wanted, but the way he’d rushed to her rescue proved it. He had earned the right to the truth. To know why she’d acted the way she had all these weeks. “It was my stepfather.”

Luca said a word in Italian she didn’t understand but the meaning was clear enough. “He beat you?”

“Yes. Me and…and my mother.”

Luca stood, went to the bar, poured himself a drink far more generous than the one he’d given her and tossed it back.

“And where is he now?”

Mari folded her hands in her lap. It helped with the trembling. She tried not to think about the beatings. About how Robert would turn to her after he’d gotten tired of pushing her mother around. “He…he was in jail, but he’s out now. He made parole the day before you and I went…” She had to stop, breathe, swallow. “The day in the attic.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before?”

She looked up from her lap then. What she saw in Luca’s eyes she knew she’d remember to her dying day. He wasn’t angry with her, he was angry for her. Ready to stand between her and whoever would dare to hurt her.

“He’s on parole, you said. Would he come after you? Damn it, Mari, I could have protected you! You should have said something, rather than go through this alone!”

“What would I have said, Luca?”

He put down his glass. “If I had known you were scared, if I’d known the reason you didn’t like contact, I swear Mari, I wouldn’t have pushed. I’m not cruel.”

“And said what? ‘Hey, Mr. New Boss! Please don’t mind me, I just don’t like any physical contact because my stepfather was a sadistic freak that beat me for the hell of it?’ Nice ice breaker, don’t you think?”

His eyes closed for the smallest of moments.

“All the times I held you, all the times I could feel you trembling. Dio, Mari, I’m so sorry.”

He was blaming himself now and Mari was sick and tired of Robert Langston having all the power. Could she be honest with Luca? Could she tell him how she felt?

In the end she knew she couldn’t reveal it all, yet she also felt he deserved a partial truth.

“I wasn’t shaking with fear, Luca. Not with you. Don’t you realize how much it means to me that you stood up for me today? No one’s ever done that for me before. I…I…” But she stopped. She couldn’t tell him how she felt, it was too new, too tenuous. “Please, don’t ever think I was afraid of you. I never felt like I was in physical danger.”