Italian Prince, Wedlocked Wife

She stared at his dark figure in the shadows.

He’s not incapable of love, she thought. She’d seen too much good in him to believe that. His anger and guilt over his family’s loss had just festered in him like a sore, eating away at his soul.

Lucy thought of the old man sobbing in the street. Surely her grandfather had never meant to hurt Maximo’s family. He’d only been trying to protect his own, by keeping the doctor for his daughter-in-law and newborn granddaughter…

Lucy had to end the feud between them.

If she could heal Maximo’s pain, perhaps he could open up his heart. He would see how much Lucy and Chloe both needed him. He might be able to love them. He might decide to make their family a real one…

You’re dreaming, she told herself harshly. The playboy prince would never settle down. He would never love her.

But.

She could still love him.

Instead of saying those three little words aloud, she could show her love—by taking the pain out of his heart. Then even after he divorced her and forgot her very existence, she would at least know she’d done something to make his life better. To make him happy.

She listened to her husband’s breathing slip into the evenness of sleep. Putting her hands behind her head, she stared at the ceiling. How could she make the men talk to each other? Where? She sucked in her breath.

The wedding. A joyous celebration, families united by love. What better time or place?

“For you, Maximo,” she whispered without sound, speaking the words like a silent prayer in the darkness. “Because I love you.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

THREE days later, Villa Uccello was in total wedding-day uproar.

“Let me in!” Maximo roared, pounding the bedroom door.

“No!” Lucy leaned back against it. Her teeth chattered with the reverberating force of his pounding. “It’s bad luck for you to see me today!”

“Lucy, be reasonable! It’s an evening wedding. You can’t expect me not to see you all day long. This is torture!”

She covered a laugh. She could just bet he wanted to see her. Ever since they’d returned to Aquillina, they’d both been busy—he with wrapping up the details of the Ferrazzi acquisition, and Lucy with her planner trying to create her dream wedding in just a few short days.

Three days of dress-fittings and cake-tastings, with Chloe sampling as much frosting as she could get her chubby little hands on. Three days of being interviewed by reporters from around the world. Three days of manicures and pedicures and massages, as Maximo had brought the team of stylists from Milan to stay at the Villa Uccello at Lucy’s beck and call. Three days of luxury and frantic fun, of feeling like a bride, of feeling like a star.

And three nights of unbridled passion in her husband’s bed.

Every night, he set her world on fire. Even once in the middle of the afternoon, when he’d found her alone in the hallway and dragged her into a quiet unused study. He’d made love to her against a wall of leather-bound Italian books. She flushed hot to her toes. She would never think of Machiavelli or Petrarch in quite the same way again.

So it was no wonder he was so frustrated, Lucy thought, since it had now been ten hours since they’d last made love. She could understand why he might be going a little crazy.

So was she.

But she was pushing him away for a good cause. One that had nothing to do with wedding-day superstition.

This was her last chance to try to sneak away before the wedding. Her last chance to speak with Giuseppe Ferrazzi and find out his side of the story, so she could invite him to the celebration with a clear conscience. Once she was sure that their feud was all based on a misunderstanding, she would have no qualms about forcing the two men to meet in public. Maximo would never want to insult his dignity with a humiliating public scene. He would have no choice but to listen, if only for a few scant moments.

And she would end the feud between the men. She’d save her grandfather from poverty and loneliness, and save the soul of the man she loved.

If Maximo could never love her, at least he might someday love someone. Thinking of him with another woman made her want to rip her heart out, but Maximo’s happiness was everything to her.

Even if he couldn’t be happy with her.

Maximo’s pounding on the bedroom door increased.

“Cara—” he sounded truly desperate now “—have mercy! I’m just a man!”