Stefano’s cousins in New York and Los Angeles had their people working as well, while the riders watched the family members, getting a feel for their daily movements. It was important to know the routine of everyone living in the main houses. They had the Ignazio riders watching the main members of the Toselli family for the same reason. It was never a good idea to rile up the riders and even the largest crime family in Spain was going to find that out.
Elie studied his wife’s face. She really was getting to the point where she was going to rebel if he tried to keep her down much longer. The doctor hadn’t decreed that she remain in bed. He was afraid for her. Terrified by the idea of losing her. Each morning he helped her shower, washing her hair for her, drying her off, helping her to dress and then putting her back in bed.
“Stefano and Francesca invited us to dinner tonight. Do you feel up to a crazy family night? The brothers will be there. It will be loud and noisy,” he warned. “Most likely, Dario and Val will be there as well with Emme.”
A small shadow crossed her face but she looked up at him eagerly, nodding. “I’d love that, Elie. Does everyone dress up, because I don’t think I have anything dressy.”
“No, bébé, when they’re together, they’re very casual. You have plenty of casual clothes here. I brought soft leggings that shouldn’t hurt any of the wounds. The bandages are covering them, but we can ask the doc to check them before we go.”
She shook her head. “No, nothing hurts, everything is fine. You changed my bandages this morning. There was no fresh bleeding. Really, Elie, I’m healing fast. I’ve always healed fast. When is the dinner? Are you sure it’s all right for the two of us to go? Francesca won’t mind two more dinner guests at the last minute?”
“Francesca never minds two more guests at the last minute. She expects it.” He went to the bed and helped her slide to the side, pretending not to see her wince as she gingerly shifted around to sit on the edge of the bed. The bandage on her temple stood out starkly against her pale skin, making his heart ache more, even though the covering was so much smaller than it had been.
“She just gave birth, didn’t she? Surely, she isn’t cooking for a huge crowd? I could have helped her had I known. You know I love cooking, or would she be upset with someone else in her kitchen?”
His thumb slid over their wedding band on her finger. He stood directly in front of her, preventing her from sliding off the bed. “Francesca shares her kitchen with anyone who loves to cook, ma chérie.” He continued to stare down at her, his thumb on her ring, until she lifted her gaze to meet his. “Brielle, do you have a problem with Emmanuelle?”
She blinked, her long lashes veiling the jeweled green of her eyes, but not before he caught the hint of guilt and uneasiness. She didn’t lie to him. She sighed and squirmed a little. “I think it best if we don’t go there, Elie. Sometimes it’s just better to let things go. Emme is your friend and I’ll get to know her. It isn’t like I’ve had tons of time. When she’s been around, she’s been very sweet to me.”
On some level, he’d felt the reservation between Brielle and the others. It wasn’t a huge thing, because she didn’t make it one, but it was there. She wasn’t as natural and relaxed around others as she was when she was alone with him. When Emmanuelle was with them—which, granted, wasn’t that often—Brielle was even more on guard.
“You know I think of Emme as a sibling, nothing more. She regards me the same way.” He hoped Brielle listened to the ring of truth in his voice. It was there because it was the truth.
She nodded her head, but her eyes avoided his again.
“Brielle, look at me.” He caught her stubborn little chin in a firm grip. “We are going to talk about this because it obviously bothers you. If Emmanuelle and I wanted to be together, don’t you think we would have been?”
“You mean like at every charity ball? Every nightclub dancing together? The fund-raiser dinners? Skiing together? Sailing? The speculation for how many years on the inevitable engagement between the two well-suited, perfectly matched beautiful people? How many times was that written up?”
Brielle kept her voice low. There was no accusation, but yeah, she believed Emmanuelle and he had been far more than just friends. Maybe they were just friends and in his mind like “siblings,” but he had forgotten she had kept track of him in the intervening years. She knew he had been around Emmanuelle.
“You believed I decided to go back to France and enter into an arranged marriage after she married Valentino Saldi, didn’t you? That’s why you were so adamant that you not be placed with anyone from Europe. You thought I didn’t want to be in the States because of her.”
She made a face. “Does it matter what I thought?”
“It matters and you know it does. I was never in love with Emme. She was never in love with me. There was no physical attraction between us. There never was. For Emmanuelle, it has always been Valentino. He’s her one and only. For me, it has always been you.”
Her smile was forced as she looked up at him and nodded. “I get that, Elie. I do. I’ll work at a friendship with her.”
He had no doubt that she would, but that didn’t take the shadows from her eyes. He kept possession of her chin. “Mon amour, I’m asking you to tell me what is wrong. What is it about Emmanuelle Ferraro Saldi that puts those shadows in your eyes?”
Her small white teeth bit down on the corner of her lower lip. “Can’t we just let it go, Elie? Please?”
“You make my heart ache, Brielle. I can’t let this go because you matter to me. Anything that hurts you, and this does, needs to be addressed. I’m asking you to let me in.”
“It just makes me ashamed. She’s everything I’m not. It was there, in those photographs for the years you spent here with this family. She’s a gorgeous woman. Over and over, in the articles or sometimes the headlines, it would say ‘one of the most beautiful women in the world.’ You can imagine how that made me feel in comparison. I already knew your opinion of me.”
“I lied, Brielle,” he reiterated softly. Firmly. “I wish I could go back and unsay those untrue words. That’s not how I ever saw you.”
“Still, that reinforced how I felt about myself. Then there was her family. They clearly doted on her, just as you did. I was a throwaway. My family detested me. No matter how hard I worked for them, I meant nothing to them. She’s a shadow rider and, by all accounts, a good one. No one tells her not to go into the shadows. If they did, she’d tell them to go to hell and you’d admire her for that reaction. You do admire her, Elie, for all the things you say you don’t want me to do. She doesn’t have a pain addiction. She’s probably not addicted to anything. I’m nothing like her, and yet, she’s your best friend. I can’t compete with someone like her. I hate coming across as a jealous wife, and I’m not going to make a big deal out of your friendship with her. I won’t. That’s a promise. I already made the promise to myself and I can make it to you.”
She looked so miserable, Elie wanted to put his arms around her to comfort her. Instead, he continued to stand firmly in front of her, his thumb sliding back and forth over her ring, reviewing carefully every word she’d said. Emmanuelle was beautiful, that was true. She did have a doting family. She was an excellent shadow rider and she’d tell anyone to go to hell if they tried to stop her from doing what she wanted to do. No, she didn’t have a pain addiction. She didn’t need a man like Elie in the bedroom. His best friend? She had been for a long while. When he wanted to share something, he had always thought to call Emme. Was it that way now? No. He could say with all honesty, his friendship with Brielle had superseded what he’d had with Emme.
Very slowly, he shook his head. “I don’t see you as a jealous wife, Brielle. After the way you were raised, you have insecurities. That’s natural. After the way I was raised, I’m going to have them, too. Neither of us were wanted in our homes or by the people who were supposed to love us. We’re building our own family and sorting out what a relationship is. But, bébé, it’s our relationship. Not Val and Emme’s. It’s ours. Emmanuelle would never suit me. She didn’t when I first met her and she doesn’t now. Do I think she’s a beautiful woman? Yes. She is. Do I look at you and think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen? Yes. Absolutely I do.”
She shook her head. “Don’t, Elie. That’s not even close to being true.”
“It is, Brielle. I’ve seen you in the morning when you first wake up, looking so vulnerable with those freckles scattered across your nose like angels have been kissing you. I’ve seen you desperate for me, looking at me with such trust it makes me feel like no one has ever made me feel. I’ve seen you a thousand ways, ways no one else has ever seen you, all of them gorgeous. You aren’t made up for the paparazzi. You’re mine. Here in our home. Laughing. Whispering with me on our pillow or in the bathtub. You’re eating pizza. Or cooking me some amazing dinner with a little apron tied around a pair of jeans. You’re so fucking beautiful, sometimes my heart can’t take it.”