Читать книгу One Summer at The Villa - Rebecca Winters - Страница 15

ANTONELLA dug a jersey dress from one of her suitcases. She frowned as she held up the jade-green garment. The fabric was soft and she knew she would be comfortable, but it was a little too fancy for a hurricane.

Unfortunately, it was the most casual thing she had. She went into the adjoining dressing room and locked the door before stripping out of her wet, torn dress. Tiny cuts lay across her pale skin like the tracks of birds’ feet, remembrances of getting a little too up close and personal with Mother Nature.

After she slipped into the clean dress, she balled up the torn one and unlocked the door to the bedroom. She tossed the dress into her suitcase and dug out a comb. Her hair was a rat’s nest of tangles. She’d had it pulled back in a ponytail, but that hadn’t mattered in the gale force winds they’d endured while crawling from beneath that tree.

Oh, God.

Without volition, her hand stilled in the act of lifting the comb; that was when she realized she was shaking. She’d known it was close, but it wasn’t until she’d had to clean and bandage Cristiano’s back that she’d realized how close they’d come to dying.

It was a wonder they hadn’t been impaled.

Surely she could be forgiven for losing herself in his kiss in the aftermath of such an event? Just as he could. She had to admit that if he’d been any other man, and she’d felt this kind of exhilaration when he touched her, she’d have thrown caution to the wind and let him do what he’d wanted.

Because there might not be a tomorrow.

Antonella shuddered. There would be a tomorrow. There would.

But if there wasn’t?

She gave her head a little shake. It didn’t matter. He was still Cristiano di Savaré, the Crown Prince of Monterosso. He was not, and never would be, her knight in shining armor. She wouldn’t even be so attracted to him if they weren’t stuck here together, if he weren’t the absolute last man on the planet she should ever desire.

It was her perverse nature at work. The side of her that reveled in attracting trouble. Wasn’t it her fault when her father got mad at her?

It’s not your fault, Ella, Dante said after their father had sent them away without any food for being late to the dinner table once many years ago. But it had been her fault. She’d dawdled in the bath when she’d known she shouldn’t. And she’d brought down her father’s rage on them both. They’d been given nothing to eat for twenty-four hours.

Whenever she remembered an episode with her father, always there was something she’d done before he got violent. The last time was on the day he’d arrested the Crown Princess of Montebianco. Antonella had dared to tell him she had no intention of attending his event that night. She hadn’t wanted to be humiliated when Nico Cavelli showed up with his new wife. And she hadn’t wanted to see Lily Cavelli, to be forced to speak with her, especially not after she’d fallen apart in front of the woman in a Parisian salon only a couple of weeks before. Her father had been furious when Nico broke the engagement with her and married Lily; she’d mistakenly thought he would understand why she wouldn’t want to be there.

But he’d backhanded her across the face, told her she would be present at the event and be dressed to kill. And then he’d threatened Bruno if she dared defy him. Bruno, her sweet little dog who loved her so purely.

She’d gone to the party, of course, in spite of the bruising on her cheek and under her eye.

And it had turned out to be one of the best things she’d ever done, because she’d gotten to know Lily. In the months that followed, she had become friends with the other princess. Aside from Dante, Lily Cavelli was her only friend in the world.

What she wouldn’t give to speak with Lily right now! She should have talked Dante into going to Montebianco in the first place, and to hell with Vega Steel. But he was proud and stubborn and he wanted them to save their country with their own sweat and blood. He’d truly believed they could, and she’d believed because he’d wanted her to.

She heard the door to the bathroom open, but she didn’t look up. Her heart rate bumped up a couple of degrees. She was beginning to get used to it, though she didn’t like that she couldn’t control her reaction to him.

In her periphery, she saw him cross to the bedroom door. He was still shirtless, the white gauze standing out in the darkened room like a beacon. He pulled the door open. A gust of wind blew into the room, and guttered the candle. Cristiano closed the door again and the candle flared back to life.

“Is it bad?” she asked, and then felt silly for doing so. Of course it was bad. There was a tree in the house, for heaven’s sake.

“The storm is blowing a lot of rain our way. I think it will intensify over the next few hours.” He retrieved another shirt from his bag, slipped it over his head.

“That door isn’t going to hold, is it?” Antonella said.

“No, probably not.”

“Shouldn’t we go into the bathroom? Or the dressing room? At least it’s another door between us and the storm.”

He nodded. “Si. The dressing room is better. It is an interior room, and there are no skylights that could shatter in the night.”

It didn’t take long to gather their minimal supplies. Antonella tried not to think about how it would feel to be confined in such a small space with Cristiano for the next few hours. She would get through it, however. She simply had to remind herself it could be worse.

They could be impaled beneath that tree, for instance…

When she thought they had everything, Cristiano left the small room, returning with the blankets and pillows from the bed. Antonella accepted a pillow gratefully, putting it behind her and leaning back against the wall. She tucked her legs under her and bowed her head. Her eyes were heavy, but she couldn’t succumb to sleep just yet. She was far too keyed up.

That kiss. It didn’t matter how hard she tried to shove away the feelings, the images, she kept feeling his mouth on hers, his tongue stroking hers, his hands hard and smooth against her heated skin. She’d wanted him.

She still wanted him.

It was disconcerting as hell.

If she hadn’t stopped him, where would they be now? Would they still be making love? Or would they be tangled together, sleeping?

She wished she’d never seen him naked, because it was simply too easy to imagine his body lying alongside hers. To imagine the smooth, tanned flesh, the ridges and knots of muscle, the flat, hard stomach that begged her to press her mouth against him, to explore him completely.

“What are you thinking, Antonella?”

Her head jerked up, her gaze colliding with his. Seeing her need mirrored there no longer surprised her.

“I was thinking how I wished I were at home in my own bed. With Bruno.”

His gaze shuttered. “Bruno? This is one of your lovers?”

Antonella laughed. “Bruno is my dog. He is the light of my life and I miss him.”

“You were thinking of your dog,” he said, clearly not convinced. “This is not what I would have guessed.”

“Then you don’t know everything, do you?”

“Not everything, no. But the things I do know, I know quite well.”

“And yet you can be mistaken, it seems.” Except he hadn’t been mistaken at all. But she wasn’t about to admit it to him.

“What kind of dog?” he asked.

Antonella nearly breathed a sigh of relief. “Bruno is a Pomeranian. He’s very cute.”

Cristiano’s mouth twisted, but she was relieved to see it was only mock disdain. “A girly dog. I should have known.”

“And I suppose you have a great big pony of a dog, yes? The kind you can saddle up and let a child ride?”

Cristiano shifted his pillow and leaned back. “I have a cat, actually.”

Antonella felt her jaw drop. She snapped it shut again. “A cat? Seriously?”

“Scarlett is quite probably bigger than your Bruno.”

A giggle bubbled in her throat. “You have a cat named Scarlett?”

Now that was completely unexpected.

Cristiano answered her with a grin that made her heart turn over. “Scarlett O’Hara, because she is a self-centered Southern Belle.” His smile faded by degrees. “She was my wife’s. Julianne was from Georgia, and Gone with the Wind was her favorite movie.”

“Oh.” Antonella busied herself smoothing the fabric of her dress over her thigh. What was she supposed to say in reply? And why had he shared this now when he’d been so angry with her earlier? It forced her to see him as human, and she wasn’t sure she liked that.

When she thought of him as a Monterossan, an enemy, she could fight her attraction to him. But when he was a man who’d lost his wife? A sexy man who seemed tender and caring? Who kept a cat named Scarlett O’Hara and knew she’d been named after the main character in his wife’s favorite movie?

Madonna mia, it was too much.

“She’s getting old now,” he continued. “And she’s very spoiled. I cannot seem to say no when she wants a treat.”

The picture of this hard, ruthless man feeding a cat treats was mind-boggling. “She has you wrapped around her paw,” she ventured.

“Yes.”

His stoicism in the face of so much pain saddened her. She had to speak, even if he got angry with her. “I did not know about your wife,” Antonella said, her heart tripping along faster now. “How she died, I mean. I know you may not believe me, but I wouldn’t wish what happened upon anyone. I am sorry for your pain.”

He closed his eyes. “Perhaps you are.”

She waited for him to say something else. When he didn’t, she prepared to lie down and try to get some sleep. The day was catching up with her and she just wanted to forget all the pain and trouble for a few hours. Maybe when she awoke, the storm would have abated and they could get out of here. It was a lot to hope, but hope was all she had left at the moment.

Her stomach rumbled loudly and she pressed her hand against her belly to muffle the sound.

Cristiano’s eyes snapped open. “Why didn’t you say you were hungry?”

“I didn’t realize it until now.” She truly hadn’t. Besides, how was she supposed to be hungry when she’d been riding an emotional roller coaster since this morning? The emotion hadn’t slowed, much less stopped. Hunger seemed minor in comparison.

Cristiano glanced at his watch. “It’s been hours since breakfast. We need to eat, though we’ll have to ration what we have.” He handed her a box of crackers. “Open these while I uncork the wine.”

“How long do you think we could be here?” she asked, homing in on his comment about rationing food.

“Hopefully not more than a day or two.”

Antonella felt her breath catch. A day or two. Here. In this room. With Cristiano.

Heaven help her.

He finished uncorking the wine and poured them each a glass. Then he took a small knife and cut off a few slices of sausage. “Cheese?”

“I’ll pass.”

She watched Cristiano layer a neat dollop of the spray cheese over a slice of sausage on a cracker and pop it into his mouth. He didn’t grimace, so perhaps it wasn’t too bad after all.

They ate in silence, if you didn’t count the wind and rain hammering the roof. Antonella sipped the wine, thankful that at least the island tycoon had a good supply, even if he had little else in the house. She wasn’t much of a drinker, so it didn’t take much to make her mellow.

And right now, she needed mellow.

“You never told me about Monteverde,” Cristiano said a few minutes later. He sounded mildly interested, conversational—and yet there was an edge to him that hadn’t been there a few moments ago. As if he’d made up his mind about something.

“There’s not much to say. It sounds almost exactly like Monterosso.”

“Yes, but Monterosso isn’t on the edge of bankruptcy.”

Antonella had to work not to choke on the swallow of wine she’d just taken. “I’m not sure where you hear these things,” she replied carefully, “but we’re moving forward now that Dante is King. Monteverde is fine.”

“And did you support that? Dante deposing your father?”

“Yes,” she said simply. What was the use in denying it? “My father was…unbalanced.”

“I had heard of this. But what if it was simply an excuse for your brother to take the throne?”

“It wasn’t.” She picked up a cracker, nibbled a corner. “I was there, and I know what happened.”

His eyes narrowed. “Interesting.”

Anger began to uncoil itself in her belly at the tone of his voice. “Interesting? You have no idea, Cristiano. Do not presume to judge me or my brother for things you know nothing about.”

“Then tell me.”

She set the cracker down. She was no longer hungry, though whether it was because she’d had enough to eat or because of the sick feeling settling into the pit of her stomach over this conversation she couldn’t say. “Why would I want to do that? It’s my business, not yours.”

“It could be my business.”

She gaped at him. “How is this possible? You aren’t Monteverdian, and you mean nothing to me—just as I mean nothing to you.”

“I’m hurt,” he said. “And after all we’ve been to each other.”

Antonella set down her empty glass and leaned back again. “I don’t want to play these games with you, Cristiano. I’m tired, I’m sore, and I just want to go home.”

“But you were on a mission here. A mission you failed. Surely you aren’t ready to give up so easily?”

Her heart thundered in her ears. Cristiano leaned over and poured more wine into her glass. She picked it up, only half aware of what she was doing. Sipped.

You failed.

“I’m sure you are mistaken. Yes, we wanted Vega Steel to invest in Monteverde.” She shrugged. “We have a lot of ore, and it seemed quite natural. It would have been a good partnership. But there will be others.”

“I think not,” he said, one corner of his mouth curving in a knowing smirk.

Had she really felt sorry for him just a few minutes ago? It seemed impossible, incongruous with the man speaking to her now. This Cristiano elicited no sympathy in her soul.

“I think this was Monteverde’s last chance,” he continued.

The world threatened to cease spinning. “Last chance? You are deluded, Your Highness. This is only Monterossan wishful thinking.”

“You can still save Monteverde, Principessa.”

“You aren’t listening to me. Monteverde doesn’t need saving.”

He leaned forward, eyes intense. “We both know it does. And I will give you a chance to do so.”

Antonella ran her finger along the top of the glass to steady herself. Was he fishing for information? Or did he know the truth? She had to know if he was simply making wild guesses, or if he truly had a plan.

“If what you say were true—and I am not saying it is—what are you proposing? Will you tell Raúl you’ve changed your mind? That he should invest in Monteverde instead?”

“Monterosso will buy your ore.”

In spite of the heat in the room, a chill washed over her. “We don’t need to sell you our ore, Cristiano. We can sell it to anyone we choose.”

“Except no one else wants it. Vega Steel will build in Monterosso, and while we have ore deposits of our own, yours are bigger. Between our mines, and the incentives I offered Raúl on behalf of the kingdom, Vega Steel can import materials from Europe or South America just as easily. We do not need your ore, but I am offering to buy it.”

“You will build guns and tanks,” she said.

He shook his head. “Vega Steel builds ships, Antonella. Ships, girders, and industrial products.”

“They will build what you want them to build.”

“It does not work that way. Raúl has contracts to fulfill. And Monterosso is not a dictatorship.”

“Neither is Monteverde.”

He frowned. “You know that is not true.”

“My father is no longer King, Cristiano. Monteverde is not a dictatorship.”

“Nevertheless.” He poured more wine into his own glass. “You can save your country, Antonella. You have only to sell me the ore.”

Her pulse was tripping into the danger zone. Her stomach threatened to upend everything she’d just put into it. She was trapped in this tiny room with him, and he was pressing her hard to admit truths she couldn’t.

“The ore is not mine to sell, even if I were inclined to do so.”

“The veins are on state property. Your brother is the King. It is in your ability to do this.”

Was he insane? How did he expect her to talk Dante into such a thing, assuming she would ever agree it was for the best? It would be hard enough to convince him to seek help from Montebianco. But from Monterosso? Unthinkable. “I believe you are mistaken, Cristiano. Monteverde does not need to sell her ore to you.”

His sneer was not encouraging. “Stop prevaricating, Antonella. We both know the truth. Monteverde is falling apart, and you have loans due that you cannot repay. Without this deal, you will fall into ruin.”

“Then why not simply wait for it to happen? Monterosso can pick up the pieces,” she said bitterly. “You will finally achieve all your aims.”

“Stability,” he said softly. “If Monteverde falls, there will be greater troubles in the region than you can imagine. Our enemies would pick Monteverde apart, and use the fragmentation to destabilize markets across the three nations. The war could spread with the chaos such events would inspire. I will not let this happen.”

“If stability is so important, then why not loan us the money to make the payments?”

“What is in this for Monterosso? Nothing, except money we would never see repaid.” He shook his head. “The ore, Antonella. It is the only way.”

“What you say is impossible. Dante will never agree to it.”

His gaze was sharp, as if he were scenting the air for weakness. She was very afraid he’d found it in her reaction. “He would if you convinced him it would work.”

“It’s impossible,” she repeated. “Even if you are correct, we cannot trust you. If we sold you the ore, we’d have no guarantees you wouldn’t turn against us. You seek to claim Monteverde for your own.”

His eyes glittered in the candlelight. A smile curled the corners of his mouth. Her breath caught. Why did he have to be so handsome? And so dangerous at the same time?

“You can trust me, Antonella. I would never turn against my own wife.”