LITMIR.BIZ

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ache filling her to her very soul.

      She knew Lucia had come here with Giovanni once. The special friend her Nonni had always mentioned with melancholy in her eyes could be no one else. And yet, soon after, they had had a big row, and Lucia had fled Italy while Gio, in a fit of anger, had engaged himself to a heiress.

      Suddenly, that Raphael had brought her to the same theater, to the same opera, struck a chord of fear through her. She shivered, and instantly Raphael pulled her into his embrace.

      Pia hid her face in his chest, embarrassed by her irrational fear. This was ridiculous. She and Raphael were different from Gio and Lucia.

      For one thing, they were older and wiser. They understood each other much better. And yes, at every chance possible, Raphael stubbornly claimed that he didn’t believe in love while she still did. But hadn’t he shown her that he cared for her in a million ways over the last month and a half?

      Weren’t actions worth more than words?

      Despite his cynicism because of his marriage to Allegra, despite his hardened exterior from having to raise his family from sudden calamity to prosperity, wasn’t his desire to marry her based on loyalty and respect? Didn’t it prove that somewhere in his heart Raphael did care for her?

      The man who had so ruthlessly accused her of being an impostor and a cheat the night of the ball, the man who had threatened to cut his ex-wife out of their child’s life, Pia would have never expected him to consider marriage at all.

      But it was he who had accepted the consequences of their night first. He who hadn’t hesitated even for a moment over the step they would have to take for the future.

      What she felt for Raphael—she was so scared of calling it love—was so much more complex than what she felt for Frank. Frank had only pandered to what she had so desperately needed at that time in her life whereas Raphael could be infuriating and arrogant but he would never lie to her.

      He would never deceive Pia, would never make her feel as if he needed an added incentive to be with her, to somehow make up for her plainness and her shyness. For the glitter she lacked.

      So what if he would never admit in so many words that he loved her? Wasn’t what they had better, more real than some notion of love she had cooked up in her head?

      His abrasive palms covered her bare arms and moved up and down. “Your skin is ice-cold, Pia. What is it?”

      “Nothing. Thank you so much for this, Raphael.”

      “Never apologize for your enthusiasm for everything in life, cara mia. Haven’t I convinced you yet that your pleasure, in all things, leads to mine?”

      Pia blushed and cast a confused gaze at the empty seats in some of the private rooms for the opera was about to begin soon. “Antonio told me this particular production of Rigoletto had been sold out months ago.” She sat down next to Raphael and adjusted her dress. “Do you think they’re late?”

      “I asked a friend of mine to buy as many tickets as he could on this level.”

      “But why?”

      “Because I wanted you all to myself. And I wanted this night to be special for you.” Pia gasped as only now she noticed a bucket of champagne on the table and a small velvet box in his palm.

      Her heart thudded. Her mouth went dry as he opened the box and pulled out a magnificent princess-cut diamond with tiny emeralds around it, set in a simple white-gold setting.

      “Pia Alessandra Vito, will you be my wife?”

      “Oh.” It was all the sound Pia could make, all the response her brain could come up with. Because just as she knew this theater, she knew of this ring too.

      It was the ring with which Giovanni had proposed to Lucia. The ring that Lucia had sent back to Gio after their fight. Another tremor slid down her spine as she stared at it.

      Something about this ring made fear bubble up in her.

      “Pia?”

      She jerked her head up, met his gaze and the desire she saw there fragmented her silly fears. “I’m sorry. I... Gio gave this to you?”

      “Si.”

      “When?”

      A shadow fell over that dark gaze. “Is that important?”

      The impatience brewing in his carefully controlled tone told Pia how insensitive she was being. Heart thundering, she extended her left hand to his and smiled. “Yes, I will be your wife, Raphael.”

      With a victorious smile, he slid the ring onto her finger. Pulling her down to his lap and sinking her hands into his thick hair, Pia poured herself into his kiss. His mouth was warm and fluid over hers. They kissed softly, slowly, nibbling at each other, playing with their tongues, until passion was simmering in their very blood. With an arch of her back, restless with need, Pia wiggled in his lap. The length of his hard erection caressed her buttocks, sending a groan from her lips.

      With a chuckle, Raphael pushed her off him and settled her in the next seat. Still in a haze, Pia gazed widely and he brushed a kiss over her temple. “If you wiggle anymore in my lap like that, cara mia, I will shame myself and then we’ll have to leave before you see this grand production of Rigoletto. And then you’ll not forgive me for spoiling your evening.”

      A hush fell over the theater and the red curtains were pulling aside when Pia murmured, “I think I would forgive you anything, Raphael. As long as you keep kissing me like that.”

      * * *

      Raphael gently tapped on Pia’s shoulder while the audience clapped thunderously at the end of an outstanding performance of Rigoletto. This particular story wasn’t a great favorite of his but even he’d been moved by the top-notch performances and the intricately detailed sets.

      Or maybe it was the woman he had shared the experience with. The woman who now belonged to him, body and soul. For a man who had vowed never to marry again, it was a bit of a shock to realize he very much wanted Pia’s soul to belong to him too.

      A savage sense of satisfaction pounded through his veins, made even hotter by the magnificent drama they had just seen. Not even the pride he had felt when he had made his first million, or when he had bought back the house his father had lost to creditors, could parallel his sense of possessiveness as he stared at the diamond glittering on Pia’s finger.

      She hadn’t come to Teatro Alla Scala on his arm because it was the “in” thing to be enjoying high culture or to be seen in designer outfits, but to immerse herself in the drama played out on stage. She had tears in her eyes because she could see the majesty of the theater through her Nonni’s eyes and relive it for her.

      Pia had watched transfixed, every emotion portrayed on the stage reflected on her own face.

      And watching her, understanding the depth with which she felt things, Raphael couldn’t help but be moved. Couldn’t help but feel a strange turmoil that he couldn’t calm.

      They emerged from the theater into the pulsing energy of the pedestrian square. Something feral throbbed in his veins and since he didn’t want to scare Pia, he offered, “We’re mere steps from the Duomo. Would you like to get a gelato to cool off? Or a coffee, which by the way I should remind you is an espresso in Italy and not the watered-down junk you call coffee?”

      She turned to him and the candid emotion he saw in her eyes rooted him to the spot. “Not tonight, thank you. Nothing could top that performance.”

      As if it were an uncomfortable, unwanted weight, she twisted the ring on her finger. She had fiddled with it self-consciously during the performance too.

      “Pia, if you do not like the ring, we will get you something else. I could not refuse Gio in that moment but I will absolutely understand if it does not please you. I want you to have whatever you want, cara mia.”

      “No, of course I love the ring, Raphael. Nothing could make this night more

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