LITMIR.BIZ

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she whispered. “You knew I would be upset. Which is why you waited till now.” She forced her voice to be calm. “I never agreed to give up my business.”

      He looked at her. “If that dream had ever meant anything to you, you would have done something about it long ago.”

      Lilley’s eyes widened, then she sucked in her breath. He was right. She could have built her business for years, but instead, she’d squandered her time being paralyzed by fear.

      “Money will never be an issue for you again,” he tried. “I will provide you with everything you desire.” He gave her a smile. “And if you want to make jewelry as a little hobby to entertain yourself, I have no objection to it.”

      “Generous of you,” she muttered.

      He stared down at her, then set his jaw. “Once you have properly settled in as my bride, as the mother of our child, well then—we will see,” he said grudgingly. His eyes softened as he stroked her cheek. “I want you to be happy, Lilley. I will do everything I can to make that happen.”

      Feeling his hand upon her skin, seeing the tenderness in his eyes, she exhaled. It would be fine. Somehow, it would all work out. “I want to do the same for you.”

      His eyes were hot and dark as he gave her a wicked grin. “Ah, but you’ve made me so happy already. You make me happy on an hourly basis,” he breathed, leaning forward to kiss her. He stopped, his face inches from hers. “Just promise you’ll never lie to me.”

      “I’ll never lie to you,” Lilley promised, and she meant it, with all her heart.

       “Io bacio.”

      “Io bacio,” Lilley repeated, balancing a book on her head.

      Standing by the window overlooking the bright-blue water of the Costa Smeralda, her Italian tutor smiled. “Tu baci.”

      “Tu baci,” Lilley repeated rather breathlessly, walking across the marble floor in four-inch high heels.

       “Lui bacia.”

      As Lilley repeated all the conjugations of baciare, she found herself smiling. Her tutor had clearly chosen the verb to kiss in honor of her standing as a newlywed. And though her feet ached from the expensive shoes and her body ached from standing up straight in the designer skirt suit for hours, she felt strangely happy. Yes, her head ached from a full schedule of etiquette and deportment lessons, mixed with Italian classes in which she not only learned the word for fork, la forchetta, but she was taught which one to use for salad and which for dessert. But she was … happy.

      This wasn’t the same world she’d left behind in Minnesota, that was for sure. Her father had come from nothing. He’d never given a hoot about etiquette. Now, after a week in Sardinia, Lilley felt exhausted, but it was the best kind of tired. She felt sore, too, but there was a very delicious reason for that as well. A hot blush filled her cheeks as she remembered what Alessandro had done to her in bed last night, and what she’d done to him. The braver she got, the more she acted on her own needs and fantasies, the more he liked it.

      “Molto bene,” the Italian tutor finally said with satisfaction.

      “You are a quick learner, Principessa,” said the Swiss woman who’d come from a famous boarding school in the Alps to teach her deportment.

      “Grazie,” Lilley said with a laugh. A quick learner? She’d certainly never heard that one before. But it helped that she didn’t have to read, just listen, repeat and practice. Her husband had given the instructors precise instructions.

       Her husband.

      After a week in Alessandro’s white wedding-cake villa in Sardinia, seven blissful days of life as his wife, Lilley still adored the word husband. She held the word close to her heart, cuddled it like a child. She had a husband. And—she glanced discreetly at her watch, almost causing the book to slide off her head—it was almost five o’clock. Her favorite time of day.

      The Italian tutor followed her gaze and nodded. “We are done.” He turned to gather his briefcase. “Buona sera, Principessa.”

      Madame Renaud pulled the leatherbound book off Lilley’s head. “Bonsoir, Principessa,” she said, “et merci.” Madame followed her tutor out of the door.

      Principessa. Another word that still seemed exotic and foreign—nothing to do with her at all.

      The instant her instructors were gone, Lilley raced upstairs towards the master bedroom as fast as her tight beige pencil skirt would allow her. She rushed down the hall, past priceless works of modern art that to her looked like a preschooler’s squiggles, past expensive white furniture that was mostly just hard and uncomfortable in her opinion.

      But there was one thing about this villa that she loved: their bedroom. Her high heels clicked loudly as she hurried down the hall. Passing a window, her eyes fell on the view of the turquoise Mediterranean and white sand beach. All right—two things she loved about this house.

      A week ago she would have had difficulty placing the Italian island of Sardinia on a map, but now she was in love, because the Costa Smeralda, the island’s green coast, was the most joyful and beautiful place she’d ever seen. The open windows lured in a warm, sweet wind to blow against her hair, and the bright golden sun warmed her body and heart. As if those needed any warming.

      Running her hand along the curving handrail of the villa’s white staircase, she snorted as she remembered Alessandro’s description of this vacation home. Some cottage! It had eight bedrooms and a full staff, though they always disappeared at five o’clock each night, as Alessandro had ordered, so the two of them could be alone.

      Lilley smiled to herself. She enjoyed her lessons during the day, but at night … She shivered. At night, she and her husband set the world on fire.

      At the end of the hallway, Lilley pushed open their bedroom door, half expecting to find Alessandro on the bed, wearing only a strategically placed jewelry box. Yesterday, he’d worn only a large black velvet box which held a priceless diamond and emerald necklace. He seemed to enjoy giving her such expensive trinkets, so Lilley always tried to accept them graciously, even though the impersonal, sterile new jewelry was the last thing she cared about.

      Spending time in bed with him, on the other hand … well. She’d take all of that she could get.

      But today, their bedroom was empty. So was the study where Alessandro had had business meetings all day with high-level board members from his headquarters in Rome. Peeking through the window, she saw him pacing by the pool, talking on the phone. Lilley’s eyes devoured his strong physique in a snug white T-shirt, old jeans and bare feet as he paced from the white cabana to the poolhouse. Behind him, palm trees waved against the sparkling blue sea.

      The pool! Perfect! She’d get him splashing in there yet!

      Squelching a mischievous laugh, Lilley raced back to their bedroom and changed into a tiny bikini, one of the six he’d bought for her in Porto Cervo. Tying the strings at her hips and back, she glanced at herself in the mirror. Funny how she’d once felt so embarrassed about her plump body. She’d worn baggy clothes that didn’t fit, trying to hide her shape. But Alessandro loved her body so much, what could possibly be wrong with it? How could she not love her overlarge breasts, her curvy belly, her wide hips, with their child growing inside her?

      For the first time in her life, she felt comfortable in her own skin. Even the morning sickness had all but disappeared since she’d become Alessandro’s wife. A coincidence? Or were her body and unborn baby in agreement with her, all of them deliriously happy about their new lives?

      Lilley looked at the brilliant ten-carat canary diamond ring on her finger. He’d bought it for her at the Caetani boutique in Las Vegas, as if the million-dollar price tag were nothing at all. It was pretty, though it weighed down her hand. As she went outside, the facets sparkled.

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