Alex went into his arms and buried her face in the familiar scent of him. This was what family meant. And this was what Vincenzo had never known. This was what she wanted to build with him, for her and for Charlie. And for V.
She was going to take the leap.
CHAPTER EIGHT
VINCENZO OPENED THE door and walked in. For a few seconds, he stood still, disoriented. He had given Alessandra more than a few days to recover. And she had taken to hiding in here, not just from him, but from everyone.
The conservatory was all glass on one side, giving a spectacular view of the lake. It was ablaze with lights and looked like a thunderstorm had raged through it and left utter chaos in its wake.
Boxes and boxes—some closed, the majority open with overflowing fabrics in every imaginable color—lay haphazardly around the vast room.
The surface of a dark mahogany table peeked from under a surfeit of sketchbooks and papers. Vincenzo picked up a book and rifled through hundreds of pages of sketches and designs, from elaborate evening dresses to stylish work shirts and suits. Two state-of-the-art sewing machines sat at a far corner and two mobile racks held dresses and other accessories in varying stages of completion.
A sheaf of papers had different versions of the same logo—a curlicued A and A wrapped around each other in different sizes. He was about to call out Alex’s name when he heard a hiccup from the other end of the vast room.
Slowly, he made his way through the jumbled mess on the floor to the other end of the room, where a partition separated the work area from this second area. Sitting on the floor, with a half-empty wineglass and a bottle of red, was Alessandra. With her back to him.
Vincenzo took a few seconds to breathe through the desire that hit him like a gut punch.
She was wearing a white, wispy lace thing that plunged into a deep V at her back, showing off the toned musculature. Silky smooth, golden skin beckoned him for a touch.
While he watched in bemused fascination, she emptied her wineglass and hiccuped again.
“Alessandra?” He called out softly so as to not spook her.
She turned and threw him a glance over her shoulder, then looked away. In the brilliance of the lights, the tears in her eyes looked like crystals.
The slippery whisper of the silk of her dress made him look down. To sit comfortably, she had pulled fistfuls of fabric away from her long legs. The result was that it was gathered around her upper thighs all but baring every inch of her gorgeous body to his hungry gaze.
Vincenzo went to his knees next to her and gently placed his hand over her bare shoulder. Her skin felt freezing to his touch, though the room was comfortably warm. “Cristo, you’re like ice!” He spread his fingers around desperate to warm her up.
“What?” She jerked, as if coming out of a trance. Dislodging his fingers in the process. “Oh, the cold, you mean? Yeah, I’m always cold,” she said in a nasal voice that confirmed that she’d been crying.
For a few seconds, he got distracted by a memory from Bali. He had been startled awake from a deep sleep early one morning to find her wound around him. But what had woken him had been her cold feet tucked into the groove between his own ankles.
He had gone back to sleep, a smile on his lips, his heart brimming with a feeling he couldn’t define. It had been a perfect morning.
“You know, when we met…it’s so silly,” she muttered and then laughed at herself. “I used to think it was so utterly romantic that you were always warm. As if there was a…volcano inside you. I actually took that as some sort of sign. That you’d always warm me up. For the rest of our lives.
“Can you believe the depth of my foolishness?”
He slid to the floor with not quite the economy he usually had, her words hitting him hard. The ache in them cutting deep. “It’s not foolish, cara mia.”
She tucked an unruly lock of hair behind her ear, and he noticed the dangly diamond earrings glittering at her ears, the drop at the bottom kissing her shoulder every time she moved. An elegant choker—a matching set with the earrings, glimmered at her neck. Her dress, now that he was noticing things other than her painfully lovely face, was of a rich lace and ivory silk material. And it fit her to perfection.
In the beautiful white dress and the expensive jewelry, she looked like a bride.
She hadn’t dressed up like this for their impromptu, impulsive wedding. He frowned. “Princess, is everything okay?”
“Hmm?”
He lifted the bottle to his gaze. Half-empty. “I didn’t know you drank.”
One bare shoulder rose and fell. “I don’t usually, but I feel like I’m drowning. Tonight, I just want to not care.”
He watched in increasing fascination as she took the wine bottle from him and swallowed a mouthful. A drop fell on the golden skin of her neck and rolled down into the valley of her breasts. He cursed under his breath, feeling the tightness in his trousers.
“You should be wary of me. I’m a mean drunk.”
He smiled. “I’ll take my chances, bella.”
Trembling fingers dug through the rumpled mass of her hair. Her chest rose and fell. She rubbed her nose against her upper arm. The grief painted on her tight face sent alarm bells ringing inside his head. He took her hand in his, and pressed his thumb over her knuckles. In a rhythmic movement, back and forth.
“Talk to me, cara mia.”
She shook her head.
“Afraid you’ll spill your secrets?” he teased, faking a humor he didn’t feel.
“I don’t want to be responsible tonight.”
“Then that is exactly why I should be here, tesoro. You can be as dangerous and impulsive as you want. Do your worst, Alex. I won’t
