Sitting in the backseat of the Rolls-Royce, traveling from Milan to Lake Como that afternoon, Mari barely recognized herself. Or John, that matter. What had happened to the selfish, arrogant prince? In the hours since they'd arrived in Italy, John had been nothing but charming. He'd spent the entire morning following her from one exclusive baby boutique to the next, carrying bags, pushing Bailey in a gorgeous new stroller. It was only when the trunk of the Rolls was full of baby clothes that he'd put his foot down and demanded she buy some clothes for herself.
From Prada to Chanel, Versace to Valentino, he'd patiently waited in every store. While Mari tried on clothes, he had read new books to Bailey until she fell asleep in her stroller. Then, when Mari blushingly came out of her dressing room, he'd give his verdict on each outfit with a flash of heat in his eyes. And the occasional murmured. "Bellissima."
At every shop, she'd been flattered and complimented, waited on hand and foot. Her last stop, at the most famous day spa in Milan, she'd had six people waiting on her at once; the first doing her makeup, the second her hair, the third her nails, the fourth her toes, the fifth rubbing her shoulders as the last brought her a café Americano.
Mari's glasses had been replaced by contacts. Her messy ponytail had been washed, cut and carefully blown into a sleek chignon. Her makeup was natural, artless. Wearing a sophisticated blouse and pencil skirt beneath a belted camel cashmere coat, Mari had never felt so womanly—or so elegant. Her old glasses, along with necessities for Bailey, were now tucked into her patent leather Giancamo carryall. Her three-thousand dollar diaper bag.
She crossed her high-heeled ankle boots stroking the exquisite pearls at her collarbone. Maybe John had a point, she mused. Maybe clothes really could change the way a person felt about herself. Not that she would ever admit that to him. He was too smug already by half.
"You are magnificent, cara." He said, looking at her in amazement.
She blushed, glancing at him over Bailey's baby seat. "I was hoping you'd just say I was passable as your wife."
"Passable? Dio santo! Sei bellissima. You are beautiful, Marina."
Marina. Dressed like this, riding in a limo on the way to an Italian villa, married to a prince, she almost felt like she felt the name. New name. New look. New hope. It still troubled her that their marriage was timed to last until some poor old man's death. But as John had said, people died every day. The world was a harsh place. Mari knew that from experience. Her own mother had died when she was twelve, and she'd never known her father.
But now Bailey would never know such a precarious existence. She would be safe and financially secure. And after she spoke to Randy, she'd have a father. Mari would make sure of it. She looked at her baby. Buckled into the child seat, Bailey was contentedly gulping down a bottle. Instead of her ratty old pajamas, she wore a pink dress with a rounded collar, thick white tights and white suede boots lined with sheepskin. Her beautiful new Italian wardrobe would last until she was three years old, and each outfit was softer and cuter than the last. Looking her happy, adorable baby, grateful tears rose in Mari's eyes.
"Thank you." She whispered. She turned to look at her husband, smiling through the tears. "I can't thank you enough for this."
"For shopping?" He said, sounding surprised. His dark eyebrows lowered. "Don't thank me. I'm starting to regret I ever had the idea. You look far too beautiful. Every man who sees you will want you for himself. In fact, I'm beginning to reconsider that sweatshirt."
She looked at him with an intake of breath. His blue eyes twinkled at her, warm as May sunshine. He was flirting with her! She tried not to respond, to not let it affect her, but it still made her catch her breath. "You're a hard man to please."
"No." He said. "I just want you to be happy."
His gaze was like a pure Italian spring warming her soul. Half-dead flower unfurled in her heart, basking in his light and heat. NO! She couldn't be pulled in. She couldn't let him seduce at her. She couldn't let him have her body—or her heart. Because when he left her—as he would in a matter of months—she'd be a ruined wreck. Three months. Just three months, and she and Bailey would be safe forever. How hard could it be to resist a man for three months? Very hard when the man was Prince John Cena..
Biting her lip, she turned to look out the window as they traveled the snowy single-lane road. Even in Italy, winter held sway. But this winter was different than it'd been in Chicago. Warmer, for one thing. Lake Como was an Italian winter fairyland. The limo sped down the slender dark ribbon of a street into a village clinging to mountains. Snow sparkled in the sun like diamonds, on the edge of a sapphire lake.
"Aquila." He said. "My home."
She looked out her window in wonder. Villagers were strolling down the main street in the sunshine, chatting with each other in front of charming, decorated shops. Bright-eyed old men raised their caps in greeting as the Rolls-Royce passed by. Young mothers pushing strollers pointed out the car to their rosy-cheeked babies. A group of boys, six or seven years old, chased the limo down the street, shouting after them with hearty cheers.
Mari looked at John in wonder. "It's beautiful."
He smiled at her, and his eyes caressed her face, lingering on her lips. "I'm glad you like it."
Her whole body vibrated under his gaze. Stop it, she told her body furiously. He's nothing to you! But her body laughed at her orders, as uncontrollable as a rebellious child. With John so close to her, the roomy backseat felt way too small. She swallowed looking away. "Are we almost to—what did you call it?"
"The Villa Rosa. It's been my family's home for many generations. We lost it briefly when I was child but now it is mine again." He gave her a brief smile "And for the next few months, it is yours."
Pushing her empty bottle away, Bailey accidentally knocked her purple hippo out of her lap. She started to whine. John and Mari both reached to the floor at the same time, their fingertips brushing together over the plush fur. Mari yanked her hand back as if she'd been burned. Hiding a smug smile, he handed the stuffed animal to Bailey.
"Hold on to your toy more carefully." He admonished the baby. Mari frowned in surprise. It was one thing for him to take that tone with her, but how dare he order her child to…
Then she saw Bailey smile, reaching for his nose. John crossed his eyes playfully, and the baby's laughter rang like the chimes of bells. He laughed with her and his eyes were warm, crinkling at the sides. It took Mari's breath away.
"You're good with her." she blurted out. "Do you have children of your own?"
His face instantly shuttered. "No." He said brusquely, sitting back. "I've never been married."
"But that doesn't mean—"
"I would not have a child without being married to the mother. That would be irresponsible."
She flushed, feeling the sting of his words. He obviously thought she'd been irresponsible to get pregnant. And she had been, she thought with a lump in her throat. She'd trusted Randy's pretty words and promises of love. She'd made excuses for him—justifying why, after proposing to her with a big diamond ring and getting her pregnant, he'd suddenly been reluctant to pick a wedding date.
She'd been so stupid. She'd thought she'd found a real man, real home, a real family after so many years of being alone. And for that, she gave up everything. She threw away the college scholarship she'd worked so hard to win, tossing aside her plans to be a school librarian, teaching children to love books.
Blinking back tears, she looked away. She could never let herself forget the pain—never let herself be vulnerable and weak like that again. She was her daughter's only protection. Her only support.
"Children need a father." John said, and she again felt the sting of blame.
Suddenly furious, she shook her head. "Do you think I don't know that? I grew up without a father. My mother moved us from place to place, and when she died I was totally alone. Do you think I want that for Bailey? It's why I—"
"Why what?" He said sharply.
She bit her lip. "Why I think even a selfish, shallow father is better than none at all."
"Orton doesn't deserve to be her father." John's lip curled. "He fled America to avoid taking even the most basic responsibility."
"But he's her father, John. She has no siblings. No cousins. No one. If anything ever happens to me, I need to know she's safe, that she'll be loved and protected."
"Not by Orton." John's gaze was stony. "He's lost his chance."
She stared at him. "What do you mean?"
"Randal Orton is going to sign away his parental rights to Bailey and you are going to convince him to do it."
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