One Summer at The Villa: The Prince's Royal Concubine / Her Italian Soldier / A Devilishly Dark Deal. Rebecca Winters

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      Another thought occurred to her: why hadn’t Dante done something to end the hostilities? She’d never considered it before. And it bothered her that she hadn’t. But she’d trusted her brother implicitly, trusted that he knew what he was doing and that he was looking out for the best interests of Monteverde.

      She still did.

      And yet…

      Why hadn’t he done something, besides agree to a ceasefire, before now? If he had, would Cristiano be doing this? Would prosperity have followed on the heels of peace? Would she be here now, sheltering from the storm with an enemy prince and learning things about him that made her want to put her arms around him and hold him tight?

      “My mother died when I was four,” she said into the taut silence. “I know it’s not the same thing, but her death left a hole that has never been filled. I empathize, Cristiano, even if I do not share the same experience.”

      His gaze sharpened. “And you still dream of this all these years later? Or is it something else that disturbs your sleep?”

      She twisted her fingers into the blanket on her lap. She was tired and sad and—Madonna mia, did it matter if she told him? Would it really help? She wouldn’t tell him everything—she could never share that with anyone—but could she at least give him a version of events that would make him understand her better? Was it worth the effort?

      She took a deep breath, let it out again in a sigh. He’d just shared something very personal and devastating with her. She could give him something in return.

      “My father grew violent after my mother’s death. He became a stranger to Dante and me. We did our best to avoid him, but it wasn’t always enough.”

      “He is the one who hit you.” It wasn’t a question, and she didn’t look up. She simply nodded. He swore.

      “He was ill,” she explained. “I knew this. I should have been a better daughter—”

      The swearing increased in volume and intensity, cutting her off mid-sentence. Hot fury crackled in the air between them.

      Yet she wasn’t afraid. Strangely, she wasn’t frightened of his anger. It was…liberating to feel this way. She’d never experienced a man’s fury without feeling the urge to flee.

      Until now.

      “That’s ridiculous,” he finally said, his voice roughened as if it had been scraped over sandpaper. “Children are not to blame for abuse. Not ever.”

      “No, but I knew I shouldn’t do things to anger him. And I did them anyway sometimes.”

      “You were a child,” he said fiercely. “It’s not up to you to bear the responsibility for what happened. Your father is to blame, not you.”

      She believed him, and yet there was always that niggling doubt. If she’d tried harder, been better—

      No. She had to stop thinking like that. Dante had always told her it was wrong. And now Cristiano. Why couldn’t she accept that perhaps some things were out of her control? That she couldn’t change the outcome simply by acting differently?

      She swiped her fingers beneath her eyes, unsurprised to feel moisture. But at least they were controlled tears this time. She didn’t feel on the verge of sobbing or falling apart.

      “What time is it?” she asked, too emotionally drained to continue this line of conversation. And tired. She was still so tired.

      He picked up the watch he’d removed and set aside. “Three in the morning.”

      No wonder her eyes felt so gritty. She shifted—and her body fought back with aches and pains she hadn’t realized she possessed when she’d been struggling with Cristiano in her sleep.

      He scraped a hand through his hair, yawned. Then he pushed to his feet. “I need to take the radio into another room to see if I can hear the weather report. The signal will be too degraded in here.”

      A sharp sense of loneliness stabbed her. Surprised her with its force. She didn’t want him to leave her alone, and she didn’t want to analyze why in any depth. It was a reaction based on their earlier experience with the tree. Had to be.

      “I’m coming with you,” she said, climbing to her feet. Pins and needles stabbed into her cramped muscles, made her long to sink back down again until they went away. But she wouldn’t. When she made up her mind to do a thing, she did it.

      His grin was almost tender. “I’ll be back, Antonella. You don’t have to come with me.”

      Her heart thumped. “How do you know? What if another tree falls, or if the roof rips off and you get sucked up by the wind?”

      “You think you can stop this? Or do you wish to be sucked up with me?”

      She crossed her arms. “Don’t be silly. I don’t like you that much.”

      His laughter surprised her.

      “What?” she demanded when he didn’t tell her what was so funny.

      “You just admitted you like me.”

      “I did not!”

      He reached for her hand, lifted it to his mouth and pressed a kiss against her skin. Shivers radiated along her nerve endings, through her bones. Rooted her to the spot and made her want so much more.

      “You like me,” he said. “You can’t help yourself. Now, let’s go see if we get swept away or if we can learn what the storm is up to.” He handed her the candle. “Try not to let it go out. The wind will likely be strong in the house now.”

      Antonella followed on his heels, shielding the light with one hand. But her mind was working overtime as she concentrated on her task. The truth was more surprising than she’d have ever believed possible.

      She did like him, in spite of everything. But the most frightening part of all? With the exception of her brother, she liked Cristiano di Savaré more than any man she’d ever known.

       Chapter Nine

      THE weather report, what they could hear of it, hadn’t been good. The storm had strengthened, and the eye wall wasn’t expected for another few hours. The rain and wind were torrential. She didn’t need to see it to know. The sound was devastating. Though the master bedroom door hadn’t blown open—likely because they’d shoved a dresser against it—she could feel the angry power on the other side.

      For the first time, she began to think they might not live through this. She’d believed him thus far, believed his certainty and confidence in the face of danger, but her mind threw scenarios at her that had the two of them crushed beneath walls, washed out to sea, drowned, or even impaled by whirling storm debris.

      Antonella shivered in spite of the heat in the dressing room. Across from her, Cristiano appeared to doze as he leaned back against the wall. She’d СКАЧАТЬ