And if she was pregnant… That thought was a clap of thunder that threatened to shatter his thin veneer of calm. But there was still a chance that she was not, he reminded himself. There was still a chance he could walk away from this whole mess. Find another bride who actually understood theconvenientpart of this arrangement. But just thinking about leaving Catarina for someone else made his stomach feel as if it were in freefall.
“I would like you to answer my calls,” he said slowly, grasping at the last threads of his self-control.
“I’ll take that under consideration,” she said crisply. “Now, please tell me why you are here.”
When Massimo handed her the latest edition ofGente, Catarina’s first instinct was to laugh. The idea of this stoic man spending the morning leafing through a notorious gossip magazine was absurd. But as she focused in on the photo he pointed to, all the humor inside her shifted into shock. She stared at it, frozen in place. Catarina remembered the exact moment the picture was taken, and her face flushed at the thought that someone else was watching. Heat traveled through her body as she recalled the gentle pressure of his hand on her back, the tender caress of his touch when he had helped her into the car, so at odds with the cold distance in his voice. At the time, she had told herself that the gesture was nothing more than politeness.
Catarina had spent the past three days trying to be rational about what had happened between them during the snowstorm. Massimo wanted a convenient marriage to an obedient wife, and he had used the spark of attraction between them to get it. It was that simple. He was definitely attracted to her, but he had made it clear on the plane that he would never let himself become close to her, not after he had seen his parents destroyed by what they thought passed for love. She could understand his frustration, as she had, in fact, agreed to a marriage of convenience. But that was before she had spent days with Massimo. Talked with him. Done those unspeakably hot things with him in bed. On the floor. And then learned what it felt like when he turned to ice afterward. She could no longer accept a distant marriage. It would be a prison, and he was determined to be her warden.
Yet, the picture in the paper gave her evidence to the contrary, evidence she could not look away from. The photographer had zoomed in, likely to validate their identities. But he had caught more than that. Catarina’s own face was turned, focused on the step into the passenger seat of the Ferrari, but the shot showed Massimo’s clearly, and it was full of raw emotion. He was looking down at her as if he was in love with her, despite his efforts to fight it.
Shock and confusion rattled her. She had spent the past three days trying to accept the fact that he desired her but did not—and would not—ultimately care for her. If she was pregnant, she needed their relationship to be on stable ground, which would mean putting her own feelings aside and making good decisions that kept their baby’s best interests at the center of everything. She told herself that, under the right conditions, an accidental pregnancy wasn’t the worst twist of fate. After all, she herself had been an unexpected baby, and her parents had never once made her feel like the pregnancy was a mistake. As long as their baby grew up surrounded by love, regardless of the parents’ relationship.
Their baby. The words had played in her head over and over, threatening to overwhelm rational thought. Unlike Massimo, who had been brought up in a household where wealth was a substitute for parental attention, she had been surrounded with love, imperfect but wholehearted. Her parents had given her this, and she would give it to her baby. But the family she wanted right now was about more than children. She wanted a family with Massimo, this impossible, imperfect man who was capable of so much passion. He had shown her glimpses of tenderness, of the kind of connection she craved, and she wanted more.
Yet, his words on his jet had shaken her to the core. He seemed to believe that wholehearted love meant a self-centered destruction of everyone in his orbit. When she had arrived at the flat, she had spent the day scouring the internet for articles about his parents. As she read story after story in black-and-white, she could see that Massimo had, in fact, downplayed the dramatic public fights and equally public make-up scenes that his parents endlessly played out. What she hadn’t fully calculated was how young Massimo was when this had all started.
Catarina understood where Massimo’s conclusions about love came from. Maybe she would believe the same in his shoes. But that didn’t change the problem at the heart of their relationship. Was she trying to fit a square peg into the nice, round fairy-tale ending that she wanted for their story? Maybe it was futile to convince him to embrace this passion between them. Maybe it was better to put her energies toward a compromise, so that by the time the baby came, the path was smooth. Over the past three days she had debated her choices, her heart and her mind at odds. Now, as she stared at this candid photo of him in the magazine, his expression so raw and open, it felt as if she were looking at a mirror of her soul.
She was falling in love with him. But if she said those words, it would only drive him further away from her. The thought was devastating. Catarina swallowed, then looked up at Massimo. As he gazed down at her, she searched for cracks in the facade of his hard expression. She found none.
“The photo is unfortunate,” he said in that commanding voice he used with her, the one that frustrated her. But it also did strange things to her insides because she couldn’t stop hearing the pain behind it, too. “We cannot wait a week for our dinner. To that end, I wouldliketo make reservations for tonight.”
At least he was attempting to ask and not simply commanding her presence. She tilted her head, studying him. “Surely, you don’t imagine one public supper will smooth over all speculations. Won’t it simply fuel more?”
There was pain in his reaction, a grimace, so small she might have missed it. But it was there. She took a step toward him. His eyes widened, and she felt a surge of satisfaction. This was what had cracked his hard exterior before. This was how they connected. And though touching him scrambled her own mind and softened her will, it was better than the cold reserve between them. Catarina lifted her hand to touch his face, but instead of giving in, he stepped back. His retreat felt like an arrow in her heart, but she told herself to ignore it. She told herself this was to be expected. Even if the photo told her Massimo felt the same as she did, he would resist it with all his being.
Catarina attempted to paste on a breezy smile. “I doubt this evening will be a PR success if you move away when I reach for you.”
“There’s no need to touch,” he bit out, his voice rough and full of frustration.
She didn’t back down.
“We are not your parents,” she said softly.
His hard exterior seemed to crumble at her words.
“This—” He gestured to the remaining space between them. “This is madness. It can be twisted and manipulated and used for harm at any time.”
Catarina’s own frustrations took over then, laced with the heat and the heartache she was trying desperately to keep under control. “How can you say that? How can you ignore how good this feels?”
Massimo’s eyes narrowed, and his expression was thunderous. “You’re using sex to provoke me.”
The accusation was a slap, and it traveled through her body, finding its way into her soul. It was useless to accuse him of the same because it only proved his point.
“I am trying to get through to you,” she said, trying to keep her voice calm, even though her heart was breaking. Because she would absolutely not give him the dramatic meltdown he was expecting. “You shut me out the moment you sense a threat to you or your precious family name. You’ve built this—” she gestured at his tall, imposing figure, his hard expression “—this image of Massimo Carandini, made of impenetrable steel. You’re not giving us a chance.”
“This is who I am,” he said in a voice that was hauntingly final.
“You are more,” she whispered, but her words sounded like a plea.
He frowned and turned his back to her and started for the door. “I will pick you up at eight.”
Chapter Eleven
CATARINA STEPPEDOUTof Massimo’s Ferrari, into the misty Milanese night. The evening rain had left a sheen that glistened on every surface. The city felt alive, washed clean and bubbling with car engines, laughter and the last of the rain spilling out of gutters, all mocking the tempest that had brewed inside her all day long. She wanted to show Massimo that they could be something different together, but the cold distance between them was too much to bear. The urge to turn away, to flee, to escape this pain, nagged at her.
The valet whisked the Ferrari away, and she was left standing next to Massimo. He wore a suit that emphasized his broad shoulders and narrow hips, and the collar of the crisp white shirt was unbuttoned, showing a glimpse of the dark hair on his chest she couldn’t erase from her mind.
