“Why not?” he asked softly.
She swallowed, fighting the urge to turn away. Instead, she forced herself to be direct.
“I know that I would not be sitting here in your car if I weren’t carrying your child. But nothing between us—co-parenting, let alone marriage—will work if you can’t trust me. And I need to know—” She stopped. Swallowed. She didn’t need to reveal any more vulnerabilities at this point. “You’re going to have to trust that there has been no one else.”
His eyes darkened with a gleam at the wordsno one else, and if she didn’t know better, she might have called it jealousy.
“Trust is something to be earned,cara. But I will let you decide, of course,” he said smoothly, though she was almost sure they were not done with the subject.
Alessandro slowed the car at a fork and turned onto a narrow road, a path through a grove of olive trees that curved until she could make out a village. Huddles of whitewashed houses with terra-cotta roofs climbed the hillside, peeking out from behind one another as if they were watching for her arrival. Above them on the hill was what could only be described as a castle. Stark, sturdy towers rose up above steep stone walls, and she caught glimpses of the roofs of a sprawling set of buildings that this fortress protected.
Ann-Sophie did not need confirmation from Alessandro to understand that they were not headed for one of the quaint, whitewashed houses in town. He was a Carandini. Of course, he was taking her to an actual castle, and, of course, he hadn’t thought to mention this. In a twist she should have foreseen, she was, in fact, going to be living inside the walls of a fortress for the next two weeks. The possibility of a moat looked questionable in this sun-dried land, and she hoped the same for crocodiles lurking in its murky waters.
Alessandro raked a hand through his hair as he navigated through the narrow stone streets of the village. Here in this fancy sports car, against the backdrop of charming shops and blooming window boxes, he looked much more like the man she remembered and less like the polished businessman that had shown up on her doorstep. More at ease. They passed cafés, bakeries and a small square that held a church and other stately buildings. The town was built in a mix of stone and peeling coats of whitewash, which gave it a look of rustic elegance.
“Does this village have a hotel?” she asked.
Alessandro glanced at her, lifting a skeptical eyebrow. “Are you contemplating alternate accommodations?”
“Maybe.” That sounded better than an escape route.
The line of houses came to an end, and they made their final ascent to his family’s property. The entire wall of the fortress looked as if it had been built and rebuilt countless times. It was a mix of rough-hewn rock, bricks and finely chiseled stones—definitely solid. The only sign of a moat was a trickling creek that flowed under the narrow bridge just before the entrance. If crocodiles had ever walked this path, they had left long ago in search of swampier grounds.
An iron gate twisted and curled between the pillars that held it, and it swung open theatrically as they neared. Alessandro drove across the bridge, and they entered a cobblestone courtyard. Sprawled out in front of them in the same patchwork of stone was a rambling, castle-like villa. Stained-glass windows glittered from the majestic towers, and arched passages, covered with flowering vines, stretched across the lower levels. Before Ann-Sophie could take in any more details, Alessandro turned into a long, covered terrace, brought the car to a stop and turned off the engine. She blinked, trying to orient herself in this place. It felt as if she was dreaming, and she hadn’t even seen the library yet.
Alessandro came around to her door to help her out, which saved her about five minutes of awkward struggle. When she stood up, her body so close to his, she felt the same thrill of awareness as she had the day before in her living room.
“Welcome to my family’s retreat,” he said, his voice low and rough, as if he was feeling the same hot current of desire. “I hope it meets your expectations.”
Ann-Sophie drew in a breath, trying to focus on her surroundings and not on the man who stood so temptingly close. Though she had toured impressive castles all over the world, they had felt like museums, tied to an impersonal history. But this place was…alive. Almost magical. Somehow, despite knowing that the Carandini family moved in Italy’s most elite circles, she wasn’t prepared for a place like this. Maybe it was the wordretreat, which brought to mind the cabin she and her mother had stayed in for a few summers. It had been smaller than the garage in front of her, and the only bath was a dip in the cold lake a short walk away. This walled estate was so laughably far from that.
She started along the cobblestone path, with Alessandro distractingly close by her side. When they reached the main courtyard, where a fountain gurgled, she realized why her mind had gone so incongruously to that tiny cabin in the Swedish countryside. This place was quiet in the same way, without the sounds of the city. Instead, it was alive with the twitters and squawks of birds and the rustle of leaves in the warm breeze. And though its gracefully sloping roof and arched entryway was so far from a cabin in Sweden, for a moment, she felt…at home.Don’t get comfortable, she reminded herself. This was just for two weeks.
“How long has this place been in your family?” she asked as they walked along the well-worn stone path.
“My grandfather purchased it when the business grew. He was originally from this area and wanted to make sure our family’s roots stayed here.”
There was a way Alessandro talked about his family that she didn’t understand, a distance, as if it wasn’t his own family he was discussing but a general period of history he was recounting.
“Did your grandparents live here with you?” she asked.
“They gave the villa to my parents so they could raise their children,” he said, and his tone was even more distant, despite the fact that these “children” included Alessandro. “My grandparents did everything they could to guide my father. This place for us, a position in the company, but in the end, he and my mother weren’t interested in any of it. My brother understood this much earlier, but I was the fool who defended them for years.”
His voice never wavered or showed any hint of emotion, but his words took Ann-Sophie’s breath away. She turned, studying the sharp cut of his jaw, the proud line of his forehead, looking for signs of emotion, but she saw no distress. She had no idea what to make of any of this.
They entered the villa through a heavy wooden door, and Ann-Sophie found herself in an extravagant hallway. The ceilings were lined with dark wood, each plank carved and polished, and the floors were tiled in the same terra-cotta as the roofs, covered with area rugs in lush reds and blues.
“All your needs will be taken care of by the household staff,” he said as they walked across the front entryway, toward an elegant staircase.
Household staff. Ann-Sophie resisted an eye roll, though she supposed she wouldn’t miss doing her own laundry. “I probably need to talk to someone about a low-salt diet.”
“I have given Olivia an overview of your situation and general precautions, but please let her know any specifics,” he said, and she couldn’t help but notice that his voice was no longer devoid of emotion. When he mentioned Olivia, she heard the kind of warmth he seemed to reserve for his brother. “She fed and kept track of two rambunctious boys. I guarantee nothing you request will pose anywhere near the challenge we did.”
Alessandro led her up the staircase and to another hallway, lined with marble busts and paintings of sprawling landscapes in gilded frames. He stopped in front of a door near the end of the hall.
“You may have your choice of bedrooms, of course,” he said in that lazy, sexy voice of his, and the wordbedroomssent a rush of awareness through her. “But I asked Olivia to prepare one I think you would particularly like.”
He opened the door into a room decorated with the same dark, intricately carved woods as the hallway. Across the room, French doors led to a balcony, muted in the sunlight, and on the far side was a majestic bed covered in a silky red bedspread that looked like temptation incarnate. But all of this was eclipsed by shelf after shelf of books. Was she sleeping in the library?
