A Hunger for the Forbidden(21)

“But you wanted to marry Corretti? This Corretti, I mean,” asked sixteen-year-old Pietro.

She nodded, her throat tight. “Of course.” She didn’t want them to be upset. Didn’t want them to worry. She maybe should have thought of that before running off to New York, but she really hadn’t been able to consider anyone else. For the first time, she’d been burned out on it and she’d had to take care of herself.

“They’re having a baby,” Giana said drily. “I assume that means she liked him at least a little bit.” Then she turned back to Alessia. “I’m excited about being an aunt.”

“I’m glad,” she said, tugging on her sister’s braid.

They spent the rest of the afternoon out in the garden, having antipasti, wine for the older children and Teresa, and lemonade for her and younger kids. Her siblings told her stories of their most recent adventures, which ended up with everyone laughing. And for the first time in months, Alessia felt at ease. This was her family, her happiness. The reason she’d agreed to marry Alessandro. And one of the driving reasons behind her decision to marry Matteo.

Although she couldn’t deny her own desire where he was concerned. Still, happy wasn’t exactly the word that she would use to describe herself at the moment. Anxiety-ridden? Check. Sick to her stomach? That a little bit, too.

The sun was starting to sink behind the hills, gray twilight settling on the garden, the solar lights that were strung across the expanse of the grass illuminating the growing darkness.

Their father appeared on the balcony, his arms folded across his chest, his eyes settled on her siblings.

“I guess we have to go,” Marco said.

“I know. Come back and stay with us anytime,” she said, not even thinking to ask Matteo if it was okay. As soon as she had the thought, she banished it. If she was going to be married to the man, then she wasn’t going to ask his permission to breathe in their shared home. It wasn’t only his now and he would have to get used to it.

Her father was the unquestionable head of their household, but she was the heart of it. She’d kept it running, made sure the kids got their favorite meals cooked, remembered birthdays and helped with homework. Her role in their lives didn’t end with her marriage, and she wasn’t equipped to take on a passive role in a household, anyway.

So, on that, Matteo would just have to learn to deal.

She stopped and kissed her brothers and sisters on the head before watching them go up to where their father stood. All of them but Marco. She held him a bit longer in her embrace. “Take care of everyone,” she said, a tear escaping and sliding down her cheek.

“Just like you always did,” he said softly.

“And I’m still here.”

“I know.”

He squeezed her hand before walking up to join the rest of the family.

“And I should leave you, as well,” Teresa said, standing. “It was lovely to see you again, my dear.”

Teresa hadn’t batted an eye at the sudden change of groom, had never seemed at all ruffled by the events.

“You care for him,” she said, as if she could read Alessia’s internal musings.

Alessia nodded. “I do.”

“That’s what these men need, Alessia. A strong woman to love them. They may fight it, but it is what they need.” Teresa spoke with pain in her eyes, a pain that Alessia felt echo inside of her.

Alessia couldn’t speak past the lump in her throat. She tried to avoid the L word. The one that was stronger than like. There was only so much a woman could deal with at once. So instead, she just nodded and watched Teresa walk back up toward the house.

Alessia stayed in the garden and waited. The darkness thickened, the lights burning brighter. And Matteo didn’t come.

She moved into the house, walked up the stairs. The palazzo was completely quiet, the lights off. She wrapped her arms around herself, and made her way back to the bedroom Matteo had put her in to get ready.

She went in and sat on the edge of the bed and waited for her husband to come and claim his wedding night.





CHAPTER SIX


MATTEO DIDN’T GET DRUNK as a rule. Unfortunately, he had a tendency to break rules when Alessia Battaglia—or was she Alessia Corretti now?—was involved.

Damn that woman.

Even after his father’s death he hadn’t gotten drunk. He’d wanted to. Had wanted to incinerate the memories, destroy them as the fire had destroyed the warehouses, destroyed the man who had held so much sway over his life.