The Fabrizio Bride

  THE FABRIZIO BRIDE

  Published by Alyson McLayne at Smashwords

  Copyright 2016 Alyson McLayne

  Discover other available titles by Alyson McLayne:

  The D'amici Mistake

  Smashwords Edition License Notes

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  Contents

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Epilogue

  About Alyson McLayne

  Other books by Alyson McLayne

  Connect with Alyson McLayne

  Preview of 'The D'amici Mistake'

  Acknowledgements

  For Marjorie Kathleen Pritchard.

  My mother, my friend, who always believed in me and loved me, cheered me on and supported me, drove me to countless dance lessons, sleepovers, and to Victoria every summer. Who made every holiday chocolate-filled, present-filled, hug-filled, and colourful

  Thank you, mom. I love you.

  She married my dad (sixty years and counting), raised four kids, took care of multiple pets, lived in many places and had lots of friends and colleagues. She became a geologist, a kindergarten teacher, a real estate agent, and an avid stock investor – and she’s forgotten it all.

  Mom you are loved, you are admired, you are missed. Remember that.

  And for anyone else who has a loved one with Alzheimer’s Disease remember this:

  Do Not Ask Me To Remember

  Do not ask me to remember,

  Don't try to make me understand,

  Let me rest and know you're with me,

  Kiss my cheek and hold my hand.

  I'm confused beyond your concept,

  I am sad and sick and lost,

  All I know is that I need you

  To be with me at all cost.

  Do not lose your patience with me,

  Do not scold or curse or cry.

  I can't help the way I'm acting,

  Can't be different though I try.

  Just remember that I need you,

  That the best of me is gone,

  Please don't fail to stand beside me,

  Love my 'til my life is done

  - Owen Damell

  Chapter One

  Sarika Dkany had just finished her thirtieth lap in the pool that over-looked Big Bear Lake in southern California when a familiar wave of heat rushed over her skin and started her heart pounding. Only one person on the planet made her feel that way, and she spun in the water toward the luxurious mountain-side chalet that had been in the Fabrizio family for over fifty years.

  She couldn't see Rafe, but she knew he was there, and every nerve ending in her body fizzled to excited life.

  So much for getting over him.

  She stared into the shadows, willing him to appear, her long, dark hair spreading out behind her as she floated closer to the house. Moonlight bathed the night, and she was suddenly conscious of how tight her old bikini had become.

  She tugged the tiny triangles back into place before taking a deep breath. "Rafe?"

  He stepped out of the shadows a moment later, and cascading joy tumbled through her at the same time as searing pain. She drank him in, starved this past year of his presence, his touch.

  Well over six feet tall, his patrician features were dark and bold, softened only by full lips and chocolate brown eyes. He had the athletic build of a man who still played hard on the soccer field and worked out daily to maintain his endurance. He'd shed his jacket and tie and loosened the top few buttons of his white shirt. Rolled-back sleeves revealed strong forearms, and fine, grey pants encased long legs. An elegant, gold watch adorned his wrist.

  He sauntered down the steps toward her, his Italian shoes quiet on the tile. "Hello, Princess."

  The indifference in his tone hurt, and she folded her arms across her body, trying to hold herself together. "Don't call me that."

  "Why not? That's what your name means. Gypsy Princess."

  "Not the way you say it. Not any more."

  "How exactly do I say it?" He crouched at the pool's edge and dipped his hand in the water, dark eyes drifting over her, smile mocking.

  She swallowed to remove the lump in her throat. "With contempt."

  It was painful to think what had once been an endearing name between them was now an insult. When she was a girl, and he'd called her his Gypsy Princess, it'd made her feel special. As a woman, it was often said with a throb in his voice from long nights loving each other. Now it was a slap in the face.

  She turned and swam choppily to the opposite end of the pool. Upon reaching the ladder, she realized her mistake and looked toward her towel lying on a lounger next to him. He followed her gaze. When he glanced back, his eyes were filled with unholy amusement.

  "I'm barely dressed," she said. "If you were a gentleman, you'd turn around."

  "I never claimed to be a gentleman, Princess. Besides, it's nothing I haven't seen before."

  Anger burned through her at the disdain in his voice. What right did he have to treat her so callously? He was the one who'd dumped her.

  Grasping the ladder, she drew herself upward, knowing her butt was on full display. Warm summer air engulfed her as water trickled over her barely covered breasts, belly and thighs. She faced him, head held high, eyes hot with furious, unshed tears. Slowly, she drew her dark hair over her shoulder and squeezed out the water, then walked toward him over the tile, long legs rocking her hips from side to side, breasts swaying. She locked her gaze on his and searched for the passion that used to flare between them.

  He looked calm, in control, other than a tiny muscle that twitched in his jaw.

  About five feet away from him his cool expression cracked and his eyes blazed with a heat that seared right through her, sparking a familiar fire in her veins.

  "Stop!" He raised his hand, palm facing outward to ward her off.

  She froze. One small move, one small touch, and they'd tumble over the edge – just like old times, before he'd pushed her away for good. Did she really want to go there with him again? God, yes, but she was done trying to make him love her.

  He reached for her towel and thrust it at her. "Cover yourself."

  When she didn't respond fast enough, he wrapped the towel around her. Turning, he climbed the steps back toward the darkened chalet and dropped into a wrought iron chair by the door.

  She stared at him, feeling triumphant and saddened at the same time. She almost went to him then, she'd missed him desperately this last year, but pride kept her still.

  "Is someone here with you?" he asked.

  The question caught her by surprise. "You mean a man?"

  "Who else, Princess? Is he waiting in your room?"

  Her heart cramped a little more. "There's no one." She busied herself with the towel before crossing her arms over her chest. "I don't have a lover. I did for a while, but he left. Apparently I wasn't good enough to introduce to his grandmother."

  "That's not what happened."

  "That's exactly what happened.
You screwed me for almost a year then just walked away."

  "I didn't screw you, Sarika, we were in a relationship. And I walked away because you slept with Lorenzo Berrucci."

  The false accusation made her clench her fists – again. How many times had she told him the truth? It seemed like hundreds. The real truth was he didn't want to believe her. It was easier for him that way.

  "That's not true, and deep down you know it. I let him kiss me, once, on the deck right in front of you after you refused to acknowledge my place in your life to Ana Lisa. It was stupid, but I wanted you to fight for me, to let everyone know you cared about me as more than a sister, or a cousin, or whatever the hell we are to each other."

  "We are nothing to each other." He rose swiftly from his chair. "You were mine, Sarika, and you let him touch you!"

  "I wasn't yours. I was just your dirty, little secret."

  "That's not true."

  "Then why couldn't we tell anyone?"

  "You know why."

  Pain gripped her. She closed her eyes momentarily to contain it. "Heaven forbid Ana Lisa would expect us to get married." Her words sounded bitter even to her own ears.

  "Sarika—"

  "Go to hell, Rafe."

  He moved swiftly across the deck and down the steps, causing her adrenaline to surge. Then he stopped, hands twitching as if he wanted to rip the towel from her body. Instead, he spun and marched back up to the chalet. "Get dressed and meet me in the study. We've more important things to discuss than our...relationship."

  When the door slammed shut behind him, she sank onto the soft lounger, heart racing, knowing she had to leave. She loved him. She always had. And if they spent any time alone together they'd end up having sex. It was inevitable.

  But they wanted different things. While it had been exciting to sneak around in the beginning, she'd eventually needed more. More than he was willing or able to give. This time would be no different.

  She had to get away from him, carry on with her plans for the business with Elena. Lose herself in her new life and stop waiting for him to call.

  To claim her.

  As long as Ana Lisa was alive, Sarika would have to see him, but she'd never allow herself to be alone with him again. That meant leaving. Now.

  Pulling herself together, she hurried up the stairs and through the door. Rafe was nowhere to be seen, and she rushed across polished wood floors toward the open stairs. A wrought iron chandelier hung from one of the cedar beams on the living room's vaulted ceiling, and huge windows looked out onto the pool and the lake beyond.

  After taking the stairs two at a time, she raced to the bedroom that had been hers since she was nine years old. Dragging off her wet bikini, she hurled it in the en suite bathroom trash can, pulled on jeans and a T-shirt, and worked her wet hair into a braid. She threw her things into her suitcase then wheeled it down to the large, heavy front door. It opened with a telltale squeak, and she let the door slam shut behind her. She'd just deposited her luggage in the trunk of her sporty, yellow rental car when Rafe appeared in the doorway.

  "What the hell are you doing?"

  She met his eyes briefly. "Leaving."

  Sliding into the driver's seat, she locked the door and turned the key in the ignition with trembling fingers. He approached and leaned on the door frame, speaking through the partially-opened window.

  "Get out of the car, Sarika."

  "No."

  She pushed down on the gas pedal, and the car shot backward.

  "Sarika, come back! I have to talk to you."

  After shifting into gear, she zoomed down the long, winding driveway. Headlights illuminated the large boulders and pine trees on the property. When she reached the end of the drive, she barely stopped in time to avoid hitting a man who stood in front of an iron gate. One hand sat on his hip while the other held a cell phone to his ear.

  Santo. Rafe's head of security and best friend.

  She should've known he'd be here. Wherever Rafe went, his security followed. That's what happened when you owned a billion-dollar company. During her and Rafe's affair, Santo and his minions had hovered silently in the background, helping to keep their relationship secret.

  Her anger ignited at the memory, and she jumped from the car. "Get out of the way, Santo."

  "Not until Rafe says so." He calmly closed his phone and put it in his pocket.

  She stormed over and tried to push him aside, but it was like trying to move a mountain. "You've got no right to keep me here. Move!"

  A familiar arm circled her waist from behind and lifted her away from the bodyguard. When her feet touched ground, she turned and punched Rafe solidly in the chest. He didn't even flinch.

  "Rafael Fabrizio, you let me go this instant. You said we are nothing to each other, and I agree. That means when Ana Lisa isn't here we have nothing to do with each other, do you hear me?"

  "Of course I hear you. The entire mountain-side can hear you."

  "You are never to touch me, or call me, or even smile at me again. We. Are. Done."

  "Done as dinner, I get it. Now quit yelling before you wake up half of California."

  He was close, and she could feel his arousal even as his fury washed over her. She shivered in response and couldn't help pressing her face into his chest, inhaling him. He smelled good, his unique masculine scent mixing with the spicy undertones of his aftershave.

  His hands spread out on her back, and for an instant he pulled her closer, before pushing her to arm's length. "Stop it."

  Unable to meet his gaze, she kept her head down. Her breath came in broken, shallow gasps. "Why are you here, Rafe? You didn't come for me, not after all this time."

  Silence ensued, and after a moment she met his gaze. He looked...tormented...before an invisible shield dropped between them and he stepped back. She wrapped her arms around her body, trying to contain the empty ache his withdrawal had left behind.

  "No, I didn't come for you, Sarika. I came for Ana Lisa. She's in the hospital. We've been trying to contact you for days."

  Chapter Two

  Rafe looked into Sarika's shocked face, and his first instinct was to take her in his arms. Instead, he shoved his hands in his pockets

  "But she's in perfect health. I just spoke to her last week," she said.

  He could understand her denial. He'd felt the same way when his grandmother had first fallen ill. She'd always been so strong. A powerful force to be reckoned with in the family. "I suspect she's been hiding her illness for a while."

  "Is it serious? Is she in hospital doing tests or something?"

  "She collapsed, Sarika. She almost died." He didn't soften his words. He couldn't allow himself to yield one inch toward this woman, but when he saw the pain and panic that washed through her, he was overcome with guilt and all kinds of softer feelings.

  "Is she going to be alright?" She swayed closer, holding tight to his shirt. Her green gaze swam with tears and those lush lips trembled. He closed his eyes to block out the sight, but that only intensified her scent. It swirled through his head, intoxicating him.

  He took a jerky step backward. She held on and moved with him.

  "We'll go and see her tomorrow."

  "What's wrong with her? What aren't you telling me? Is she dying? Rafe, please tell me she isn't dying."

  "She's not dying. She has some heart problems, but they can be managed. Just calm down and come up to the house. We'll discuss it there." Preferably with a desk between them.

  He broke away from her and strode along the drive toward the chalet. It took him a moment to realize she wasn't following. When he turned, he saw her standing where he'd left her with her arms wrapped around her middle. Her long legs suddenly gave way, and she fell to her knees on the pine needle-covered ground. He let out a muffled oath and sprinted toward her.

  A sob shuddered through her body as he pulled her up and cradled her head against his shoulder. He couldn't help himself.

  Her arms squeezed his chest. />
  "Shhh. Sarika, don't cry. She's strong. She has the best doctors in Santa Barbara – in the world – taking care of her. I made sure of it." He kissed the top of her head. "The prognosis is good. She'll be home with us in no time. I promise."

  When she continued to clutch his shirt for support, he lifted her into his arms and carried her toward the chalet. "It kills me when you cry, Princess, you've got to stop. She's going to be all right."

  When he reached the front door, he pushed inside and strode toward the study that overlooked the lake. He'd intended to place her on the leather couch and retreat to the desk, but after a slight hesitation, he sat with her on his lap and nestled his hand at her nape beneath her braid. He found himself wanting to unwind it and spread the heavy strands out to dry, to massage her neck and shoulders.

  Gritting his teeth, he counted to ten to stop himself. This could not happen again. He would not allow Sarika back into his life. Their time as lovers had been...too crazed...too turbulent. He'd felt like he was always fighting himself and her to get above the desire, the need. He didn't want that kind of chaos in his life. He'd had enough of it in his childhood before his parents had died – in a car together for the first time in years, driving to his college graduation.

  Grown-up Sarika was his Kryptonite. She alone could turn him into a mindless lunatic. Driven to act rather than choosing the best course of action. The last thing he wanted was to end up like his father.

  And yet, no one aroused him the way she did, made him laugh, forget himself for a while.

  He knew he should move her to the other end of the couch, but he didn't have the will. His bones felt weighted down.

  Closing his eyes, he savored her warmth. It would take the barest movement to initiate a kiss that would lead to more kisses until their bodies were joined together. God, how he wanted that. He was already rock hard against her ass and when she squirmed on his lap, he almost cursed.