The Fabrizio Bride Read online

  “Alright, like the cotton candy at Stearns Wharf.” He bit her earlobe. “Would you stop talking and kiss me?”

  She drew her head back, a tiny part of her still willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. “No. I’m mad at you – maybe.”

  “Why are you maybe mad?”

  “Why are you late?”

  He sighed and rested his forehead on hers.

  “Rafe?”

  “I’m thinking.”

  “About what?”

  “Honesty. I don’t know if it’s all it’s cracked up to be.”

  His answer sunk in, causing her to pry his hands from her waist and step back, anger and hurt welling inside. “Fine. While you think about honesty, let me be honest with you about how I felt when you were late.” She ticked down on her fingers. “First I was frustrated, then annoyed, then I just got scared. Scared that you had left me. Scared that maybe you’d been injured. Scared that the hope I had of being with you was just a stupid fairy tale after all. Scared that all your promises meant nothing. And so damn hurt that like my father, you didn’t care enough to stick around.” Her voice grew husky at the end, and he stepped forward to embrace her, a pained look on his face, but she pushed him away with a frown.

  “Sarika—”

  “No. You’re going to listen because your actions affect me, Rafe. It’s not all about you and what you’re going through, it’s about me too.” She dashed a tear from her cheek then poked a finger in his chest. “You say you want to be with me, but that means caring about me. What you put me through was not caring. You are about to be my husband. Act like it.”

  Guilt swam in the depths of his eyes, and he put his arms around her again, slowly this time. When she didn’t resist, he squeezed tight, resting his cheek on her hair. “I’m sorry. You’re right, it was selfish of me. I got caught up in my own head. I promise it won’t happen again.”

  He held her until she relaxed against him. God, he was a hard man to love.

  They headed back to the garden and sat down to a delicious meal. Rafe made almost constant contact with her in some way, soothing her. At Sarika’s insistence, Lorenzo stayed, and once the older generation turned in, the conversation became more animated. It was hilarious to observe the rivalry between Rafe and Lorenzo, with Santo chipping in on both sides. She’d forgotten they’d all attended the same boarding school – had been friends…of sorts…and still played soccer with some other men from their school a few times a week.

  The party broke up relatively early because of the big day tomorrow and everyone but Lorenzo, who returned to his home, went to their assigned rooms.

  Sarika readied for bed then tossed and turned, unable to sleep. She kept playing the chaotic afternoon and Rafe’s lateness over and over in her mind, increasing her anxiety. Finally, she pushed the covers back, put on a robe, and stepped into the hall – right into Elena.

  “What are you doing out here?” she asked.

  “Uh…nothing.”

  Sarika rolled her eyes. “You are such a liar. Are you meeting up with Santo?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Elena moaned. “He’s just so big and dominant. And…big. What do you care if I jump his bones?”

  “I don’t. I mean I do care, but not in that way. Elena he’s going to say ‘no’. Santo is old-fashioned. He’ll want to be the one doing the chasing. Besides, he’ll think it’s disrespectful to Ana Lisa.”

  “Oh come on, he’s a man. He won’t be thinking about anything other than me when I flash him what’s under here.” She opened her robe to reveal a very slinky, black nightgown.

  Sarika shook her head. “It’s your funeral. Just don’t let it affect tomorrow.”

  Elena grinned. “I won’t.” Then she hurried down the hall.

  Sarika watched her go then headed in the opposite direction. A few doors down, she knocked softly and went inside. The lump in the bed rolled over, and she sighed with relief, shedding her robe.

  “Sarika?” Rafe asked.

  “Shhh, go back to sleep.” She lifted the covers and crawled in beside him, turning so he spooned behind her.

  His arm tucked her closer. “Are you sure? What about Ana Lisa?”

  “We’re not doing anything wrong. Just sleeping.”

  She threaded her fingers with his. His heat saturated her, and she relaxed, drifting toward sleep.

  “Were you afraid I would leave tonight?” he asked quietly.

  The question roused her, and she hesitated, then nodded.

  He buried his head in the crook of her neck and pulled her tighter. “God, sweetheart, I’m sorry. I don’t deserve to marry you tomorrow.”

  “Yes, you do. Just don’t do it again.”

  “He stroked her hair behind her ear, and said, “‘Happy’. That’s my ‘H’ word for today. You make me so damn ‘Happy’.”

  She smiled and dropped off to sleep.

  * * *

  The necklace glinted against her skin in the bedroom mirror. Sarika couldn’t believe it. Rafe’s gift must have cost a fortune and taken days to make. Each little diamond was perfect, spelling out ‘Princess’ with a heart shaped diamond dotting the ‘i’. The platinum chain matched the setting for her diamond earrings and engagement ring, which would soon be joined by a wedding band.

  “Gorgeous,” Elena said from behind her, gazing over Sarika’s shoulder in the mirror. She also wore a long, strapless dress, but in periwinkle blue. “Why couldn’t I have been born tall and regal-looking like you?”

  “Because your mother would have exploded.”

  Elena giggled. “You know what I mean.” She skimmed a finger over the intricate knot at the back of Sarika’s head. “Everything’s perfect. I love how they’ve woven this matching ribbon through your hair. And your makeup is stunning.” She turned Sarika to get a better look at the necklace. “Why can’t I find a man who will buy me gifts like that?”

  “You already have, and you’ve let them all go.”

  She shrugged. “I’m an environmentalist. I believe in catch and release.”

  “Speaking of which, did you catch Santo last night?”

  Elena grimaced. “He was definitely caught – long enough to look – but then he sent me right back to my room. I should have listened to you. What’s the matter with that man, anyway?”

  Sarika bit the inside of her lip to stop from smiling. “He’s saving himself for marriage.”

  “What?”

  Elena’s eyes and mouth opened so wide in shock, Sarika couldn’t hold back any longer and burst out laughing. “He’s not a virgin, but it’s been a while. He’s looking for ‘the one’.”

  “Oh, God. Save me from honorable men.”

  Ana Lisa entered the bedroom wearing a long, rose-colored skirt and embroidered silk jacket. A white rose and lily corsage was pinned to her chest. It matched Sarika and Elena’s bouquets except for the periwinkles woven within.

  “It’s time,” her Godmother said, clasping Sarika’s hands. Tears welled in her eyes. “Oh, bambina, I can’t believe you’re getting married – and to my Rafael! I couldn’t be happier.”

  Sarika hugged her, answering tears watering her eyes. “Me, too.” She resisted asking if Rafe was out there. Of course he was. He may have been late yesterday, but he’d arrived in time for the rehearsal and then held her in his arms all through the night. He wouldn’t desert her now.

  “No crying,” Elena ordered, dabbing at the drops before they ruined Sarika’s make-up. Handing out the bouquets, she linked arms with the two women. “Showtime.”

  The trek through the villa seemed to take forever. At the top of the aisle, Elena went first, the sounds of the harp, flute and violin melding beautifully together. When the music changed, Sarika’s pulse raced. She grasped Ana Lisa’s arm, and they stepped out into the sunshine. The bright light blinded her for a moment then she saw Rafe smiling at her from the other end of the aisle in a charcoal grey tuxedo.

 
Her heart expanded.

  As she glided closer, his gaze burned with an expression of such intensity, she forgot to breathe. Finally, he wrapped his arm around her waist. It trembled as he squeezed her, and she leaned against him.

  Ana Lisa kissed them before taking her seat. Rafe led Sarika the last few feet to the altar, and Father De Luca began the ceremony, starting with the wedding Mass, then the Rite of Marriage.

  When it came time for the vows, Rafe spoke firmly, wanting Sarika to know he meant every word, especially after the hell he’d put her through yesterday. For the last two years, really.

  Near the end, his chest swelled with a surge of emotion so strong, it pushed upward, and his voice broke. She squeezed his hands, tears streaming down her face. He wiped them away, then cleared his throat, finished his vows, and placed the ring on her finger.

  His ring. His wife.

  Something shifted inside him and heat rushed through his body. The blood pounded through his ears as he stared at her. So lovely, so full of light and laughter, despite her own hardships – and he’d pushed her away again and again. Afraid of becoming his father.

  Yet she loved him. Risked her heart and her future on him. She’d been so brave while he’d cowered behind his walls, trying to keep everything in control. Especially his feelings for her.

  Idiot.

  She was a gift. A blessing. And he was the luckiest person alive. He’d do anything to be the man she deserved. Not just a husband and a lover, but an equal partner. And if that meant digging into his battered childhood and his parents’ failed marriage, that’s what he’d do.

  At the priest’s prompting, she began her vows, the words soft and emotional. This time he squeezed her hands. With a watery smile, she tried to place the ring on his finger, but her hand shook. He steadied her, and she slid the band home, sealing their commitment to one another.

  Finally.

  Cupping her face, he kissed her and whispered, “Thank you.”

  * * *

  They left the reception soon after the dinner, speeches, and required dances were done. Neither of them could wait any longer. The drive to Rafe’s home was full of teasing, kisses and laughter, the best kind of foreplay for what Sarika had planned.

  When the limo drove through the gates and parked in front of Rafe’s recently restored, Mediterranean-style home illuminated by strategically placed lights, he scooped her into his arms and stepped out. She giggled as he carried her up the walkway to the carved, wooden door, trailing her fingers through his hair and licking along the cord of his neck.

  He stepped over the threshold and stopped. “Welcome home, Mrs. Fabrizio.”

  She lifted her head and looked around the grand foyer. Last time she’d been here, his home had been under construction. Many of the original details had been saved, like the frescoes and arches, but many new, modern touches had been added, like the gigantic blown glass chandelier, the harmonious, neutral colors, and the modern art and sculptures. She liked it, and could easily see herself living here with him and eventually their children.

  “It’s beautiful, Rafe.”

  A staircase curved up to the left, and after kissing her, he ascended it and strode down a long hallway. Pushing into his bedroom, he shut the door behind them with his heel. “This is the biggest room and looks over the pool, garden and beach, but if you don’t like it, we can choose another.”

  The room was decorated in navy and gold with black lacquered furniture. Too masculine for her taste, although there were slats on the headboard which would work well for tonight. “It’s nice, we’ll just redecorate a little.”

  “Do whatever you like.”

  She smiled wickedly. “I plan to.”

  His nostrils flared as he looked at her. “I hope that means tonight because…well, I want to make love to you, but you said a few days ago you wanted to wait. I won’t try and change your mind, but…ah, hell, could you just tell me now, so I can kiss you?”

  She shook her head. “Nope. That’s not how it’s going to work. You won’t be kissing me…” The hopeful light died in his eyes. “…I’ll be kissing you.”

  His brow pleated. “What do you mean?”

  “Put me down, please.”

  He did, but kept his hands on her hips as she turned toward him.

  “There will be lovemaking, Rafe, but only if you make me one promise.”

  “Anything,” he said, voice cracking.

  “You’re going to lie on that bed, hold onto the headboard, and not let go until I say so.”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “But—”

  “No ‘buts’. You either agree, and we make love, or you don’t, and we curl up beside each other for a nice, long sleep.”

  “When you put it that way…”

  She grinned. “I thought you’d see reason.”

  He loosened his periwinkle-blue bow tie and cuff links, slipped them into his pocket, and tossed his jacket onto a leather chair in the corner. “Do I at least get to undress you? This is our wedding night. I have quite a few fantasies about stripping you out of that dress.”

  She thought about it, and with a shiver, decided he was right. “Okay, but once we move to the bed, you have to do as I say. And there won’t be any actual sex until we’re on the bed, do I make myself clear?”

  He placed a hand over his heart as he toed off his shoes and closed the distance between them. “I swear.”

  The smoldering look in his eyes promised hot and heavy, so she was surprised and touched when he wrapped his arms around her waist and just lifted her, dropping his face into the crook of her neck. He inhaled. “God, you smell good. Like you mixed with something…mysterious. Sweet yet spicy. A little musky. I could eat you up.”

  He held her close for another moment, then walked to a long, low dresser with an attached mirror and sat her on top. “In fact, that’s a really good idea.”

  Breath catching, she shook her head. “Uh uh. Sex includes what you’re thinking.”

  “I’m just taking off your shoes. Lean back against the mirror.”

  She did, a thrill shooting through her as he squatted before her and pushed her skirts over her knees. He lifted her right foot and rested it on his thigh. One strong hand circled her calf over her silk stocking and squeezed. God, it felt good. The other grasped the heel of her white, satin pump and slipped it off. Then he massaged her instep with his thumbs, working along the arch, into the ball of her foot, and between her toes.

  He looked into her eyes which had fallen to half mast. Holding her gaze, he caressed up her leg and behind her knee. A shiver of delight passed over her, making him smile.

  “You’re not following the rules,” she said huskily.

  “You said I could undress you.” His fingers slid up her inner thigh to the top of her sheer, white stockings, teasing the silky material. She moaned when his knuckles grazed her center, her muscles clenching deep in her womb.

  When he bit the inside of her thigh, she jumped, mindlessly splaying her knees. He kissed the spot he’d bitten and sat back on his haunches, hands massaging her other calf, behind her other knee. “Are you sure you don’t want to amend the rules?”

  She tried to frown at him but had lost control of her muscles. “You’ll regret this.” It came out a moan as he slipped off her remaining shoe and worked his fingers into her foot then up her leg to the top of her stocking. Eyes closed, she gave over to the drugging sensation of his caress.

  He hovered close to her core, drawing delicious circles with his fingers on her thigh, increasing her need to pull her knees back and lift her hips in invitation.

  In demand.

  “I can’t decide whether to take your stockings off or not. Hmm…should I…or shouldn’t I?” The circles widened, strayed higher.

  A strangled, inarticulate sound came from her throat. He laughed, then her eyes flew open as he pulled her off the dresser and into his embrace. He steadied her as he took two steps back and turned her toward the mirror, s
o her spine lay against his chest, her bottom against the hard ridge of his erection.

  She looked wanton. Cheeks flushed, lips parted, green eyes wild. Her dress hung in silky folds to the floor. He smoothed his hands up her hips, around her waist, and over her breasts and neck, where he stroked that sensitive spot below her ear. She could barely stop herself from crumpling to the carpet as her bones turned to jelly.

  Wrapping an arm around her, he cupped her jaw, turned her head to the side, and kissed her. Slow and languorous. It went on and on as he explored her mouth with his tongue, licking and tasting, his lips molding hers, his teeth nibbling on sensitive flesh. Kissing along her jaw to her ear, he sucked the lobe into his mouth. A flood of heat rushed through her. She whimpered, rocking her hips forward, wanting him to slide his hand down her pelvis and cradle her swollen flesh.

  Instead, he grasped her waist to steady her and continued kissing down her neck. She tilted her head to the side as he caressed across her shoulder, then along her spine to the top button of her dress.

  Lifting his head, his dark, glittering eyes met hers in the mirror. He looked like he wanted to tear through her clothes, spread her legs, and thrust inside. But not tonight. Tonight she knew he would undress her slowly, peel the silk from her skin. She felt it in his touch, in the way he kissed her. And she’d let him.

  For a while.

  His fingers linked with hers, and he lifted them behind his neck.

  “Don’t move,” he ordered, then started on the row of tiny, pearl buttons. He took his time, the tension building with each button released, with each shaky breath that almost pulled her breasts free. In a sudden rush of silk, the dress dropped to the floor, leaving her with her arms raised, breasts full and rosy at the tips, and wearing nothing but a delicate, white G-string, white garters, and sheer, white stockings with a lacey top.

  He pressed tight behind her, rubbing against the curve of her bottom as his hands swept up her body to palm her breasts.

  “So soft. So lovely. And all mine.”

  She dropped her hands over his and squeezed. His thumbs strummed her nipples, making her whimper and close her eyes. It was too much. She was in danger of giving over completely and demanding he make love to her.