The Fabrizio Bride Read online

  Had Rafe been mistaken when he’d sensed attraction in Berrucci’s posture?

  Determined to find out, he approached the group. Breathing deeply, he controlled the beast that longed to lash out and eviscerate Berrucci as the man greeted Sarika and her friend with a kiss on each cheek.

  Did he hover longer over Sarika? Draw out the kiss?

  Rafe was a few feet away from them when Sarika noticed him. Her eyes widened and pain flashed within the green depths before turning to anger. Good. At least she felt something. He could easily transform that anger into passion.

  She looked stunning, wearing a silky, ice-blue dress that left her shoulders bare and floated down her body to twirl around her thighs. Her hair was coiled in the back, revealing smoky eyes, high cheekbones, and glossy pink lips. Large, intricately designed silver hoops adorned her ears, her only jewelry, while delicate, silver sandals set off long legs and showcased pink-tipped toes.

  Gorgeous. And his. No matter what Berrucci may think.

  Glancing over to glare at the usurper, Rafe was surprised to see he’d moved closer to the woman he was with and glared back at Rafe.

  “Berrucci,” he said.

  “Fabrizio,” Lorenzo responded.

  A silence fell. Then Sarika’s friend snorted. “That was enlightening.”

  She was tiny standing between Sarika and the other woman. Curvy and pretty with brown eyes and dark hair streaked with blonde. She also looked familiar, but he couldn’t place her.

  “I’m Elena Berrucci,” she said, holding out her hand. “I’ve heard so much about you. Some of it good.”

  Berrucci? Rafe looked at Lorenzo then back to Elena, seeing the resemblance. He’d forgotten Lorenzo had a younger sister. Now that he thought about it, Sarika had also mentioned her in New York.

  He clasped her fingers. “Rafael Fabrizio.”

  “We met when I was about this high.” Elena held her hand level with her waist. “I used to come and watch you and Lorenzo play soccer before I moved to New York with my mother. I only returned to Santa Barbara six months ago. I recognized you from the pictures Sarika had in her Manhattan apartment – before she shoved them all in a box and marked it with a skull and cross bones.”

  Brow raised, he looked at Sarika in time to see her nudge Elena with her foot. He repressed the urge to grin as he leaned forward to greet his black-haired beauty. “Princess.” And he did hover, kissing her on both cheeks as his thumb caressed her hip. God, she was soft. Smelled good, too. When he pulled back, he caught her gaze. “You can put the photos back out, now. Please.”

  She rolled her eyes, but a flush rose up her chest and neck as her breath quickened. He recognized the signs of arousal and shot a triumphant glance at Berrucci whose lips quirked.

  That wasn’t the reaction of a jealous man. And Sarika didn’t seem to care that Berrucci stood so close to the other woman.

  Deciding to test him, Rafe leaned toward the tall, willowy brunette and put every ounce of charm he could muster into his smile. He held out his hand. “I haven’t had the pleasure.”

  Her hazel eyes widened as she placed her fingers in his. “Callie Newton.” A southern accent tinged the breathless words.

  When he raised her hand to his lips, he glanced at Berrucci. Damn. The man looked ready to tear off Rafe’s head. He and Lorenzo had been competing for girls, grades and sporting accolades since they were boys. Rafe had never seen him so affected.

  If that was true then…

  He turned to Sarika, saw the hurt in her eyes, and it hit him like a punch in the gut.

  God, he was beyond stupid.

  How many times had she told him she and Berrucci weren’t involved? Too many to count. And every time he’d responded by calling her a liar and a cheat. Until she’d stopped protesting. Stopped fighting for her honor and for him.

  For them.

  Stomach sour, chest tight, he dropped Callie’s hand and reached for Sarika, but she stepped back.

  “I’m ready for that drink now.” She spun on her heel and walked away, head high, spine straight. Elena glowered at him then followed her friend.

  When they disappeared from the ballroom, Rafe cursed. How in hell would he get her back now? It was one thing to fight another man for her, another to fight everything that was lacking in himself. He could make a list, starting with trust and ending with idiot, but it would take all night.

  He was the biggest kind of fool.

  Catching Berrucci’s eyes, the bastard smiled smugly at him. “Way to score on your own net, Romeo.”

  * * *

  “You said what?” Elena’s voice rang disbelievingly across the tiled patio behind the Casale home. Heads turned toward the women who sat on loungers beside the pool. A small table sat between them holding a half-full bottle of vintage champagne.

  Sarika clucked with disapproval. “Tell the whole world, why don’t you?” Orange blossoms and jasmine filled the warm night air with a sweet scent but it did little to soothe her jagged nerves. Neither did the pretty sight of the moon glinting on the water.

  “Sorry, I just…what do you mean you said ‘no’? You’ve been waiting half your life for Rafe to ask you to marry him.”

  Sarika swirled the champagne in her glass. They’d started out with a single drink, then another, then asked the waiter to bring the bottle. It went down too easy. Tonight, that wasn’t such a bad thing.

  She tossed it back, the bubbles tickling her throat as she swallowed. Looking at Elena’s near-empty glass, she said, “Drink up. Then I’ll tell you.”

  Elena’s face was already flushed and her eyes shiny. Sarika guessed she looked the same.

  “What the hell. I’m sure I’ll need it when you’re done.” Finishing her drink, Elena placed the crystal flute on the table and waited while Sarika refilled it. Some of the clear, golden liquid sloshed over the edge, making Elena giggle. “Spill your guts, not the champagne.”

  Sarika giggled, too, then couldn’t stop. She barely managed to set the bottle back on the table without knocking it over. “It’s all so horrible. How can I be laughing?”

  “Better to laugh than cry.”

  “I won’t cry again. Not over him. He’s such an ass.”

  “A gorgeous ass, though…with a gorgeous ass.”

  Sarika snorted, and the champagne in her mouth almost came out her nose. Swallowing, she said, “How do you know? He was facing you.”

  “I glanced back at the end. Even from a distance I could see it was spectacular.”

  “You’ve no idea.”

  When the amusement faded, Sarika tucked her feet beneath her on the lounger. “Gorgeous or not, he doesn’t love me.”

  “Are you sure?” Elena asked, her words a little slurred. “I can’t see him wanting to marry you unless he was in love.”

  “I’m sure. Love is an action not a…not a…” She couldn’t think of the word. “…a verb, and he doesn’t treat me lovingly. Something like that, anyway. I saw it on Oprah.” She took another sip. Not such a good idea when she obviously needed to clear her head.

  Elena stared at her, looking confused. “I thought a verb was an action? You said…oh, it doesn’t matter. Love, action, Oprah. Got it.”

  Tipping her head back against the soft cushion, Sarika studied the stars. “He used to love me when we were younger. He was always there for me. And then things changed.”

  Elena giggled again. “That’s because you got boobs, and he wanted to sleep with you. But you were too young. Ana Lisa would have killed him.”

  “Maybe, but even after we were together, he held himself away from me – just out of reach. When we made love, he’d be…well, a part of me, yet still so separate. I kept trying to pull him back, but he’d just slip through my fingers – until finally he left. He wants to think it’s all about your brother but it’s not. That just gave him a reason to leave.”

  “That’s so sad.”

  “I know.”

  “Wouldn’t it be different if you were mar
ried?”

  Sarika shook her head. “It would be worse. We’d be together all the time and he’d just want to escape. It would kill me. I shouldn’t have to fight for someone to love me. I won’t fight for it.”

  “Do you think any man is capable of that?”

  “Yes. And I’m going to find him.”

  Elena lifted her glass. “I’ll drink to that.”

  Sarika lifted hers as well and they clinked the crystal rims. She downed the contents in a few swallows then poured herself another. “Maybe we should talk about the business before we can’t see straight.”

  “I already can’t see straight. Let’s go back to the Oprah thing. When you said ‘verb’ did you mean…”

  * * *

  Rafe leaned against the balustrade above the pool, watching Elena and Sarika on the loungers below. A wayward hand spilled a drink and it dripped onto Elena’s black dress. She cursed and Sarika shushed her. After mopping it up, they signaled a waiter and ordered more champagne.

  Damn, they were sloshed. He would have gone down there long ago and taken the bottle away, but he was afraid to face Sarika after what he’d done.

  No. Not afraid, just…uncertain. He’d screwed up, something he wasn’t used to, and he didn’t know how to fix it.

  Maybe if he broke the problem into workable parts he could figure it out. Problem one, ten months ago Sarika had wanted to get married and he didn’t. Now he was willing to marry her, so that dilemma was fixed – except she’d said ‘no’. Which was understandable. He hadn’t trusted her and had said some terrible things.

  So the second problem was his lack of trust. That could be fixed. He’d just believe her from now on since she’d never lied to him before.

  So why didn’t you believe her in the first place?

  He pushed the disturbing question aside then changed his mind and decided to think about it. Why hadn’t he believed her? Well, there had been the physical evidence. The kiss, the photos in the tabloids of her on Berrucci’s yacht, the phone calls between them, which he now suspected were from Elena. Still, that was all circumstantial.

  Why then, when she denied it, had he called her a liar?

  Because…because… He didn’t know why. Maybe because he knew people cheated. Broke their word – like his father.

  That made sense, and maybe Sarika would take pity on him and forgive him for being such a jerk, which was the third problem.

  The biggest problem.

  Rafe sighed and pushed his hands through his hair. It used to be easy between them when they were younger. But nothing had been the same since that summer he’d found the sweet girl he’d left behind had grown into a sultry, young woman with touchable lips, breasts, and long, gorgeous legs. She’d still been his smart, funny Princess, but every time he’d kissed her forehead, he’d wanted to keep going.

  Up until then, he’d protected her from all the other jackals. After that, he’d had to protect her from himself.

  Still did, obviously.

  No. That was in the past. From now on, he would trust her no matter what. And if he stopped being a jackass, eventually she’d forgive him. She’d loved him once; he could make her love him again. He just had to win her back.

  Then everything would be all right. They’d marry, have a family. It was what she wanted. What Ana Lisa would want if she knew.

  And what do you want?

  He frowned. What he wanted was obvious. Sarika in his bed, belonging only to him. Loving him like she did before. If that meant marriage, so be it. He liked kids, would make a decent father. He certainly couldn’t imagine having children with anyone but her. And the idea of her having children with someone else was enough to make him snatch her up and lock her away – in some remote region of the Rockies.

  No, it had to be marriage. She wouldn’t settle for anything else and neither would he, not after thinking he’d lost her to Berrucci.

  If he could just get her back.

  “Have you seen my sister?”

  Berrucci’s voice broke through Rafe’s thoughts like a relentless, irritating chainsaw. He gestured toward the patio below. Glancing down, Berrucci saw the inebriated women and cursed.

  “Why didn’t you stop them?”

  Rafe shrugged. No way in hell would he admit he hadn’t been ready to face Sarika. “They’re adults.”

  Berrucci looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “They’re family. No wonder Sarika’s mad at you. I take care of my women.”

  “She’s not your woman.” Rafe’s hands clenched at his sides. He wanted to put his fist right through Berrucci’s pretty-boy face.

  He noticed and smirked. “You sure about that?”

  Stepping forward, Rafe could have hit him in the head, but instead, he hit somewhere lower. “Where’s Callie, by the way? Maybe I’ll go find her and ask her to dance.”

  “Stay away from Callie.”

  “Then you stay away from Sarika.”

  Berrucci threw his hands in the air. “Why don’t you just marry her, so I don’t have to hear about it anymore from Elena? On and on she goes about poor Sarika in love with such a bastard. I’m in complete agreement, by the way.”

  Rafe crossed his arms over his chest and scowled. He would if he could. “Mind your own damn business.”

  A startled shriek from below caught their attention. Elena tottered on shaky legs close to the pool while Sarika tried to get up from the lounger to help. Rafe and Lorenzo ran down the wide stairs and around the pool just in time.

  As Lorenzo grabbed his sister, Rafe untangled Sarika from the lounger. How in hell had she put her leg through there?

  “Lean on me while I set you free,” he said.

  She kept struggling. “Won’t lean on you again…free myself.” The words ran together, and he would have been amused except for the meaning.

  Elena started singing some pop song about ‘freedom’. She was horribly out of tune.

  “Come on, Madonna,” Berrucci said, half-carrying his sister across the tile, but she reached back for her friend.

  “Sarika!”

  “Rafe, let me go,” Sarika said.

  “No, I won’t ever let you go again.”

  He finally freed her leg and walked her toward Berrucci and Elena, who said, “Maybe you could marry Lorenzo. Then we’d be sisters.”

  He heard Berrucci curse beneath his breath. Rafe seconded it.

  “I don’t want to marry Lorenzo,” Sarika said.

  “Why not?” Elena asked.

  “He’d be as bad as Rafe.”

  Both men scowled then Rafe scooped Sarika into his arms. When she fought him, he held her tight, ignoring her protests. “There must be another way out. I don’t want to carry her through the villa.”

  “This way.” Berrucci led them down a shadowy path through the garden. “I used to date Maria Casale.” His laugh suggested much more than dating.

  “Who didn’t,” Rafe added.

  “She’s married, now, to some old guy,” Elena said as she stopped in front of them to smell the flowers. She almost toppled over.

  Rafe waited as Berrucci picked up his sister who let out a surprised giggle. Thankfully, they started moving again. Sarika wasn’t ill yet, but when it hit, and it would, Rafe wanted her safe in bed where he could take care of her. Like he should have done all along.

  She laid her head on his shoulder, and his heart contracted. He glanced down as they passed beneath a bright window to see her staring dreamily into space. “How are you, sweetheart? Are you feeling alright?”

  “Mmm hmm.” She played idly with the buttons on his shirt.

  His breath caught. Just last night she’d done the same thing before he’d pushed her away and called her horrible names. His stomach twisted at the memory. At all the memories. How could she ever forgive him?

  “You look lovely, tonight. That dress is beautiful on you.”

  She glanced down. “It’s Elena’s. I didn’t have anything to wear. You kidnapped me from the chalet…woul
dn’t let me bring my suitcase. You’re so mean…bossy.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Amazement crossed her face. “That’s twice today. Who are you and what have you done with the great Rafael Fabrizio?”

  Her words were slurred, but the impact on him was the same. He should be on his knees apologizing to her every minute of everyday. Then he sighed. That wasn’t going to happen. He’d say it once when she was sober, then just be a better man. What more could she ask for?

  He wouldn’t beg. Ever. He just wouldn’t give up.

  They reached the front of the drive, and the valets stared at them with wide eyes before speeding off to bring back the vehicles. Berrucci lowered Elena to the ground, but Rafe continued to hold Sarika. He didn’t know when he’d get another chance.

  In no time at all, a high-end, grey Lexus followed by Rafe’s classic Ferrari pulled up.

  Berrucci let out a whistle. “Nice,” he said of the Ferrari, then nodded toward the Lexus. “It’s a hybrid.”

  “I know. I’ve got one. I just use the Ferrari on special occasions.”

  “Was tonight special?” Sarika asked.

  “No. You’re special.”

  She frowned at him, then giggled. Elena started giggling, too.

  “Why are you laughing?” he asked, trying not to sound miffed. She could tear out his heart and stomp on it if she liked. He certainly deserved it.

  “I don’t know.” Suddenly she reached her hands behind her neck. “Elena, don’t forget your dress.”

  When Rafe heard the zipper coming down, he quickly stopped her. “Not here, sweetheart, we’ll give it to Elena tomorrow.”

  Berrucci and the valets glanced over with interest. “Maybe it’s best to take it off now, Sarika,” Berrucci said with a wicked grin.

  Rafe glared at him then strode toward his car. He made sure Sarika was belted in and her zipper up before marching around to the other side and getting in. Accelerating as gently as he could, he looked over and saw her eyes close. Then they popped open and clashed with his.

  “I’m not going to marry you,” she said, the words slurring.

  He gripped his hands on the wheel but kept his voice calm. “We’ll talk about it later.”