Dante's Dilemma (a Dante Legacy Novella) (6 page)

Julietta stood beside her fiancé beneath the widespread embrace of a stand of orange trees bordering the Rossi villa, greeting the final guests arriving for their engagement party. Petals rained down, much as they had the day before when she and Rom— She ruthlessly broke off the thought. It was time to put yesterday’s fantasies aside and accept the role she’d been given.

Bride.

Wife.

Mother.

Chattel.

She’d been bought and sold as surely as the Bianchi vineyards. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say,
she
represented the vineyards, providing a conduit connecting land to owner. Even her green dress and the wreath of poppies, mustard, nuts, and oak twigs in her hair announced the primary duty she’d be expected to fulfill—bearing her husband a child, preferably a son.

Tito leaned in to speak quietly in her ear. “I have something for you.” Before she had an opportunity to question him, he took her hand in his and slipped a ring on her finger. It stuck at her second knuckle and, to her embarrassment, took some wiggling to get on. “I had intended to give this to you sooner, but I only just received it. Obviously, we’ll get it resized.”

She stared at the ring, a stunning representation of her commitment to Tito. It was one more anchor binding her, the weight it represented infinitely greater than the weight on her finger. Honesty compelled her to concede it was also the most beautiful piece of jewelry she’d ever seen. It spoke to her, whispering an unwanted truth about love and marriage. Tito hadn’t gifted her with a ring of convenience for a marriage of convenience, but a ring meant for a fairy tale type love affair. It should have come from a groom madly in love with his bride, and she with him, a symbol of the type of love that transcended the ordinary, that became the stuff of legends.

This ring was meant for true love.

“Do you like it?” Tito asked quietly.

She nodded, her throat tightening with emotion. How could she not? “It’s spectacular,” she whispered.

“I asked one of my best friends to design it specially for you.”

“You did?”

She searched his expression, hunting for some sign his feelings for her ran deeper than his desire for her family’s land. Why couldn’t she love this man? He was good and kind and generous. He’d be so easy to love, if not for Rom. Maybe if she tried, really tried, she could do what her family expected. Be an obedient daughter. Be a good wife. Be a loving mother to her children.

Once again, the image of a forked path rose before her. The well-trod road to the right led to Tito, the “ideal” husband. The safe husband. The husband who would provide for her and her children. It was a path repeatedly chosen by women throughout the centuries, and for a very good reason. He was the sort of man who would ensure the survival of his family. How could she reject that?

She shook her head. She couldn’t. As of tonight, she’d commit herself to taking that course, as well. And never again would she glance toward her other option, that delicious pathway that tempted her beyond reason.

She smiled at Tito, the first genuine smile she’d offered all day. “
Grazie
. That was very thoughtful of you. Please thank your friend for me.”

“Thank him yourself. Here he is now.”

Abrupt awareness hit, a blinding flash that caused Julietta’s breath to quicken and her blood to heat. She knew who stood there without even looking. She could feel the connection centered in her palm and the way it radiated throughout every part of her. It filled her with a desperate yearning, a need to be part of him. To turn and forge a connection, even if only through their joined hands. Her palm itched, and she fisted her hand to keep from rubbing at the tantalizing burn centered there. Slowly, she faced Rom. Time seemed to slow, the air to thicken. From a great distance she heard him speak.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Signorina Bianchi.”

“Please,” she managed to say. “Call me Julietta.”

“Julietta.”

The way he said her name sent shivers down her spine, the timbre of his voice resonating in a way she’d never experienced before. She wanted him to keep talking, to say her name over and over. Not that he did. He took her hand in his and leaned in, kissing first one cheek and then the other. She ached to turn her head the necessary few inches so his mouth collided with hers, instead of with her cheek. Did he sense her reaction, sense how hard she fought to control it? He must have, since she trembled beneath his touch, the desperate hitch in her breath clearly audible. She prayed no one else noticed anything amiss, especially Tito.

She slanted her fiancé a swift look from beneath her lashes. He stood beside her, tall and straight and proud. In a purely conventional sense, he was far better-looking than Rom. But he held none of the appeal. He faded into obscurity in comparison to his friend. And when he smiled at her, she felt nothing at all. No, that wasn’t true. She felt a kinship, but more in line with how she might react toward a friend or relative. Certainly not what she’d hoped to feel for her husband. And it didn’t begin to compare to what she experienced with Rom.

Please, God, don’t let Tito notice my attraction to his friend!

She deliberately shifted closer to the man she’d promised to marry. He took her hand in his, breaking her physical link to his friend, and gave it a quick squeeze. Every instinct she possessed urged her to snatch her hand free. Instead, she returned his squeeze before addressing Rom. “You made my engagement ring?”

He nodded, and she could see the conflicted emotions sweep across his face. Pride. Regret. Yearning. “I did. Do you like it?”

Tears filled her eyes, and she struggled to express her reaction to his creation. It was the perfect ring, given to her by the wrong man. If only Rom had been the one to slip it on to her finger. If only… “Your ring, it’s—” To her horror her voice broke.

Tito wrapped an arm around her. “What’s wrong,
cucciola mia?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into me.” She fought to steady her breathing. “It’s… it’s nothing.”

“It’s probably the crush of people. Understandable. Maybe a glass of wine will help.” He glanced at Rom. “Would you stay with Julietta while I get her a drink?”

“Of course.”

“It’s not necessary. I just need a moment,” Julietta started to say. But Tito had already gone. She stood unmoving, not daring to look at Rom, not when every thought and emotion must be emblazoned across her face. She didn’t even dare take a step farther away from him, in case he realized just how much his presence threatened to overpower her. “What are you doing here?” she whispered.

“I’m here for your wedding.”

“And to give Tito my engagement ring.” She twisted her hands together, the ring a painful weight. “I wish you’d never come.”

“That’s not true.” Then he did the unthinkable. He captured her hand in his, linking fingers so their palms melded. Instantly, The Inferno sparked, and the emotions she’d fought so hard to suppress flared to life. They seemed to sink inward, deepening and becoming more and more part of her with each beat of her heart. “You want me every bit as much as I want you. This wedding to Tito, it’s wrong. Call it off, Julietta, while there’s still time.”

She lowered her voice to a mere whisper of sound. “My parents won’t let me. You must realize that. They need the money Tito brings to the marriage.”

“He’ll buy the vineyards even if you’re not part of the deal.”

If only it were possible. If only it were that simple. She shook her head. “After Tito bought the vineyards, that would be the end of it. I have seven other sisters. If he becomes their brother, he’ll look after them. Provide for them, if necessary.”

“Their husbands can provide for them. Or better yet, let one of them marry Tito. What about Serena?”

He was destroying her, inch by inch. How could she do what he suggested when it meant sacrificing her family in exchange for her own happiness? Maybe if she kept them in mind it would help control the raging demand of The Inferno. Maybe. “Serena has been promised to the church in gratitude for seeing us safely through the war.”

“A shame.”

Rom drew Julietta closer. Just a step, but a dangerous one. The uniqueness of his scent tantalized her, the earthy, irresistible perfume distinct to him. Is this what the scientists meant by chemistry? It seemed so basic to her, almost primal, twining through her and connecting them in some fundamental way. His essence branded her, stamped itself on all her senses. She wanted to inhale him. Taste him. Touch every masculine inch of him.

He must have picked up on something similar, because he inhaled deeply, and his pupils dilated, darkness expanding into the ring of antique gold.
“Dio mio,
what is that perfume you’re wearing?”

She swallowed a soft moan. “I’m not wearing any perfume. Are you?”

“Never.”

She suspected as much. Over Rom’s shoulder she saw Tito approaching. “You have to let me go.”

“Never,” he repeated.

“Tito’s coming. Please, let go of my hand.”

She dared to glance around, praying no one had noticed anything unusual. Music and laughter flowed around them. It seemed as though all of Santa Lucia had invaded the Rossis’ spacious home and garden. The guests were busy eating and celebrating, paying far more attention to the tables groaning beneath the weight of food than to the bride-to-be, half-hidden by Rom’s broad shoulders and the shadowy embrace of an orange tree. Only Serena seemed to have any awareness that something was amiss. She lifted an eyebrow, then made a naughty girl gesture. Julietta shook her head, but her reaction came too late. Her sister had already vanished into a crowd of revelers.

Rom took a step back, reluctantly releasing her hand just as Tito joined them. He carried a large glass of wine, and she closed her eyes, torn between relief and regret. “How’s our nervous bride?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” she insisted.

“Drink.” He slapped Rom on the shoulder. “Thanks for looking after her,
mio amico.”

She accepted the proffered glass with a self-conscious smile and took a sip. It was one of her family’s labels, a rustic, full-bodied Sangiovese, highlighted with dark chocolate and smoke flavors. It did help steady her. More, it helped remind her of her duties and responsibilities, none of which included a romantic interlude with her fiancé’s best friend. “Thank you. I feel much better now.”

Tito held out his hand. “Come. Let’s take a walk while you drink your wine. There are too many people here. You probably need a break from all the noise.”

Without a choice, she allowed Tito to lead her away from Rom and into the shadow-draped seclusion of the orange grove that bordered the garden. A moon, just shy of full, offered a rough footpath of scattered light. Julietta searched frantically for a topic of conversation. Heaven help her, they weren’t even married yet, and they’d already run out of things to say to one another.

“Alone at last,” Tito murmured.

She caught an odd intonation beneath the words and stumbled. Instantly, Tito wrapped an arm around her, drawing her close. “Be careful,
passerotta
. I wouldn’t want my bride walking down the aisle on crutches.”

Julietta stilled, fighting the instinctive urge to push him away. “First you call me a puppy, now a sparrow. Is that how you see me?”

He slid his fingers into her hair and tipped her face toward his. “You’re so small and delicate.” He sighed with something that sounded like regret. “So young.”

“You prefer your women a bit more…” She thought of Serena. “Earthy?”

He shrugged. “I prefer women however they come.”

The rumors she’d heard since coming to Santa Lucia taunted her. She’d never have had the nerve to address them, if not for Rom. If not for wishing the man she married would love her the way another did. “And will you continue to prefer women ‘however they come’ after we’re married?” she dared to ask.

The amusement faded from his expression, replaced by a sternness he’d never revealed before. “That is not an appropriate question to ask.”

Wasn’t it? A woman’s certainty filled her. If it were Rom standing before her, the question would never have to be asked. She’d already know the answer. He’d never cheat on her. But that same conviction didn’t extend to Tito. “I think knowing whether or not my fiancé intends to stay faithful to his wedding vows is a very appropriate question to ask.”

“Very well.” He paused. “I suppose that depends on you.”

She pulled back. “What do you mean?” To her alarm, his hold tightened, and he tugged her close again. “What are you doing?”

“I mean that a husband who is fortunate enough to have a passionate wife has a far easier time remaining faithful than one who discovers his marriage bed is cold and barren.” He lowered his head and feathered a kiss across her cheek. “And to answer your other question, what I’m doing is discovering whether my bride is one of fire… or ice.”

Then Tito kissed her. Her wineglass tumbled from her hand, shattering on a rock at her feet. Blood-red wine splattered across her legs and the hem of her dress. This was a far different kiss from any he’d offered before. This one took possession of her mouth, demanding rather than asking. Invading instead of entreating. He forced an entrance, his breath sour with beer, the flavor in conflict with the wine she’d been drinking. The few occasions he’d kissed her before, she hadn’t felt much of anything, neither pleasure nor antipathy.

This time, revulsion swept through her. His touch repelled her, as did his kiss. He didn’t have the right to make love to her, not when she belonged to another. How could she have ever thought differently?

He held her anchored against him with one arm banded around her waist. The other slipped between them, his hand coasting across her breast. He fumbled with the neckline of her bodice, shoving aside the collar of her dress. When Rom had touched her like this, she’d tumbled into the sweet grass with him and allowed him a far greater intimacy than Tito was attempting. But this… This was wrong, so horribly wrong. Wrenching her mouth from his, she silently fought him, a hiccup of panic bubbling in her throat.