Convenient Brides: The Italian's Convenient Wife / His Inconvenient Wife / His Convenient Proposal

“Yes.” Stabbed by one of those sudden pangs of loss that crept up on her so frequently, Callie dropped a kiss on her daughter’s head. “And just like Sarah in the story, I’ll never leave you.”

Clemente tugged on her sleeve. “Or me?”

“Or you, sweetheart.”

His father closed the library door, went directly to the antique carved butler table where coffee and liqueurs waited, and poured two glasses of grappa. “All right, there’s no one here now but the two of us,” he said, handing one glass to Paolo. “So tell me, my son, what’s really behind this preposterous idea of marrying Caroline Leighton?”

“I already told you. I want to put the pieces of the twins’ lives back together, the best way I know how.”

His father curled his lip scornfully. “And we both know you don’t need to marry that woman, to do it. Or, if you feel you must take a wife in order to provide a mother figure, that there are a dozen other women more suited—possibly a hundred!—who’d jump at the chance to take on the job.”

“But none as dedicated as Caroline to your grandchildren’s welfare. Even you can’t deny that she loves Gina and Clemente.” His gaze clashed with his father’s. “I expect you to find that reason enough to give us your blessing, even if you disapprove of my choice.”

For a long moment, their gazes remained locked in silent combat—two men used to getting their own way, Paolo thought grimly, the difference being that the elder had years more experience in winning.

This time, however, his father was the first to break eye contact. “At least you don’t insult my intelligence by claiming to be in love with her,” he growled.

To ward off the chill of evening, Paolo knelt and put a match to the fire laid in the marble hearth. “How I feel about Caroline is irrelevant to this discussion.”

A clever, smooth answer, delivered with enough dispassion that even his own father couldn’t detect the lie. But there was no deceiving himself. His feelings for Caroline had undergone a huge change. He’d been falling more in love with her every day, and hadn’t hit bottom yet. Probably never would.

Strange how things work out sometimes, he thought, poking at a log. Who’d have expected that what began with a funeral, would end with a wedding? That mutual sorrow would provide the breeding ground for love? Certainly not he!

The day he’d met her in Paris, he’d viewed Caroline as his family’s self-declared enemy, one he was prepared to defeat by any means available. He’d been fooled by her aloof reserve, her icy control, seeing both as symptoms of a woman too self-involved to be touched by anyone’s tragedy but her own. There’d been nothing left of the sweet innocent he’d once seduced.

Or so he’d believed at the time. Little by little, though, her brittle facade had cracked, beginning as early as that same afternoon when the twins’ nanny, Tullia, brought them back to his parents’ apartment from the park. At the sight of them, Caroline, who’d been taking tea with his mother in the salon, jumped up so abruptly from her chair that her cup overturned in its saucer.

“Oh!” she’d whispered brokenly, flying across the room to where the children hovered in the doorway, and folding them in a fierce hug.

He’d heard a world of love in that single syllable; a lifetime of something that, if he hadn’t known better, he’d have identified as a regret painful beyond bearing. The twins, though, still frozen with a grief too large for any child to comprehend, had remained unmoved, not caring about her enough either to reject or accept her.

“Can you not say ciao to your aunt?” he’d asked them, surprised and not a little chagrined at how sorry he felt for her.

“Ciao,” they’d recited obediently, and tried to wriggle free.

After that, for him, it had been downhill all the way. The cracks in her composure had grown increasingly more noticeable, try as she might to hide them. At any other time, his mother would have noticed, and done her best to console their guest. But his mother was drowning in her own sorrow, and able to offer limited comfort at best.

As for his father, so deeply ingrained was his antipathy for her that, if Caroline had collapsed in a broken heap at his feet, he’d have stepped over her without a second glance, and sent for the maid to clean up the mess.

Paolo, though, grew more enamored by the hour,even if he’d been slow to realize it at the time. How else to explain why he couldn’t keep his hands off her, or stay away from her at night, or bear not being within touching distance during the day?

Why else had he proposed to her?

Oh, he might fool everyone else with his altruistic motives, and yes, his niece and nephew had figured hugely in his decision, but no use fooling himself. He wanted Caroline despite all the practical reasons for marrying her, not because of them. He was hooked, plain and simple. And loving every minute of it!

Unable to keep the smile off his face, he dusted off his hands and picked up his glass again, aware that his father watched him closely.

“You say your feelings for Caroline are irrelevant, Paolo?” he said scornfully. “Then I say, either you’re lying to me, or worse, you’re lying to yourself.”

“You’re entitled to your opinion, Father.”

His father responded with a derisive snort. “Opinion, nothing! Admit it, man: you’re besotted with her! She’s sbewitched you with her smiles. Undone you with her tears. And that is why, for your protection and that of my grandchildren, I intend to have my team of lawyers draw up a watertight prenuptial agreement. That the wretched woman’s all sweet compliance now is no guarantee she’ll remain so in the future.”

Stopping dead in his tracks, Paolo struggled to contain the surge of anger scalding his throat. When he at last trusted himself to speak, he did so with feral intent. “Listen well to what I’m about to say, Father, and take it to heart,” he snarled, turning slowly to face him. “First, you will do no such thing. And second, you will never again refer to my future wife with such contempt. I will not tolerate a repeat of it, for any reason.”

“Bravely spoken, Paolo,” his father returned, “but I’m afraid you can’t control my feelings anymore, it would seem, than you can control your own.”

“But you can control your tongue. You can and will treat Caroline cordially and with civility. And if you defy me on this, then prepare to be deprived of the pleasure of my family’s company.”

His father sank back in his chair, his color hectic, his breathing labored. “You would not dare deny me access to my own grandchildren!”

“Try me,” Paolo said, refusing to show his alarm at the symptoms his father presented.

“Let me remind you that I am the head of this household, Paolo,” he blustered, fumbling beneath the lapel of his dinner jacket.

“As I will be head of mine. You’d do well to remember that.”

His father’s color receded, leaving his skin an unhealthy gray. “You accuse me of not showing proper esteem for your fiancée, yet dare to address me with such disrespect?”

“I honor you as my father, but I would be less than you expected of a son if I were to let you ride roughshod over my wife. What, after all, has Caroline done to offend you? Is it the fact that it took a tragedy of monumental proportions for her to make the effort to come to Italy? The belief that, if it weren’t for her connection to our family by marriage, she wouldn’t register on your social scale? Your perceived notion that she poses a threat to your grandchildren? Or is it that she has carved out a successful life for herself, without once having to appeal to you for help, and refuses to be cowed by your attempts to put her in her place?”

“She shows no regard for our family’s rich ancestry,” Salvatore sputtered. “No understanding of my grandchildren’s fine heritage. She is too American in her outlook and demeanor.”

Frustrated, for this was an old and tired argument brought out and dusted off whenever someone veered too far from revered tradition, Paolo tried one last line of reasoning. “You once said the same about Vanessa, Father, and later admitted you’d misjudged her.”

“She was different. She showed regard for our way of doing things. She embraced our values and our customs.”

“And Caroline will do the same. Why else would she have so readily agreed to live here? Please, Father, put your doubts aside. Our family has been sadly depleted in recent weeks, and there are precious few of us left to carry on the name. We need to stand together now, not engage in pointless disputes that can do nothing but tear us apart.”

For a moment, his father glowered at the suggestion, clearly ready to stand toe to toe with him on the idea. Then, abruptly, he leaned his head against the high back of his chair and closed his eyes. “Perhaps you’re right,” he said grudgingly. “Perhaps we need to make the best of what we have left. For that reason, and for the sake of my grandchildren, I will try to overcome my misgivings and welcome Caroline, as I welcomed her sister before her.”

“You’re very good with the children, Caroline,” Lidia remarked, as they made their way downstairs after tucking Clemente and Gina into their beds. “I hope they come to realize how fortunate they are that you’re willing and able to step into Vanessa’s shoes.”

“I don’t suppose I’ll ever really fill them, Lidia, but I promise I’ll do my very best.”

“I know you will. But you’re giving up so much—your home in America, your profession, your friends. It’s a lot to ask, especially when you’ve worked so hard to build a successful career.”

But architecture had never been more than a substitute for what she really wanted. She’d have given it up in a flash, if she’d been able to keep her babies.

“For the next few years, being a mother and a wife will be my career, and I have no regrets about that,” she said. “Architecture will still be there, when I’m not needed on the homefront.”

“Oh, you’ll always be needed, my dear,” Lidia said with a laugh. “Just because children grow up doesn’t mean they don’t still need their mothers.” Pausing at the foot of the stairs, she rested her hand on the newel post and shot a tentative glance Callie’s way. “Forgive me if I’m speaking out of turn, but have you and Paolo talked about having more children?”

“Not really. Why do you ask?”

“Because having another baby might help close old wounds.”

What an odd thing to say, Callie thought. Yet Lidia was regarding her with such compassion that she couldn’t take offense. But the remark was enough to bring to the forefront the burden of guilt forever lurking in the back of her mind, and it left her stomach tied in knots.

Everything she’d ever longed for, and thought she could never have—her children, Paolo, true peace of mind, real happiness—lay within her grasp. But losing her sister and brother-in-law was a terrible price to pay for such a gift, and she had all she could do right now to cope with that. Confession, she had decided, would have to wait.

Suddenly, though, she wanted to tell this kind and gentle grandmother the truth. Wanted to ask her advice on how best to break the news to Paolo. And desperately wanted to know that whenever she did confide in him, at least one other person would be there to lend support, if she needed it.

From the outset, she’d felt a universal connection with Lidia, the kind that existed only between women. Lidia was not one to judge another person harshly or unfairly. Also, she was a mother; she’d understand that nothing was straightforward or simple when it came to protecting one’s children.

“Lidia,” she began hesitantly, “is there some place we can talk without being disturbed?”

“My sitting room. We’ll be quite alone there. The men are enjoying their brandy in the library and won’t mind if we take a few minutes for ourselves, I’m sure.”

She led the way toward the back of the villa, to a little room with a glassed-in solarium at one end. Furnished with white wicker and pastel prints, it was as pretty and welcoming as Lidia herself.

“Have a seat, dear,” she said, closing the door and indicating a love seat upholstered with plump cushions, “and tell me what’s on your mind. Is it to do with the wedding?”

Callie had often wondered how she’d ever broach the subject. Had been sure she’d never find the words. But in the end, there were few from which to choose. “No, it’s about the twins…about when they were born, and why I’ve stayed away from them all these years. The thing is, Lidia, the day Vanessa and Ermanno got married—”

Astonishingly Lidia leaned forward and pressed a finger to Callie’s lips. “Hush, Caroline! There’s no need to explain, and no need at all to feel ashamed or guilty for something that happened so long ago. You were very young at the time, very inexperienced and, I daresay, very frightened.”

Callie’s jaw sagged in shock. “You know?”

“Yes, my dear. I saw you stumbling back here, the next morning, with your pretty dress in disarray, and guessed Paolo had kept you out all night. I was very disappointed in him, at the time. Very angry. But that’s all in the past, cara—a longforgotten mistake that doesn’t matter at all, now that you and he have found each other again.”

“I don’t think you quite understand what I’m trying to tell you,” Callie mumbled. “The fact is, Lidia—”

But even as she gathered her courage to finish what she’d started, a knock came at the door. A moment later, Paolo poked his head into the room.

“So this is where you’re hiding,” he said. “Am I interrupting something important?”

“Not at all,” Lidia said, patting Callie’s hand briskly. “We were just enjoying a little mother-daughter talk, but we’re done now.”

“Good, because I’ve got a nice fire going in the library, and the coffee’s waiting. Also, Father seems a bit under the weather and—”

Lidia rose hurriedly from her seat. “Then I’ll go to him at once. Are you coming, Caroline?”

Left with little other choice, Callie followed her. When she reached the door, Paolo folded her hand firmly in his and bathed her in a smile so intimate that she went hot all over.

Noticing, Lidia slowed down long enough to fix them both in a fond gaze and said softly, “Have I told you how happy I am that the two of you have come together as a couple like this? Knowing you’re forging a future together, and giving my grandchildren the next best thing to the parents they’ve lost, gives me the strength to accept the tragedy that has struck our family.”

“It’s been hard for all of us, especially you, Momma,” Paolo said, pushing open the library door, “but things are going to get better from now on.”

“Not if I have to wait much longer for my coffee,” Salvatore boomed, hauling himself out of his chair and coming to meet them. “Lidia, mia bella, I’m glad you’re here. Something I ate at dinner gave me indigestion, but seeing your smiling face makes me feel much better.”

He wasn’t the easiest man to get along with, but his abiding love for his wife was genuine and unmistakable, and for that Callie had to admire him. She could only hope to inspire a fraction of the same devotion in Paolo.

The library, with its paneled bookshelves, rich wine-red damask draperies and blazing fire was warm and cosy. Insisting he was quite recovered, Salvatore accepted a cup of coffee and fell to discussing business with Paolo. Reassured, Lidia resumed quizzing Callie about the wedding.

Where did she want to be married—in Rome, in a church, or here on the island, with a makeshift chapel and the family priest? Would she invite friends from America? What about after the ceremony—a lunch, or a dinner reception? And a honeymoon—surely she wasn’t going to deny herself and Paolo the chance to be alone together for a few days, when the children had their grandparents and a nanny to look after them?

“I suppose we do need to nail down some details,” Callie said, after Lidia had taken her husband off to bed.

“Starting with an actual wedding date.” Blowing out an exasperated breath, Paolo joined her on the velvet couch in front of the fire. “As you’ve probably gathered, my father tends to steamroll over anyone who disagrees with his idea of how things should be done. The sooner we’re married and in a place of our own, the better.”

“He is rather…opinionated.”

“Very tactfully put, tesoro!” he replied, with a laugh. “What do you say we set the date for two weeks from Saturday? That should allow us enough time to meet all the legal formalities.”

“I hadn’t thought about those. Are they very complicated?”

“Only in that you’re a U.S. citizen. You have your passport with you, of course, but if you also happened to bring your birth certificate—”

“I did. I always carry it with me.”

“Then the only other requirements are for you to make a sworn declaration before the Consular Officer, at the U.S. Embassy in Rome, to the effect that you’re legally free to marry me. You’ll then have to do the same before an Italian official, and for this, you’ll need four witnesses to verify your claim. My parents make two, so it’s a matter of finding two more, which might entail bringing a couple of your friends over from America for a couple of days.”

“Actually not,” she said. “A friend of mine and her husband have rented a villa on the Amalfi coast for the winter. He’s a writer, researching material for his next book.”

“Do you know where they’re staying?”

“No. But I can phone her mother in the morning, and find out.”

“Excellent. If they’ll help us, I’ll arrange for them to be flown to Rome as soon as possible. Once we have those notarized documents, we can then obtain a license in four days, instead of having to wait the usual three weeks.”

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