The Italian's Bold Reckoning (Hot Italian Nights Book 4) Read online

  If your wife didn’t trust you, what was to prevent her turning to someone else? Suspicion had been a sharpened splinter, driving deeper and deeper into his gut.

  His elation at her words was proof, as if he needed it, that he still cared for her. Not just wanted but cared.

  ‘I’m sorry I distrusted you. I can’t tell you how sorry.’ Her voice grew stronger and her gaze didn’t waver. He felt it as a physical thing, a warm touch on his face. ‘I’m sorry I ran away. You didn’t deserve that.’

  Matteo exhaled slowly, feeling some of the brittle carapace around his heart crack. ‘No, I didn’t.’

  He stood, head canted towards her, fingers flexing at his sides, waiting for more. For her to say she regretted the gulf between them now. That she’d missed him. That she wanted him still.

  That she wanted to try again.

  Instead her gaze dropped away. He watched her swallow, the action jerky, as if that slim throat was razor-lined like his own.

  Disappointment welled.

  Was that all? Had she nothing more to say to him? So much for him giving her time to realise they belonged together.

  Tendrils of mist snaked towards them from the nearby canal, enveloping their legs in a clammy chill. Still neither moved.

  Finally, his mouth twisting with the sour tang of disillusionment, Matteo found his voice. ‘It’s late. We’ve got an early start.’

  He made himself turn, even though it felt as if he turned his back on a lost opportunity. Silently she walked beside him, though not close enough to brush his arm. That distance, in these narrow streets, seemed significant.

  Once more Matteo was tempted to force her hand by seducing her into his bed. Adrenaline coursed through his body as he held himself in check, not reaching for her despite the desire beating through him with each pulse of his blood. It would be so easy to make her see what she was missing, for the sexual awareness was there between them, as strong as ever.

  From the first the physical side of their relationship had been spectacular. Even that initial time when she’d admitted she was a virgin and Matteo had been so wary of hurting her.

  But that hadn’t happened. It was as if they were made for each other, their bodies attuned in a way he’d never found with any other woman.

  Damn it. It was more than sex, at least for him. He loved his wife. Even furious and hurting from her loss of faith in him, he still loved her.

  But how did she feel about him?

  He wanted more than her regret. Apologies were a poor substitute for the laughing, loving wife he’d had by his side for so short a time.

  They’d been apart longer than they’d been together.

  Maybe she preferred it that way.

  The notion scoured his soul, making him grimace as he opened the door to the palazzo and gestured for Angela to precede him.

  He was a man who went after what he wanted. He’d built his career with a drive to succeed that saw him taking risks other actors wouldn’t. He’d wooed and won Angela because he’d known within a week of meeting her that she was the one for him.

  He craved action. To convince Angela they were meant for each other. His palms tingled with the urge to reach for her.

  Except he needed Angela to want him, not because he corralled her into it, but because she wanted to fight for what they’d once had. He had to be strong enough to allow her to do that.

  ‘Matteo? Are you still angry?’

  They were on their floor now, walking down the wide corridor with its enormous gilt-edged mirrors and studies in oils of Venice.

  Was it anger he felt? Or frustration at realising the rift between them wasn’t as easily fixed as he’d hoped? Because even now, Angela regarded him as warily as if he were a stranger.

  He turned to face her when they reached her door. ‘What do you want from me, Angela?’

  ‘Want from you?’ Her head tilted to the side and that delicious mouth pouted in confusion. Heat roared through his belly and Matteo had to step back so as not to reach for her. He could persuade her, he knew it. She’d always been putty in his hands.

  Seducing her would ease his terrible physical craving but it wouldn’t repair their relationship.

  If their marriage were to work he needed more.

  Angela needed to be more — a woman confident enough to give her trust and her whole heart into his keeping.

  A woman willing to take a risk.

  A woman who’d meet him halfway, supporting and loving him as he loved her.

  A partner.

  ‘What do you want from me, Matteo?’

  ‘That’s easy. Nothing’s changed there. I want you to want me. I want you to believe in me. And in us.’

  Her eyes widened, the expression in them, more than mere shock, reinforcing his determination to be strong and give her space. For he’d swear that was hope he’d read there.

  Instantly his heart soared, till he reminded himself he’d been wrong before.

  He drew a slow breath into cramped lungs. He’d never felt so vulnerable. To relinquish control went against his nature. But last time he’d set the pace in their relationship and Angela hadn’t been ready.

  Perhaps she never would. The idea carved a chasm through his belly.

  ‘The next step is up to you.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  * * *

  The next step is up to you.

  But what next step?

  All night Angela lay, sleepless, staring at the darkened suite. She was torn between memories of him in their bed in Rome, his dark locks rumpled and his stern, sexy features almost boyish in sleep, and the image emblazoned on her brain since he’d left her in the corridor. His expression then had been harsh, with a frown raking his brow and his lips pulled into a flat line that spoke of pain or perhaps disapproval.

  She’d wanted, hoped, that her apology would dissipate the tense atmosphere between them. That perhaps he’d reach for her, curl those long fingers around her nape, dip his head and kiss her, dispelling regrets and guilt.

  You hoped he’d make it easy for you.

  Did you really expect you could just say sorry and he’d welcome you back with open arms?

  Angela rolled over, watching the silvery pink light of dawn colour the window.

  Matteo had spoken of wanting, of trust. Her heart still ached over the pain she’d caused him, the terrible waste of a year apart when they could have been together. All because of her distrust. Yet through that time, even when she believed the worst, she’d wanted Matteo.

  She wanted him still, with every needy cell in her body.

  And she trusted him.

  It had taken just one proper conversation with him to clarify what she’d thought she’d seen a year ago. That, more than anything else, highlighted how foolish she’d been.

  At the end of it Angela knew he was telling the truth about the scene she’d witnessed at his trailer. Because Matteo had always been honest with her. He’d never hidden behind convenient fibs. His honesty was one of the qualities she’d so admired. How had she forgotten that?

  Angela had spent her childhood and teens under the harsh authority of a man who demanded obedience. As a result she’d learned to avoid stating the stark truth if it meant keeping the peace. It had been a precaution to protect her safety. Because confrontation was to be avoided at all costs.

  Matteo’s willingness to be upfront with her had been something new and wondrous.

  So new you couldn’t really believe it?

  No. She was making excuses. Nothing could pardon what she’d done to them.

  Angela had been a coward. She’d believed the worst and instead of confronting the situation, and her husband, as he deserved, she’d forgotten all he’d taught her about trust and honesty. She’d reverted to the timid girl she’d been under her father’s roof.

  Angela pushed aside the bedcovers and padded to the window, resting her arms on the sill and watching the wide, pearly waters of the canal turn peach and rose pink.


  It was a new day.

  Matteo had given her a second chance at their marriage, bringing her here. It was up to her to grasp it and prove she was up to the challenge of being, not just a lover, but a wife and partner, confident in his love.

  Angela had no idea how long it would take to convince him she’d changed, but she’d do it. Hope filled her. And excitement.

  She looked at the Grand Canal and smiled, for the first time since she’d arrived fully registering its majestic beauty.

  *

  ‘Wow! This is some scene.’ Gina darted a sharp, assessing sideways look at Angela then turned back to the script. ‘It doesn’t pull any punches.’

  Angela leaned towards the actress. ‘You have qualms about it?’

  Once she’d had the idea for the new scene, she’d been totally focused on how to make it the best it could be, drafting and polishing for hours to get it just right. Her priority had been to make it fit seamlessly and ensure it provided vital new information yet at the same time increased doubts about the characters’ real intentions. She’d aimed for a visceral hit of emotion and if Gina’s reaction was any indication, she’d succeeded.

  ‘Qualms?’ The redhead shook her head. ‘Not at all. It’s brilliant. I love the hint that my character isn’t all she seems. This darker edge is fantastic.’ She looked up, her stunning blue eyes catching Angela’s. ‘What does Matteo say?’

  Angela shrugged, ignoring the spike of tension that kept her back straight as a gondolier’s oar. ‘I don’t know yet. He’s been in meetings all day. He hasn’t seen it.’

  Which had stymied her plan to show him as soon as possible that she’d moved on from her suspicions. For a woman who didn’t trust her husband would not create a scene like this for him to play with another woman.

  ‘You must trust him more than most wives trust their husbands.’ Gina might have read her mind.

  ‘Because it calls for you both to be almost naked?’ Despite her excitement at the quality of the work she’d created, Angela’s voice turned husky. She didn’t want Matteo seducing another woman, even if it was make-believe for the camera.

  Gina tilted her head, surveying her. ‘Partly that. But more because it’s such an emotionally intimate scene. It’s all emotion, stark love, raw yearning and terrible distrust. It will strip away distance.’ She paused. ‘Some women would feel threatened by their husband performing that with another woman.’ She flicked the manuscript with immaculately manicured nails. ‘At least when it’s as incredibly intense as this.’

  Slowly Angela nodded. ‘The truth is, once I was writing I didn’t think about you and Matteo, just the characters and how this is much more effective than what I’d originally written. As for trusting Matteo…’

  She paused, chewing her lip, surprised by the urge to unburden herself. But then Gina had proved to be likeable, generous and warm-hearted and without her sister here, Angela needed a confidante. ‘It’s taken a while and I’ve made some mistakes, but I do trust him. Now. I’m hoping this script will convince him how much.’

  Instantly Gina wrapped her hand over Angela’s. There was understanding in her fine eyes and for the first time Angela saw beyond her luminous beauty to the older, wiser woman she was.

  ‘Don’t beat yourself up. Trust takes a long time, believe me.’ Her mouth tightened at one corner, making Angela wonder fleetingly about the actress’s experience of trust and betrayal.

  ‘And if your husband is a national heartthrob…’ Gina lifted her shoulders. ‘At least that explains why Matteo’s been out of sorts. He was like a cat on hot metal before you arrived, unable to settle to anything. Now you’re here, he’s focused but so edgy.’

  Gina sat back, her smile widening. ‘I predict by the end of this film he’ll be grinning from ear to ear! You both will.’

  It was impossible not to feel buoyed by her assessment. ‘It’s that good?’ Angela had hoped but hadn’t been sure.

  Gina nodded. ‘It is. But more than that, if Matteo is looking for a sign you trust him completely, this is it.’ She picked up her glass of iced water. ‘Now tell me, what are you wearing to this party tonight? We don’t want to clash and I’m sure your husband will expect us to do him proud.’

  *

  Matteo reached for the black silk bowtie and looped it under his collar. He tied it then checked the mirror.

  Crooked.

  He straightened it but it twisted back to sit awry.

  Mouth tight, he stripped it undone and tied it again, this time watching in the mirror when usually he could do this on autopilot.

  It was another disaster. Now he’d somehow managed an oversized knot that, no matter how he tugged and coaxed, refused to sit right. Worse, his collar tightened around his throat like a garrotte.

  He swallowed and yanked at the collar, trying to find extra breathing space. Anyone would think he’d never worn formal dinner clothes! While it was true he’d grown up in rural northern Italy, where his mother’s family had lived off the land from time immemorial, he’d been to enough galas and first nights to wear a dinner jacket and bowtie with élan.

  Not tonight. Tonight he was as nervous as the skinny, eager kid he’d been in his first walk-on role.

  His gut twisted in convoluted knots and his hands — he held them out before himself — sure enough they were unsteady.

  Swearing under his breath, Matteo tore the tie off and flung it on the bed. The dress code for tonight’s party was formal but they weren’t going to ban him entry. After all, it was a PR coup to celebrate the filming in Venice, helped along by some high-profile contacts eager to promote both the venture and the city.

  His elder brother Luca was one of those backers, and Matteo’s best friend, Niccolo, Italy’s favourite race driver. For a moment Matteo wondered how Niccolo would react to seeing Angela tonight, but he was astute enough to tread lightly. Frankly, his friend’s reaction didn’t bother him as much as his own.

  The thought of Angela tied him in knots even more tangled than that wrecked bowtie.

  He worked his jaw, trying to ease the tension there. He was wound so tight he felt like he might splinter.

  All because of his wife. And that script change.

  His heart plunged against his ribs in an out-of-control beat that sent blood pulsing too fast round his body.

  Had she meant it for the message he’d been waiting for? A sign that she was ready to embrace change, and their marriage?

  Running late after a series of meetings with city officials, then with producers, he’d been surprised to find an amended script waiting for him. Angela had already made the changes he’d requested at the last script meeting. But these were different. He hadn’t asked for them, they were initiated solely by Angela, and they took the story, and its gut-clenching tension, to a whole new level.

  He knew Angela was talented. There had been no favouritism when he’d got the rights to this script. But the twist she’d added, and the outrageous energy of it, was pure brilliance.

  Where before there’d been subtlety and innuendo, now there was power and, yes, subtlety, but a whole new landscape of emotion. This was written from the heart. There was no holding back, no playing safe. Nowhere to hide.

  And nowhere to hide for the actors either. It was challenging and glorious and if he and Gina could do it justice, would be one of the finest things either of them had done.

  It was…brave.

  Matteo shrugged into his dinner jacket, thinking of the risks Angela was asking him to take with this script. Not only did it challenge him as an actor, it challenged them, as a couple. For it would force him to strip himself bare, emotionally. And Angela had to trust him to do so, convincing an audience he was in love with Gina Rossetti, absolutely besotted with her, and then return to his wife, his feelings for her still unassailable.

  Did Angela trust him to do it?

  If so it meant she was confident of him in a way she hadn’t been before. It was a huge step for a woman who, just a year ago, had pre
ferred to run than stand and face him.

  There was only one way to find out. Matteo strode to the door, eager to see his wife.

  But there was no response to his knock on her door and his tension ratcheted up another half dozen notches, before he recalled the message that she’d wait for him downstairs. He wasn’t thinking straight. He hadn’t been from the moment he opened the revised manuscript and hope had thundered through him.

  Matteo’s stride lengthened as he hurried towards the grand staircase, too impatient to wait for the handsomely appointed lift. He was loping as he cleared the stairs and entered the foyer, only to slam to a stop when he discovered Angela wasn’t alone.

  Two female heads turned to him. Gina Rossetti there. His co-star, with her red hair dressed high, and wearing sapphire blue, would be a treat for the paparazzi.

  But she was just a blur to him. It was Angela who held his attention. Her blonde hair glowed like moonlight against the long, dark coat that muffled her from throat to knees. Yet the sight of her, waiting for him, her eyes aglow, made his heart hammer even faster.

  Her lips were slicked with a red so vibrant it screamed come-bed-me. But then he’d thought that about all the bright colours she’d worn lately. That she was tantalising him, inviting him.

  Matteo was torn between wanting to parade her for all the world to see — his woman. Only his. And to take her somewhere private, somewhere he could strip away every damned barrier between them till she admitted she loved him, would always love him.

  He’d thought his patience these last four days had been phenomenal, but it was nothing to the effort it took not to sweep her back to the privacy of his bedroom right now. Excitement rode him, and anticipation. Tonight they would resolve this. He could wait no longer.

  He dragged in a laboured breath and eyed her sultry pouting mouth. Fire coiled in his belly as he took in the way her lips edged down so sexily at the corners. He wanted—

  ‘Matteo! At last. We were about to leave without you. I promised we’d arrive early for photos.’ Gina stepped forward, but he couldn’t drag his gaze from Angela.