Penniless Virgin To Sicilian's Bride. Melanie Milburne
who had only been two years old.
Gabriel had tried to fill in the gaps, to be a parent figure, but his younger brothers idolised their father and nothing Gabriel did or said could influence them. He’d had more of a chance with Carli. As a small child, she had hero-worshipped him and was mostly frightened of their father and his violent outbursts, not to mention the shady characters who came and went from the house. Gabriel hoped and prayed he still had a chance with his little sister, but Carli had been struggling on and off with an eating disorder since her teens.
Even now, when Gabriel saw a family group with two parents and small children, smiling, loving, belonging, razorblades would twist and churn in his gut. He hadn’t yet saved his baby sister from her inner demons but he wasn’t giving up. Not yet. Not ever.
Gabriel came to stand in front of her near the bookshelves. ‘He was a good man, Francesca. One of the best. And he loved you and only wanted what was best for you.’
The fleeting shadow was back in her gaze, making them appear more grey than blue, like troubled clouds. ‘I suppose compared to your father, mine must have seemed Father of the Year material.’
You don’t know the half of it. Gabriel kept his expression blank. He had taught himself not to reveal too much of how he felt about his father. The term ‘father’ was too nice a term to use in reference to the man who had sired him and his siblings. ‘There is no comparison.’ He glanced at his watch in an effort to change the subject. ‘It’s time for a drink to celebrate our upcoming marriage, which reminds me...’ He fished in his pocket and took out the engagement ring he’d bought for her. He took her left hand and slipped the diamond cluster over her ring finger.
Frankie glanced up at him and then back at the ring, her small white teeth chewing at her lower lip. ‘It’s beautiful...but it looks ridiculously expensive. I mean, you’ve already spent so much money and—’
He held her hand in both of his, squeezing it gently. ‘Stop worrying about money. We’re helping each other, remember?’
Her shimmering eyes met his and something moved in his chest, like a small creature scrabbling through one of the chambers of his heart. He released her hand and stepped back, trying to ignore the tingle in his fingers. Trying to ignore the urge to kiss her. ‘What were your plans this evening?’ He was proud of the neutral tone of his voice.
‘I was just going to go back to my hotel and have dinner.’
‘Why have you been staying in a hotel?’ Gabriel asked. ‘I was surprised when the agent told me you hadn’t been here since the funeral.’
‘I thought it would be easier to keep away while the real estate agent showed potential buyers through.’ She fiddled with the ring on her finger, avoiding his gaze. ‘And since Papa died here...it felt too empty and lonely... I had to lay off the staff to keep the running costs down.’
‘Would you consider staying here if I stayed with you?’
Indecision flicked through her gaze. ‘Is that wise?’
Probably not. But he would get his self-control in hand. ‘We will be married in a matter of forty-eight hours. People will expect us to live together.’
Frankie slipped out of his hold and hugged her arms around her middle. She suddenly looked much younger than her twenty-five years. Young and vulnerable. It was rare for her to show vulnerability and he had yet to see her shed tears. Her default position was anger—or at least in her dealings with him. He didn’t know too much about her dealings with other men. She somehow kept her private life private—rare for someone of her social standing. But that was another reason she was perfect wife material—no salacious scandals in her past.
‘You’ll be safe with me, Francesca. I will honour your decision to keep our relationship platonic.’ It nearly killed him to make that promise but he would see it through if she didn’t change her mind. He was not the sort of man to cajole or manipulate a woman into having sex. He didn’t need to.
‘Thank you.’ If she was relieved by his promise, she didn’t show it. Her beautiful face was as still as frost on a lawn but behind her grey-blue eyes he sensed a storm was brewing.
* * *
Within an hour, Gabriel had organised Frankie’s things to be packed and sent over from her hotel back to Villa Mancini. And now they were seated at an exclusive restaurant a short drive from the villa overlooking Lake Como, the third largest lake in Italy. The mountains beyond rose majestically, creating a stunning backdrop to the deep waters of the lake. Frankie never tired of looking at the view and even though she had been based in London for the last four years, she considered the lake and its surrounds as one of the most beautiful places in the world.
And it was the place where for a brief space of time she had been held her in her mother’s arms. Of course, she had no conscious memory of her mother, but sometimes she wondered if her infant brain had registered the loss of her mother and twin brother. Wouldn’t that explain the terrible emptiness she felt when she saw mothers with their infant children?
Frankie was so caught up in her thoughts she hadn’t noticed Gabriel’s steady gaze. ‘Sorry, I was miles away.’ She picked up her glass with the top shelf French champagne he had selected and took a sip. ‘Mmm, lovely. You have good taste.’
‘For a man from the wrong side of the tracks?’ His tone was wry, so too the twist to his mouth.
Frankie put her glass back down. ‘I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant—’
‘It’s fine, cara.’ He moved the base of the glass in a small and precise quarter turn like he was unlocking the code to a safe.
‘Do you ever see him? Your father, I mean?’
‘No.’ The word was as final as a full stop.
‘When was the last time you saw—’
‘Leave it, Francesca.’ His expression had turned to stone. Cold. Hard. Impenetrable stone.
‘Why do you always call me Francesca?’
His eyes met hers across the table and something unfurled in her stomach. ‘It’s a beautiful name. Regal. Sophisticated.’ His voice lowered a notch, the hint of huskiness making the base of her spine fizz.
‘Is that how you see me?’ She could have bitten off her tongue for fishing for compliments but couldn’t seem to help herself.
He picked up his glass but she got the feeling he had only done it to do something with his hands for he didn’t raise it to his lips. ‘I’m not sure you’d want to hear how I see you.’
‘Try me. Go on. Tell me.’ Seriously, she should not drink champagne. It loosened her tongue way too much. It made her daring and flirtatious and the one thing she never did was flirt. Never.
His smile was crooked and so damn sexy she could feel her lower body tingling. ‘You’re a passionate woman underneath that ice princess thing you have going on.’ The husky note was back in his voice and his gaze lingered on her mouth as if he were thinking of how it would respond to his own.
Frankie’s cheeks could have scorched the top of a crème brûlée. ‘You don’t know anything about me. You just think you do.’
He gave a soft laugh and tipped his head back to take a sip of his champagne. He put the glass back on the table, watching her with an amused gaze. ‘You’re ashamed of how you’re attracted to me. Nice girls like you don’t do bad boys like me.’
Frankie was having trouble staying seated. Her lower body was betraying her with hot little flickers of unbidden desire. Desire she didn’t want to feel. Not for him. She wasn’t so much ashamed of her attraction towards him. She was frightened. It was too powerful, too intense, too out of control for her to handle. She picked up her glass again, her posture cool and composed, but inside she was trembling with need. Could he see it? Could he sense it? He seemed to have an uncanny ability to see through the cool mask