Brazilian Nights. Sandra Marton
her throat constrict.
Something was happening. What? It was as if the Dante who had gone into his study this morning had emerged a different person. He had changed. Everything had changed. She could feel it.
What if he’d decided he’d had enough? The zoo was filled with families. Was it a graphic lesson in what his life had become?
She and the baby were both novelties. It was a crude way to put it but it was accurate. He’d never had a son before, and he’d never had a woman live with him, either. He’d made it sound like something wonderful when he’d told her that, but viewed with clinical detachment, it simply meant this experience was new for him.
Ocean kayaking had once been new to him, and back-country skiing and probably a dozen other things. Oh, she knew he cared far more for the baby than for any of that, but still, “newness” intrigued him.
It wasn’t that he was self-indulgent. Or perhaps he was, just a little. It made him seem larger than life. It was one of his charms.
It also meant he was the kind of man who grew bored easily.
He’d told her that himself, just yesterday, though not in those exact words, when he’d gotten a call telling him some much-coveted kind of automobile was for sale somewhere out of state. His excitement had been palpable; he’d whooped with glee, caught her up in his arms and kissed her, and when she’d laughed and said only a man could get so worked up over a car, he’d tried to explain how it was, that he loved fast cars, that he’d been hunting after this one for a long time. And that was when he’d mentioned kayaking and skiing and all the rest, how he’d loved them and more or less still did but how cars like this one had supplanted his interest in other things.
Daniel had awakened just then, fussing for his dinner, so the conversation had ended before she could ask him the reason. Not that she had to ask.
She knew the reason.
Tides changed but the ocean was still the ocean. Snowfall changed, but a mountain was still a mountain. Not so with automobiles. They were always different. When you grew bored with one kind, there was always another to pursue.
Was she his latest acquisition? Even more vital, was Daniel? Would her son learn to love his father only to have Dante turn into a stranger?
The thought terrified her.
Dante felt the warm weight of his sleeping son pressed against his chest.
He curved his hand over the child’s bottom. He loved holding his son. The baby was so small, so trusting. He’d never imagined being a father could make a man’s heart swell with pride and joy.
The zoo was full of families. Mothers, fathers, babies, kids of all ages. And them. He. Gabriella. Daniel. They were a family, too.
It was wonderful.
It was scary as hell.
And it had made him finally face the truth. Well, this—and the e-mail messages he’d found in his in-box. It was all he could think about. What was happening to Rafe…
What he was finally ready to admit was happening to him.
Had already happened to him.
Dear God, how could a man fall so hard, so fast? How could he have been blind to it? Gabriella had to feel the same way. She had to, because if she didn’t…
He had to be alone with her. Take her in his arms. Tell her. Tell her—
“Gaby,” he said abruptly, turning toward her, looking at the woman who held his life in her hands, “I know there’s lots more to see, but—”
“Dante.” Her eyes met his. “Please,” she said in an unsteady whisper, “I would like to go home.”
Mrs. Janiseck was off on Saturdays. So was Stacia.
As soon as they were alone, Dante cleared his throat. “Gabriella. We have to talk.”
Her heart fell. “All right,” she said tonelessly.
He flashed a quick smile. “I’ll, ah, I’ll put Daniel to bed. Why don’t you, ah, why don’t you start supper?”
She nodded, went into the kitchen. Actually, there was little to do. Mrs. Janiseck did almost all the cooking. Cold roast chicken and a green salad, prepared yesterday. There it was, on the top shelf in the fridge. Lovely to have it waiting, but somehow—and Gabriella knew how ridiculous the thought was—somehow, it made her feel even more a guest in Dante’s life. Yes, of course, a woman to whom he had a permanent commitment would have a housekeeper and cook. Dante’s income, his lifestyle, meant the woman to whom he had such a permanent commitment would have a staff to help run her home. But a woman to whom he had…
Gabriella laughed out loud, though it wasn’t a happy sound.
What kind of phrase was that? ‘A woman to whom he had…’ Was there no word to describe what she should be to him? Not his mistress. Mistresses didn’t come equipped with babies, and besides, a mistress was a woman whose lover owned the roof over her head, the food on her table, the clothes on her…
Which was exactly what she had become.
She closed the refrigerator door with a slam and went out to the terrace. It was cold outside. The city was wrapped in darkness and you could not only sense winter coming, you could feel it in the marrow of your bones.
Dante paid all her bills. Food. Daniel’s clothing. Diapers. The furniture in the nursery. The rent or the mortgage, whatever it was. He paid for her clothes—she’d left so much at the fazenda, and she’d needed warmer things after arriving here.
It would take her years, a lifetime, to pay him back, even if her agent lined up the kind of modeling deals supermodels got, and the truth was, she’d been a successful model but not one who earned six figures a day.
He owned everything in her life and her son’s life.
How had she let such a thing happen? What had become of her independence? Her sense of autonomy? Her determination, from childhood on, to rely on nobody but herself?
What had become of her responsibility to Daniel?
He deserved stability. Security. Not just financial security but the kind that came from the heart. A father’s heart. She, of all people, knew how much that meant. Daniel was only a baby but already he smiled and laughed when Dante reached for him. Another few months, ba-ba-ba would turn into ma-ma-ma and da-da-da, but would Dante be there for him? Would he be there for her?
She took a deep breath. The word of the day was commitment.
As in forever. As in a man and a woman who were building a life together.
As in—
“Married,” Dante said, and she spun toward him, heart pounding.
“What?”
He was smiling but the smile was a lie. She could see it in his eyes, the set of his mouth.
“My brother Rafe.” He dug his hands into his trouser pockets as he stood beside her, his gaze on the skyline beyond the park and not on her. “When I checked my e-mail this morning, I found a couple of notes. Seems he’s getting married tomorrow. Well, it turns out he’s already married, some kind of quickie deal that happened in Sicily, and tomorrow, he’s doing it for real. Meaning, in church where my mother can get all misty-eyed over it.”
He sounded as if he were describing an auto-da-fé rather than a wedding but then, being burned at the stake might seem more appealing to a man like him. Was that why he’d been so distant all day?
“Oh,” she said, because she had to say something. “Well, that’s…that’s—”
“He’s been trying to reach me. The whole family has. But I’ve been out of touch.”
He made it sound like an accusation. Gabriella narrowed her eyes.
“I