Page 39 of Fiancée for the Cameras

She ran a finger over one fragile petal, shying her gaze away from his before she said, “Birthday flowers from Francesco.”

Silence fell over the table. Even Mama’s look for Monica was full of soft chastisement.

“That’s the friend you’ve been staying with?” Andrea bit out, jealousy clinging to his throat like a thousand tiny pinpricks. “Did you run to him the minute we fought?”

Her head jerked up, her gaze blazing with fire.Cristo, why was he saying all the wrong things? “If you really think that—”

“I don’t.” He rubbed a hand over his face, wondering what the hell was wrong with him.

“I stayed with that waitress friend of Romeo’s,” she said, cutting his brother a cheeky grin. That grin should be his, as should the light in her eyes. “We went to the lakefront in Navigli, and Francesco was there with some friends. He came over, ordered expensive wine, remembered all of a sudden that it was my birthday and bought the flowers from one of those expensive shops. He was trying to show off his elevated life status and it was easier to accept them than argue with him.”

Another regret to add to his mounting pile, Andrea thought.

It had been her birthday and he’d sent her off to spend it with strangers, by herself. And that scoundrel knew that little detail about her and he hadn’t. For the first time in his life, Andrea wished he could redo the whole past few days all over again.

Mama broke the spiraling tension between them. “Four years and you didn’t tell us the same day is your birthday, Monica? We would have celebrated it with you!”

Monica shook her head, dislodging a thick strand of hair from her braid. Andrea felt the most overwhelming urge to tuck it behind her ear and pull her into his lap until she poured down all the reasons for her swollen eyes and pinched mouth. If it wasn’t just him, that is.

“I know how hard that day is for you all. As for my birthday, I don’t think it’s even real. It was the day Father D’Souza found me on the front steps of the church. We simply decided that would be my birthday.”

“Giovanni would have been delighted to know that the anniversary of his death could be marked with celebrating such a lovely person like you,cara mia,” his mother said, her words trembling, but her mouth stretching into a wide smile.

“We will celebrate it tonight,” Andrea said, and his mother and Romeo added their excitement.

Monica stared at him, her hand stilling on her own coffee cup. Anger flashed in her eyes and yet, she pushed it away with the sort of control he’d never seen her possess.

Andrea sat back in his chair and watched her, his gut tight with some strange sort of premonition. There was something different about her, he realized, even though she’d only been gone two days. Like a wall of newly erected defense between her and him. Like she wasn’t being herself.

When she looked at him, her gaze was calm. It was not the Monica he had known for almost four years, the woman who wore all her emotions like bright colored signals on her face. “Is it okay if I excuse myself, Flora? I want to shower and maybe catch up on some sleep. I’m afraid I don’t feel good.”

When his mother nodded, she stood up and left without so much as blinking in his direction. Effectively dismissing him, which was novel in itself.

Bemusement and something more sang through Andrea’s veins. He’d never seen her anger or her armor before and he didn’t like it one bit employed against him. Especially the latter.

He followed her slender frame up the stairs with his hungry gaze. Disappointment curdled through him when she chose to go to the room she had convalesced in, instead of his suite where they’d been staying for the past two months.

“I believe the Americans call it being in the doghouse,” Romeo supplied softly, unhelpful as ever.

“It was her birthday and you forced her to spend it with a stranger. You better make it up to her, Andrea,” his mother said,casting a shrewd glance at him. “If, however, you’re bored with her, it might be better to tell her. I do hope you know that I will not be picking sides.”

“Hardly, Mama,” Andrea said, reaching for her hand and giving it a squeeze. “For once, you’re going to be not only impressed with how I plan to make it up to her, but thoroughly ecstatic.”

Her eyes widened and even Romeo looked stunned for once. Andrea kissed her cheek and left for his own shower, ignoring his brother’s rapid-fire questions. He’d let her sleep a little and then he’d make it up to her.

Monica came awake slowly, and instantly sought her cell phone to check the time. Instead, she found the electronic alarm clock that rested near Andrea’s bed winking at her, the red digits showing it was just past six. Frowning, she sat up in the vast bed, the luxury cotton duvet clinging to her bare legs, the all too familiar navy furnishings and that cozy scent of wood shavings making her body react as if it were a scent specifically designed to comfort and arouse her in equal measures.

“Feeling better after your nap?”

She turned to find Andrea sitting at his woodworking desk, torso bare and whittling away at a small slab of dark ebony wood in front of him. For a few moments, she simply watched his fingers use tiny tools with the same precision he used against her intimate folds. Heat flushed within her at remembered pleasure.

He wasn’t even looking at her yet somehow knew the exact moment she’d woken up. Closing her tired eyes, she told herself to stop reading meaning into the silliest things. Especially now, in a vulnerable state after the phone call she’d receivedthis morning from one of the two friends she’d made at the orphanage about Father D’Souza.

It was not good news and yet, somehow it felt like if it had to happen, it had happened at the right time. Somehow, even in his ill health, the kind father was looking out for her well-being.

Pressing the heels of her thumbs into her eyes, Monica willed the roiling panic to abate. She knew what she had to do. All weekend she’d wondered how she could shore up her defenses against him, how to finish this thing between them with dignity instead of letting the coming end consume her.

Fate had handed her a way out and now, all she had to do was act on it. And yet, there had been something different about him this morning. He’d shown more emotion—yes, it was masked by jealousy, but it had been there. Even a sense of urgency. It had taken all her willpower to run from him, though she knew she needed the reprieve.

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