Page 21 of His Innocent's Passionate Awakening

Artie curled her lip. ‘I didn’t know you had a psychology degree amongst your other impressive achievements.’

‘I don’t need a psychology degree to see what’s happening here.’ He picked up a teaspoon and stirred his coffee even though he didn’t take sugar or milk. He put the teaspoon down again and continued. ‘I know it’s hard for you but—’

‘How do you know anything of what it’s like for me?’ She banged her hand on the table, rattling the cups and saucers. ‘You’re not me. You don’t live in my mind, in my body. I’m the only one who knows what this is like for me.’ Her chest was tightening, her breathing becoming laboured, her skin breaking out in a sweat. She could feel the pressure building. The fear climbing up her spine. The dread roiling in her stomach. The hammering of her heart. The panic spreading, growing, expanding, threatening to explode inside her head.

Luca rose from his seat and came around to her side of the table and crouched down beside her chair. He took one of her hands in his, enclosing it within the warm shelter of his. ‘Breathe, cara. Take a slow, deep breath and let it out on the count of three. One. Two. Three. And again. That’s it. Nice and slow.’

Artie concentrated on her breathing, holding tightly to the solid anchor of his hand, drawing comfort from his deep and calming tone. The panic gradually subsided, retreating like a wild beast that had been temporarily subdued by a much bigger, stronger opponent. After a long moment, she let out a rattling sigh. ‘I’m okay now... I think...’ She tried to remove her hand but he kept a firm but gentle hold on her, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb in slow, soothing strokes that made every overwrought cell in her body quieten.

‘Take your time, mia piccola.’

Artie chanced a glance at his concerned gaze. ‘I suppose you think I’m crazy. A mad person who can’t walk out of her own front gate.’

Luca placed his other hand beneath her chin and locked her gaze on his. His eyes were darkened by his wide pupils, the green and brown flecks in his irises reminding her of a nature-themed mosaic. ‘I don’t think any such thing.’ He gave a rueful twist of his mouth and continued. ‘When my father and brother drowned, I didn’t leave the house for a month after their funeral.’ A shadow passed across his face like scudding grey clouds. ‘I couldn’t face the real world without them in it. It was a terrible time.’ His tone was weighted with gravitas, his expression drawn in lines of deep sadness.

Artie squeezed his hand. ‘It must have been so tragic for you and your mother. How did you survive such awful loss?’

One side of his mouth came up in a smile that wasn’t quite a smile. ‘There are different types of survival, sì? I chose to concentrate on forging my way through the morass of grief by studying hard, acing my exams and taking over my father’s company. I taught myself not to think about my father and brother. Nothing could bring them back, but I figured I could make my father proud by taking up the reins of his business even though it was never my aspiration to do so. That was my brother’s dream.’ His half-smile faded and the shadow was back in his gaze.

Artie ached for what he had been through, knowing first-hand how such tragic loss impacted on a person. The way it hit you at odd moments like a sudden stab, doubling you over with unbearable pain. The ongoing reminders—birthdays, anniversaries, Christmas, Mother’s Day. So many days of the year when it was impossible to forget. And then there was the guilt that never went away. It hovered over her every single day of her life. ‘How did your mother cope with her grief?’

Luca released her hand and straightened to his full height. Artie could sense him withdrawing into himself as if the mention of his mother pained him more than he wanted to admit. ‘Enough miserable talk for now. Finish your breakfast, cara. And after that, we will call my grandfather and I’ll introduce you to him.’

Her stomach fluttered with nerves. ‘What if he doesn’t accept me? What if he doesn’t like me or think I’m suitable?’

Luca stroked his hand over the top of her head, his expression inscrutable. ‘Don’t worry. He will adore you the minute he meets you.’

CHAPTER SEVEN

LUCA CALLED HIS GRANDFATHER on his phone a short time later and selected the video-call option. He sat with Artie on the sofa in the salon and draped an arm around her waist to keep her in the range of the camera. The fragrance of her perfume wafted around his nostrils, her curly hair tickling his jaw when she leaned closer. His grandfather’s image came up on the screen and Luca felt Artie tense beside him. He gave her a gentle squeeze and smiled at her before turning back to face his grandfather.

‘Nonno, allow me to introduce you to my beautiful wife Artemisia—Artie for short. We were married yesterday.’

The old man frowned. ‘Your wife? Pah! You think I’m a doddering old fool or something? You said you were never getting married and now you present me with a wife? Why didn’t you bring her here to meet me in person?’

‘We’re on our honeymoon, Nonno,’ Luca said, wishing, not for the first time, it was true. ‘But soon, sì?’

‘Buongiorno, Signor Ferrantelli,’ Artie said. ‘I’m sorry you’ve been ill. It must be so frustrating for you.’

‘I’ll tell you what’s frustrating—having my only grandson gadding about all these years as a freedom-loving playboy, when all I want is to see a great-grandchild before I leave this world. It’s his duty, his responsibility to carry on the proud family name by producing a new generation.’

Luca gave a light laugh. ‘We’ve only just got married, Nonno. Give us time.’ He suddenly realised he didn’t want to share Artie with anyone. He wanted to spend time alone with her, getting to know her better. He wanted her with an ache that wouldn’t go away. Ever since he’d kissed her it had smouldered like hot coals inside him. The need to explore her body, to awaken her to the explosive pleasure he knew they would experience together. But he refused to even think about the cosy domestic future his grandfather hoped for him. Babies? A new generation of Ferrantellis? Not going to happen.

‘You’ve wasted so much time already,’ Nonno said, scowling. ‘Your father was married to your mother and had Angelo and you well before your age.’

‘Sì, I know.’ Luca tried to ignore the dart of pain in his chest at the mention of his father and brother. And his mother, of course. He could barely think of his mother without feeling a tsunami of guilt for how his actions had destroyed her life. Grandchildren might soften the blow for his mother, but how could he allow himself to think about providing them? Family life was something he had never envisaged for himself. How could he when he had effectively destroyed his own family of origin?

‘Luca is everything I ever dreamed of in a husband,’ Artie piped up in a proud little voice that made something in his chest ping. ‘He’s definitely worth waiting for.’

Nonno gave a grunt, his frown still in place. ‘Did you give her your grandmother’s engagement ring?’ he asked Luca.

‘Sì,’ Luca said.

Artie lifted her hand to the camera. ‘I love it. It’s the most gorgeous ring I’ve ever seen. I feel incredibly honoured to be wearing it. I wish I could have met your wife. You must miss her terribly.’

‘Every day.’ Nonno shifted his mouth from side to side, his frown softening its grip on his weathered features. ‘Don’t leave it too long before you come and see me in person, Artie. I haven’t got all the time in the world.’

‘You’d have more time if you follow your doctor’s advice,’ Luca said.

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