Page 14 of The Convenient Cosentino Wife

“Family is family. There are no lines drawn, no division based on genetics. My mother died when I was about Adriano’s age. I have no memory of her. The only mother I knew was Marius’s, and she was wonderful. I was her son.” Rocco fell silent a moment. “Children need parents. I needed a mother. It weighs on me that Adriano has no father.”

“But he does have me,” Clare said firmly. “He is my first priority, my only real priority. The rest is just—” She snapped her fingers. “Stuff.”

“But you yourself implied you must juggle motherhood and work—”

“I wasn’t complaining. I like being busy.”

“But if you didn’t work, you could be with your son more—”

“I am with him for breakfast, lunch and dinner, plus bath time, bedtime, and playtime after his afternoon nap. On weekends there is no nanny. It’s just us.” She lifted her chin, fighting anger. Who was he to judge? And if he wasn’t judging, but thinking he was being helpful, he was wrong. “I’m a better mother for working five hours during the day, and it’s good for him to have others to love him. No one can ever have too much love.”

“But does your staff love him, or are they just paid to act loving?”

Clare bit down, jaw clamped, as she counted to five and then to ten. “Your input isn’t wanted or needed, not if it’s going to be so critical.”

“That isn’t my intent. I’m playing devil’s advocate.”

“Well then, please don’t. It’s the last thing I need. As a single parent I’m aware of the challenges, but work gives me pleasure, and it’s not something I need to give up—not for you, not for anyone.”

“Even though you don’t need the money?”

“You work and you don’t need the money,” she countered, thinking that would finally silence him.

It didn’t. He shrugged. “I have no family. I have nothing in my life but the family estates and portfolio. It’s all I have.”

“You could remarry and have a family.”

He grew still, his expression almost haunted. “I couldn’t,” he said after a long tense moment. “It wouldn’t be right.”

Clare’s heart suddenly ached for him. The fact that Rocco still grieved for his wife moved her profoundly. He understood love, and loss, and honored his commitments. She wasn’t sure she liked him, but at least she was beginning to get to know him. “But you have thought about it?” she asked gently, searching his shadowed eyes.

He shifted uncomfortably. “And dismissed the idea.”

“Why?”

He looked away, his gaze skimming the room with the flickering sconces and the soft candlelight reflecting off the table. “It’s complicated.”

Still she said nothing and he glanced at her, lips twisting. “You should let it go. Suffice it to say, I don’t take marriage vows lightly. Marriage is for life.”

Staff returned to take their plates, removing the second course. “Dessert?” she asked Rocco. “Cheese and fruit, or something a little more decadent? I think chef has mademarizottofor you, but there’s no pressure.”

“I’m actually fine without anything. Maybe just a coffee.”

She looked to the server. “Just the one coffee, but we’ll have it in on the little terrace.” Clare pushed back from her chair and lifted her wine. “Shall we go outside? It’s lovely this time of night outside.”

The little terrace was her favorite place to be at night. Strands of white lights were strung across the pretty little patio garden, illuminating a fountain built against the stucco wall on one side and a wall of purple bougainvillea on the other. The patio’s floor was covered in creamy travertine tiles and the furniture was comfortable—sumptuous ivory lounge chairs each with its own lavender blanket.

Clare settled onto one of the lounge chairs and covered her legs with the soft pastel blanket. “Too feminine for you?” she asked, curious as to what he’d think of her secret patio garden with the tinkling fountain and the crashing waves in the distance.

“Not at all. It’s beautiful, and very peaceful. I can see why you like to come here at night.” He sat down carefully on the other chair, but he didn’t stretch out.

Clare studied his profile, his broad shoulders, lean muscular torso and long powerful legs. Marius had been lithe and athletic, but Rocco was powerful, with the look of a prizefighter. Strong, physical, tough. For a little bit neither said anything, but Clare was acutely aware of Rocco not far from her side, aware of the size of him, and his physicality so different from Marius.

“You’re not who I thought you were,” he said gruffly.

She arched a brow. “How so?”

“I assumed you were a trust fund baby. Indulged. Entitled.”

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