Page 17 of The Convenient Cosentino Wife

Could he continue to contain the desire, suppressing his love and need for her? Not if he stayed here. But how in God’s name was he going to leave?

Rocco finally fell asleep sometime in the middle of the night and was still deep asleep when a knocking—pounding?—sounded on the door in the living room. Groggy, he rolled out of bed, couldn’t find his shirt, and just tugged the waistband of his sweatpants higher on his hip bones before going to the door.

He opened it expecting Gio or Roberto or another member of the staff. Instead, it was Clare and Adriano, and Adriano was smiling cautiously up at him.

“We’ve come to ask you to join us for breakfast,” Clare said crisply, when Adriano buried his face against her skirt, suddenly overcome by shyness. “We’ve been waiting on our breakfast, hoping to see you, but we’re getting hungry.” Her hand went to the top of her son’s head and she lightly ruffled his hair. “If you wouldn’t mind company this morning.”

He saw her gaze drop to his bare chest, and lower, to where the sweatpants he wore in bed hung precariously low on his torso. He carried a lot of muscle, lean muscle, but scars covered much of his chest, up half of his neck, and most of an arm. He was so used to the thickened skin that he forgot others might feel uncomfortable, but Clare didn’t look uncomfortable, curious more than anything.

“I should have put on a shirt,” he said gruffly as Adriano turned to look at him again, the child’s smile not quite steady.

“Who hurt you?” Adriano asked in English.

Clare shushed Adriano, but Rocco didn’t mind. “I was in a car accident,” Rocco answered. “There was a fire.”

The little boy was staring at the burns, examining them. “Did you cry?”

“A little bit,” Rocco admitted.

Adriano nodded, clearly thinking. “Did the doctor give you a shot?”

“Several.”

“I don’t like shots,” Adriano said.

“I don’t, either.”

Clare cleared her throat. “I take it we woke you up.”

“Yes. I had trouble sleeping last night, but give me five minutes and I’ll meet you for breakfast. Dining room?”

Adriano turned to his mom.“Possiamo mangiare fuori?”he asked.Can we eat outside?

“Sì.”She smiled at him and then looked up at Rocco. “I think we’ll have breakfast on the terrace. It’s where you first met Adriano yesterday.”

“I remember.”

“We’ll see you soon then.” She steered Adriano away and they walked down the hall hand in hand and Rocco watched them for a moment, before closing the door.

Something was different about Clare this morning but he didn’t know what it was, at least not yet.

It was a beautiful morning, the sun warm and bright, the sky a vivid blue with not a cloud in sight. September was Clare’s favorite month in Italy. The temperatures were warm but not humid or hot, and the garden was in full bloom, all the flowers a riot of scent and color.

Clare sat at the table on the terrace with Adriano on one side of her and Rocco on the other. The breakfast dishes had been cleared, but they were lingering in the glorious sunshine unwilling to break up the party yet. Adriano, who tended to be shy with strangers, had decided Rocco was someone he liked, and chattered away to his uncle in a mix of Spanish and Italian with a little English thrown in. Rocco, to his credit, understood everything and usually answered in Italian, but sometimes would switch languages, too.

“Mama,” Adriano said, turning to look at her. “Do you have to work today?”

She hesitated. “I should.”

“Could we go to thecastellotoday?” he asked, eyebrows lifting, expression hopeful. “Ziowould like it.”

She checked her smile but it was difficult to resist Adriano when he looked at her with that sweet face. He had a serious side, but he also could be terribly charming, as he was now. “But maybe your uncle doesn’t like castles,” she said.

Adriano looked at Rocco. “Do you like castles? We have a big one near here.”

“Have you seen it before?” Rocco asked him.

“One time. But maybe we can go today and then it’s this many,” Adriano said, holding up two fingers.

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