Page 9 of The Convenient Cosentino Wife

“Loving him so well. He’s obviously very happy and healthy. I’m not surprised, but I am impressed. Marius would be pleased.”

“I do everything for Marius.”

“In that case, may I remain for a few days? I’d like to get to know my nephew better. Obviously, I have no desire to impose. The last thing I wish to do is make you uncomfortable.”

Clare didn’t know how to answer because Rocco did make her uncomfortable, but not for the reasons she would have expected.

Ever since she’d returned from the music room Rocco had been unfailingly polite. He’d been gentle with Adriano. There was nothing that should make her uneasy and yet she was unsettled. Her skin felt too sensitive, and her pulse wasn’t quite steady. Clare didn’t know why she couldn’t find her center. Rocco had knocked her off balance.

And yet, how could she refuse his request?

This was Adriano’s only blood relation on his father’s side. Rocco could be—perhaps should be—an important figure in her son’s life. “I have no objection,” she said at length. “Do you intend to leave and return, or...?”

“I’ll have my bag dropped off later.”

“Another helicopter landing?” she said, lips curving faintly.

Creases fanned from the corners of his eyes, amusement flashing briefly in the silver depths. “I think my bag could travel by car, if that’s all right with you.”

It wasn’t a smile, she thought, but it came close. For some reason this pleased her and her smile deepened, a hint of warmth offsetting some of the ice and fear filling her chest. “A car is perfectly acceptable,” she replied, rising. “In the meantime, the staff will prepare your room. It should only take a few minutes. Would you like to wait here, or perhaps in one of the indoor salons?”

“Anywhere I won’t be in the way.”

“You’re not in the way. I’m going to return to my office as I have a number of emails to answer before the workday ends. My staff—my company’s management team—are waiting for me to respond to some questions from this morning’s meeting. You don’t mind me escaping for a bit, do you?”

“Of course not. I’m good to wait here. Don’t worry about me.”

“Gio will keep you company,” she said, glancing at her head of security, suppressing a smile. “He’s not very talkative, but he’ll keep you safe.”

“Am I in danger?” he asked, a teasing glint in his eyes.

For a moment Clare couldn’t think, her mind going blank, caught off guard by this very different Rocco, a Rocco who smiled at her, a Rocco with laugh lines, a Rocco who made her feel as if she was part of the conversation instead of excluded. Her chest felt strange, tight and tender at the same time. She wasn’t sure how to manage this Rocco. It was easier to dislike him, easier keeping him at arm’s length.

“You’re not in danger,” she said, deciding truth was the best policy now. “The security is for Adriano.”

Rocco’s smile faded. “Has there been an issue with safety?”

In the past she wouldn’t have shared anything, but she needed an ally, and Rocco could be a powerful one. She swallowed and chose her words carefully. “My father isn’t well, and when he goes, his estate will pass to Adriano. Children are vulnerable, let alone children worth billions.”

Rocco’s expression didn’t change, but his voice dropped, deepening. “You live very quietly. You don’t publicize your wealth. I found it almost impossible to find you.”

Her head tipped. Her smile was strained. “And yet you did. It just took you time.” She turned at the door. “So you see, I must be on guard. Not trying to be dramatic, just realistic.”

In her upstairs office suite which sprawled over two rooms, each giving her a different view, one of the garden, and one of the sea, Clare sat down at her desk but couldn’t bring herself to even touch her computer keyboard.

She wasn’t exaggerating when she’d expressed her commitment to keeping Adriano safe—and out of the limelight. Clare’s childhood had been so very different. She’d been raised in the upper echelon of American society, which meant her family spent considerable time abroad, socializing with the upper echelon of European society. When you were the only child of one of the wealthiest men in America, you had access to everyone and every event.

But Clare had never cared about money. Wealth didn’t make one happy. Just look at her father—he’d been married countless times and each divorce left him more bitter than the last. He always said that the smartest thing he did was to have an ironclad prenup—his wives would get whatever jewelry and property he bought them during the marriage—but that was it. He also made sure there would be no more children as he’d hated the horrendous custody battle that had occurred when Clare was young. He’d ended up having to share custody with Clare’s mother, and the deep resentment on both her parents’ parts would have continued throughout Clare’s life if her mother hadn’t died when Clare was twelve, succumbing to a heart defect that none of them had even known about.

It was only after Clare’s mother was gone that her father claimed Clare’s late mother was a virtual saint, and that there were no woman who could compare to her. Thus his procession of new, and ever younger, brides. Slimmer. Sleeker. More ambitious than the last.

Clare was delighted to be sent to Europe for high school and then university. Far better to live away from her father’s parade of wives, women who were determined to get pregnant and remove Clare’s status as Daddy’s beloved little girl.

Clare enjoyed Europe, and gradually it became home. She used some of her pocket money to buy a small Paris flat, and then later she invested in a little island off the coast of Italy. It had once been inhabited but vines and drought had killed off many of the old olive trees and orchards, but Clare liked the idea of having a place of her own, and had hired a couple, and then several workers, to make the crumbling stone house habitable. She periodically sent money, and paid bills, but she didn’t visit as she’d also purchased other properties that had more commercial value.

It was the weekend of her twenty-second birthday and she was on a yacht anchored off Cádiz celebrating with friends when introduced to Marius. She hadn’t thought love at first sight was possible—after all, that was her father’s favorite line—but she’d taken one look at him and felt as if she’d known him forever, or, perhaps, she wanted to know him forever.

They had two and a half years together, and were planning a lifetime together, when he died just days before their wedding.

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