Taviano handed her his cell phone. “She’s programmed in. She wants to talk to you as well. She’s close by, so we can visit with her when we know exactly what we’re up against.” He looked up at Stefano. “Have any of the cousins reported in?”
Nicoletta took the cell phone, feeling silly. She didn’t know why she’d reacted the way she had to Stefano, only that she didn’t want another wedding. She really didn’t. She couldn’t say that, not to any of them. How could she explain it? That she loved Taviano, but he didn’t love her the same way? That she was ashamed that he had to marry her, and she felt she was taking advantage of him? That she wasn’t good enough for him? There it was in a nutshell. The real reason.
She didn’t want to walk down that aisle, most likely in a church, wearing a pristine white wedding dress, feeling like she was covered in slime knowing the man waiting for her didn’t really love her and never would. He would see her always as the woman who had trapped him with her shadow.
It would be hell for her after seeing the way Stefano adored Francesca, and Ricco, his beloved Mariko. Giovanni clearly loved Sasha, and Vittorio never took his eyes off of Grace when she was near him. Taviano would be the only one of the Ferraro brothers trapped in a loveless marriage. He’d told her that if they hadn’t found the one person on their own they wanted to marry who could provide shadow rider children, a marriage would be arranged for them. Nicoletta knew, for Taviano, she was that woman. Eloisa and Stefano hadn’t arranged the marriage, but their shadows had.
She tuned out the discussions of their cousins reporting on the Demons gang activities and looked down at the phone in her hand. Lucia’s name was right there. Her thumb slid across it, and her heart jumped. Suddenly the need to hear her voice was overwhelming, and a lump rose in her throat. She didn’t want to be in this room with these men and Emmanuelle. She wanted to be home with Lucia and Amo, where she didn’t feel so inept and imperfect.
“Excuse me. I’ll just go into the other room and make this call,” she murmured and stood up.
The moment she rose, Taviano did as well. His brothers did, too. Her heart nearly stopped. She wasn’t certain why they all stood up, and for a moment she thought they might be trying to prevent her from leaving.
Taviano gestured toward the door. “You know your way around the apartment. The sitting room is empty. You’ll have complete privacy there, piccola.”
She couldn’t answer him. She just nodded and tried a smile, but she was all out of them. Her facial muscles refused to cooperate. It seemed as if, since they’d been in the chapel, Demetrio and Drago as their witnesses, she was all smiled out. She had barely spoken to Taviano once she’d actually signed the papers tying them together.
When the official had asked her if she took Taviano as her husband, she’d stopped, looked Taviano in the eyes and asked him if he really wanted to do this. He’d said yes. Very firmly. She’d agreed to marry him. Then again, before signing, she’d asked him. Taviano had been extremely resolved, certain they were doing the right thing, so she signed the papers, but not before reminding him he hadn’t had her sign a prenup. She needed to tell Stefano to have their lawyer make one out immediately.
With shaking hands, she pushed open the door to the sitting room and took a deep breath of the clean, fresh air. Francesca had a way of making everything in the penthouse feel homey and welcoming. More, there was always a faint, elusive scent that was barely there, but it made its way through the house so it smelled of clean air after a rainstorm. She looked around at the warm room with the plush, inviting chairs. She’d been in here many times, entertaining Crispino. She’d played on the floor with him, on that thick rug that covered the warm wood floor. Nicoletta curled up in one of the chairs and wrapped a throw blanket around herself when she realized she was shivering.
She hadn’t gone into the plane’s bedroom after their wedding, suddenly too afraid to sleep in the same bed with Taviano. She’d never been afraid or nervous around him. Never. She’d slept in the same bed with him countless times, because it had never really occurred to her when she was a young teen that he was at all interested. He’d never acted it. He’d rocked her to sleep after a storm of tears or terrible nightmares.
Now, everything had changed. They were married. She didn’t want to be alone with him. She was terrified he would want her physically and equally terrified that he wouldn’t. She made no sense, none. She knew she was bordering on psychotic behavior, and she needed Lucia. She wished she had someone else she could trust to talk to, but even friends like Pia, Bianca and Clariss were not ones she would ever talk about her past—or about Taviano—with.