One of his black eyebrows lifted.
?
??It’s your home, not mine,” she said too quickly. “I’m not suggesting you’d be a poor host, but I would be a poor guest. I don’t sleep well and I spend half the night pacing, unable to relax.”
“But you will be able to relax here. You’ll have help with the child—”
“Can you please stop calling him the child? His name is Michael. Michael Marcello.”
“Michael Marcello Bern,” he corrected. “I’ve seen the birth certificate. Your sister and my brother were not married, which is why Marcello has become a middle name instead of a surname.”
“This is why I don’t want to stay here,” she said, looking away and biting down hard on her lower lip.
Instead of trying to meet her halfway, he was sharp and negative, offering nothing but criticisms. He didn’t want to see Michael as a real person. He didn’t want to acknowledge Michael as someone of value. No, far better to make him a problem. Something to be discussed the way you’d discuss a bad business deal.
“He’s a gorgeous boy, and he’s inherited the Marcello coloring. I don’t know if he looks like Antonio. I don’t know what Antonio looked like as a baby, but he’s lovely—”
“No one is criticizing him, and no one is locking you up, or taking your freedom away. But you need help—you’ve said so many times—and you’ll get that help here.”
She looked down into Michael’s face. His big dark eyes looked up at her, his expression trusting and adoring. Her heart squeezed. She loved him. She’d become so attached to him and couldn’t imagine life without him. “I don’t want my old life back. He’s...mine...now. But yes, help, would be nice. The right help that is.”
“Then stay here where Michael can get lots of attention and you can rest.”
Rachel drew a breath. “I really would be free to come and go? I could go for walks, or shopping?”
“As long as you don’t take Michael, yes, as I am going to insist that he stays here, hidden and secure. I want to keep him from the cameras. What we discuss, and the decisions we make, should not be dictated by the media.” He reached into his pocket and drew out his phone. “I’ll send for Anna. She’ll show you the way to the guest rooms on the fourth floor.”
CHAPTER SIX
SHE’D BEEN TO Venice once before, and she’d loved the city then. It had been like a fantasy, an implausible city built on water with twisting streets and secret courtyards, whimsical arched bridges and mysterious exteriors that hid fairy-tale interiors.
She’d spent her entire visit wishing she could get lost inside one of the grand private homes lining the canals, exploring the historic palazzos, discovering the Venice that tourists never got to see. Four years later, she was back, a guest in one of the finest Venetian palazzos, and her guest suite took her breath away.
“Your room, Signorina Bern,” Anna said, opening the tall wood shutters, allowing light to pour in.
Despite the gray gloomy day outside, the room glowed with color. The thick wood moldings and beamed ceiling were a lustrous gold, and the walls were covered in a fine blue silk the color of aquamarine above a teal and ivory marble wainscoting. A plush carpet in a brilliant blue with a gold and cream border nearly hid the dark hardwood floor, while the soaring four-poster canopy bed dominated the middle of the room, the posts completely hidden by opulent silk curtains and swags of fringed valances in the same gleaming aquamarine hue as the walls. The effect was dazzling, and would have been overwhelming if not for the crisp white bed coverlet and line of plump pillows against the blue painted headboard.
Anna pointed to the tall antique wardrobe with the mirrored doors. “Il vostro guardaroba.” She struggled to remember her English. “For your clothes, yes?”
Rachel nodded, patting Michael’s back. “Yes, thank you.”
Then Anna crossed the room, moving to the center of the far wall, and opened the tall door, showing her through to a connected room where a gentleman was putting together a crib. “For the bambino.”
It was another bedroom, smaller and far less opulent, the walls a pale shade of green, and the bed was smaller as well, anchored to the wall and featuring a cornice with green brocade fabric. The room was pretty and fresh with a pair of armchairs flanking the marble fireplace, but nothing like the grandeur of her room.
“Very nice,” Rachel said, thinking it a lovely room, the colors reminding her of a nursery, but she didn’t need Michael in a separate room. “But he could sleep in my room. His crib can be set up in mine.”
Anna frowned. “Non so quella parola.”
Rachel had no idea what the maid was saying and was too worn-out to try to make herself clear, when really, Michael’s crib was not all that far, especially if she kept the door open between the rooms. She nodded, giving in.
Anna’s gaze skimmed the baby’s room and then the blue bedroom. She seemed satisfied with what she saw. “Vorresti pranzo?” she asked.
Rachel hated how stupid she felt. “Pranzo?”
Anna made the motion of feeding herself. “Eat. Lunch? Pranzo, yes?”
Actually Rachel was suddenly quite hungry. “Yes, please. Thank you.”