She waited. Alex tried to think of something else, but his mind was unhelpfully blank.
“I already told you why I didn’t invite him to our wedding,” he said irritably. “He’d been to my first one. There was no point in inviting him to another.”
Rosalie stared at him incredulously. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
No, it didn’t, and he didn’t want to explore it further. “Rosalie, cara, I don’t want to fight.” Pulling her into his arms, he nuzzled her close. “It’s our honeymoon, and...”
“What’s that noise?” she asked, turning away.
Alex realized the low buzz of noise he’d noticed earlier had built to a roar. It sounded like a vaporetto with a fully gunned motor. Rising from the bed, he looked out at the small canal, three stories below. He saw a few boats, hanging out conspicuously near his private gate.
“Paparazzi,” he said grimly. “On boats.”
“They’re making all that noise?”
Still naked, he padded to the opposite window in the corner bedroom. Looking downward and to the right, he could just barely see into the square.
There, he saw people with cameras, reporters, all shoved into the tiny square, as if ten cruise ships had dumped all their passengers on the doorstep of his palazzo. As if his life were a mere entertainment for others.
“Oh, no.” Rosalie stood beside him, her body wrapped in a sheet. Her face was almost that same color as she looked up at him. “What do they want from us?”
“A story,” he replied, his jaw tight. He looked at her. “I’m sorry. Paparazzi have been following me for years, because my parents were well-known, but especially since Chiara’s death. And now, with social media...and the new story about a mysterious pregnant woman, and now our wedding...they’re more voracious than ever.”
She looked panicked. “We’re trapped. Prisoners.”
Alex glanced out at the crowds. It was worse than ever. But the truth was, he’d put up with being a story for a long time. He’d thought he didn’t have a choice. For years, Alex had told himself he didn’t care. His strategy had been to hide out at his vineyard and ignore everyone and everything.
But Rosalie couldn’t. She cared too much about other people to ignore them. She had no protection against this kind of onslaught. He hated the fear he saw on her face. It was even worse than tears.
“We’re not trapped,” he said grimly. “We’re leaving. Now.”
And so it was that, four hours later, they were driving toward his country villa outside the city in a vintage blue Fiat.
It hadn’t been easy to escape from the palazzo unnoticed. They’d had to enlist not just Alex’s two regular bodyguards, but the men’s girlfriends as decoy versions of Rosalie, to lead the paparazzi away on two separate merry goose chases via speedboats on the canal. An hour later, their housekeeper and butler had staged themselves in the top bedroom window of the palazzo, moving like shadows to deceive the remaining crowds, while Alex and Rosalie crept out the side door, hunched beneath drab brown coats.
But now, they were finally free. Rosalie sighed happily as Alex stomped down on the gas of the tiny two-seater car, zipping through the Italian countryside.
“I can’t believe you even own a car like this, that can actually blend in!” she said with a big smile.
“This is Maria’s car.” He grinned. “I asked for a loan, but she says it was a straight-up trade and she’s permanently keeping my Lamborghini.” He paused. “She probably deserves it, after all that time pretending to embrace Collins behind the window.”
Rosalie gave a low laugh, running her hand along his shoulder. Her warm brown eyes danced as she looked at him. Her dark hair was tucked back behind a jaunty yellow scarf, and she wore a white cotton sundress in the heat of the Italian summer. He felt her happiness and an answering lift in his heart. Then her fingertips brushed his neck, the tender flesh of his earlobe, and he felt a different sort of lift slightly lower down.
“Don’t do that,” he said.
“Why? You’re my husband. I own you.”
He growled, “You’ll make me pull over and take you right now.”
“In this tiny car?” She gave a low laugh that sounded impossibly sensual. Her dark eyes challenged him. “I’d like to see you try it.”
Put like that, Alex had no choice. He abruptly pulled over on the side of the road, where he kissed her until they steamed the insides of the windows. Then he discovered to his regret that his wife had been correct. There was no good way to make love in a two-seater car. Luckily Collins had packed a picnic lunch in the back before they made their escape from Venice.
Finding a quiet spot on a lonely lane, Alex parked the car behind a copse of trees. Lifting the picnic basket to his shoulder, he led her to a small clearing on the gentle incline of the hill. Spreading the blanket on the soft grass, he kissed her until she was trembling with need. He made love to her right there, pulling off her panties from beneath her dress, unzipping his trousers and lifting her on top of him on the blanket, until she gasped and screamed, and so did he, with only the birds to hear them.
Afterward, once they’d recovered, they had a delicious lunch of antipasto, sandwiches and sparkling water. Then, refreshed, they drove the rest of the way to his estate.
“That’s it,” Alex said finally, pointing.