“You never asked.”
For a long moment he said nothing. Then he rose and paced the room silently for several minutes. Finally he paused and looked at her. “The vows are binding, regardless of where we said them.”
“I understand.”
He frowned at her, clearly uncomfortable. “But you were disappointed by our ceremony?”
She licked her lips. “Yes.”
“You used the word shameful.”
“It just felt that way. It was so…rushed and hush-hush. We don’t even have any pictures to show Joe when he’s older. And I can’t help but think that one day he’ll want to know how we met, and what our wedding was like. How will he feel when we’ve no wedding photographs to show him?”
“That’s ridiculous,” Vittorio said, moving to the narrow sideboard to pour himself a neat shot of whiskey.
“I know. I’m just being foolish. Not all weddings are music and candles and flowers with your friends and family gathered around. And just because I imagined a certain kind of wedding doesn’t mean I needed it. Joe is what’s important. Joe should be our only concern—” She broke off as the jet suddenly shuddered in a pocket of turbulence.
Holding her breath, Jillian watched the water slosh wildly in her glass. For several moments the jet bounced, up, down, up, down, and the glass and bottle on the table rattled and danced toward the edge of the table, and then just as abruptly the turbulence ceased.
All was smooth again but Jillian’s heart still raced. “I hate turbulence,” she whispered, mouth dry.
“It’s over.”
“I know, but I still hate it.”
“But if we didn’t have turbulence, we’d never appreciate a smooth flight.”
Their dinner was a strange meal, an almost painfully civilized meal, with Vittorio playing the role of attentive host. They discussed only safe topics—their mutual love of Turkey, favorite European cities, the stunning Dalmatian coast as if both were determined to put their best foot forward.
Could they really start fresh? Could they make their relationship work?
“We’re not entirely incompatible,” he said just moments later, as if he could read the emotions flitting over her face. “We both like sex and apparently still enjoy it together.”
She felt as though he’d dashed cold water over her head. “And that’s enough for you?”
His dark eyes met hers. “It wouldn’t be, but we also have Joseph and we share responsibility for him.”
And that was a terribly important responsibility. Jillian couldn’t imagine anything else ever being so important. “Yes.”
Vitt continued to hold her gaze. “Maybe another ceremony wouldn’t be a bad idea. Maybe we should renew our vows at the chapel, and include our families. It would be good to have them on our side.”
“They won’t be now?”
“No. Not entirely.”
“Why not?”
His mouth quirked. “You’re not Sicilian.”
They left the small elegant dining room for the staff room and found Joe happily playing with a set of toy cars with one of Vitt’s bodyguards. Maria watched from an armchair nearby.
Looking at Joe it struck Jillian that in Vitt’s world Joe was royalty. He was treated like a young prince. Protected. Pampered. He was the heir to his father’s throne.
It was both a terrible truth and a heartbreaking reality. Joe was no longer her baby, her son. He’d already become Joseph d’Severano, inheriting all the power, wealth and control that accompanied the d’Severano name.
They stayed in the staff room for a few minutes and Vittorio talked to his bodyguards as if they were close friends. And maybe they were. Then conversation ended, he swung Joe into his arms and led the way to Jillian’s room where the baby’s travel cot had been set up.
Her tiny plush bedroom felt absolutely claustrophobic with Vittorio there. She did her best to pretend he wasn’t watching every move she made. Acting as natural as possible, Jillian gave Joe a sponge bath and then dressed him in his footed, zippered sleeper for bed.