Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN

" I MEAN, THEY'RE NICE, but are they ‘cover of a magazine' nice?" Marcia asked her wedding coordinator, having spent twenty minutes studying Maddie's draft arrangements with a very critical eye. Because Maddie lived and breathed flowers, she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that her arrangements were incredible. She'd struck a balance between elegant and traditional, steeping each arrangement with a little something different. But they were also freshly contemporary, just the sort of flowers an influencer would seek out.

"The orange blossoms are a beautiful touch," Lilliana murmured. "I like the sentiment."

"But will the press?" Marcia pushed, and there was such a hint of desperation in her voice that Maddie's eyes widened with surprise. Why on earth would someone care so much about the media? Marcia was very beautiful, and stylish, marrying one of the richest men on the planet, who must therefore adore her, she had an engagement ring the size of a planet on her finger. Surely, she had a sound enough sense of self-esteem to not need the world's adulation too?

"I'm sure of it," Lilliana agreed, winking at Maddie before giving her full attention to her client.

"Well, I'm not. I mean, I do like them," Marcia angsted. "But I'd like to see something else. Something…I don't know. Bigger?"

Maddie glanced at the trestle table, practically overflowing with flowers, and smothered her first response of surprise. These arrangements were extravagant and most definitely abundant.

"There are some practical considerations," Maddie said thoughtfully.

"Oh?" It was obvious that Marcia didn't like anything approaching a challenge, but Maddie took her job seriously, and that included giving good advice.

"Such as the centerpieces for the tables," she murmured. "Conversation is hampered if guests can't see over the flowers."

Marcia glanced down at the table, but she was unperturbed. "I need these to be showstoppers." She turned to the coordinator. "I want every single aspect of the wedding to be wow-worthy."

Lilliana met Maddie's eyes briefly over Marcia's head then glanced back at their client. "I'm wow-ed by these flowers," Lilliana said confidently. "However," she gave Maddie the full force of her attention. "Would you perhaps design one final concept this morning and we'll come by after lunch to view it?"

"I don't want lunch," Marcia said immediately. "I have a dress fitting this evening."

Maddie's eyes widened. "So, you're not going to eat all day?" She hadn't meant to speak but the words had just flown out. She'd had a full breakfast and was already looking forward to lunch.

"I'm not going to eat all week," Marcia said out of the corner of her mouth, then smiled brightly, totally transforming her face into the beauty of supermodel proportions. "And when you see the dress, you'll get why." She spun back to Lilliana. "We're done here. What's next?"

Maddie watched them walk away with the countenance of someone who'd just been hit with a bolt of lightning, before turning back to the flowers. They were exquisite , but if Marcia wanted another concept, Maddie intended to go all out.

She'd gotten this job because of Rocco, but she was going to cover herself in glory whilst doing it. She was going to give Marcia the best flowers any bride had ever had, and she was going to be damned sure this job led to more high-end wedding work.

So…she set about revising the flowers, coming up with two alternative table arrangements, and a bouquet that borrowed heavily from weddings from a century ago. Rather than a small, delicate huddle of flowers, she went for a full old-fashioned sweeping bouquet that would trail romantically toward the floor. It took a long time to construct but when it was done, Maddie couldn't have been more thrilled with the result. She was just putting the finishing ribbon around the neatly trimmed stems when a woman with muted auburn hair and striking green eyes strolled into the marquee.

"You must be Maddison." Her accent was British, her smile conveying kindness.

Maddie took a step back, wiping her hands on her apron then extending one to the other woman.

"Portia Santoro," she said, shaking her hand before extending the other, which held a takeaway coffee cup. "I thought you might need this."

"Oh," Maddie blinked at the drink with a warm rush of gratitude. "You're a lifesaver. I haven't stopped all day."

Portia's lips compressed briefly into a line of what might have been disapproval, but she quickly turned her attention to the table, gasping at the sheer quantity of flowers.

"Oh, Maddison, these are beautiful. Wow." She moved towards them, lightly brushing her fingertips over one of the irises. "You're very talented."

Maddie's heart lifted. She didn't know who this woman was, but it wasn't hard to guess—she wasn't Italian, yet she bore the same surname as Rocco, so Maddie could only presume she was married to one of his brothers or cousins.

"I love flowers," she said, honestly. "I always have."

"You have a gift. These are wonderful."

"I hope the bride agrees with you."

Another little flicker of disapproval, and then a bright smile. "It almost makes me want to get married again," she said, on a laugh.

"Oh?"

"Except, my wedding day really was the best day of my life. I don't think I'd tempt fate by asking for a do-over." She wrinkled her nose.

"I presume you're married to a Santoro?"

"Oh, right. Yes, Marco." Her eyes softened with affection. "And I work for Dante—his brother. So, I've lived and breathed the Santoros for a long time."

What could Maddie say to that? She had a thousand questions, but she feared that asking any of them might make it seem as if she cared about the answers—as if she cared about Rocco—and she most certainly didn't. He was her sworn enemy, everywhere except the bedroom.

And what about last night? A voice inside of her pushed. What about the insights he'd shared over dinner, the things they'd discussed, the way he'd opened up to her, and she'd opened up to him…that was hardly how you treated your enemy, was it?

Maybe it was this place. Not just the villa and its stunning gardens, but Italy itself. The ancient, heady beauty of it all, the history, the importance, the cultural uniqueness. Everywhere she looked, there was a reminder of why this country was special, why Tuscany was considered to be one of the most glorious places on earth. It had a magic that went beyond the ethereal; it was tangible, and it had weaved in and around Maddie, making her forget her anger, her rage. Making her forget everything about Rocco except…this.

Here, they existed in a bubble that seemed an awful lot like a truce.

And afterward, in America? When they returned to reality, and she had to face the fact that her grandfather's house would be sold to him, and be knocked down? Even the thought of that made her stomach feel empty.

She knew the house was valuable. Not for the house itself, but rather the land on which it stood—a good-sized block, a stone's throw to the beach and the quaint little village nearby. But to Maddie, the house had a value beyond that—it was her home, it was where her heart had slowly been brought back together, where she'd started to trust again, where she'd started to believe she might be safe after all—that there were people in this world who would care for her. It had been a long, slow healing process, and some days, she had to admit, she wasn't there yet. Some nights, she woke up with a clear image of her mother in her mind, and she cried, because knowing that her mother was out there, living her life and that whatever her life entailed, it was enough to remain distant from Maddie…it hurt. It still had the power to suck the air from her lungs. But not as badly as it had done back then.

Her grandparents had helped her heal, and the house had been such a huge part of that. It was her nest.

"I gather this is your first encounter?" Portia asked, gesturing to the flowers.

Maddie opened her mouth to confirm it, but there was something about the other woman that just invited honesty. While she had no intention of confessing to the personal developments between herself and Rocco, a more truthful description of their relationship seemed okay. "Actually, I met Rocco Santoro in New York," Maddie admitted, moving to the flowers and beginning to arrange them to display for Marcia.

"For this job?"

"No, actually." Maddie sipped the coffee and took a moment to rejoice in how excellent it was. Strong without being bitter, just the perfect antidote to a rather sleepless night and very hectic morning. "Your family is trying to buy my grandfather's house. I don't want to sell." She placed the bouquet on the edge of the table, so the tendrils could trail to the floor, for best display.

"Ohhh!" Recognition flooded Portia's tone. "You're the problem with the New York beach development?"

Maddie glanced over at Portia, surprised by her knowledge.

"I work for Dante, he runs the whole company," she reminded Maddie. "And the family's incredibly close. They discuss every aspect of, well, everything. Especially work. You've been making Rocco's life hell for a good while now."

Despite the tenor of her words, Portia was grinning.

"You think it's funny?" Maddie asked but without any acid to her tone. She was simply interested.

"Well, kind of. I mean, I love this family, but let's be real. They're pretty blessed. I mean, tall, dark, handsome, filthy rich, powerful…it's kind of entertaining to see them put through their paces."

Maddie's answering smile was spontaneous. "I guess I have been doing plenty of that."

Portia's eyes skimmed Maddie's face. "Good. That's good for Rocco. Only…"

"Yeah?"

She was aware of voices, not too far away, and knew they would be joined by others soon. Sure enough, she caught sight of Lilliana and Marcia just outside the marquee, locked in conversation.

"You know he's going to win, right?"

Maddie bit into her lower lip. She'd accepted the reality of that, and yet it still felt like a betrayal. She blinked away quickly.

Portia's hand covered Maddie's, squeezing it. "He's a good guy—one of the best. But when it comes to business, he's truly one-eyed. He will not let anyone, or anything, stand in his way. Drive a hard bargain, Maddie. Get everything you want and need, and then walk away, without looking back. The best thing is to take the money and live your best life." She squeezed Maddie's hand again. "I'm sorry about the house."

Maddie's eyes were wide with surprise—both surprised at how much she liked this other woman, and how much her advice stung.

It was good advice, kindly given. A warning, in the face of what was inevitable. Rocco would get the house. Just like he'd gotten all the others. Rocco would win, but it didn't necessarily have to follow that Maddie would lose.

Maybe she could strike a deal that really did make it worth her while to walk away. From the house…and from Rocco. Her gut churned as she forced herself to stare unflinchingly into that reality. No house, no home. And no Rocco to spar with; no Rocco to make love to. No Rocco, period.

She should have been rejoicing. A week ago, she would have been. But now, the very idea filled her with a sense of dread that infuriated her—and which she was determined to conquer.

How strange that she should have this epiphany whilst preparing for the lifelong commitment of another Santoro, to the woman he loved. They were planning for their ‘happily ever after', and all the while, Maddie was realizing that after this wedding, she definitely couldn't see Rocco again.

Because nothing was straightforward anymore.

She no longer hated him, and without that hate, other feelings were starting to swirl through her and to grow, to threaten to dominate. Feelings that complicated everything, that made her want to rely on him, to trust him, to put her faith in his hands—and if there was one thing she knew for certain, it was that the risk of doing so with Rocco was too great. She couldn't do it.

"You look exhausted." Rocco stared at Maddie, without stepping into the hotel room.

She smothered a yawn as he watched, and something inside of him flickered. Regret? Because whilst bringing her to Italy to do the wedding flowers would be a boon for her professionally, he should have known Marcia would want her pound of flesh.

"Thanks," she said, rolling her eyes a little, so he heard the comment and realized it might have sounded like an insult. But even exhausted, Maddie couldn't look anything but bewitching. Utterly, and completely enchanting. She was beautiful, but it was so much more than that.

"I thought you might be hungry."

Maddie's lips pulled to the side. "I'm starving, actually. I was just about to order room service."

Rocco had been thinking the same thing—a night in with Maddie, enjoying her, making love to her until the small hours of the morning, like he had last night—it was all he'd been thinking about for the entire day. But seeing her now, he realized she needed to sleep, more than anything else.

"I've got a better idea," he decided, spontaneously.

"Come and let me cook for you; then, I'll bring you back."

Her eyes widened. "You don't want to come in?"

It was too tempting. He stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her waist and drawing her to him, kissing her slowly, even when his whole body wanted him to go fast. Wanted more. Needed with an intensity that almost overwhelmed him.

"I want to come in, very badly. But I suspect you've had a bit of a day and need an early night?"

She raised one eyebrow, her features difficult to read. "Why, Rocco Santoro…what happened to my nights being yours, whilst in Italy?"

He laughed, a gruff sound that matched the teasing tone of her question, but inside him, something shifted uncomfortably. Something sharp and unpleasant. "I suppose I'm being considerate."

Except, he wasn't particularly considerate when it came to the women he was sleeping with. Oh, he was always focused on their pleasure, but beyond that, he didn't make a habit of being overly concerned about aspects of their personal lives.

But with Maddie, there was so much crossover. Between Jack's house, sleeping together, and now the wedding, their lives were entwined in ways that were new and novel. Not to mention, he'd jettisoned her into this situation without proper preparation—of course, she was exhausted. Marcia was leaving no stone unturned in her quest for ‘the perfect wedding'. Naturally, he was concerned.

He ignored the lingering feeling of discomfort, a sense that he was stepping into a space he'd never been before, a space he didn't want to occupy, and simply gestured towards the corridor. "Shall we?"

There was a question in her eyes. A hesitation. As though she was feeling exactly as he was—on the edge of a precipice, not sure which step would take her over and which steps would keep her safe. He held his breath without meaning to, until she nodded, and said in a slightly breathless tone, "I'll just get my bag."

The fact that Rocco had a home at all caught Maddie somewhat by surprise, but the fact he had brought her to it was even more surprising. And the fact it was a home like this? Everywhere she looked was breathtaking.

"Not what you expected?" he asked, pouring two glasses of wine, evidently reading the emotions on her face.

Maddie glanced at him, searching for words. "I mean…it's just so beautiful."

His laugh was a low, gruff sound. "And you expected what?"

"Honestly? I kind of see you moving from one impersonal hotel room to the next."

"I told you, I have a place in New York."

She lifted one shoulder. "I know. But I'll bet it's modern and sort of like your hotel room."

He furrowed a brow, but Maddie didn't notice. She was too busy gawking at the room. "Whereas this place," she said, trying to work out why she was so surprised. "It's wonderful."

"It was a palace," he said, unnecessarily, because the grandeur of the place made it obvious. "Built in the sixteenth century."

"And here I thought you were disparaging of history," she said, reflecting on one of their first conversations, in which he'd soundly denounced her claim that Jack's home had historical merit.

"I didn't buy it because it's old," he said as if needing to dispel any idea of sentimentality.

"So, why did you?"

"The location, for one thing. It's hard to get a full-sized home in the center of the city. Plus, it's a good investment."

"Ah. So, it was just your business brain? There wasn't a small part of you that delighted in owning a piece of this rich history and culture?"

Because he hadn't just bought the palace, but also had it meticulously restored. The floors, the walls, the ancient paintings and tapestries, it was all exquisitely done. The furnishings were a mix—clearly new, but in a style that was sympathetic to the history of the villa, the pieces either complemented the period of the building or were cleverly unobtrusive, fading into the background and allowing the rooms to shine.

She turned back to Rocco, giving him the full force of her attention. "Why did you bring me here?"

"I thought it would make a nice change to your hotel room. It's a little cramped," he said with a tight smile that seemed a little forced.

"We don't all have your budget." She took the proffered glass of wine and sipped it.

"I wasn't complaining," he sipped his own wine, his eyes holding hers in a way that made her blood simmer. In a way that made her crave and ache and yearn—and hurt, too, because reality was closing in on Maddie. It had been already, but seeing this place, it hit her so much more forcibly how ‘worlds apart' they were. Rocco lived like a prince. No, he lived like a billionaire, a titan of industry, a man who could click his fingers and buy a whole street of houses in one of the most expensive hamlets of the country.

"Is this—I must be different. To the woman you usually see, I mean."

His frown was contemplative. "Why do you say that?"

She tilted her head to the side. "Am I wrong?"

His smile showed appreciation for the way she'd flitted past his question and volleyed back with one of her own. "No. You are different."

She nodded slowly. "Because I'm not rich?"

His brows knit together. "You think I care about money?"

"No, I just think you probably usually only meet women from a certain background."

"You're wrong. I've dated women from many walks of life."

She made a noise that sounded dangerously close to a snort.

"You don't believe me?"

"I don't know why you'd lie," she said, after a beat. "But I just can't imagine you hobnobbing with, oh, I don't know…a waitress."

"I've dated waitresses."

She arched a brow.

"Okay, one waitress, and it was a long time ago. Why do I feel like you're going to hold it against me?"

She didn't answer that. "What about the woman you were with the night we met?"

He looked confused, as though he'd genuinely forgotten who he'd been with.

Maddie put a hand on her hip, not making it easier for him.

"What do you want to know about her?" he asked after a beat.

"It's not about her, it's just—because she's the most recent woman, before me. What was she like?"

Exasperation tinged his words. "You're making it sound like I have big, consuming relationships. I don't. Jessica and I had been on a few dates. The night I met you, I had actually been planning to end it with her anyway."

"Why?"

"Why are you so full of questions this evening?"

She frowned. It was a fair thing to wonder. "I don't know," she said after a pause. "I guess…the longer we know each other, the more I wonder…but also, I guess it's just being here." She gestured to his home. "And at the villa. Meeting your family. Imagining you as part of the family. In America, you were just…the guy who was trying to ruin my life," she said, trying to infuse the words with a hint of humor, when inside, she was still in knots over the real estate portion of their relationship. "And then the guy I was sleeping with. Both of which made it easy to keep you as an almost two-dimensional character, if I'm honest. But here…"

"Here?" he prompted.

"You're real." Damn it, her voice sounded husky. Emotional. Rich, and raw, laced with feelings that had no business in this conversation.

"I am real." He moved closer, pressing his hand to her hers, looking into her eyes.

She tried to focus. She tried to ignore the tide that was suddenly rushing towards her, threatening to swallow her into the depths of an ocean from which she might never escape.

"But this isn't," she said, slowly, calmly, even when her insides were tightening into a knot that made it hard to breathe. "We're not."

His features showed confusion, not rejection.

"Rocco, after the wedding, when we're back in America, we have to go our separate ways."

He didn't respond, and she was glad. She didn't want him to argue with her, but at the same time, she desperately wanted that. It was peeling off the sticky tape she'd plastered over her heart, opening wounds she wanted to keep firmly sealed.

"We agreed to that."

"I know."

"But you think I might have changed my mind."

She bit into her lip.

"Are you not having fun, anymore, Maddison?"

"I am having fun," she whispered, honestly. "But…maybe too much fun. Or maybe…it's hard to explain." She lifted a hand to his cheek, needing to be honest, even when that scared her. "I hated you. I really did. And the more I get to know you, the harder I find it to hate you, or even to be annoyed at you, and when those things aren't there…"

His eyes widened as some form of comprehension dawned. His Adam's apple shifted as he swallowed. "Are you saying you have feelings for me?"

The words were tinged with ice.

It was all the answer Maddie needed—and she hadn't even realized there was a question there.

"No," she answered, and the moment she said it, she knew how big of a lie that was. "But I know I could have feelings for you, one day, if I'm not careful. And I have to be careful. I learned the hard way to protect myself, and this—," she shrugged. "There's too much potential for things to go wrong."

Silence crackled between them, and Maddie's nerves stretched taut, pulling at her until she could hardly speak.

"Say something," she urged, when the lack of speaking threatened to destroy her nerves altogether.

"It's fine," he said with a brusque nod then. "You're right. We should both move on after this. It's time."