Convenient Brides: The Italian's Convenient Wife / His Inconvenient Wife / His Convenient Proposal

It was the first time she’d ever felt his arms close around her as if he meant it, instead of as if it was a duty he was compelled to perform. Struggling to hang on to her composure, she looked to Paolo for help.

“Enough of trying to strangle my future wife, young man,” he decreed, all mock indignation mixed with laughter. “And no tears from you, Caroline, or you, Momma! Tonight is for celebrating.”

“So that’s why there’s champagne chilling,” Salvatore said, drumming up a token smile. “Well, since you’ve both made up your minds, I suppose I should propose a toast.”

Chapter Eight

DINNER that night was almost festive. Almost.

“We’ll have to find a dress for your big day, Caroline, and also one for Gina,” Lidia said. “I would so love to go shopping with you and introduce you to my favorite designer.”

“You’re welcome to come shopping with me, but I hadn’t thought of buying anything too extravagant,” Callie said, only to be shot down, surprisingly, by Salvatore.

“If you’re worried about money,” he pronounced bluntly, between sips of the very excellent champagne served with the meal, “do not be. A suitable wedding outfit will be our gift to you.”

Was he deliberately condescending to her, as if he feared she might appear at the altar wearing red sequins and feathers, Callie wondered, bristling, or was this his heavy-handed way of welcoming her into the family?

“That’s very generous of you, Signor Rainero,” she replied coolly, “but it’s not the money I’m concerned about. I’m well able to buy my own dress, and Gina’s, too. But the kind of wedding Paolo and I want doesn’t call for a designer gown. I’m certain I can find something suitable in any good department store, of which I’m sure there are many in Rome.”

Ever mindful of his aristocratic heritage, Salvatore covered his contempt at such a suggestion with a strenuously benign smile—the kind, Callie was willing to bet, that would leave his face aching for the next half hour. “My dear lady, the Raineros do not shop in department stores! You’ll find plenty of other opportunities to wear a designer gown, once the wedding is a fait accompli.”

He paused, long enough to take another sip of champagne and fastidiously dab his linen napkin to the corner of his mouth, then concluded, “Indeed, one such item of haute couture will not begin to fill your needs. As my son’s wife, you will attend many formal functions, and frequently find your photograph dominating the society pages of Italian newspapers, not to mention the more respectable international magazines. You might as well accept that fact, and start out the way you’ll be obliged to carry on.”

At her side, Paolo stiffened and covered her suddenly clenched fist warmly with his hand. “Caroline’s role as my wife is something she and I will determine together, Father, without input from you, or anyone else,” he said evenly.

“I’minterfering, am I?” Salvatore’s amusement showed as ingular lack of remorse. “Very well, I’ll keep my opinions to myself, provided you allow me one concession.” He directed another too-amiable smile Callie’s way, this one even more fixed than its predecessor. “That, as the newest member of my family, Caroline, you call me Suocero, which in Italian means—”

“Father-in-law,” she finished for him. “Yes, Signor Rainero, I’m aware of that. I took several university courses in Italian, and am quite fluent in the language.”

He regarded her with sly triumph, as if he’d just caught her red-handed in a lie. “I don’t understand. Didn’t you say you studied architecture?”

“That is correct.”

“Then why such an interest in learning Italian?”

Because I wanted to be able to communicate with my children, in the event that they didn’t learn English.

“The influence of the Italian Renaissance and Baroque period on modern architecture is huge. I spent one summer session studying in Florence, Milan and Venice. A working knowledge of the language was essential.”

“One summer, hmm.” Continuing to regard her narrowly, he plucked at his lower lip with one finger. “Was that the same year you visited your sister and her children?”

“Yes. At the end of the semester, I came to Rome and spent a few days with Vanessa and her family.”

“They were an afterthought, were they?”

“Hardly!”

“I don’t remember you coming to see us,” Gina chimed in.

Silently blessing the child for causing a distraction before she lost her temper with the mistrustful old fool destined to be her father-in-law, Callie explained, “That’s because you were very little then, Gina. Still babies, really, not even two years old. You probably only remember coming to see me in San Francisco, when you were older.”

Clemente nodded enthusiastically. “I remember doing that! You live in a town house, at the top of a hill, and you have a fireplace in your salon, and if you stand at the window and look down the hill, you can see an island with an old prison on it.”

“That’s right,” she said, pathetically grateful that he’d kept a little part of her life locked away in his memory. “It’s called Alcatraz. I’ll take you to visit it some time, if you like.”

“How can you do that? It’s a long way away, and I don’t want to live in America.” Gina turned accusing eyes on her uncle. “You said we’re going to live here, Zio Paolo.”

“We are,” he said soothingly. “But we might take a holi-day in San Francisco, once in a while. You wouldn’t mind that, would you?”

“Not as long as I don’t have to stay there. I’d miss Nonna and Nonno, and all my friends.”

“Just as we’d miss you,” her grandfather said, his glance again settling on Callie with brief and telling intent. “Far too much to allow you to live so far away.”

Allow? she fume dinwardly. Who did he think he was? God?

She had to bite her lip to keep the lid on her annoyance. Why didn’t he just come out and say he didn’t trust her, and the whole idea of her marrying into his illustrious family turned his stomach? she thought, defiantly returning his stare.

Most young wives, if they had any problems at all with their husbands’ parents, seemed more often to be at logger-heads with the mother-in-law. Clearly, in her case, Salvatore was going to be the difficult one.

Hard-pressed to conceal the acid in her tone, she said, “In case you missed it the first time around, Signor Rainero, the whole purpose of our making a home for the children is to create as little disruption to their lives as possible. Relocating to San Francisco, or anywhere other than Rome, for that matter, would be counterproductive, don’t you think?”

He inclined his head in regal assent, and the meal ended shortly after. And not a moment too soon, as far as Callie was concerned. She’d had about as much of Salvatore’s overbearing attitude as she could take for one day, and when Lidia asked if she’d like to help get the children settled for the night, she leaped at the chance.

Perching on Clemente’sbed, with him leaning affectionately against her on one side, and Gina cuddled up next to her on the other, and watching the telltale expressions sweeping over their adorable little face as Lidia read, in English, another chapter from Sarah Plain and Tall, Callieknewadeepthankfulnessfor the changes that had come so unexpectedly into her life.

This was what she’d missed with her children—the small, everyday rituals they’d cherish the rest of their lives—and to be given the chance to take part in them at last was nothing short of a miracle.

“Sarah’s like you, Zia Caroline,” Gina decided, when Lidia finally closed the book.

Callie laughed. “You mean, plain and tall?”

“No,” Gina said, shocked. “You’re pretty. You look a lot like Mommy. But you’ve come to look after us because she can’t anymore, and that’s what Sarah did in the story, as well.”

“Yes.” Stabbed by one of those sudden pangs of loss that crept up on her so frequently, Callie dropped a kiss on her daughter’s head. “And just like Sarah in the story, I’ll never leave you.”

Clemente tugged on her sleeve. “Or me?”

“Or you, sweetheart.”

His father closed the library door, went directly to the antique carved butler table where coffee and liqueurs waited, and poured two glasses of grappa. “All right, there’s no one here now but the two of us,” he said, handing one glass to Paolo. “So tell me, my son, what’s really behind this preposterous idea of marrying Caroline Leighton?”

“I already told you. I want to put the pieces of the twins’ lives back together, the best way I know how.”

His father curled his lip scornfully. “And we both know you don’t need to marry that woman, to do it. Or, if you feel you must take a wife in order to provide a mother figure, that there are a dozen other women more suited—possibly a hundred!—who’d jump at the chance to take on the job.”

“But none as dedicated as Caroline to your grandchildren’s welfare. Even you can’t deny that she loves Gina and Clemente.” His gaze clashed with his father’s. “I expect you to find that reason enough to give us your blessing, even if you disapprove of my choice.”

For a long moment, their gazes remained locked in silent combat—two men used to getting their own way, Paolo thought grimly, the difference being that the elder had years more experience in winning.