Shadow Rider
Page 142

There was that first moment she’d been aware of their shadows touching. It sounded crazy but, from the time she’d been a child, if her shadow touched someone else’s shadow, she “felt” them. With Stefano that knowledge had been deep and instantaneous. The chemistry had been off the charts. Most of all, she’d known he was a good man in spite of all the evidence to the contrary. She’d fallen and there was no going back.
“I’m in love with you, Stefano,” she said softly, “so I live with whatever it is you have to do.”
That declaration earned her his body again. This time he started out slow and ended up fast and rough. It was perfection.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The next two weeks passed in a flurry of activity. Francesca felt as if she’d been swept into a wild wind. Somehow, Stefano had gotten it into his head that her acceptance of him meant they were getting married immediately. To him, “immediately” meant as soon as the paperwork was done. She had no idea how it all happened, only that each day she went to work, somewhere in the middle of the afternoon and sometimes even the morning, Pietro would get a call and she’d find herself in the car with Emilio, Enzo and their sister, Enrica, going to some crazy fitting or consultation.
Emmanuelle and her cousins, along with Eloisa, seemed to be planning the event of the century, something Francesca wasn’t at all comfortable with. She tried to talk to Stefano, but he shook his head and just kissed her senseless. Finally, realizing she wasn’t going to be able to keep her job and not have poor Pietro calling in substitutes every morning, she gave in to the inevitable, giving her notice, telling herself Stefano hadn’t really won that round, even though she knew he had.
In the evening, after a particularly grueling day looking at flowers and talking about colors and ice sculptures, she was grateful to just work in their kitchen, preparing the shrimp pasta Stefano requested. She hadn’t seen him for most of the day. He’d been at work and when he came in, he looked tired and unsettled—something she was beginning to recognize when he didn’t like a particular report on something. He sat down at the table, taking the chair close to hers, something he always did because his knee could touch her thigh and she was in easy reach.
“You do realize that we’re being snowballed into a church wedding and they’re planning to have it in another couple of weeks,” she began. “Your sister and Eloisa have gotten this thing together so fast my head is spinning.”
“Leave it, dolce cuore—there’s no way in hell to stop them. Just let them do their thing. We’ll show up, get married, party and everyone will be happy. They don’t mind doing the work—in fact they want to do it, so if we don’t care, let them.”
She hadn’t thought of it like that. Still. “I thought we’d just go to the courthouse or something.”
He kissed her knuckles and then picked up his fork to eat the shrimp pasta. “Not a chance. Not in our family. Why are you nervous, Francesca? I’ll be waiting for you at the end of the aisle.”
She ducked her head, unable to meet his eyes, torn between smiling at his arrogance, and crying because he had no way of understanding. He had an enormous family. There would be no one sitting on her side of the church. “I’ll be walking up the aisle by myself and will probably fall on my face, especially if Emmanuelle has her way and I have to walk in four-inch heels.”
His head came up alertly. His gaze slid over her face like the stroke of fingers. Loving. Gentle. Tender even. “Long dress, bambina, that means you can wear any fucking thing you want on your feet. Or go barefoot. As for walking you down the aisle, Emilio asked for that privilege. You don’t want him, any of my cousins will be happy to oblige. Enzo and Emilio arm-wrestled or something and the winner asked me. If you prefer Pietro or someone else, just say so.”
The idea that Emilio and Enzo had arm-wrestled for the duty of walking her down the aisle made her suddenly want to weep. She had grown very fond of them both. To cover up the emotion threatening to choke her, she changed to the subject that worried her the most.
“What happened at work? There are shadows in your eyes, Stefano.” She willed him to answer. She’d already accepted what he did to protect others and she didn’t want him to shut her out.
Stefano sighed and reached back to rub at his neck. “The girl I told you about a couple of weeks ago.”
“The teenager?” Francesca put her fork down and picked up her napkin, suddenly afraid. Please, please don’t let him say she was dead.
He nodded. “Her name is Nicoletta Gomez. The investigations were completed and it’s far worse than I originally thought. I’m going to have to leave tomorrow, Francesca. If I wait too much longer, she might not survive the next attack.”