A Hunger for the Forbidden - By Maisey Yates Page 0,26
as the media is concerned we do.”
“Why? Afraid of a little scandal? You’re a Corretti.”
“What do you want our child to grow up and read? Because thanks to the internet, this stuff doesn’t die. It’s going to linger, scandal following him wherever he goes. You and I both know what that’s like. To have all the other kids whisper about your parents. For our part, we aren’t criminals, but we’ve hardly given our child a clean start.”
“So we go out and look pretty and sparkly and together, and what? The press just forgets about what happened?”
“No, but perhaps they will continue on in the vein that they’ve started in.”
“What’s that?” She’d, frankly, spent a lot of energy avoiding the stories that the media had written about the wedding.
“That we were forbidden lovers, who risked it all to be together.”
It wasn’t far from the truth, although Matteo hadn’t truly known the risk they’d been taking their night together. But she had. And she’d risked it all for the chance to be with him.
Looking at him now, dealing with all the bruises he’d inflicted on her heart, she knew she would make the same choice now. Because at least it had been her choice. Her mistake. Her very first big one. It was like a rite of passage in a way.
“Well, then, I suppose we had better get ready to put on a show. I’m not sure I have the appropriate costume, though.”
“I’m sure I can come up with something.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
“SOMETHING” TURNED OUT to be an evening gown from the Corretti fashion line. It was gorgeous, and it was very slinky, with silky gold fabric that molded to her curves and showed the emerging baby bump that she almost hadn’t noticed until she’d put on the formfitting garment.
Of course, there was no point in hiding her pregnancy. She’d announced it on television, for heaven’s sake. But even so, since she hadn’t really dealt with it yet, she felt nervous about sharing it with the public like this.
She put her hand on her stomach, smoothing her palm over the small bump. She was going to be a mother. Such a frightening, amazing thing to realize. She’d been tangled up in finding Matteo, and then in the days since—had it really only been days?—she’d been dealing with having him back in her life. With marrying him. She hadn’t had a chance to really think of the baby in concrete terms.
Alessia looked at herself in the mirror one more time, at her stomach, and then back at her face. Her looks had never mattered very much to her. She was comfortable with them, more or less. She was taller than almost every other woman she knew, and a good portion of the men, at an Amazonian six feet, but Matteo was taller.
He managed to make her feel small. Feminine. Beautiful.
That night they were together he’d made her feel especially beautiful. And then last night he’d made her feel especially undesirable. Funny how that worked.
She turned away from the mirror and walked out of the bedroom. Matteo was standing in the hall waiting for her, looking so handsome in his black suit she went a little weak-kneed. He was a man who had a strong effect, that was for sure.
“Don’t you clean up nice,” she said. “You almost look civilized.”
“Appearances can be deceiving,” he said.
“The devil wore Armani?”
“Something like that.” He held his hand out and she hesitated for a moment before taking it and allowing him to lead her down the curved staircase and into the foyer. He opened the door for her, his actions that of a perfectly solicitous husband.
Matteo’s sports car was waiting for them, the keys in the ignition.
Alessia waited until they were on the road before speaking again. “So, what’s the charity?”
He shifted gears, his shoulders bunched up, muscles tense. “It’s one of mine.”
“You have charities?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t realize.”
“I thought you knew me.”
“We’re filled with surprises for each other, aren’t we? It’s a good thing we have a whole lifetime together to look forward to,” she said drily.
“Yes,” he said, his voice rough, unconvincing.
And she was reminded of their earlier conversation in the dining room. She’d asked him point-blank if he would be faithful, and he’d sidestepped her. She had a feeling he was doing it again.
She gritted her teeth to keep from saying anything more. To keep from asking him anything, or pressing the issue. She had some pride. She did. She was sure she did, and she was going to