Revenge at Bella Terra

  She ought to point out that she looked like hell.

  No, she ought to keep her mouth shut.

  “I’ve got something for you,” he said.

  “About time,” she breathed.

  “No, not that.” He strolled across the office, his gait reminding her he was dangerous, a man of depths and secrets. Delving into his pocket, he pulled out a Tiffany blue box tied with their signature white satin bow.

  Her breath caught.

  He went down on one knee, slid the bow off the box, opened it, and brought out another, smaller black velvet box.

  “Oh,” she whispered.

  He popped that box, showed her the black satin interior with Tiffany & Co. embossed on the top part of the inner satin cover . . . and the glittering rings within.

  The platinum wedding band was set with white diamonds separated by platinum crosses. Beautiful . . . but Chloë had trouble focusing on the band. It was the engagement ring, and the size and color of the center stone, that commanded all her attention.

  “It’s a one-point-seven-two-carat pink diamond,” he said. “Set with two white diamonds on the side. I thought it was beautiful and symbolic of our courtship.”

  Tears rose in her eyes. Silly tears . . . why should his gesture affect her like this?

  “Courtship?” She half laughed. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

  But the fact was—they were already married. He didn’t have to do this. And yet here he was, this strong and wonderful man, on his knee before her, fulfilling her girlhood dream of the perfect man at the perfect time with the perfect ring.

  “Maybe for you it wasn’t a courtship. I always knew what I wanted.”

  More tears in her eyes, and one that escaped. Hastily she wiped it away.

  “Last time I proposed, I wasn’t on my knees,” he said.

  “Last time you proposed, it wasn’t a proposal.” Her voice wobbled, and she steadied it. “It was a demand.”

  “Last time I proposed, I was angry at myself for being so precipitous. Now I want to ask you—would you spend the rest of your life with me?” He looked so serious, as if her answer mattered . . . as if he loved her.

  She knew he didn’t. He’d never said the words, and if he had, she wouldn’t have believed him anyway. He was too damaged for love.

  But she knew she was healing him, civilizing him, and maybe someday soon his soul would open and touch hers.

  When she didn’t reply right away, he took her hand. “We have a lot of talking to do, about what we want in our lives, but I swear I’ll take care of you, Chloë. I’ll support you in your writing. You’ve done so much for me, and I’ll do everything in my power to make you happy.”

  “I would like to spend the rest of my life with you”—she stroked her fingers through the dark warmth of his hair, and her voice was wobbling again—“and I promise to take care of you, too, and do everything in my power to make you happy.”

  “Thank you.” He pressed a kiss on her fingers, and his voice vibrated a little, too. “Thank you.” He cleared his throat. “Listen, Tiffany’s was really nice about the rings and told me to bring you back so you could pick out the one you want. Because if you want a different ring, I’m fine with that.”

  “No! I can’t imagine a better choice than this set.” She grinned. “I’ll get a pink highlight in my hair to match.”

  He surprised her when he grinned back. “You do that.” Taking the diamond-encrusted wedding band out of the box, he brought it to the end of her finger. “You’re sure this is the one?”

  “I’m sure.”

  He slowly placed it on her finger.

  The cool metal warmed quickly as she flexed her hand.

  “Is it the right size?” he asked.

  “It seems perfect.”

  “I measured your finger last night while you were asleep,” he said smugly.

  “Of course you did.” She couldn’t imagine Eli leaving anything so important to chance.

  Next he plucked the engagement ring from its nest and slowly slid it on next to the wedding band. The pink diamond’s emerald cut flashed with glorious color. Its clarity was like looking into a deep, sunlit pool in a fantasy world. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” she whispered.

  “Not even close.” He stood and took her in his arms, and held her as if she were more precious than any diamond. “Would you like to go out tonight?” he asked, his voice slow and warm and deep.

  No. I want you to show me a reason to stay in. “If you like.”

  “I thought we’d go down to the resort and celebrate.” He smiled crookedly down at her.

  Smile at me like that, and I’ll go anywhere and do anything. “I guess this all means the marriage is still on?”

  She expected him to laugh, not kiss her until she remembered, in slow, meticulous detail, every moment of last evening . . . or at least the part leading up to their leaving for Reno.

  “The marriage is definitely still on.” He sounded almost hoarse, as if the effort of keeping himself in check were wearing on his resolve. “It will never be over.”

  “Then why don’t we stay in?” she whispered.

  “Let me take you out to dinner. Let me do one thing right.”

  “You’re obsessed with doing one thing right. You need to realize—you definitely do one thing right.” She rubbed her hand down his spine.

  He looked down at her, all dark-eyed smoky passion, and stroked her hair off her forehead. “You’re a miracle,” he said.

  She didn’t feel like a miracle. She felt like a woman driven by frustration and uncertainty, and the need for a shower.

  He acted like a man who desperately wanted her . . . but what did she know? Apparently nothing.

  Taking her by the shoulders, he turned her toward the door. “Go put on some clothes. Put on something pretty . . . like your dress yesterday. I promise you’ll enjoy the evening.”

  When Eli and Chloë walked into the Luna Grande Lounge, she came to a halt.

  A long, white cloth–covered table was set with eleven old-fashioned blue-and-white plates and heavy silverware and filled with people: Nonna, Olivia, Bao, and a lot of people she didn’t recognize. As inquiring faces turned their way, she asked, “Eli?”

  “I invited my family.”

  “What’s up, Eli?” A handsome man—he had to be Eli’s brother—lounged at the far end of the table. “What’s making you suddenly social?”

  “I’d like you all to meet Chloë.” Taking her hand, Eli lifted it and showed her rings to the room. “My wife.”

  Chapter 34

  The roar that went up from Eli’s family and friends made Chloë catch her breath and take a step back.

  They were on their feet, all of them, rushing in an incredulous tidal wave to shake Eli’s hand and hug her, or hug them both, and all of them were laughing and talking at once.

  Eli pulled Chloë in close, and in that quiet way of his, he said, “Calm down. Calm down! You’re scaring Chloë.”

  Still laughing, the crowd backed off a little.

  Eli introduced them.

  Nonna, of course, pink cheeked and smiling, with Olivia off to her side and Bao standing back, arms crossed, watching the whole group and everything around it.

  Eli’s brother Rafe and his new wife, Brooke—they were pleased, yet at the same time, so involved with each other they saw Eli’s marriage as a logical extension of their own love story.

  Francesca Pastore, easily recognizable as one of the most beautiful women in the world, and Kathy Petersson, former air force officer, now forced by rheumatoid arthritis to use a walker. Proud mothers-in-law of Rafe and Brooke, both loved the excitement.

  Francesca demanded to see the ring, appraised it with a shrewd eye, and in her exotically accented voice said to Eli, “Spectacular, caro. I never expected to see such a gesture from you. It must be love.”

  Eli laughed softly. “The stones are beautiful, but nothing to compare with my wife.”
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  Francesca tapped him on the cheek and turned to accept a flute of champagne from Tom Chan.

  Noah, the youngest Di Luca brother and blessed with the family’s good looks and charm, hugged Chloë hard, kissed the top of her head, and said, “I don’t know what you see in my oldest brother, but if you really want to tie yourself to that old man—well, welcome to the family.”

  Tom Chan grinned broadly, poured champagne for everyone, and proclaimed himself the matchmaker who brought them together.

  Victor Ruíz, the resort’s concierge, stood in the door diverting the resort’s guests by explaining it was a private party.

  And it was a party.

  Eli placed Chloë at the head of the table and sat at her right hand. The champagne and then the wine flowed as one course followed another, and when the dessert appeared—chocolate mousse with fresh-peeled mandarin orange slices soaked in Grand Marnier—Chloë stood. “I have to use the ladies’ room.”

  “So do I,” Nonna said promptly.

  Bao and Olivia rose at once.

  “Me, too.” With Francesca’s assistance, Kathy laboriously got to her feet.

  Brooke jumped up. “I thought we’d never go.”

  Eli looked at his brothers. “Why do they go together?”

  “They’re like gazelles—they travel in packs,” Noah answered.

  “Stuff it, Noah.” Brooke tucked her hand into her mother’s arm and helped her navigate her way through the lobby and into the restroom.

  Like the rest of the resort, the ladies’ room was clean and beautifully designed, with cream marble counter-tops, fired blue ceramic sinks, blue art-glass lighting, and a long row of stalls. French vanilla potpourri lightly scented the air, and in a small waiting room elegant stools sat in front of lighted makeup mirrors.

  As if they were synchronized, the women entered the stalls, left the stalls, and washed their hands, then rushed into the waiting room. There, where the light was the best, they demanded to see Chloë’s rings.

  She held out her hand first to Brooke, then Kathy, then Francesca, then Nonna, then Olivia. Even Bao, the tough bodyguard, seemed impressed with the gems that sparkled for joy.

  Francesca examined them the longest. “A very impressive array. A man who gives jewelry like that is trying to tell a woman something.”

  “That he loves her,” Olivia said solemnly.

  “I don’t think so,” Chloë said, then clapped her hand over her mouth. She must have been tipsy or she wouldn’t have admitted it out loud. But it was too late; she couldn’t pull it back. “Eli isn’t in love with me. Not yet. But he has potential”—she smiled as laughter rippled through the bathroom—“and I have great hopes.”

  “Chloë, I can’t help but think Eli must love you,” Brooke said. “I can’t imagine another reason he would marry you.”

  “Honey!” Kathy said in horror.

  Brooke rolled her eyes in embarrassment. “I didn’t mean it like it sounded. I meant—he’s such a loner. I never imagined he’d actually get married unless he found someone appropriate, his age, who knew the wine business and Bella Valley and would be the perfect helpmate when it came to promoting his wines. You, Chloë—you’re beautiful, you’re charming, you’re young, you’re intelligent, you have your own career—you’re the antithesis of the woman I thought he would marry. So I believe you’ve captured his heart.”

  Nonna looked from one to another and smiled fondly.

  “I hope you’re right.” Chloë caressed her rings and thought how nice it would be to think he loved her.

  “Well, really,” Brooke said to the group. “What other reason would he have for marrying her?”

  Abruptly, Chloë’s lighthearted sense of intoxication vanished. What other reason could Eli have for marrying her?

  Chapter 35

  What other reason?

  He’d insisted on the wedding because they’d had sex and his sense of honor demanded they make it official.

  When she thought about it like that, the whole state of affairs seemed outrageous, this party surreal, and a very real alarm caught her by the throat.

  What other reason could he have for marrying her?

  Chloë started to speak, to speculate.

  The door of the bathroom burst open and a group of three women rushed in. One of them headed right into a stall. The other two halted at the sight of the Di Luca party.

  An attractive brunette of about thirty-five saw them, her eyes lit up, and she said, “Brooke Petersson! I heard you got married, and to Rafe Di Luca of all people. Is it true?”

  “Yes, Karina, it’s true.” Brooke took on a militant posture. “It’s Brooke Di Luca now.”

  “It’s about time!” Karina swept in and hugged Brooke. “After all those years of him leaving you and you hanging around Bella Terra waiting and waiting, I imagine this must be a huge relief.”

  Caught in a bruising embrace, Brooke looked over Karina’s shoulder at Chloë with an I-want-to-kill-her expression clear on her face.

  Chloë didn’t blame her. After thirty seconds in Karina’s company, Chloë had her number. This Karina, whoever she was, was not someone well liked; nor was she someone to be trusted. She was one of those women who loved to slip the knife right between the ribs.

  Karina was married, of course. She wore a nice ring, not too big, not too small, but it was the only moderate thing about her. She talked too loud and too fast. Her clothes were expensive and worn too tight, as if she didn’t want to admit to the encroaching weight gain. In Bella Terra’s casual resort atmosphere, her overly plucked brows and exotic eye makeup were too dramatic.

  In an aside, the careless kind important people give to the elderly, she tossed out, “Hello, Mrs. Di Luca, hello, Mrs. Petersson.”

  Both women stiffened at her dismissive tone.

  But Karina had chosen the wrong opponents.

  “Karina, it’s good to see you.” Kathy leaned on her walker and smiled in a direct way that made Chloë recall Kathy’s military background. “I was talking to the Di Luca women about my shop and how many people are using me to create fruit and cheese platters for their parties. How did your party go last week?”

  Karina took a quick, embarrassed breath. “The party was good, and you did such lovely platters. I’ll be by tomorrow to pay you for my last extravaganza!”

  Kathy inclined her head. “I’d appreciate that. I’d hate to think you couldn’t afford to pay your bills.”

  Wow. Score one for Kathy.

  With a smile that verged on a smirk, Nonna moved smoothly into the conversation. “Karina, I’d like you to meet the newest member of our family, Eli’s new bride, Chloë Di Luca.”

  Karina’s jaw dropped, actually dropped open.

  The woman coming out of the stall froze in her tracks. She darted an alarmed glance at Karina and whispered, “Oh, my God.”

  The other woman hid a smile behind her hand.

  Chloë didn’t know what was going on, but she knew Nonna had used her as ammunition against Karina. Not that Chloë objected—but Nonna was a sweetheart, which meant Karina really, really made her cranky.

  Karina snapped her mouth shut. “Eli Di Luca got married?” Her gaze slid up and down Chloë as if Chloë were a well-traveled road. “To, um—”

  “Chloë is a New York Times bestselling author of a marvelous mystery.” Nonna took Chloë’s hand and squeezed it. “Eli’s been helping her with her research for her next one and here we are, with a new member to the Di Luca family!”

  “Well,” Karina said brightly. “Isn’t that nice!”

  The women behind Karina leaned on each other and laughed silently.

  “I can see you two in the mirror,” Karina snapped.

  They both froze and sobered.

  “Let me see the ring.” Karina snatched Chloë’s hand in a strong grip. “How cute. A pink sapphire!”

  Francesca started to say something.

  Chloë shook her head. “Yes.” She smiled brightly at Karina. ??
?It’s a pink sapphire.”

  “And the other stones are . . . ?”

  “Diamonds, of course.” Chloë put on her shocked face. “You don’t imagine Eli would settle for anything else?”

  Even those lesser diamonds were enough to make this Karina person turn pea green with envy. “Of course not. Not Eli. He is quite a, uh . . . well. He’s a Di Luca. I’d love to know how you caught him.”

  “It was no secret,” Nonna chirped. “She wasn’t even trying.”

  At the killer expression on Karina’s face, Chloë edged toward the door. The other women in the Di Luca party followed and stood outside in the lobby, as wide-eyed as if they’d narrowly escaped torture and death.

  “Who was that?” Chloë asked.

  “Sorry, dear, we should have introduced you,” Nonna said.

  “No.” Chloë shook her head. “Definitely you shouldn’t have. She’s got such an attitude!”

  “She’s Karina DuPey.” For a pleasant woman, Brooke could sneer quite effectively.

  “The wife of the police chief? Oh. Well. In the South, when we talk about a woman like her, we always say, ‘Bless her heart,’ because of the clothing and the makeup.” Chloë looked at the group with a limpid gaze. “Also, it’s less direct than calling her a bitch.”

  They laughed and started slowly back to the Luna Grande.

  “I’ve known that girl for twenty-three years, and she’s always been overly impressed with her position in this town.” Kathy’s mouth was puckered as if she’d bitten into a lemon.

  “I take it Eli used to date Karina?” Chloë asked.

  “Right you are,” Brooke said.

  “His taste has improved,” Francesca drawled.

  “Right again,” Chloë said.

  “I think she convinced herself he hadn’t married because he was in love with her.” Nonna couldn’t have sounded more sure.

  “So much for that fond delusion,” Brooke said cheerfully.

  In the Luna Grande, the men seemed to have multiplied, and Chloë realized why Karina DuPey was in the ladies’ room—it looked like a police convention in here.