The Tuscan's Revenge Wedding (13 page)

The nurse returned to the room with a wheelchair a few
minutes later. This time, she could not be persuaded to leave without her
patient. He had been out of bed too long already, she said, and must not
overtax his strength.

Jonathan leaned to press a kiss to Carita’s forehead,
whispering his farewell in her ear, promising to come again. He clasped Nico’s
hand, and then allowed himself to be wheeled away.

Amanda walked beside him to his room, leaving Nico time
alone with his sister, just as she would have a little more time with Jonathan.

Her brother’s adventure had taken more out of him than he
wanted to admit, she thought. Once settled in his bed again, he accepted pain
medication without protest. The moment the nurse went away, however, he caught
Amanda’s hand, holding it in a close grip.

“What is it with you and Nico?” he asked. “Why is it you
only visit with him?”

“It’s nothing, really.” Her smile was wan as she noted the
worry in the depths of his gray eyes. “He was kind enough to suggest I stay at
the villa.”

“Kind?”

“He didn’t have to offer, after all, just as he doesn’t have
to arrange for me to come and go to see you.”

“That’s what bothers me, that he’s putting himself out for
my sister.”

“It’s just a courtesy. Italians are very hospitable, I believe.”

“Not to their enemies, they’re not! And I am his enemy, to
his way of thinking. He’d probably like to see me flayed alive for going out
with Carita behind his back, much less for the accident.”

“Why was that? I mean, why see her without him knowing?”

“A race car driver isn’t exactly the husband he’d prefer for
Carita, as you can imagine. She knew he’d kick up a fuss, make it hard for her
to keep seeing me even if he didn’t forbid it outright. Her idea was to get her
grandmother and aunt on her side first, let them help bring him around. I tried
to tell her we should…” He stopped with a quick shake of his head.

“Should what?”

“Face him, make a clean breast of it. But she was afraid.”

“Afraid of Nico?”

Jonathan shook his head. “Just of the whole family pressure
thing, tradition, duty, honor, all that. I don’t know, maybe she had it right.”
He gave her an anxious look. “You’ll be careful, Mandy, won’t you? These people
aren’t like us, not really.”

“The De Frenzas you mean?”

“They’re a breed apart, these billionaire upper crust
Italians, particularly the men. They play by their own rules, feel privileged
to do as they please within their own strict code.” He looked away for an
instant. “They have so many women throwing themselves at them they figure any female
is fair game.”

“As if women have never thrown themselves at you,” she said
with a wry smile, “or you haven’t caught your fair share of them.”

He colored a little, but turned back to her with
determination in his face. “That’s not the point.”

“What is, then? Carita is also a De Frenza, yet you have
hopes there.”

“She’s younger and not as tied to the past, prefers to go
her own way as long as it doesn’t hurt anyone.” He spoke with assurance, as if
he and Nico’s sister had discussed the problem and come to agreement.

“Maybe she can, maybe things aren’t as strict these days.
You can’t tell me wealthy Italians never marry super models, starlets or even
shop girls because I’ve seen stories in the papers.”

“I’m not talking about your normal millionaires. Nico is the
Conte de Frenza, you know, from centuries-old aristocracy. Guys like him may
keep a working class mistress now and then, but they marry their own kind.”

“Are you trying to say I should watch out for him?” Her
voice was light and half-amused, though it was an effort to keep it that way.
So Nico was a count. She hadn’t realized, though the crest above the entrance
to the Villa de Frenza should probably have been a clue.

“You’ve got it.”

She reached to touch Jonathan’s cheek, brushing her
fingertips over the soft stubble that shadowed his cheeks. “You don’t have to
worry, love. I’m not about to become any man’s mistress.”

His face cleared a little. “Good to know. Because I wouldn’t
put it past Nico to be plotting a nice little vendetta to make me pay for what
happened.”

“Oh, please.”

“Yeah, I know, too Machiavellian. But he could figure it’s
divine justice. You’ll be on your guard, just in case?”

She had no time to answer as the nurse reappeared, pushing
equipment ahead of her for checking his vital signs after his jaunt down the
hall. Not long afterward, her brother’s eyes closed in the middle of a
sentence. His features grew lax, the strain easing until he looked almost
boyish in his sleep.

Amanda stood holding his hand, smoothing her thumb over the
back of it. He had always tried to warn her about boys with an agenda. That he
was still doing it meant little except as a sign of his concern. It warmed her
heart, regardless.

Neither of them had mentioned the baby Carita carried. The
subject was too painful to speak of with ease when she could yet lose it. That
it might happen made Amanda ache inside for Jonathan.

Nico had said her brother would have to marry Carita, though
nothing could be settled until she regained consciousness. Yet what kind of
marriage did he envision if his sister was not to be allowed to travel to
Atlanta with her new husband? Did he expect a legal ceremony only, after which
Jonathan would be shuffled out of their lives?

If that was his idea, he was underestimating her brother.

But no. Family was of supreme importance in Italy. Surely
the De Frenzas would not attempt to prevent Jonathan from having a place in the
life of his child?

Where would that leave her if they did, Amanda wondered?
Carita’s child would be her niece or nephew, the only close family member she
had other than Jonathan. She would hate it if she was never allowed to see or
know the small mite.

When Nico tapped on the door a short time later, she was
ready to go. They took the same older corridors and half-hidden side exit they
had used before. Silently, they emerged from it and started across the small
courtyard which led to the street.

Camera flashes went off in blinding profusion. Television
lights came on in a white hot blaze as cameras swung in their direction and news
anchors, smoothing their hair, ran toward them. Within seconds, they were
surrounded.

Nico exclaimed in staccato Italian and flung an arm around
Amanda’s shoulders, pulling her firmly against his side. Thrusting one arm out
before him, he set his face in hard lines and shoved through the shouting mob.
At the parking garage, he snatched open the driver-side door of the Ferrari and
hefted Amanda inside with more strength than finesse. As she scrabbled across
the console and fell into the passenger seat, he slammed inside and set the
powerful vehicle in motion. They peeled away with the shriek of rubber while
paparazzi dove for safety on either side.

Amanda, fastening her seatbelt with shaking hands, glanced
behind them. “They’re coming after us,” she said, her voice so sharp it scraped
her throat.

Nico’s only reply was to floorboard the accelerator. They
whipped out of the parking garage, screeched onto a busy street to a blast of
car horns and squealing brakes, then sped away into the sun-bright afternoon. Driving
like a demon, he took out his cell phone, punched in a call and spoke in terse
phrases. Pressing the phone off, he tossed it aside. Then he put both hands on
the wheel and set the Ferrari flying.

Amanda soon lost track of the turns they made or streets
they took while staying ahead of a comet’s tail of following cars and vans.
They traversed an old section of the city, circled one piazza after another,
ran alongside the river and then left it behind. Diving into the commercial
section moments later, they slide into a side street. Ahead of them was a
parking garage with its door wide open. Nico headed for it without slackening
his speed. The door began to descend.

Amanda screamed and threw up her arms to protect her face.
They flashed inside just as the door rattled down, crashing shut behind them.
Nico braked so hard and fast that the seatbelts engaged, and Amanda jerked to a
stop against its unyielding constriction. She gave a soft grunt as she fell
back against the seat, then sat still while quiet descended around them.

When she lowered her arms and opened her eyes, they were
surrounded by dust-filled dimness that smelled of old oil and warm metal. She
moistened her lips, swallowed with a quick movement of her dry throat.

“Where did they — did we lose them?” she asked in somewhat
less than complete coherence.

“Wait.”

She heard it then, the sound of vehicles roaring past on the
street beyond the small cul-de-sac. It seemed there were hundreds, though it
might have been no more than a couple of dozen.

A moment longer and the pursuit died away in the distance.
All that was left was the faint rumble of the Ferrari’s engine, the small
creaks of cooling metal and the quiet breathing of the man beside her.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “We are in the parking garage for an
apartment building owned by my company. The supervisor is a good man, fast on
the uptake, even faster on his feet.”

“You told him to open the garage door.”

“A trick that has worked before,” he said with the shift of
one shoulder. “I should also apologize for the necessity of it. I knew we could
not avoid them forever, so should have made arrangements.”

“I don’t know what else you could have done.”

“Taken a heavier vehicle like the limo, put security guards
in place, arranged for stand-ins for the two of us as decoys — any number of
things. I suppose I thought interest in Carita’s accident was fading. She’s
never been a part of the fast crowd, never—”

“Never been involved with anyone like my brother,” Amanda
finished for him, her voice even.

“You think the paparazzi persist because of him.”

She stared at him in the gloom. “You think it was because of
the De Frenza name?”

He lifted a shoulder again.

“My brother has no small amount of fame as a race car
driver.”

“But not as much as he will now have for almost killing a
member of my family.”

“Fine,” she said, her voice trembling with delayed reaction
that was fast turning to anger. “Take the blame if you must, though Jonathan
has been a target before, as were my father and mother. Right now, I’d like
very much to return to the villa, preferably in one piece.”

~ ~ ~

Nico watched the woman beside him, a
shadowy figure stiff with irritation and so lovely in her courageous
self-possession that he could hardly keep his hands off her. Most women he knew
would be screaming wrecks after such a high-speed chase. Amanda Davies appeared
no more affected than if it had been an amusement park ride. She was even
willing to extend a certain amount of praise for his success in eluding their
pursuers.

It was amazing, how that good opinion warmed him, in more
ways than one.

Her lack of reverence for his family name was annoying, as
was her refusal to acknowledge its attraction to those who made a living
hounding the rich and famous. It was also refreshing beyond words. He was willing
to concede that some part of the lure for the paparazzi was her brother’s feats
on the race track, added to her father’s fame, but he knew well it was Carita’s
presence in the car that had gone off the road which attracted them.

He would give much to know if Amanda Davies truly doubted
that or was only pretending. To find out seemed a worthwhile object.

“You do realize photos of the two of us leaving the hospital
will be front and center on the majority of newspapers and all the tabloids of
Europe tomorrow.”

“I suppose.”

“And you know what the headlines will say?”

“That we were visiting Jonathan and Carita, what else? I
hope they don’t manage to sneak into the hospital.”

“Neither Carita or Jonathan will be disturbed as they’ll
have security from now on,” he said with a brief gesture toward his mobile.
“But whatever may have brought out the jackals, their photos will show my arm
around you and yours around me. Their headlines are certain to put us in bed
together.”

She searched his face while hot color bloomed across her
cheekbones. “That’s obscene.”

“But also inevitable.”

She closed her eyes, opened them again. “Surely something
can be done.”

“Not at the moment. A little damage control may be arranged
later.”

“Damage control of what kind?”

“It depends,” he answered in deliberate evasion. There was
no point in discussing it until he was certain. He went on with scarcely a
pause. “Before the excitement, I’d thought we might stop for lunch on the way
back to the villa. It still seems a fair option.”

“You’re hungry?”

“Being chased does that to me. What can I say?”

She sent him a quick glance, but apparently decided to
ignore the suggestion beneath his words. “Are you certain we won’t be ambushed
again?”

“I will do my utmost to see it doesn’t happen.”

She ran the fingers of one hand through her hair, releasing
its tangles. Leaning back in her seat, she tested her seatbelt then propped an
elbow on the door frame. “You’re driving.”

He gave a low laugh; he couldn’t help it. He was
ridiculously pleased that she was willing to trust him after their wild ride,
to accept that he could and would elude any further efforts of the paparazzi to
run them to ground.

He made another call. The wide garage door in front of them,
a mirror image of the one behind them through which they had entered, slid up
on its oiled track. Beyond it was an alleyway. Nico put the Ferrari in gear and
drove out into the warm afternoon sunlight.