Read Bought by Her Italian Boss for Free Online Page B

into the house, then watched her wander it as he made a call, allowing her to listen as he greeted someone with a warm, “Cara. Come stai?”
    Gwyn took it like a punch in the stomach, wondering how crazy she was to agree that he could call her his lover if he already had one.
    The restored mansion was unbelievable, she noted as she clung to her own elbows and stared at the view of Lake Como that started just below the windows off the breakfast nook. The rest of the interior was warmly welcoming, with a spacious kitchen and May sunshine that poured through the tall windows and glanced off the gleaming floors with golden promise. Family snapshots of children and gray-haired relatives and the handsome owner and his wife adorned the walls, making this a very personal sanctuary.
    This felt like a place where nothing bad ever happened. That’s what home was supposed to be, wasn’t it? A refuge?
    Would she ever build such a thing for herself, she wondered?
    Gwyn moved into the lounge and lowered into a wingback chair, listening to the richness of Vittorio’s voice, but not bothering to translate his Italian, aching to let waves of self-pity erode her composure. She felt more abandoned today than even the day her mother had died. At least then she’d had Henry. And a life to carry on with. A career. Something to keep her moving forward. Now...
    She stared at her empty hands. Vittorio had even stolen her phone again, scowling at its constant buzz before powering it down and pocketing it.
    She hadn’t argued, still in a kind of denial, but she was facing facts now. She had no one. Nothing.
    In the other room, Vittorio concluded with, “Ciao, bella,” and his footsteps approached.
    He checked briefly when he saw her, then came forward to offer the square of white linen that was still faintly damp and stained with her mascara.
    So gallant. While she felt like some kind of sullied lowlife.
    She rejected it and him by looking away.
    “No tears? That doesn’t speak of innocence, mia bella ,” he jeered softly.
    She never cried in front of people. Even at the funeral, she’d been the stalwart organizer, waiting for privacy before allowing grief to overwhelm her.
    “Is that all it would take to convince you?” she said with an equal mixture of gentle mockery. “Would you hold me if I did?” She lifted her chin to let him see her disdain.
    “Of course,” he said, making her heart leap in a mixture of alarm and yearning. “No man who calls himself a man allows a woman to cry alone.”
    “Some of us prefer it,” she choked out, even though there was a huge, weak part of her that wanted to wallow in whatever consolation he might offer. She’d had boyfriends. She knew that a man’s embrace could create a sense of harbor.
    But it was temporary. And Vittorio was not extending real sanctuary. They were allied enemies at best.
    He wasn’t even attracted to her. He thought she was a criminal and a slut.
    “Just show me where I can sleep.” She was overdue for hugging a pillow and bellyaching into it.
    His silence made her look up.
    “Paolo is still tied up questioning Fabrizio. His wife has very kindly offered her wardrobe.” He waved toward the stairs. “She has excellent taste. Let’s find something appropriate.”
    “For?” She glanced down at her business suit, which was a bit creased, but in surprisingly good shape despite her colossal besmirching.
    “Our first public appearance,” he replied in an overly patient tone, like he was explaining things to a child.
    “You said we just had to wait out the scandal for a few days.” A strange new panic began creeping into her, coming from a source she couldn’t identify.
    “Oh, no, cara ,” he said with a patronizing shake of his head. “I said that the worst of the scandal should pass in a few days. We are locked into our lie for a few weeks at least. You don’t get seasick, do you? The wind might come up this evening and the dinner cruise could get rocky.”
    * *