Under the Sicilian Sky Page 12

  “I won’t. I like your house—it’s beautiful.”

  “Our house. Come, you must be tired. You were up at five this morning and haven’t stopped all day. Let’s go get something to eat then early to bed. I have meetings in the morning, but you can sleep as long as you want.”

  “Can I have a bath before bed?” She slid her hand up his thigh.

  A sexy laugh rumbled up from his chest. “Only if I get to wash your back.”

  “I can agree to that.”

  He stood and tugged her into his arms. “Of course, if you want to bathe first . . . ”

  As his lips descended, his phone rang, the now familiar ring tone that indicated a call from Farrah. Bella tensed. Would he answer it or continue his seduction? He dropped a quick kiss on her lips then reached into his pocket and retrieved his cell.

  After the greeting, Bella lost the conversation as it continued in Arabic. She’d have to ask Matteo if he had a phrase book she could borrow. Or maybe she’d download one of those online courses. Matteo’s gaze skidded to her. Were they talking about her? She strode over to the bathroom and closed the door.

  She might not be competing with the house but the woman on the other end of the phone . . . Matteo said he didn’t love her, but he obviously had some feelings for this Farrah.

  Tomorrow, when she was well rested and dressed to impress, she’d get Matteo to introduce her to his business partner. Tonight, however, she’d have to go to dinner as the slightly crumpled sheep farmer. It would be nice to freshen up, but she hadn’t seen her bags since she’d claimed them at the airport. The driver had dropped them as close to the house as possible, but the car couldn’t make it down the narrow alleyway. She settled for a quick wash and a fluff of her hair.

  When she emerged from the bathroom, her suitcases had arrived but Matteo was gone. Opening the bedroom door, she could hear muted voices in the courtyard below. She peered over the balustrade to see Matteo hugging a woman with long, curly, black hair. Bella’s stomach joined them three floors below as the woman glanced up. The femme fatale in her husband’s arms was the most beautiful person she’d ever seen.

  The woman’s eyes narrowed when she caught sight of Bella watching them. She whispered something in Matteo’s ear before she stepped away from him.

  This just got real.

  • • •

  “Your wife is watching,” Farrah said, pulling out of his arms. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She wore the hijab only when traveling in very religious areas. Here in Tunis, she dressed more Western, like today’s knee-length floral dress and open-toe sandals.

  He wasn’t in the habit of hugging his business partner, but the Saks Fifth Avenue buyer had agreed to meet with him in New York next week. To get into the American market would be huge for them, allowing them to expand to more villages, more women in need of work and financial security. More children would now escape poverty.

  Of course that would be the moment Bella looked down from the balcony. He turned and gazed up at his wife. Having watched her go on two dates with other men, he knew exactly what was going through her mind.

  “Tesori,” he called up to her, “come meet Farrah.”

  Bella disappeared, and he held his breath. Would she come down or wait him out upstairs? Should he go to her and reassure her there was nothing between him and his business partner?

  He’d just decided to go and check on her when she appeared in the courtyard. She’d changed from the jeans and shirt she’d traveled in to the white dress she’d worn on the beach for their date. Dio, what if she was naked beneath the cotton? His mouth went dry, and it took two tries to make the introductions.

  “I’m pleased to meet you,” Farrah lied.

  “Same here,” Bella replied.

  Was it just his imagination, or was there a definite feline hiss in his wife’s response? Although he knew it was wrong, her possessiveness sent a tiny thrill through him.

  “Farrah came to tell me some great news. We got the meeting with the Saks’ buyer. We’re going to New York at the end of next week.”

  “New York?” Bella did not look impressed.

  She hadn’t been home since their marriage. Surely, she’d like to catch up with old friends, maybe even attempt a reconciliation with her parents. Now that he was no longer a poor vegetable farmer, they might even look favorably upon him. It was one more thing he could give to Bella: her family back.

  “I should let you go,” Farrah said. “I just wanted to give Mario, I mean Matteo, the good news in person.”

  “We were just about to get something to eat,” Bella said. “Please join us.”

  Matteo searched his wife’s face. What game was she playing? Was she trying to flaunt their relationship in Farrah’s face?

  “I’m sure you’d like to be alone,” Farrah answered. She took two steps closer to the door.

  “No, really, Farrah.” Bella moved toward the other woman. “I promised Matteo I would integrate into his life for two weeks. You are very much part of that life. I’d like to get to know you.”

  Farrah’s gaze drifted briefly to his, and he read the uncertainty in her eyes. While it would be nice if his wife and business partner got along, he wasn’t holding out much hope for it.

  “Thank you for the invitation. I’d like to get to know you, too.”

  “Excellent.” Bella turned to him. “Okay, Matteo. Show us ladies a good time.”

  There was a devilish twinkle in his wife’s eyes that he didn’t trust.

  He was in serious trouble.

  Rather than take his hand, Bella latched on to Farrah’s arm. “So, Matteo has told me very little about you. Only that you are invaluable to his business and he met you in the market. How did you get into making pottery? Is it a family thing?”

  He trailed behind the two women as Farrah talked about her work. From the back, they were remarkably similar. Bella was a little taller; they both had long dark hair, although Farrah’s was black to Bella’s brunette. And they had a way of tilting their heads to one side when considering something. But when he looked at his wife, his chest filled with warmth.

  They arrived at the restaurant where he’d booked a table for two; thankfully, the woman at the desk was more than happy to switch tables for them.

  “What does your family think about you working and traveling with Matteo?” Bella asked as they were seated. She had taken the place on the bench next to Farrah, leaving him to sit across from them.

  “My family doesn’t know. I ran away from an arranged marriage and haven’t been home since.”

  “From the little I know of your culture, that must have been very hard for you.”

  “It was. But sometimes you must do something, even though it hurts, because you know if you don’t you’ll never be able to live with the consequences of inaction.”

  Goose bumps rose on his skin as his eyes met Bella’s. It was not advice he wanted her to dwell on at the moment. He cleared his throat. “In addition to overseeing the artisan cooperatives, Farrah is an artist in her own right. She’s compiling pieces to exhibit soon.”

  Thankfully, the ensuing discussion about art shows and working with clay took them through to dessert, which both women declined. Bella wore the tight smile she used when pretending she enjoyed something, like yet another meal of artichokes and bell peppers. Farrah’s eyes held a hint of the longing he usually only saw when she cuddled a child. Despite the air-conditioning, trickles of sweat ran down his back, hidden by his suit jacket.

  His business partner was the first to make a move after he paid the bill. “If you’ll excuse me, I have some early calls to make tomorrow. Mario—sorry, I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to calling you Matteo—do you want me to make arrangements for New York, or will you?”

  “I’ll do it. It’s Bella’s hometown, so I’ll tap into her expertise.”

  “Great. Good night, Bella. I’m glad I got to meet you.”

  “Thank you, Farrah. I enjoyed getting to
know you as well.”

  Bella’s gaze followed Farrah until she left the restaurant. When she turned back to him, there was an odd light in her eyes. “So, what’s the real story between you two? You may not have slept with her, but you wanted to, didn’t you?”

  Could he signal the waiter to bring him another drink? “I may have . . . at one time . . . considered a personal relationship with her.”

  “Before you regained your memory or after?”

  He drained the water in his glass. Bella deserved the truth. “I originally returned to Sicily to end our marriage if you hadn’t already divorced me in absentia. But from the second I laid eyes on you again, I knew I had to see if that’s what I really wanted.”

  “But you have more in common with her than you do with me. You’re a Tunisian businessman, not a Sicilian farmer like I am.”

  “And when we married, I was a Sicilian farmer and you were an American heiress. Commonality doesn’t guarantee a happy marriage and differences don’t mean it won’t succeed.”

  Bella’s gaze skittered from his, and she traced a water ring on the tablecloth with her finger. “Still, if things don’t work out with us, I think you should get together with her. She’s nice. I didn’t want to like her . . . but I do.”

  “Bella, we’ve had this conversation before. I love you. What I felt for Farrah was superficial. When I’m with you, everything is more intense—flavors, sights, sounds. It’s like you’re a lens focusing the best things in my life.”

  Bella’s eyes darted around the room before she rubbed her bare ring finger. “Well, thanks for telling me the truth. It would have been easy to lie and tell me there was never anything between you.”

  He released the breath he’d been holding.

  Had he dodged a bullet or loaded the gun?

  Chapter Thirteen

  Bella put down her book and stretched. Day three of her Tunisian adventure and she was bored. As much as she appreciated the break and the chance to relax and unwind, she wasn’t used to being idle. She still woke at six, but rather than get up to milk the goats, she made love with Matteo. Then he’d shower and go off to work while she went back to sleep for a few hours. He had staff to cook and clean so all she’d done was read in the courtyard until it got too hot, then puttered around the house.

  Aside from the kitchen, study, and two bedrooms, the rest of the place was only sparsely furnished. There were six more bedrooms, three of which had ensuite bathrooms, two receptions, and an open-air lounge with a padded bench along one entire wall. It was a palace. Shame her princess days were long over.

  Maybe she’d wander around the souk again. Matteo had taken her there last night and she’d stared, half the time mouth open, at all the incredible goods for sale. Unlike in Sicily, here the merchants had called out greetings and best wishes to her husband as he’d passed. Furnishing the rest of Matteo’s Tunisian palace could be fun, but she didn’t want to put her stamp on the place if she wasn’t going to stay. With each passing day, she could see he’d never return to life on the farm.

  “Excuse me, madaam, visitors are for you,” Tariq, the houseboy raced over to tell her. She’d never seen him walk anywhere, and the housekeeper, his aunt, was forever scolding him.

  “To see me?” She knew two people in Tunisia, aside from the household staff, Matteo and Farrah. Just then her cell phone rang.

  “One minute.” She held up her finger to Tariq; hopefully, he’d understand to wait. She’d heard him practicing how to say things to her in English, but he often didn’t know what she said to him in reply.

  The call was from Matteo—maybe he could shed some light on her visitors.

  “Hey, Matteo, there’s someone here to see me. Any idea who?”

  “They are there already? That was quick. It’s two students from the university who are studying biochemistry. I thought they could help you work out the formula for those lanolin-based creams you wanted to try. They have all the ingredients with them. If you need any equipment, just call and I’ll have it sent over.”

  “You knew I was bored, didn’t you?”

  He laughed. “I guessed. In Sicily I never saw you sit still for more than twenty minutes. But if you’re not interested or have other plans, just send them away.”

  “No. Now’s good. Thank you.”

  “Perfetto. I have to visit my resort in Sousse and deal with a minor issue there. Would you like to join me when you’re done? I can have a car drive you down; it takes about an hour and a half. We can spend the night.”

  “Sounds lovely.”

  “I’ll have a driver collect you at five. Enjoy your day, bellissima.”

  “Ciao, Matteo.”

  The two students spoke perfect English and certainly knew their stuff. But they weren’t pushy or condescending, listening to Bella’s suggestions and trying various combinations of ingredients without complaint. By the time the alarm she’d set for 5:00 p.m. rang on her phone, they had a formula that should work well. Bella couldn’t wait to whip up a batch with her own ingredients. Except they were all back in Sicily. She could send the recipe to Antonia and Bianka and let them make the first test samples. But product development had always been her baby. Until she returned, she’d have to settle for deciding how to package their new creams.

  Matteo’s driver was already waiting to take her to Sousse, so she ran upstairs, changed, packed an overnight bag, and was ready in ten minutes. Expecting a luxury car, like the one that had driven them from the airport to the medina, Bella hesitated by the door of the rickety old station wagon.

  “It is better to travel discreetly when we leave the city. The terrorist threat is still high,” the driver said.

  Bella nodded and got in, but her nerves were on edge for the entire journey. They went through three levels of security before she was ushered into the reception area of Matteo’s resort. If she did decide to stay with him, would they have a family here with the threat of terrorism so high? Could she let her children go to school wondering if they’d come home each day?

  Her husband rushed to her as soon as her foot stepped onto the white marble tiles. He kissed her briefly on the cheek and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. She’d noticed that public displays of affection were not common, so he was always discreet when they were out.

  “How was your trip down?”

  “A bit scary when the driver told me about the terrorists,” she replied.

  “It’s sensible to be cautious, but if you stop living, they’ve won.”

  True, but how hard was it to put into practice? Another adjustment she’d need to make.

  Matteo led her out the back of the reception area to a softly lit garden. The sun had just dipped below the horizon, leaving a blaze of pink and mauve glory. They walked through the garden, past an elegant water feature, until they arrived on the beach. Matteo slipped off his new handmade shoes and rolled up his suit pant legs.

  “Feel this sand, Bella. It’s like walking on flour.”

  She took off her shoes and followed him to the water’s edge. The sand was incredibly soft, the resort the most beautiful she’d ever seen, Matteo as loving and attentive as she could wish for. She forced a smile while digging her fingernails into her palms to stop the tears.

  She was treading water. The university students were excited about their future. She had plans for the farm. But personally? A family, children—did she want to go there? Aside from the first time, in the shower, Matteo always used a condom. If she had his baby, it would bind them together forever. He would never let her take his child from him. Part of her—the stupid, reckless part that had accepted Matteo’s offer of marriage within two weeks of meeting him—wanted to be pregnant, to have the decision made for her. But that wouldn’t be fair to anyone. If she stayed with Matteo, it had to be because it was what she wanted with all her heart, not because she had no other choice.

  She had a week and a half to see if Matteo’s life could give her what she needed. If she wasn’t happy then she
couldn’t make him happy and eventually that discontent would kill their love.

  Matteo wrapped his arms around her and she leaned her head against his chest.

  Finding the strength to walk away, if it came to that, was going to take every ounce of resolve she had.

  • • •

  Matteo searched among the grass and mud huts for Bella. They’d arrived at the Western Sahara village two hours ago. He’d been busy inspecting the completed pottery pieces, and Farrah had tried to explain to the women artisans that they were putting too much water into the clay mixture, making the final product too fragile to ship. Farrah stood now, with a child on her hip, supervising a group of women mixing the clay.

  But where was his wife? He rubbed the knotted muscles at the back of his neck with one hand.

  This was the latest village they’d added to their roster. The well had been dug for clean water but no school or medical facility built yet. He’d have preferred to show Bella one of their successes, but the work-in-progress had to suffice. If she stayed with him, she could come back a year from now and see the improvement. Then there’d be no doubt in her mind that what he did was important. Too important to give up.

  But he didn’t have a year.

  He swatted at a fly. If only the doubts about his marriage were as easily pushed aside. Bella had done her best to enjoy his lifestyle for the past nine days, but he knew she was restless. She called the farm daily for an update and seemed a little disappointed that everything was running smoothly without her.

  He found her ten minutes later in a small hut, surrounded by some of the older children. She was showing them the alphabet on her tablet.

  “There’s no school,” she said when she saw him at the hut’s entrance.

  “Not yet. Clean water first, then we build a school, then a medical center if there’s enough need.”

  “How long does that take?”

  “Usually a year for the school, two for the health care center.”