“I do.”

The kiss was feather light, but when he lifted his head, she sucked in her breath at the satisfaction gleaming within onyx depths. She didn’t have time to think about it, because she was thrust into his arms and given champagne while the truth vibrated through every nerve ending in her body.

She loved him.

She was in love with Michael Conte. For real.

Venezia squealed with excitement and held Dominick’s hand. “I’m so happy! Now, we have another surprise for you. We’re sending you to our second home in Lake Como for a honeymoon night. You need some privacy without worrying about your family sleeping downstairs.” Her eyes sparkled, and she handed the keys to Michael. “Leave now and we won’t expect you back till tomorrow night.”

Michael frowned and glanced toward his mother. “I thought we rented it out for the season? And I don’t feel comfortable leaving her before I confirm she’s okay.”

Somehow, the woman’s sharp sense of hearing kicked in. She shot her son a look that should have withered him on the spot. “Oh, you will go, Michael and Margherita. The house is empty for the next month, so you might as well take advantage. The girls will take care of me and call immediately if anything changes. You will not rob me of the satisfaction of giving you a honeymoon night.”

Unbelievably, heat rushed to Maggie’s cheeks. She’d gone skinny-dipping, handled naked men on her job, and watched Alexa give birth to her niece without a hiccup of shyness. Now, the very idea of sleeping with her husband with his mother’s staunch approval caused her to blush. What the hell?

Venezia whispered something to Dominick and then tugged Maggie off to the side. Her eyes, so like her brother’s, shone with an inner light that took Maggie’s breath away. The woman interlaced their fingers and gently kissed her hand. “Thank you, Maggie.”

“For what?”

Her face grew serious. “For what you did. I know you probably dreamed of your own wedding with Michael in the future, and I also suspect Michael rushed this engagement for me. You’ve changed him. When he came to apologize to me, he admitted he never realized how he acted until you told him. I can only hope you know how much you mean to this family. You’ve given me a gift—the opportunity to marry Dominick this summer—and I’ll never forget it. I’m so glad you belong to us now.”

As Venezia hugged her, a part of Maggie’s soul broke off. The oozing pain of deceit and longing swallowed her whole, but she managed to fight it back with the long years of practice in being alone.

* * *

Within the hour, she found herself tucked neatly in Michael’s Alfa Romeo, racing down the narrow, twisting roads heading toward the lake. He’d changed into faded jeans and a casual black shirt. His hair blew loose around his face, occasionally masking his expression from her sight and adding that pirate sexiness that appealed to her baser side. Her tummy fluttered and her panties grew damp. She shifted in her seat and pulled her mind from the gutter.

“What are we going to do?” she asked bluntly. “Have you even thought this whole thing through? Are we going to tell Alexa and my brother? What if your family visits the States? What about Venezia’s wedding?”

He gave a deep sigh as if she worried about nonsensical items instead of a marriage. “Let’s not worry about that now, cara. I think we need a night alone to work out some things between us.” His pointed look held a smoldering undertone of lust. She fought a shiver. Damn him for controlling her with sex. She’d always been the one in charge, and that’s the way she liked it. Maybe it was time to turn the tables.

“Sorry, silly female that I am. Why worry about such things as vows to God and divorce? Let’s have some fun. Oh, I know a great subject to talk about. Your mother told me you used to race cars.”

His hands clenched on the steering wheel. Bull’s-eye. Guilt pricked her conscience as he seemed to struggle with his words. “She told you, huh? We never talk about that anymore,” he murmured. “I raced when I was young. My papa got sick, and it was time to head the family business, so I gave it up. End of story.”

He seemed calm, but the sudden distance in his demeanor told her emotions simmered beneath the surface. She softened her voice. “You were good. You could’ve gone pro.”

“Probably. We’ll never know.”

The wind whipped her hair and the scenery whizzed by. “Do you resent having to give it up?” she asked curiously. “You never wanted to run La Dolce Famiglia, did you, Michael?”

His profile reminded her of carved granite. A muscle worked in his jaw. “Does it matter?” he asked. “I did what I had to do. For my family. I have no regrets.”

Her heart squeezed and broke open. Without thought, she slid her hand across the seat and grasped his. He threw her a startled look. “Yes, it matters. Have you ever even recognized and mourned the loss of something you loved? Not your father. Your dream. You were getting close to something you’d always wanted and suddenly it was ripped away from you. I’d be severely pissed off.”

She got a chuckle from him but he kept his gaze on the road. “My papa and I had a difficult relationship,” he admitted. “He looked upon my racing as a dangerous, selfish hobby. Eventually, he pushed me to choose—my career or the family bakery. I chose the circuit, so he told me to leave. I packed my stuff, went on the road, and tried making myself a name. But when I got the call that he had a heart attack, and saw him so frail and sick in the hospital, I realized my wishes weren’t as important as I originally thought.” He shrugged. “I realized sometimes others have to come first. As Papa once told me, a real man makes decisions for everyone, not just himself. I owed it to everyone to make the business work, and I did. In a way, I have no regrets.”

She stared at him a long time “Do you miss it?”

He tilted his head as if considering her question. Then shot her a grin. “Hell, yes. I miss racing every day.”

Dear God, this man was going to break her apart. Not only was he honest, he never viewed his self-sacrifice in any negative manner. How many men had she dated who whined about anything that didn’t please them or fit perfectly into their own wants or needs? No, Michael held a core of beliefs she’d never experienced with another lover. “Your family is lucky to have you,” she whispered.

He didn’t answer. Just squeezed her hand as if he’d never let her go.

They reached the vacation home a few hours later. Maggie inwardly laughed at the Contes’ version of a rental. The elaborate mansion held its own helicopter pad, lagoon, gardens, and hot tubs. Ivy climbed over the massive brick walls and matching clock tower surrounded by jungle greens and elaborate gardens. The cobblestone path led up a massive staircase where an open terrace held comfortable rocking chairs and was connected to a full bar. Polished marble, brightly colored mosaic tiles, and rich chocolate browns and gold made up the color scheme. A warm breeze flew through the rooms from the open windows, and the scents of lilac and citrus flooded her senses.

Her heels clicked on the gleaming tile as Michael grabbed a bottle of wine and two glasses from the bar, then led her upstairs. One door opened up to a huge bedroom with a king-size platform bed. The balcony doors were opened as if they were expected and the room was already prepared. A full bouquet of bloodred roses sat on the high table, serving as the centerpiece of the room. She walked over the rich Oriental carpet, admiring the carefully placed antiques and fine white lace curtains. Then she realized her husband stood to the side, hip propped up against the bureau, studying her from across the room.

Maggie swallowed. Suddenly, a rush of pure terror overtook her. This whole thing was too much—the bed, the wedding, and her realization of her true feelings for her count. The ground broke beneath her and she scrambled for footing. Her nails curled into her fists in an urge to grab for leverage. Damned if she’d let her voice shake like a virginal bride. She chided herself for this type of behavior and straightened her spine.

“Do you want to go to dinner?” she asked.

“No.”

The blood thickened in her veins. His lip quirked upward in a half smile, as if he sensed her sudden awkwardness.

She stuck her chin out and refused to break his gaze. “Do you want to go for a walk in the gardens?”

“No.”

“Take a swim?”

“Nope.”

She crossed her arms in front of her chest to hide the obvious thrust of her nipples. “Well, what do you want to do? Just stand there making googly eyes at me?”

“No. I want to make love to my wife.”

Grief ripped through her. His wife. God, how she wanted it to be real.

“Don’t say that,” she hissed. Maggie grabbed on gratefully to the anger that burned in her blood. “I’m not really your wife and we both know it. You promised to leave me alone. No sex.”

He closed the distance and took her in his arms. The concern and tenderness on his face broke her in two. “La mia tigrotta, what is wrong? I would never do anything you didn’t want.” He stroked her hair back from her face and tipped her chin up.

“This is a lie.” She blinked back blinding tears, enraged at her weakness before him. “We’re a lie.”

His breath rushed over her lips and he kissed her gently, slipping his tongue inside to tenderly mate. She longed to fight him but her body weakened under each hot stroke and his musky scent. She opened for him and gave back, digging her fingers into his shoulders as every carved muscle pressed against her curves.