Her heart thudded. Her mouth went dry as he opened the box and pulled out a magnificent princess-cut diamond with tiny emeralds around it, set in a simple white-gold setting.
“Pia Alessandra Vito, will you be my wife?”
“Oh.” It was all the sound Pia could make, all the response her brain could come up with. Because just as she knew this theater, she knew of this ring too.
It was the ring with which Giovanni had proposed to Lucia. The ring that Lucia had sent back to Gio after their fight. Another tremor slid down her spine as she stared at it.
Something about this ring made fear bubble up in her.
“Pia?”
She jerked her head up, met his gaze and the desire she saw there fragmented her silly fears. “I’m sorry. I… Gio gave this to you?”
“Si.”
“When?”
A shadow fell over that dark gaze. “Is that important?”
The impatience brewing in his carefully controlled tone told Pia how insensitive she was being. Heart thundering, she extended her left hand to his and smiled. “Yes, I will be your wife, Raphael.”
With a victorious smile, he slid the ring onto her finger. Pulling her down to his lap and sinking her hands into his thick hair, Pia poured herself into his kiss. His mouth was warm and fluid over hers. They kissed softly, slowly, nibbling at each other, playing with their tongues, until passion was simmering in their very blood. With an arch of her back, restless with need, Pia wiggled in his lap. The length of his hard erection caressed her buttocks, sending a groan from her lips.
With a chuckle, Raphael pushed her off him and settled her in the next seat. Still in a haze, Pia gazed widely and he brushed a kiss over her temple. “If you wiggle anymore in my lap like that, cara mia, I will shame myself and then we’ll have to leave before you see this grand production of Rigoletto. And then you’ll not forgive me for spoiling your evening.”
A hush fell over the theater and the red curtains were pulling aside when Pia murmured, “I think I would forgive you anything, Raphael. As long as you keep kissing me like that.”
* * *
Raphael gently tapped on Pia’s shoulder while the audience clapped thunderously at the end of an outstanding performance of Rigoletto. This particular story wasn’t a great favorite of his but even he’d been moved by the top-notch performances and the intricately detailed sets.
Or maybe it was the woman he had shared the experience with. The woman who now belonged to him, body and soul. For a man who had vowed never to marry again, it was a bit of a shock to realize he very much wanted Pia’s soul to belong to him too.
A savage sense of satisfaction pounded through his veins, made even hotter by the magnificent drama they had just seen. Not even the pride he had felt when he had made his first million, or when he had bought back the house his father had lost to creditors, could parallel his sense of possessiveness as he stared at the diamond glittering on Pia’s finger.
She hadn’t come to Teatro Alla Scala on his arm because it was the “in” thing to be enjoying high culture or to be seen in designer outfits, but to immerse herself in the drama played out on stage. She had tears in her eyes because she could see the majesty of the theater through her Nonni’s eyes and relive it for her.
Pia had watched transfixed, every emotion portrayed on the stage reflected on her own face.
And watching her, understanding the depth with which she felt things, Raphael couldn’t help but be moved. Couldn’t help but feel a strange turmoil that he couldn’t calm.
They emerged from the theater into the pulsing energy of the pedestrian square. Something feral throbbed in his veins and since he didn’t want to scare Pia, he offered, “We’re mere steps from the Duomo. Would you like to get a gelato to cool off? Or a coffee, which by the way I should remind you is an espresso in Italy and not the watered-down junk you call coffee?”
She turned to him and the candid emotion he saw in her eyes rooted him to the spot. “Not tonight, thank you. Nothing could top that performance.”
As if it were an uncomfortable, unwanted weight, she twisted the ring on her finger. She had fiddled with it self-consciously during the performance too.