Beautifully Broken (The Montebellos Book 6) Page 15

  Oh, it wasn’t warm, not by any stretch of the imagination! This was still deepest, darkest winter in the north of Italy, and yet without the snow, the weather was calmer, and the caution regarding flying was certainly a thing of the past.

  And yet, reality still felt like something on the distant periphery of her mind. Inside his home, it was warm and cosy, the tree they’d set up twinkling with lights, the kitchen smelling of spiced baked goods and mulled wine, everything ticking a box for her of the perfect Alpine Christmas she’d always, always longed for.

  To top it all off, they’d spent the afternoon watching Isabella’s favourite Christmas movie, The Christmas Chronicles.

  “So? What did you think?” She asked, her chest on Gabe’s shoulder. “But be warned,” she angled her face to his. “I could never respect a man who didn’t love this movie.”

  He grimaced as though in physical pain. “Then I suppose I shall have to say I love it.”

  “But didn’t you?” She held her breath.

  His grimace turned to a smile. “I admit, I enjoyed it. For a Christmas movie.”

  “Awww,” she playfully punched his bicep. “Look at you getting all festive and soft.”

  He arched a brow, looking for a moment so quintessentially hard-hearted and ruthless that for a moment a rush of ice trembled down her spine. Somewhere along the way she’d forgotten that he was, in fact, a behemoth of industry, a man renowned in corporate finance circles for his hard-headed negotiating style. Then he relaxed into a smile and she warmed up all over again.

  “I would not go that far.”

  “No, nor would I,” she agreed.

  “Is it my turn now?”

  “What for?”

  “To choose a movie.”

  “Oh.” Her heart thumped. Pleasure at the fact he wanted to prolong this ran through her. “That depends. What’s it going to be?”

  “Don’t you trust me?”

  She stared at him, stricken. It was like being tilted off the edge of the earth. Trust him? Did she?

  She nodded without realising it, her mind clunky as she grappled with the realisation that there was something about Gabe that did, indeed, make her trust him. It was based on nothing but instinct. She felt as though she was truly, completely safe with him. She felt as though she belonged with him.

  The thought was terrifying; she pushed it aside abruptly.

  “So? Hand over the remote control.” She eyed the device to her left, then looked back at him. Taking her hesitation as an intention to deny him, he moved quickly, reaching across her, so in a split second she decided to thwart him, grabbing for the remote at the same time. He was bigger and stronger, but didn’t monster her. His body came over hers, his legs pressing down on hers, his presence knocking everything from her mind except the perfection of this.

  “Holding out on me, huh?” He challenged. “And here I thought we had a deal.”

  “You didn’t tell me what movie you’re going to put on,” she panted between snatched breaths, her lungs full of his intoxicating male aroma, her head weakened by her awareness of him as a sexual being.

  He was strong, and he was powerful, and though he respected her boundaries, he also seemed to know exactly what she wanted and needed. One of his hands caught both of her wrists, clamping them above her head, pressing them to the arm of the plush leather sofa in the same motion that he pushed up and straddled her, his burgeoning arousal between her legs unmistakable.

  “You said you trust me.” He rolled his hips then, nudging her legs apart, his body simulating such a sensual motion that she groaned, tilting her head back, surrendering to him in every way – whatever movie he wanted to watch was fine with her; whatever he wanted to do with her was fine by Isabella as well.

  “I do.”

  Their eyes locked and something like electricity sparked between them, something bright and bold and beautiful and then he was kissing her, pushing that same feeling and spark deep inside of her with every flick of his tongue. It was a kiss of dominance and possession, a kiss that welded her to the sofa and bonded her to him, a kiss that spoke of all the things they never did – trust, promises, everything he’d said he wouldn’t – couldn’t – offer. It was a kiss that stole her breath and heated her veins, a kiss that made her impatient for him all over.

  “The movie can wait?” He teased, his free hand finding the waistband of her shirt and pushing it up so his fingertips could connect with her bare stomach. Goosebumps chased across her body. She nodded her agreement and moaned into his mouth, her legs lifting to wrap around his waist, drawing him closer to her.

  It was impossible to think about the fact it hadn’t snowed in twenty four hours. It was impossible to think about the fact she was living on borrowed time. It was impossible to think at all. He stripped their clothes from their bodies with a sense of reverence matched only by his urgency, and then his hand was back at her wrists, clamping them as he had before, his powerful frame weighing hers down, his knee nudging her legs apart as he pushed into her, his body moving effortlessly and perfectly, every motion exactly what her body craved, driving her inexorably towards a tipping point that only Gabe could take her to.

  Her legs clamped hard around his waist, pressing into his sides in a way that offered no impediment to his motion. He shifted to his own rhythm, his needs in tune with hers, so that their crescendo was mutual and shared, the room filled with the sound of their combined noises, his deep and guttural, hers throaty and intense.

  As they reached a simultaneous explosion, his hands moved, his fingers catching hers and weaving through them, his eyes open and lancing hers, the possession so much more intimate with those small gestures of connection. She fell apart beneath him in every sense, her eyes buried in his, their gazes locked in an unbreakable, vital way. The power of what they’d shared shifted something in her gut; she felt it, and knew she was changed by it, only she had no idea what to do with that knowledge. Everything was different, nothing made sense, and yet she was overwhelmed with a sense of rightness and contentment. She was, in that moment, truly, unshakably happy.

  “It’s not a Christmas movie,” she laughed, as the credits rolled. “I’m sorry, just because it happens to take place at Christmas time and there’s some allusion to gifts and decorations, doesn’t mean it’s festive. And you know that.” She jabbed her finger into his chest, her other hand holding the tub of ice cream.

  “I – and more importantly – the internet, disagrees with you, cara. Die Hard is absolutely a Christmas movie. Arguably the most famous.”

  Isabella pursed her lips. “I think you’re missing the point of a Christmas movie marathon.”

  “Am I?”

  “Well, yeah. It’s meant to be movies about Santa and the North Pole and Presents and elves and…I don’t know, uplifting things.”

  “Well, John McClane saving the world from terrorists is unpo uplifting, no?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Yes, but in an ordinary action movie kind of way, not a Christmas movie way.”

  “I think we will have to agree to disagree.”

  “I think you’re right,” she nodded, spooning some ice cream into her mouth straight from the tub.

  Isabella got to select the next movie. She chose Home Alone. “It’s a mix of action and Christmas, so there’s something for both of us.”

  They laughed at the humorous scenes, and at the end, when Kevin was reunited with his family, Isabella’s eyes misted over. She dashed the tears away, shaking her head. “The first time I saw this movie was when I was about eleven, I think. I loved it so much. His family –,” she shook her head, pausing to gather her thoughts. “They’re exactly what I wanted. I never had an idealised version of family in mind, you know, everyone happy all the time. I imagined families were just like this – busy and loud, chaotic, full of little conflicts and dramas, but ultimately, everything underpinned by love.” She sighed. “Did you love it?”

  His eyes were heavy on her face, scanning her tear-
moist eyes, and then he nodded. “Isn’t there a sequel?”

  Her heart lifted.

  “You’re not bored of this yet?”

  “Bored?” He frowned. “Why would I be?”

  At the end of Home Alone 2, something jagged in her mind. “Turtle Doves!” She jumped up from the sofa and strode into the kitchen. The tree was still twinkling, the lights a soft gold. “Look.” She reached a delicate ceramic bird from the middle of the tree, taking a few steps until she reached its matching pair. “You have a set of Turtle Doves.”

  “Si.”

  “I’ve never seen them in real life.”

  His features were rigid, his eyes unconsciously betraying sympathy. “They are widely available.”

  “I guess so. It never occurred to me. Strange, because I love the idea.” She smiled, then lifted the ornament onto the tree, placing it just a few branches below its pair. “You know, they’re not meant to be kept together, though.”

  “Like in the movie?” He teased.

  “It’s true. The whole thing with turtle dove ornaments is that they’re about friendship. You’re meant to give one away, as a form of connection even when you’re not near one another.”

  “I never thought about it,” he said with a casual lift of his shoulders. “Yaya bought a set for each of us, I believe. There’s a village not far from here she used to travel to every October. The Christmas shop did the most delicate ornaments, each of them handmade, glass decorations hand-blown then etched with nativity scenes. She ordered these as we were born, meaning each of our sets is slightly different.”

  “Wow.” Not for the first time that day, Isabella felt tears dance on her eyelids. “That’s really beautiful. Your Yaya sounds like someone I’d love to meet.”

  “So why don’t you?”

  Gabe couldn’t have said who was more surprised by his suggestion: him or Isabella. It was a spontaneous invitation, but the more he thought about it, the more sense it made. He’d seen what Christmas meant to Isabella, and heard her talk about how much she wanted a family. Well, he couldn’t give her his, but he could at least give her the perfect Christmas with a family just like she’d described – loud, imperfect, and full of love. It had driven him crazy for years. He’d resented them and their intrusiveness, even when he’d known it had come from a place of love, but until he’d met Isabella, he’d never realised how lucky he was to be a thread in such a complex tapestry. It was right that he share that with her, just this one Christmas.

  “If the weather holds, we can go to Villa Fortune in the morning.”

  Her eyes were impossible to read. He hated not knowing what she thought of the idea.

  “It’s stopped snowing,” she agreed after a moment, her voice a little higher in pitch than usual.

  “Yesterday.”

  She bit down on her lower lip. “I know.”

  “I checked the helicopter this morning. It’s sound to fly, so long as the weather holds.”

  She looked towards a window. It was dark outside, and for the first time in nights, the sky showed a blanket of stars twinkling overhead, pinpricks of light against a black velvet backdrop.

  “But it’s your family Christmas.” She bit down on her lip – a habit she had when she was nervous or searching for words.

  “What else are you going to do, Isabella? You have no accommodation booked, and being Christmas, you’d struggle to find anywhere with availability. Come stay with me, and I’ll take you to the airport after Christmas.”

  “The airport?”

  “So you can go to America as planned,” he reminded her with a quizzical lift of his brow.

  “Right, of course, America.” She was parroting him in yet another sign of uncertainty. He expelled a slow breath, trying not to show frustration. Just because he was firmly of the opinion that this was the right course of action didn’t mean she would necessarily agree. He busied himself in the kitchen, collecting coffee cups and dinner plates, carrying them to the sink.

  “You could just drop me in Florence,” she said quietly, and every cell in his body rejected that idea. He didn’t want to leave her in some enormous city to spend Christmas alone. Knowing what the holiday meant to her, how could he do that?

  “It doesn’t mean anything,” he said, cutting to what he instinctively felt to be at the root of her hesitation. “You don’t need to worry that I’m offering you more than we’ve discussed. Nothing’s changed.”

  He had his back to her so didn’t see the way consternation strained her features.

  “No, I know.” Her voice though was a little unsteady. He looked over one shoulder, but she’d turned to the Christmas tree where she was neatening the tinsel.

  “Bene, do not complicate a simple invitation. Come to Villa Fortune; eat, drink, be merry with my family and then I will take you wherever you want. Okay?”

  He couldn’t say why, but Gabe found he was holding his breath, waiting for her to agree. He stood perfectly still, waiting, one hand pumped into a fist at his side.

  “Well, I can’t exactly stay here once you’re gone,” she said quietly. “And you should go be with your family right away. You should have left this morning.”

  Yes, he should have. It had been the first thing he’d thought of when he’d woken, and he’d checked the helicopter with that in mind. But then one thing had led to another and he’d been hesitant to walk away from her. He supposed he still was – why else would he suggest this? It was, in many ways, ill-conceived. His family spent their lives on Gabe-watch, permanently worried about him, analysing his moods, interfering in his life, miserable at his state of perceived loneliness despite the fact he was exactly how and where he wanted to be.

  He was torn between manoeuvring her into fitting in with his suggestion and facilitating her wishes. With a slow exhalation of breath, he turned to face Isabella.

  “Would you prefer to go to Florence straight away?”

  She bit down on her lip. “Do you really think I’d struggle to get accommodation?”

  He thought of the apartment his family owned in that city – a plush penthouse near the duomo – somewhere she’d be more than welcome to stay until her flight. Ashamed of his instincts, he nodded. “The hotels would be booked. But you could try.”

  Her face was impossible to read; he didn’t know what she was thinking and frustration nipped at him. Finally, she nodded. “I’ll see what’s available online.”

  His gut clenched. He wanted to fight that decision with everything he was. He hadn’t expected her to opt for that. Pride held him silent though. Gabe Montebello was not a man to beg, and begging Isabella for a little more time felt like the wrong hill to die on. After all, her departure was imminent and necessary. This was a snatch of something out of time, but she would leave, and his life would resume its usual rhythms.

  Gabe looked toward the window with a frown.

  His usual rhythms?

  Something like frustration rolled over his central nervous system. The last seven years felt as though he’d been living in black and white. Everything was dark and monochromatic, and largely silent, too, as though he’d been living in a Charlie Chaplin film but without the slapstick comedy. He couldn’t pinpoint when that had changed, but in the last few days, everything was bright again. The world was a multi-coloured orb and he a part of it. He couldn’t pinpoint when but he knew why.

  Isabella.

  Her head was bent, her finger zipping over the screen of the phone, a frown on her face.

  Something worrying like uncharacteristic nervousness flittered through him as he strode towards her, his hands catching her wrists and separating them, drawing the phone towards the kitchen bench.

  “Come with me.”

  “Where?”

  His smile was instinctive. “To my home. Come, meet my family, stay a couple of nights.”

  “It’s too complicated.”

  He lifted a single brow. “Why?”

  “Because –,” she shrugged.

 
He wanted to ride roughshod over whatever she had to say but in yet another uncharacteristic behaviour, he was silent: waiting, watchful.

  Her sigh tickled his throat. “Gabe, you’re –,”

  More waiting.

  Another sigh.

  Her hand lifted and curled in his shirt. “Is that really what you want?”

  That he could answer without missing a beat. “Si, Isabella. Or believe me, I would not have made the offer.”

  His helicopter was the last word in luxury – all sleek, modern and expensive looking, with white leather seats, wood grain details and darkly tinted windows. She sat in the front with him, the buckle fitted between her legs making her conscious of him the entire flight. Or perhaps that was the way he expertly navigated the helicopter, his tanned fingers spinning dials and flicking buttons, his concentration fierce at take-off then relaxed as he tracked them south, the movement and direction obviously innately familiar to him, as though he did this trip often.

  “I have no idea what to do about my car,” she said into the headset as they took off, her eyes peering through the window, trying to see a remnant of the vehicle to no avail.

  “I’ll have my staff retrieve it and deal with the hire car company. They can send your luggage to your preferred forwarding address.”

  Surprise had her brows lifting. “Gosh, this hotel really offers five-star service...”

  He bared his teeth in a swift grin. “Nothing but the best for guests at Il Nido.”

  “Even the unwanted ones.”

  “You were never unwanted.”

  Her heart stammered and doubts plagued her, regret already forming that she’d agreed to join him at Villa Fortune. Not because she didn’t want to, but because she did, with – she feared – all her heart. Was it possible that desire for Gabe was morphing into something else? Something much, much more dangerous, because it was an impossible reality? Falling for him in anyway outside of the narrow parameters they’d established would be foolish in the extreme. She couldn’t do it.