Postcards From Rome. Maisey Yates

once had she been asked. Not really. Her parents had spoken to her about what she would do. About what her duty was, about the purposes of women and what they had to do to be fulfilled. But no one had ever asked her if it would fulfill her. No one had ever asked her anything at all.

      But he was asking. And that made something warm glow inside her.

      It made her want to tell him.

      “I want to travel. And I want to go to school. I want to get an education.”

      “To what end?” he asked.

      “What do you mean?”

      “What do you wish to major in? Business? History? Art?”

      “Everything.” She shrugged. “I just want to know things.”

      “What do you want to know?”

      “Everything I didn’t before.”

      “That is an incredibly tall order. But one that is certainly possible. Is there a better city in the world to learn about history? Rome.”

      “Paris and London might have differing opinions. But I definitely take your point. And yes, I agree I can get quite an education here simply by being here. But I want more.”

      He began to pace, and there was something in that stride, attention, a purpose, that made her feel a bit like a small, twitchy little field mouse standing in front of a big cat. “Why shouldn’t you have more? Why shouldn’t you have everything? Look around you,” he said, sweeping his hand in a broad gesture. “I am a man in possession of most everything. For what reason? Simply because I was born into it. And yes, I have done all that I can to ensure I am worthy of the position. I assumed the helm of the family business and have continued to navigate it with proficiency.”

      “That’s very nice for you,” she said, mostly because she had no idea what else she was supposed to say.

      “It could be very nice for you,” he said, leveling his eyes on her. Her skin prickled, somewhere beneath the surface, where she couldn’t tamp it down, not even by grabbing hold of her elbows and rubbing her forearms vigorously.

      “Could it?”

      “I am not going to be coy. I am a billionaire, Ms. Abbott. A man with a limitless supply of resources. Ashley was not as generous with you as she might have been. But I intend to give you the world.”

      She felt her face growing warm. She cleared her throat, reaching up and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, just so she had something to do with the reckless energy surging through her. “That’s very nice. But I only have the one backpack. I’m not sure the world would fit inside it.”

      “That is the catch,” he said.

      “What is?”

      “You will have to give up the backpack.”

      She blinked. “I’m not sure I understand.”

      “I am a man with a great deal of power—that, I should think, is obvious. However, there are a few things I am bound by. Public perception is one of them. The extremely conservative ideals of my parents are another. My parents have gone to great lengths in my life to ensure that I became the man that I am today.” His jaw seemed to tighten when he said that, a muscle there twitching slightly. “And while I was certainly pushing the edges of propriety by marrying Ashley, I did marry her. Marriage, children, that is what is expected of me. What is not expected? To have a surrogacy scandal. To have it leak out to the public that my wife conspired against me. I will not be made a fool of, Esther,” he said, using her first name for the first time. “I will not have the Valenti name made foolish by my mistake.”

      “I don’t understand what that has to do with me. You’re going to have to be very direct, because sometimes I’m a little bit slow with shorthand.”

      He frowned. “Just how small is that town you’re from?”

      “Very small. Very, very small.”

      “Perhaps the size of the town makes no difference. Admittedly, we are in a bit of an unprecedented situation. Still, my course is clear.”

      “Please do enlighten me.”

      He paused, looking at her. Which shouldn’t have been significant. He had looked at her before. Lots of times. People looked at each other when they talked. Except, this time when he looked at her it felt different.

      But this was different. Whether or not that made any sense, it was different. His gaze was assessing now, in a different way from what it had been before. As though he were looking deeper. Beneath her clothes, the thought of which made her feel hot all over, down beneath her skin. As though he were trying to see exactly what her substance was.

      He looked over her entire body, and she felt herself begin to burn everywhere his gaze made contact. That strange, restless feeling was back between her thighs, an intense heaviness in her breasts.

      She sucked in a sharp breath, trying to combat the sting of tears that were beginning to burn there. She didn’t know why she wanted to cry. Except that this felt big, new and completely unfamiliar. Whatever this was.

      “Esther Abbott,” he said, his words sliding over her name like silk, “you are going to be my wife.”

       CHAPTER FOUR

      ESTHER FELT LIKE she was dreaming. She had a strange sense of being detached from her body, of looking down on the scene below her, like it was happening to somebody else and not her. Because there was no way she was standing in the middle of a historic mansion, looking at the most beautiful man she had ever seen in her entire life, his proposal still ringing in her ears.

      Beautiful was the wrong word for Renzo, she decided. He was too hard cut. His cheekbones sharp, his jaw like a blade. His dark eyes weren’t any softer. Just like the rest of him, they were enticing, but deadly. Like broken edges of obsidian. So tempting to run your fingers over the seemingly smooth surface, until you caught an edge and sliced into your own flesh.

      It struck her just how ridiculous it was, fixating on her mental use of the word beautiful. Fixating on his appearance at all. He had just stated his intention to make her his wife. His wife.

      That was her worst nightmare. Being owned by a man again. She couldn’t stand it. Never. Yes, Renzo was different from her father. Certainly this was a different situation. But it felt the same. It made her feel like her throat was closing up, like the walls were closing in around her.

      “No,” she said, panic a clawing beast scurrying inside her. “That’s impossible. I can’t do that. I have goals. Goals that do not include being your... No.”

      “There is not a single goal that you possess that I cannot enable you to meet with greater ease and better style.”

      She shook her head. “But don’t you see? That isn’t the point. I don’t want to stay here in Rome. I want to see the world.”

      “You have been seeing the world, have you not? Hostels, and dirty bars. How very romantic. I imagine it is difficult to do much sightseeing when you are tethered to whatever table you are waiting at any given time.”

      “I have time off. I’m living in the city. I have what I want. Maybe you don’t understand, but as you said, you had very much of what you possess given to you. Inherited. My legacy is nothing. A tiny little house with absolutely no frills in the middle of the mountain range. And that’s not even mine. It’s just my father’s. And it never would’ve passed to me. It would’ve gone to one of my six brothers. Yes, six brothers. But not to any of my three sisters. You heard that number right, too. Because there was nothing for us. Nothing at all for women. Though, I’m not entirely certain that in that scenario the boys have it much better.” She took a deep breath. “I’m proud of this. Of what I have. I’m not going to allow you to make me feel like it’s lacking.”

      “But