Trust Me (69 page)

“Here,
drink this,” Sandra ordered, stepping in front of the girl who looked up; her eyes swollen, her nose red and her breathing escaping her lungs in deep sobs. Aryana took the glass obediently and sipped the liquid while Sandra walked to Creighton, tucking her hand inside his. They all stood silently in a thick tension that nearly robbed them of their breath, until Sandra decided to break it. She was quickly becoming angry and felt as though she could deal with the devil himself; so why not an arrogant Italian father?

“I
suppose you’re Aryana’s father?” she said boldly, watching the dark eyes turn to her.

“
Si
,” he said in a very deep, menacing tone, thick with a deep Italian accent. “And who are you,
segnorina
?”

“Sandra
Dennis,” she said flatly. “I’m Creighton’s fiancée.” She ignored the look of pride from the man next to her, focusing instead on the older man who narrowed his eyes.

“This
is impossible," he told her. “He has disgraced my daughter; he will marry her or I will see him pay for his betrayal.”

“There
is no betrayal to be bartered with,” Sandra said bitterly. “Your daughter’s child does not belong to my fiancée; it belongs to her husband.”
“That boy?” the old man scoffed glancing to Daniel, who narrowed his eyes. “He is not worthy of my daughter.”

“So
you would rather destroy two relationships just because you think your child is worth better?”

“I
do not see where this is any of your business,
segnorina
. This is between Creighton and me. Why do you not go do something useful and make some espresso?” Sandra narrowed her eyes as she looked at the man and she actually sensed Creighton shrink back a step as if to clear the space for a fight.

“Sure
thing,” she said, remembering a line from one of her favorite movies. “How do you take it? Black? A couple cubes of kiss-my-ass?” Creighton cleared his throat to cover up his sudden amusement, Aryana stopped sobbing and Daniel smiled. The old man, however, didn’t seem very amused by her remark.

“Now
listen to me,” he growled.

“No
you listen to me,” Sandra said, her anger full blown as she stood her ground. “Your daughter is a spoiled rotten brat and it’s your fault she’s like that. She expects the world to be handed to her on a silver platter; she spends money like its water and she pouts better than any three-year-old I’ve ever known. But besides that, she is an intelligent, beautiful, loving young woman. An adult who married the man she loves and she is having his child. I don’t give a damned how much you like it or not; she's made her decision in life and you’re going to have to live with it. She is going to be a mother in less than three months; are you willing to lose her out of pride, just because you don’t like her choice in men? Are you ready to risk never seeing your grandson, or are you going to act your age rather than your penis size and accept her decision and try to make peace with her before it’s too late?”

The
room was quiet as the two stood facing each other; older dark eyes stared in amazement and shock at bright green eyes that looked back in anger. Sandra’s heart was pounding between her ears; her palms sweating, but her breath surprisingly steady. She had never known herself to be so bold, but this man was making her so mad; she was willing to push the limits of fate.

“Is
this true?” the old man finally asked; turning slowly to address his daughter who stared at the two through wide swollen, red eyes. She nodded dumbfounded. “Where does Creighton fit into all of this? It was my understanding you were sneaking into his office to visit him.”

“She
was visiting Daniel,” Creighton said sternly. “He works as an intern at my Paris office. Most of the time I wasn’t even there.”

“Daniel?”
the old man said, staring at the young man who glared back at him. The boy stood up and took a step toward his wife’s father.

“I
am Daniel Keane; Aryana’s husband and father of her child.” The old man tilted his head to look at the boy as Creighton reached for Sandra’s arm, pulling her gently to his side and wrapping his arm around her waist. She didn’t object; she felt suddenly weak and needed a bit of the man’s strength and support to continue to stand straight.

“What
makes you think you’re worthy of my daughter?” the older man asked.

“”What
makes you think I’m not?” Sandra felt like cheering the boy’s audacity and smiled a half grin at him. The two men stared boldly at each other, until The Don sighed.

“I
expect some answers from both of you,” he told his daughter, looking from her to his new son-in-law. “In the meantime, I believe you owe Creighton an apology for all the trouble you’ve caused him and his…fiancée.” Aryana smiled suddenly, leaping from her chair and hugged Sandra around the neck, nearly knocking her off her feet. If it hadn’t been for Creighton’s strong arm around her waist, she was certain she would have tumbled back into the fireplace.

“Thank
you,” Aryana said through another bout of tears. “And I’m so sorry for all the trouble we’ve caused. Please let me know when the wedding is. I want to get you something wonderful.”

“Just
getting things straightened out with your father would be gift enough,” Sandra told her, returning her hug, if not enthusiastically. The young girl quickly turned to Creighton, hugging him just as forceful and whispered something in his ear that made him grin.

“
Segnorina
,” the old man said with a guarded smile. “You are an amazing woman; much like my beloved Zaira. I have not made the acquaintance of anyone so,
grandioso
in a very long while. Keep an eye on this one, my old friend,” he finished, turning to Creighton. “Don’t let her go; she's unique, a very rare gem.”

“Don’t
worry,” he said securing his grip on her a little tighter. “I don’t plan on ever letting her out of my sight.” The old man smiled broadly for the first real time and Sandra was taken back for a moment. He was really quite a handsome man when he wasn’t trying to be so intimidating. He stepped toward the door with Sandra and Creighton, followed closely by his sons as they stood waiting for Aryana and Daniel, who went to gather their belongings.

“American?”
the older of the boys asked, causing Sandra to turn to him; narrowing her eyes. He was tall and muscular, rather good looking, much like his father and about her age. His tone was thick with accent, his eyes penetrating, almost admiring as he stared into her green eyes.

“Do
you have a problem with that?” she asked as the second laughed.

“Typical,”
said the younger of The Don’s boys, sneering as he looked Sandra over from head to foot with a lustful grin on his pot-marked face. He was close in age to the other boy, about a foot shorter; barely a few inches taller than she was; he was heavy set with yellowing teeth and small eyes that looked like those of a crow. He was far less attractive than his brother and his tone was rasping, dripped with his heritage.

“Give
and American a little wine and some fancy words and they are in your bed in no time,” he continued. “Promise them roses and songs and they give you cream like a dairy cow.”

Sandra’s jaw
set as she faced the man who stood mocking her, smiling at her as if she was a prize to be won. She sensed Creighton’s reaction, but blocked his way from reaching the arrogant bastard and without warning or word spoken; she pulled her arm back and quick as lightening let it go into the man’s nose. He staggered backward a step before landing hard on his butt on the floor.

“Remember
that the next time you think to seduce an American and leave her to mend a broken heart.” The Don was at his son’s side in four large steps, grabbing him by the arm and yanking him to his feet.

“What
do you mean insulting Americans like that?” he said, slapping the boy across the face hard, first one side than the other, ignoring his broken, bleeding nose. “My mamma was an American. That makes you one quarter, you
bambino viziato
. Apologize to our guest for your ignorance.” He turned to his other son, who held up his hands as if to concede without saying a word.

“
Perdonare Segnoriana, Segnore
Ashford
,” the boy said through a swollen bloody nose, as he pulled a white handkerchief from his pants pocket and placed it to his nose.

“
Perdonare Segnorina
,” the older man said. “You have my deepest apologies for the troubles two of my children have caused you.” Sandra smiled at the man and placed her hand in the one he held out to her, but instead of shaking it, he raised it to his lips, kissing her knuckles.

“
Addio, bella signora
,” he said in a deep tone and turned to Creighton, and in Italian said, “
Sei un uomo fortunato. Non lasciate che il suo allontanarsi
.” Creighton looked to Sandra; concern and love echoed in the deep blue eyes that stared at her.

“
Non ho intenzione di lasciarli davanti a me
,” he told the man and Sandra frowned, narrowing her eyes suspiciously, but before she could question what was being said, Aryana and Daniel joined them, carrying the many shopping bags and suitcases with them. Her father sighed, rolled his eyes and shrugged his shoulders to Creighton, who only grinned, then motioned to his sons to help their sister. Aryana frowned at her brother’s swollen nose, but chose to ignore him as she bid Creighton and Sandra another good-bye and left, closing the door behind them.

Sandra
stood in the middle of the foyer while Creighton locked the door and looked back at her. Without hesitation, he took her by the hand and led her into the kitchen. He retrieved a towel from the shelf near the sink and removed a container of ice from the freezer, putting several cubes into it. Sandra sat at the table in the middle of the room and watched him with suspicious eyes while he walked over to her, lifting the hand and wrapped the cloth around the swollen digits. She didn’t realize she had hurt her hand; she was so angry the pain hadn’t registered to her until now. With the ice on her swollen hand, she began to grimace, feeling the throbbing ache radiate up her wrist and into her elbow.

“What
did he say to you?” she asked after a moment’s silence.

“He
told me not to let you go,” he replied softly.

“And
what did you say?” Sandra looked into his eyes as he focused them on her, holding her green gaze a willing prisoner.

“I
told him I was never letting you out of my sight.”

“Oh,”
was all she could think of to say.

“Nice
to know you can defend yourself,” he said with amusement echoing in his tone. “Even if it means wrecking your beautiful hand? I rather like what you can do with it.”

“I
have another one,” she said with a soft smile, causing him to chuckle. He removed the ice and inspected the cool, pink digits, lifting and wiggling her fingers to check the damage done.

“I
don’t think it’s anything permanent, nothing looks broken,” he told her, wrapping it back up in the ice. “However, it will be sore for the next few days. If you want to we can see the doctor before we leave?” Sandra shook her head. She had broken her hand once during a track meet and knew what it felt like and this was nothing like that.

“So
much for the handcuffs,” she said with a soft smile.

“I
have a few ideas that can work without involving the wrists,” he told her with a wicked grin.

Sandra
sighed, thinking about recent events. Creighton was her destiny, for this, she was certain; even though her logical side, she jokingly referred to as
Cathy Junior
, was screaming in her head to back off.

“I
wish I knew what you were thinking,” he said, interrupting her inner turmoil. Sandra glanced up and saw the concern echoing in his dark eyes, and smiled.

“Actually,
I was thinking about you,” she said with a soft blush. “I was wondering what insane, wicked spell you have put me under, that you could so easily turn me into an orgasm-crazed lunatic.” Creighton laughed leaning across the table to her and tilted her chin up with his forefinger.

“The
term is nymphomaniac,” he reassured her. “We’ve already established this and it’s you who has put me under a wicked spell.”

“Are
you complaining?”

“Never.”
Creighton kissed her lips gently and stood up, pulling her up by the hand.

“So
now that we don’t have to worry about sharing the hotel with a spoiled runaway, what would you like to do?” Creighton laughed, pulling her into his arms and kissed her behind the ear.

“That
depends on you,” he whispered. “We can stay in and make up for lost time, or we can go out and see what Milan is like at night.” Sandra bit her lower lip, warm chills traveling down her spine as he traveled his lips across her neck.