Bellissima by Anya Richards Page A

of taking a wife when his body, his heart, craved another. She would not understand, would be horrified to know he was placing his feelings for a woman, one not only outside of their culture but not even of their class, above the wishes of his father and the future of the business.
    “I will not relent, Mama.” A tear beaded on her thick, black lower lashes, then dripped down her cheek, and he touched it with his fingertip, aching with the knowledge he made his strong, brave mother cry. “I’m sorry.”
    Bending, he kissed her cheeks, and she hugged him hard. “We will work this out, Sergio. It can be done, if one of you will bend, just a little.”
    A huff of laughter, raw and derisive, broke from his throat. “You mean if I will, Mama.”
    Grazia just shook her head as she stepped back, and the last thing Sergio heard as he left his parents’ house was his father’s voice, shouting for him not to return until he came to his senses.
    It hurt. Of course it did. Especially since, in this situation, he knew his father meant it and Sergio would not contemplate backing down either. This was an impasse, and he could think of no way it would be resolved.
    As he turned up the collar of his coat in an attempt to block the cool night air, Sergio knew he wouldn’t, couldn’t accede to Ennio’s demand. There had always been within him the need to be independent, to live life the way he wanted, rather than how his father or society deemed fit. This was just one of many battles his father and he had fought over the years, as Ennio tried, with little success, to bring Sergio to heel. But somehow this felt the most important. As though if he should give in on this one thing, the rest of his life would follow suit, leaving him nothing of his own, rendering him just a marionette whose strings were twined about his father’s fingers.
    And then there was Jane.
    Sergio groaned quietly, holding the sound in his chest so the people passing by him on the pavement wouldn’t think him a lunatic. Just the thought of her, the way she so fully gave in to his every demand, made his cock hard in an instant. Yet there was more to their association than just lust, at least on his side. He admired her, even more so since he’d coaxed from her the story of her life. Abandoned as a child and yet able, through her wits and strength, to make her way in the world. Dio , he didn’t know if he, in similar circumstances, could do as well. He’d always had his family, always known if things went wrong they were there, or should he need help, it would be forthcoming. His heart ached to think of her, young and innocent and alone.
    Jane was no longer innocent, that much he knew, but she was still alone.
    The former he could do nothing about, and even if he could, he wouldn’t. It didn’t matter to him where she had gotten the experience she so freely exhibited, although he had his suspicions. He was just happy to be the beneficiary of it and wanted more. More of her soft flesh, her responsiveness, the taste and scent of her and the little cries of pleasure she was unable to suppress. He wanted to unwrap her from the cocoon she hid within, lay her on his bed with her legs sprawled wide and her body fully exposed, explore and tantalize every inch of her, until she found release so many times she begged for mercy.
    And he wanted more from her than just her body, which should have surprised him but didn’t, really. Over the hours they’d spent together, he’d come to appreciate her nimble, inquiring mind, the sly wit that sometimes escaped her carefully placid mien. He found himself looking forward to their conversations, storing up observations and bits and pieces of information to share and discuss with Jane. The interest and enthusiasm in her eyes as they spoke of art or books or events of the day echoed his own pleasure. The sentiments they shared, and even the matters they disagreed on, which she argued with calm reasonableness, only made him admire