They had entered the park and he guided her toward a bench. The rain had left everything looking brand-new and shiny. He halted, stepping in front of her, tipping her face up to his. “We live our lives in the spotlight quite a bit of the time and it’s necessary. People can be very ugly. You have to trust me to look after you and protect you. You have to let us.” His thumb slid over her lower lip and then brushed back and forth over her chin.

“I didn’t run away, Stefano,” she denied softly. “I just needed time to process.”

He nodded as if in understanding. “You can’t possibly process without having the facts, Francesca.” His fingers curled around the nape of her neck, his thumb sweeping her cheek as if he couldn’t get enough of her skin.

“It was a shock to hear the things she said.”

“I’m certain that’s true, bambina—she is very judgmental and demanding. Above all, she wants the Ferraro name pure.”

Her heart clenched hard in her chest. So hard it was painful. She had enough scandal tied to her name to sink an entire continent of Ferraros.

Stefano cupped her face gently in his palms, bending so that his forehead touched hers, breathing her in. Breathing for both of them. “We manage to create enough scandal ourselves without our women worrying that they might not be good enough. I love you. I love everything about you. You make me happy. It isn’t because you’re a rider—it’s because you’re you.”

She swallowed hard. There it was. The “rider” business. Something about what his mother said was the truth, although she heard the ring of honesty in his voice.

“Did I notice you because you’re a rider?” he continued. “Of course I did, dolce cuore—how could I not when so few come our way? But once we connected, once I was that close to you, I knew.”

She stepped closer to him, her hands going inside his jacket and under his vest to clutch his shirt. She wanted to touch bare skin, to be absorbed by him. Melt right into him. Since that wasn’t an option, she settled for curling her fingers into his shirt and feeling the heat coming off of him. There was a lot of heat.

“Are you going to explain to me what a rider is?”

Stefano lifted his head, his hands sliding from her face reluctantly. He turned her toward the bench, and Francesca sank down onto the wrought iron. It was cold until he sat beside her and pulled her into his arms. He liked being close to her. He insisted on touching her when he was close. She liked that. A. Lot.

“Once I tell you that, there’s no going back from it. Eloisa was . . . indiscreet. You should never have heard that term.”

“You have a lot of secrets,” Francesca observed.

He was silent, something scary working in the depths of his eyes. “Does that scare you?”

“Everything about you scares me, Stefano, but that doesn’t seem to matter. I’m still here. I would have worked this out on my own.”

“You work things out with me,” Stefano said firmly. “It has to be that way,” he added hastily when she stirred in protest. “Once you know all the secrets, they have to remain secrets. There’s no talking to Joanna or anyone else other than immediate family. We’re close for a reason. We depend on one another. We have to. Can you accept that, Francesca?”

“I want a family, Stefano, and I like how yours is so close, so yes, that’s an easy one to accept.”

The tension hadn’t left his body. She could feel it there, coiled and ready to strike to protect him. But from what? Her? Stefano suddenly shifted, one arm going under her knees, the other around her back. He lifted her easily and sat her on his lap, his arms circling her. She recognized the move as aggressive—claiming—rather than sweet. Her heart began to pound.

“In our family it is necessary for someone like me to produce children if at all possible. Those children have to be created with another person like me.”

“A rider.” She supplied the term he was so reluctant to use.

He nodded. “Yes. Another rider. When I said children plural, I mean we would have to try for a large family.” He sighed. “I don’t know who I’m kidding. I want a large family, and I want my wife staying home and taking care of them. I want her to get up with me in the middle of the night and change their diapers and feed them. I want her to shower our children with love every minute of the day. I want her to be strong enough to stand up to me and balance my need to keep them all safe.”

She understood the tension in him. He’d never had that—not what he wanted for his children. Francesca slid her hand up his chest to stroke the tension from his hard jaw. “Honey, I grew up in a house filled with love. I want nothing less for our children. I don’t want someone else raising them. I want family picnics and laughter and trips to the beach that cover all of us in sand that we drag back to our car.”