by Lynne Graham
‘It wasn’t fair to lumber you with it,’ Vivi muttered apologetically. ‘He’s mad but he’ll get over it.’
‘As long as he doesn’t take his ire out on your bridegroom,’ Winnie groaned.
Vivi was speeding across the dance floor to the top table when Arianna intercepted her, her pretty face anxious. ‘Do you think we can be friends again?’ she pressed.
‘I was never not friends with you,’ Vivi pointed out.
‘I listened to Raffaele and I shouldn’t have...but, you know, he’s almost always right about people...only for once he got it wrong and I got it right,’ she completed with a rueful smile. ‘I’m sorry, Vivi, that I didn’t fight to keep our friendship alive.’
‘That’s all right. We all make mistakes,’ Vivi said with greater warmth and forgiveness, her attention snatched back from the sight of her grim-faced grandfather glowering at Raffaele. ‘But we can make a fresh start now that we’re part of the same family.’
‘We’ve got so much to catch up on,’ Arianna trilled with anticipation. ‘I can’t wait to hear how you and my brother met up again. It must’ve been love at first sight for both of you.’
‘Must’ve been,’ Vivi slotted in diplomatically, watching her grandad stalk off and suspecting, by the stiff angle of Raffaele’s proud dark head, that the encounter had left him equally angry.
‘And then because Raffaele didn’t tell me about you getting married until the last possible moment, you didn’t even get a hen party!’ Arianna lamented.
‘Not much of a fan of them,’ Vivi confided, reckoning that that omission was the least of her worries.
‘Come and meet Tomas,’ Arianna urged, closing an eager hand over Vivi’s arm. ‘We’re getting married this summer.’
‘Good grief...’ Vivi said in surprise as Arianna practically dragged her in her enthusiasm across the room to meet a sandy-blond male of about Raffaele’s age, who smiled cheerfully at her and closed a fond arm round the bubbly brunette by her side.
Vivi hastened back to the top table before anyone else could divert her. The hard stamp of tension on Raffaele’s darkly good-looking face warned her that whatever her grandfather had said or done had caused offence and she blamed herself for that development entirely. After all, she was a grown woman and she had not gone into the situation with Raffaele blindfolded. She had known that her grandfather had a particularly old-fashioned outlook on young women and sex and instead of paying heed to that awareness she had blundered and failed to even cover her tracks. Now it looked as though Raffaele was expected to pay the price of her miscalculation and her grandfather’s disappointment in her.
‘What did Grandad say to you?’ Vivi asked baldly.
‘Nothing I’m prepared to repeat,’ Raffaele breathed with a raw, wrathful edge to his dark deep voice as he struggled for the first time in his life to rein back his temper.
Stam Fotakis was a cheat. Raffaele had kept his side of the bargain by marrying Vivi but Stam had refused to hand over the dossier on Arianna, arguing that Raffaele had dishonoured his granddaughter instead of treating her with respect.
All of a sudden life had become very complicated again, Raffaele acknowledged in seething frustration. He had counted on reclaiming that dossier once he had put that ring on Vivi’s finger but, evidently, Fotakis now planned to continue holding that threat over his head for months to come. Raffaele had not been prepared for that development when he’d set up a sting calculated to deprive the older man of his overweening pride in his own financial acumen. He had not realised that Vivi’s grandfather would still have the weapon of that dossier in his possession. He gritted his teeth. Well, it was too late now to change anything, and he would have to let the chips fall where they may...
‘I’m sorry,’ Vivi muttered ruefully.
‘Why should you be sorry?’ Raffaele fielded drily. ‘You haven’t done anything wrong. I was the one in the wrong.’
As the first course of the wedding breakfast was delivered, Vivi blinked. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’
‘I’m older, more experienced. I was reckless.’
‘So was I, but don’t make a meal of it,’ Vivi advised ruefully. ‘Grandad was born and raised in another age and he will always blame the man involved for anything of that nature. But we know different.’
‘Do we?’ Shimmering dark golden eyes fringed by spiky black lashes held hers fast and her chest tightened, her mouth running dry as a slightly dizzy sensation ran through her, blurring her clarity of thought.
‘Yes, we do,’ Vivi reasoned, fighting to reclaim her brain. ‘I’m every bit as intelligent as you are and we were both equally irresponsible.’
‘I hope you’re not planning to tell our child that some day,’ Raffaele quipped.
Vivi coloured. ‘Hardly.’
Her grandfather stood up to give a short, pithy speech, forcing that uneasy dialogue to a close.
‘I saw you smiling at Arianna. That was kind of you considering how your relationship ended,’ Raffaele remarked warily over the main course.
‘I always liked your sister and I’m quite sure that you bullied her into cutting off all communication with me,’ Vivi admitted.
‘I’m not a bully. At the time I thought I was being wise on her behalf and protecting her from a malign influence.’
‘Well, you may not be a bully,’ Vivi conceded reluctantly, ‘but we both know that Arianna does exactly what you tell her to do. I can’t hold that against her.’
‘She was very attached to you. I had to be brutal,’ Raffaele revealed grudgingly.
‘I suppose you said a lot of unrepeatable stuff about me,’ Vivi surmised grimly.
Raffaele bit out a groan. ‘Let’s not rehash the past. I got it wrong and I’ve admitted it and now I’m apologising. Leave it there.’
Vivi breathed in deep and slow, wondering if she would ever be able to move past that old hurt. Why was she so sensitive where he was concerned? After all, looking back, nothing much had happened between them. She’d had a girly infatuation with him. He had kissed her, encouraged her, then misjudged her and walked away. Her own vulnerability galled her. A stronger woman, she told herself scornfully, would have long since forgotten so casual and short-lived an episode. But for Vivi, who had always fiercely guarded her heart from hurt and then mistakenly let down her barriers, a sense of pained humiliation still lingered like an old scar that hadn’t quite healed.
‘So, where do we go from here?’ she muttered rather sourly.
‘It’s simple,’ Raffaele asserted with characteristic confidence.
‘It’s anything but simple,’ Vivi contradicted tartly.
‘But it still all comes down to one baseline,’ Raffaele intoned silkily. ‘Either you want me...or you don’t.’
And with that one challenging sentence, Raffaele cut through the argumentativeness that was usually Vivi’s strongest defence and left her bereft of breath.
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘BREATHE IN!’ ZOE URGED.
‘I am breathing in!’ Vivi protested, fighting to get her breath back and giving up the struggle to flop back on the side of the bed, the striped cropped jeans she had planned to wear to leave the hotel still unzipped. ‘What on earth is the matter with them? They were a perfect fit a couple of weeks ago!’
‘That tight they’d be very uncomfortable to travel in,’ Zoe pointed out gently.
Vivi gritted her teeth. ‘I can’t have put on that much extra weight already,’ she argued. ‘I’m only a few weeks pregnant.’
‘Maybe you’re one of those women who’s going to blow up into a balloon straight away,’ Zoe muttered uncertainly. ‘You should ask Winnie. She knows more than me about being pregnant.’
‘A balloon?’ Vivi repeated, aghast. ‘Thanks a bundle for that image, sis!’
‘Well, how would I know what it’s like?’ Zoe pulled an apologe
tic face.
‘What on earth am I going to wear?’ Vivi snapped, standing up and peeling off the jeans in angry frustration. ‘All my stuff was packed and sent over to Raffaele’s town house, where I thought I’d be living, but it’s now probably on its way to the airport.’
‘I’ll give you the skirt and top I was planning to change into this evening if I got too warm,’ Zoe offered helpfully.
‘The skirt’ll be too short for me,’ Vivi framed, tears suddenly stinging her eyes in a shocking surge. ‘Oh, my goodness, what’s the matter with me? I’m crying!’
‘Pregnancy hormones...have you forgotten what Winnie was like? She could’ve wept the Thames dry while she was carrying Teddy! Emotionally, she was all over the place.’
Vivi resisted a ridiculous urge to throw herself down on the bed and sob over the jeans that didn’t fit and the skirt that would be too short and breathed in deeply to get a grip on herself instead. She couldn’t afford to be out of control around Raffaele and she didn’t want to make a fool of herself either. A few minutes later she had donned Zoe’s pencil skirt. She only just got the zip up, thanking heaven that her sister was a little curvier in shape. The lace top was a tad more revealing on her than it was on Zoe and a little too tight and short.
‘I look awful!’ she proclaimed. ‘I’m showing far too much skin.’
‘I doubt if Raffaele will complain,’ Zoe teased. ‘Your legs look fabulous.’
‘Well, it’s this or nudity.’ Vivi sighed, averting her eyes from the very slight hint of a curve on her once concave stomach. Her body shouldn’t be showing a change in shape so early, she thought irritably. Was she eating the wrong stuff? Was there a special pregnant lady diet she should be following? Was she bloating? That was probably all it was, she told herself soothingly. Didn’t she have enough to worry about with Raffaele having thrown down that demeaning gauntlet of a challenge?
Either you want me...or you don’t.
Talk about going back to basics! Of course, she wanted him on that most primitive level, and well did he know it! She had always wanted him that way. It wasn’t something she was proud of but there it was, an instant chemical attraction that had yet to dim. Of course, being around him more, maybe familiarity would breed contempt, she thought hopefully as she emerged from the lift into the busy hotel foyer.
Winnie bustled over to her. ‘Why are you wearing Zoe’s clothes?’
‘Don’t ask,’ Vivi said with a grimace. ‘Where’s Raffaele?’
‘In the bar with a very beautiful blonde called Elisa,’ Winnie responded with slightly raised brows. ‘Apparently she’s absolutely gasping to meet you and become your new best friend.’
‘Really?’ Vivi queried on a note of surprise.
‘Feels it’s her duty as Raffaele’s “friend”.’ Winnie made air quotes with a roll of her eyes. ‘To advise and support you.’
‘Support me?’ Vivi cut in.
‘Since you’re a fairly new arrival on Grandad’s social scene and Raffaele’s,’ her sister clarified.
‘Well, we’ll see about that,’ Vivi said dismissively, heading for the private bar attached to the function room, her cheeks colouring self-consciously because she was hyper-aware of her less than elegant appearance. What was cute and appropriate on Zoe’s tiny frame looked rather different on her own tall, skinny body, she thought ruefully. And a tall skinny body developing curves where nature had never intended curves promised to be a nightmare to dress.
None of those thoughts crossed Raffaele’s mind for a moment when he saw his bride walking towards him with the fluid grace of a dancer. She looked like a fantasy come to life, he thought with an almost adolescent knee-jerk reaction that shocked him. But there she was, gorgeous legs on display from her dainty ankles to her slender knees to her pale shapely thighs. The top hugged a swell of bosom that there seemed to be more of than he recalled, but reasoning over the why or the how of that was beyond Raffaele at that instant, fighting as he was not to display his arousal in his neat-fitting trousers. He gritted his teeth.
‘Vivi...come and meet Elisa,’ he urged, reaching for her hand to tug her closer.
Vivi shot him a glance, virtually allowing herself a five-second scrutiny, not allowing herself any longer and, bang, the effect of him hit her like a wave, drowning her in impressions she didn’t want. But there he was, the luxuriant blue-black hair he kept short glimmering below the lights, his bronzed classic profile lightened by a smile, his beautiful mouth sculpted and sensual, and she wanted to flatten him to the carpet and taste that mouth and everything else about him right then and there because he was stunning. And stunning being the only word she could come up with unnerved her even more. It took effort to recover from that volatile instant of abstracted erotic imagery and deal with the woman being introduced to her.
‘Elisa Andrelli.’ The beautiful blonde air-kissed her on both cheeks but only by dint of stretching up on tiptoe. ‘Dio mio...you are tall!’
‘Six feet in these heels,’ Vivi agreed with a helpless grin. ‘My sisters are both small. I loved it when I outgrew them, because Winnie was older but I could talk back to her more effectively when I could look down at her.’
‘Always a fighter,’ Raffaele remarked with amusement.
‘You’d better believe it.’ Vivi could feel the blonde’s critical appraisal moving over her outfit and inwardly she cringed before lifting her chin with determined indifference.
‘I know the best places to shop in Florence. I could advise you on what to wear for special occasions,’ Elisa told her earnestly.
Vivi smiled. ‘I don’t need advice in that line but thanks, all the same,’ she murmured with as much sincerity as she could fake.
Raffaele walked her away. ‘That wasn’t very generous of you. Elisa can come across as patronising, but she is well-intentioned.’
Resentment sent hot pink flying up into Vivi’s cheeks. She was beginning to realise that she was much more thin-skinned around Raffaele than she was around other people. A hint of criticism from him and her blood boiled. But she should’ve known he would recognise her insincerity, only she hadn’t expected him to chide her for it. ‘And who is Elisa?’
‘Our nearest neighbour. She has quite a sad history: she married her childhood sweetheart a few years ago and he died of leukaemia,’ Raffaele told her. ‘I think she’s quite lonely. She was part of a couple from her teens and missed out on making female friends. Young beautiful widows aren’t much in demand.’
‘How unfortunate,’ Vivi muttered, her face telegraphing her discomfiture as she resolved to make fewer snap judgements about the people she met. Suddenly she was very much aware that she had been willing to dislike another woman purely because she was attractive and appeared to know Raffaele well. Why was that? She was possessive of Raffaele, she acknowledged in dismay, as possessive as a dog guarding a bone.
Either you want me...or you don’t.
Her face burned, her sense of vulnerability tightening every nerve in her slim body because she wasn’t stupid enough to make the same mistake she had made before with Raffaele, contriving to get attached with very little encouragement and then left standing while he walked away. That demeaning image was stuck in her memory like a warning wake-up call. No, she didn’t want him and she wasn’t going to have anything more to do with him than she had to, she told herself angrily. She would act the wife in public if forced to do so but the play-acting would stop behind closed doors.
* * *
Raffaele studied his bride as she napped on his private jet. He stood up to drape a throw over her, wishing he had thought to mention the sleeping compartment where she would have been more comfortable. He needed to start thinking about such matters, he censured himself. Vivi was his wife, his responsibility, as was the child she carried. Bluish shadows were etched below her lowered lids and she looked pale. Of course, she always looked pale with that fair
skin of hers but she was probably exhausted, and he hadn’t yet even got around to organising medical support for her in Florence. Sì, he would definitely have to step up his game in the caring stakes. Poised there, he resolved to spend more time looking after her than thinking about bedding her.
Vivi woke sleepily when her shoulder was gently shaken and she blinked up at Raffaele and muttered drowsily, ‘How long have I been asleep?’
‘Since we took off. We’ve landed.’
Vivi’s eyes widened and she stood up in haste, retrieving a shoe that had fallen off and smoothing down her rumpled clothing. ‘Where to next?’ she asked, trying not to sound weary of the journey when she had slept through most of it.
‘A helicopter will drop us at the palazzo in twenty minutes and then you can relax,’ Raffaele clarified smoothly.
‘What’s a palazzo?’ she enquired.
‘A large house. I was born at the Palazzo Mancini. It has always been my home,’ he explained, taking her elbow to escort her down the steps and off the plane as if she couldn’t be trusted to manage them safely on her own.
‘Grandad lives in a large house outside Athens,’ Vivi told him while thinking about the much humbler accommodation that had been hers from childhood until Stamboulas Fotakis had entered the sisters’ lives and tucked them into a very comfortable little town house he owned in London. ‘I have very little memory of my parents. I was very young when they died and Zoe was only a baby. Winnie remembers them, though.’
‘That’s tough,’ Raffaele conceded, engaged in working out the logistics of loading her into the helicopter in her high heels. Deciding simply to go for the obvious, he swung round to lift her bodily off her feet and settle her on board.
Thoroughly flustered by the arrival of a man in her life who could actually lift her as if she were a lightweight, Vivi settled down in the nearest seat and did up her belt. She didn’t like the lurch as the craft took off and even less did she enjoy the flight as queasiness afflicted her empty stomach and Raffaele, like some sort of glorified Italian tour guide, endeavoured to point out famous landmarks to her when the last thing she wanted to do was be forced to look out of the windows at the sights.
