by Dani Collins
‘You look enchanting!’ he said promptly. ‘Both of you!’
He worked his eyes over Jenna once more, knowing it made her colour heighten, and glad of it.
‘At last,’ he said softly, stepping forward. ‘You have come out of hiding. Made yourself visible.’ He took her hand, which seemed to quiver in his, and raised it to his lips in a formal, stately fashion. ‘Never hide again,’ he said quietly, for her alone.
For a moment he held her gaze, and something—he did not know what—seemed to change in the world around him. Inside him. Something that he had not known could change...
In his head, like a poisoned dart shot at him from far away, he heard his lawyer’s words of foreboding. He shook them out, refusing to acknowledge them or let them penetrate the strange emotion filling him now, which seemed to permeate him with a warming glow.
Jenna’s slender hand was still in his, cool beneath his fingers. He tucked it into his arm, did the same with Amelie’s hand, and led them both forward with a smile.
‘And now that I have a bella donna on either arm—what a lucky dog I am—it is time,’ he announced, with satisfaction and triumph in his voice, ‘for our tea party.’
* * *
‘Party’ was certainly the word for it, Jenna conceded. Just as she’d had to concede there had been no way out of Amelie’s excited, gleeful insistence that she must wear her lovely new dress today and put on make-up for the occasion.
Just as she had in the department store, Jenna had given in. She had not been able to disappoint Amelie, who had been visibly thrilled to be dressing up, and thrilled at the thought of her teacher dressing up too. So she’d left her hair loose, borrowed a ribbon from Amelie’s vast collection, and then, with trepidation and Amelie’s enthusiastic guidance, made up her face. Not too much, but just enough.
Enough to make my eyes look larger, smokier, my lashes longer, and to give a soft sheen to my lips.
And somehow, though she didn’t really understand how, wearing her hair loose seemed to set off her cheekbones and reveal the delicate contours of her jaw that she’d never noticed. The beautifully cut fifties-style dress also seemed to enhance her slight figure, giving her a shapeliness she had not thought she possessed.
She’d stared at her reflection wonderingly. The experience was very different from her feelings when she had examined her unexciting workaday appearance that first night she had been summoned to dine with Amelie and her father.
How different she looked now!
She gazed, trying to take it all in. Trying to remember when she’d last worn make-up, last made any attempt to style her hair attractively, last worn something that might pass for fashionable. At uni, probably, some freshers’ bash. Useless, though, because no one took notice of quiet, dull females whom even their own fathers had no interest in, and who were focused only on their studies, not on their social lives. And, as a teacher, all that was needed was for her to look neat and sensible, capable of keeping order in an overcrowded class with more than its fair share of children from disturbed backgrounds and impoverished families.
It was a life a world away from this beautiful, elegant Italian palazzo—a world away from the likes of Evandro Rocceforte.
She gave a little tremble now, as she felt her hand hooked around his strong forearm and walked into the rose garden with him and Amelie, where a pretty ironwork table had been set out under a shady parasol.
Had Evandro really swept his slate-dark eyes over her, taken her hand and kissed it as if he were Prince Charming himself?
And I Cinderella...
A Cinderella who had buried herself in her work. Hidden. Invisible.
‘Never hide again.’
She heard his voice, low-pitched, intense, and a sense of wonder filled her at how she had found herself wishing, for the first time in her life, for something she had never wished before.
Not to be invisible any longer.
Not to Evandro Rocceforte.
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘WELL,’ ANNOUNCED EVANDRO’S housekeeper, ‘this is a treat!’
Evandro gallantly ushered her to her seat as she sailed into the rose garden, resplendent in a sky-blue skirt and jacket with a jabot blouse, her hair freshly styled.
‘Signora Farrafacci has created our repast...’ Evandro smiled at Jenna ‘...so I think it only fair that she should enjoy it with us.’
‘Well, I’m a dab hand at a Victoria sponge, if I say so myself,’ his housekeeper agreed comfortably.
She beckoned Loretta and Maria forward, each carrying laden trays, which they deposited on the table, adding to what had already been set out.
It was a full English afternoon tea, with gold-rimmed porcelain plates bearing wafer-thin finger sandwiches—Jenna spotted egg, smoked salmon and cucumber—and a display of cakes that made her dizzy with indecision. The icing-sugar-dusted Victoria sponge, oozing raspberry jam from between the layers, looked as resplendent as its creator, and was flanked by rainbow-hued fairy cakes thick with colourful buttercream icing, and there was a far more sophisticated gateau St Honoré, made of choux pastry and golden spun sugar.
And as for what to wash it all down with—tea itself was the very least of it...
* * *
‘What tea party would be complete without champagne, hmm?’ quizzed Evandro, lifting the bottle nestling in its ice bucket by the table and opening it with a practised easing of the cork.
Champagne was ideal for the occasion. An occasion he’d created and orchestrated to perfection. His mood was excellent—beyond excellent. Everything had worked out just as he’d planned.
His eyes went to Jenna, revelling again in the transformation he had wrought in her. Goodbye, sad, haunted ghost of her miserable childhood, and welcome—oh, very, very much welcome—to the woman he had made reveal herself.
His gaze softened again in satisfaction and a wry, appreciative bemusement. Who would have thought a dress would make such a difference? A hairstyle? A touch of make-up? But there was more to it than that, he knew. It was a new glow that was about her, a light in her eyes, a smile on her lips that came from within.
She knows she is no longer invisible. It is that that makes the difference. That which draws my eye to her—
He cut off his wandering thoughts. The transformation he had wrought in Jenna was for herself, not for him. It was essential to remember that.
Swiftly, he reached for the champagne flutes, filling three of them to the brim and handing one each to Signora Farrafacci and to Jenna, keeping one for himself. Then he reached for another flute and poured in a quarter of a glass, topping it up generously with fresh orange juice and bestowing it upon Amelie.
‘This, mignonne,’ he informed her solemnly, ‘is the only fizzy drink it is civilised to consume!’ He glanced at Jenna. ‘Do not be alarmed—as I said to you earlier, here in Italy, as in France, as well as becoming accustomed to dining out, children are exposed to wine from an early age, but in very small quantities.’ He looked back at Amelie. ‘Well, what do you think of it?’
The little girl took a cautious sip and wrinkled her nose. ‘It tickles!’ she said. ‘But it’s lovely and orangey.’
‘It’s called a Buck’s Fizz,’ Signora Farrafacci informed her. ‘But I prefer mine straight, thank you very much,’ she said, raising her glass to her employer.
He watched as Jenna hastily did likewise.
‘Saluti!’ he exclaimed, and clinked his glass against theirs and Amelie’s. ‘And now,’ he pronounced, entirely and completely satisfied with what he had achieved, ‘the feast may begin!’
His gaze washed one more time over the woman he had released from invisibility, who could now finally, belatedly, take her due place in the world, no longer barring herself from what she was entitled.
* * *
Signora Farrafacci did the honours, pouring cups of
tea for everyone, though Amelie stuck with her Buck’s Fizz.
Evandro sat back, a smile on his face. ‘How exceptionally pleasant this is,’ he announced expansively. ‘We should do this more often—all through the summer, even. And we shall all—what is that strange expression?—wear our best bib and tucker when we do so.’ He frowned. ‘What in heaven is a tucker?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ Jenna confessed with a laugh. ‘I shall look it up!’
‘Well, all I know,’ quipped Signora Farrafacci, ‘is that I can’t wait to tuck in!’ Which brought a giggle from Amelie.
So they did, and as Jenna sipped at her champagne it was as if the bubbles were seeping into her bloodstream, lifting her into a state of light-heartedness and enjoyment that brought a constant smile to her face.
The convivial atmosphere was led by Evandro, reinforced by Signora Farrafacci’s good-hearted joviality, and most of all buoyed by Amelie’s stream of giggles and beaming smiles.
Moved, Jenna swept her eyes over the scene, wonderingly.
This is the very definition of happiness.
Her eyes went to the man sitting opposite her, genially teasing his daughter and praising his housekeeper for the excellence of her magnificent Victoria sponge. She could not stop them and had no wish to, she realised, and the welling of happiness within her became radiant.
She could not take her eyes from him. His strong, powerful body relaxed back in the ironwork chair, and the open neck of his pristine white shirt and the turned-back cuffs acknowledged the warmth of the afternoon, all emphasising the masculine strength of his body.
This was the man who had wrought this transformation in her, brought her out of her lifelong hiding from the world—from men. The one man in all the world to whom she was no longer invisible.
Rich, warm, wonderful happiness filled her to the brim—like the sparkling, effervescent champagne in her glass.
* * *
‘Well, I’ve eaten my fill and no mistake!’ Signora Farrafacci announced. She got to her feet. ‘And now I must be off—I’m visiting my son tonight.’ She nodded at Evandro as he started to stand up as she did. ‘No, no, don’t get up. Thank you for this first-class tea party. And,’ she finished, ‘for requesting a cold dinner tonight so I can go out.’
She lifted the remains of her magnificent Victoria sponge, and Evandro encouraged Amelie to take the leftover fairy cakes to the kitchen. Jenna moved to start clearing the table, but Evandro stopped her.
‘No, stay awhile. There is still the champagne to finish,’ he said lazily. ‘Carina,’ he addressed Amelie, ‘if you want to play, either choose something that will not risk your new dress or change.’
Amelie nodded, going after Signora Farrafacci and happily helping herself to the icing on one of the remaining fairy cakes as she did so.
Evandro leisurely reached for the champagne bottle and refilled their glasses. ‘So...’ he looked at Jenna, stretching out his long legs and lounging back in the ironwork chair ‘...did you enjoy our tea party?’
His quizzical glance got the reaction he’d expected.
‘It was a triumph!’ Jenna confirmed.
He laughed. ‘As is your new dress.’ His eyes drifted over her lazily, appreciatively. ‘You cannot imagine the difference it makes.’
He saw her lashes drop over her eyes, more forest green than hazel today, reflecting the colour of the dress that was doing so much for her.
‘Thank you,’ she said, in a low tone.
There was a quiet intensity in her voice that told him the depth of her feelings. Told him what she was thanking him for.
He reached for her hand. Raised it to his mouth, grazed it lightly, then set it back on the table. It seemed to him the right kind of gesture to make. Anything more might—
He pulled his thoughts away. He’d done what he had for Jenna’s sake, he reminded himself. She was to be the beneficiary—not himself.
He shifted, suddenly restless. ‘And I thank you in return,’ he said, his voice half-serious, half-caustic. ‘The dress you chose for Amelie, the one that she wore today, is an infinite improvement on what her mother dressed her in.’
A smile lit Jenna’s face. ‘She looked enchanting—just as you told her,’ she said warmly. ‘She wants to please you.’
A frown pulled Evandro’s brow. ‘I don’t need her to want to please me.’ His voice was harsh suddenly. ‘And if that is the impression I am giving her—and you...’ he drew a razor-sharp breath ‘...then my inexperienced attempts at...at fatherhood—’ he spoke the word flatly, almost bleakly ‘—are failing,’ he finished tersely.
He saw her expression change—at first to dismay, at his harsh response, and then to its opposite. Warmth and encouragement.
‘You are not failing!’ she exclaimed feelingly. ‘You are making a wonderful father. Wonderful!’
Her face worked, and he could see she was searching for words—the right words.
‘It is natural for a child to want to please their parents,’ she told him, her voice persuasive, ‘and if it’s mutual, and you want to please her too—as I can see you do, in so many ways when you are together—then it is entirely justified. It is only if it is one-sided that it becomes dangerous. Unhealthy,’ she finished, and now it was her voice that sounded bleak.
‘And it is unhealthy between adults too,’ he bit out. ‘Trying to win the love of someone who is incapable of returning it. Falling under their spell.’
‘Cast by an evil enchantress...’
The words dropped from Jenna’s lips and hung in the space between them. The same words he’d spoken at that first dinner together.
His shadowed eyes rested on her. She was unreadable—and yet all too readable. He did not need to spell out to her just who the evil enchantress in his life had been. She’d had enough malignity in her own life to know the damage that could be done when love of any kind—whether between parent and child or husband and wife—could not be returned because the other person lacked all capability for that most vital of emotions.
‘Just so,’ he said, and his gaze held hers. Then, abruptly, he reached for his glass, gesturing that she should do the same. ‘Come,’ he said, lightening his voice determinedly, to banish all shadows and darkness, ‘let us not waste champagne on morbid memories. My ex-wife is in the past—as is your father. The only power they have over us now is the power we allow them. Nothing more than that.’
He raised his glass, touching it to hers. Knowing that what he had said was a lie for him. Berenice still had the power to poison.
But he would not think of that—not now, not here.
He let his eyes go to Jenna again, still finding her transformation wondrous. There was no danger, surely, in letting his gaze drink her in.
Peaceably, they sipped their champagne, with the heat of the day softening to a gentle warmth. Above them, from the open window of Amelie’s playroom, he could faintly hear her talking to her dolls, discussing their fashion choices with them. He gave a resigned half-smile. Perhaps Amelie would end up making a career in fashion.
He said as much to Jenna. She smiled. ‘Well, whatever she chooses, it won’t require maths, I suspect.’
He laughed. ‘What made you study languages?’ he asked, curious.
She made a face. ‘I had a facility for them, but mostly, I think—with hindsight—I chose them because they opened my horizons to lives other than the one I had.’
‘An escape route?’ he said, understanding why she’d wanted that.
She nodded. ‘Though then I became keen on teaching—and again,’ she said with a rueful half-smile, ‘that was to encourage children in their abilities as I was never encouraged in mine.’ She looked at him, curiosity in her eyes. ‘Did you ever have any choice but to take over Rocceforte Industriale?’
‘I wanted to,’ he replied. ‘Perhaps because it’s in my blood.
But also because—’ He stopped for a moment, took a slow mouthful of his champagne. ‘Because it pleased my father. Oh, it’s not that I sought his love and regard—I had that plentifully. But for the same reason that I—’
He broke off again. The shadow of Berenice was threatening. He set his mouth. Perhaps it would help to say it. After all, if there were anyone he could say it to, it was this woman here, scarred as she was by the cruelty of others.
‘For the same reason that I was so glad to marry Berenice. I was all too willing—but it made my father happy too.’ He paused again, his mouth twisting. ‘“The road to hell is paved with good intentions...”’
Restlessly, he drained his champagne, getting to his feet. Damn the woman he’d married so blindly—damn her to the hell she’d put him in!
The hell she still seeks for me.
Determinedly, he shut down his morbid thoughts, refusing to let them spoil this special day.
‘Come,’ he said, drawing Jenna to her feet. ‘If your glass is empty, too, let us take a stroll to work off all these cakes.’
Good mood restored, he led her off.
Leaving Berenice far, far behind. If he could.
* * *
Jenna stood out on the terrace. The sun was near to setting, filling the gardens with rich gold light. The tea things had long been cleared away, and they had all spent the last hour or two on the sofa in Amelie’s playroom, first watching one of her favourite movies with her, then playing her favourite computer game—both of which had involved medieval princesses, heroic quests and assorted mythical beasts.
It had been fun and relaxed and convivial.
Now Amelie had been handed over to Maria for her bath time, and Evandro had disappeared into the library to check his emails. Loretta had just brought out an aperitivo for them both, after Jenna had helped her set the table in the dining room and fetched the cold collation of salads and antipasti that would suffice as dinner after their lavish afternoon tea.
Bidding Loretta goodnight as she went off duty, Jenna stood gazing out over the vista beyond, feeling still that rich, warm glow of happiness that had filled her all afternoon.
