Wedded, Bedded, Betrayed

by Michelle Smart

  ‘What do you see?’ he asked.

  She met his eyes in the reflection, a question in them. ‘You and me?’

  ‘Forget about me. Look at your reflection and tell me what you see.’

  ‘I see...’ she lifted a shoulder ‘...me.’

  ‘And who are you?’

  ‘Elena.’

  ‘And who is Elena?’

  Her lips clamped together.

  Stepping behind her, he placed his hands to her jaw and rubbed his fingers against her soft skin, then gathered her hair together and kissed the swan of her neck.

  ‘When I look at you, I see a woman. A beautiful...’ he kissed her shoulder ‘...intelligent...’ he kissed the top of her spine ‘...passionate woman.’

  Snaking his tongue down her back, he dropped to his knees and kissed her bottom.

  ‘You are neither a whore nor a Madonna. You are a woman with desires and needs that are all your own.’

  She stood still but he could feel little quivers emanating from her.

  He inched himself around so her abdomen was level with his mouth. He placed his lips to it then looked up at her.

  She was gazing down at him, her eyes apprehensive and confused but her colour raised.

  ‘You are not a woman pretending to be a man, you are a woman. You have a spine of steel and a mouth tender enough to heal a wound with a kiss.’

  He kissed into the dip of her side and trailed his tongue to her hip and zagged it slowly across to her pretty blonde mound.

  Scenting her excitement, he pressed his nose into the fine hair and inhaled.

  ‘You have the scent of a woman, not a man.’ He flicked his tongue out and encircled her swollen nub.

  A tiny moan came from her throat.

  ‘You have the silkiest skin of any woman.’

  Now her eyes were dark and hooded.

  ‘Look in the mirror,’ he whispered, ‘and tell me what you see.’

  She stared at herself.

  ‘I see...’ Her words were heavy, laboured.

  ‘Do you see the woman with the power to be whoever she wants to be? Do you see the woman who can embrace the passionate core beating inside her? Because that’s the woman I see when I look at you, Elena.’

  Her hands reached down to take his head in her grasp, her fingers digging into his scalp.

  Her desire, unspoken, was given as an invitation.

  Burying his face in her heat and sliding a hand up her back to steady her, Gabriele gently used his tongue to bring her to the heights he knew gave her so much pleasure.

  He doubted he would ever tire of watching her orgasm.

  That first time had been special. Discovering her virginity in such a manner had been as much a shock to him as the feel of him inside her had shocked Elena. Watching that shock slowly turn into bliss and then wonderment, knowing it was his arms she was coming undone in... It had been more than special. He’d thought nothing would ever be able to match it.

  Instead, his amazement had grown.

  Though he knew his thoughts would only confirm Elena’s opinion that all men were pigs, he couldn’t help the delight it gave knowing only he had discovered Elena’s hidden passion. Every response was his and his alone. And every time she touched him, it thrilled his selfish ego to know he was the only man she’d touched in this way. The only man she’d ever touched.

  Her desire for him was not something she could hide—he had learned to read his wife very well. Her eyes responded in an honest way she still wouldn’t allow her body to fully do.

  He hoped the day would come when she seduced him. When she would press her lips to his and breathe into him.

  If she would only let go, set all her inhibitions and doubts about him free and embrace with everything she had what could be explosive.

  She had no reason to trust him. He knew that.

  By the time he earned it, their marriage would be over. One way or another.

  But then her fingers dug even harder into him and her thighs trembled and his thoughts vanished, his concentration solely on her and her pleasure.

  Only when he felt her go limp did he look back at her, smiling to see the dazed expression now echoing back at him.

  Taking a firm hold of her hips, he got to his feet and lifted her into the air, a lock of her white-blonde hair falling into his face.

  In three strides he carried her to the bed and laid her down.

  She parted her legs for him and with one thrust he was inside her.

  Until that moment he hadn’t realised how deep his own ache had been.

  It was an ache he carried with him on an almost permanent basis.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  IF ELENA’S NERVES got any tighter she would go springing across Piazza del Duomo.

  Gabriele, who had earlier massaged her shoulders in an effort to relieve her tension, rubbed her wrist with his thumb.

  ‘I’m sure your family will behave themselves,’ he said. In the five-minute walk to the hotel they were throwing the party at, he’d made a variety of assurances at least seven times.

  ‘It’s not their behaviour that concerns me.’ She was only half lying. Over one hundred people would be attending their ‘celebration’. Every single one of them knew of the animosity between her father and her husband.

  The media furore had died down in the past week, but today talk of their wedding celebration was everywhere. Rumours had circulated of paparazzi offering thousands of euros for an invitation. All anyone seemed to care about was who would hit who first—her husband or her father...?

  Since when had she started thinking of Gabriele as her husband?

  There was no time to ponder this strange turn of events as they’d arrived at the hotel.

  A media scrum greeted them but the hotel had beefed up its security and cordoned the media away from the hotel steps.

  Clinging tightly to his hand, she climbed the stairs under a hail of flashing bulbs and shouted questions.

  Hotel staff greeted them in the foyer, welcoming them with glasses of champagne. Gabriele had booked the whole hotel, one of the oldest and most prestigious in Florence, for the evening, bedrooms and all.

  Anna Maria was in the dance room waiting for them. Gabriele left them to it while he went to greet the band, infamous hell-raisers who’d had half a dozen global bestselling albums and who had flown in from America especially for the evening. While they milled by the free bar, their roadies were setting up on the stage.

  ‘What do you think?’ Anna Maria asked.

  As Elena gazed around the room, taking it all in, she couldn’t help the wistfulness that raced through her. The high vaulted ceiling and frescoed walls were magnificent on their own but the tables decorated with silver balloons and the scattering of tiny silver horseshoes, the streams of ribbon twisted around the pillars in the room’s corners, gave it a romantic effect that made her ache that this was all a lie.

  ‘It looks beautiful,’ she said.

  She looked over at Gabriele, deep in conversation with the band’s singer, and wished...

  Wished for what? That this could be real? That their marriage could be born out of love, not hatred and vengeance?

  He caught her eye and made a drinking motion, asking if he could get her anything.

  Touched, she raised her still-full glass of champagne.

  He winked and indicated he would be with her in a moment.

  Shaking off the wish that he were with her right now, she turned her attention back to Anna Maria, taking in the creased trouser suit she wore. ‘Are you going to change soon?’

  ‘I’m only here to oversee events,’ the PA replied.

  ‘That’s what the hotel management’s for,’ Elena said. ‘Take the evening off and join us.
’

  ‘I can’t.’

  Rooting through her small clutch bag, Elena found her credit card. ‘There’s a boutique and a hairdresser here in the hotel. Take this and buy yourself something. I’m sure the hotel will have a room you can get ready in.’

  Anna Maria shook her head, now looking ill at ease. ‘I truly can’t.’

  ‘You can. I insist. I’ll clear it with Gabriele for you.’

  At the mention of his name, something flickered on Anna Maria’s face.

  For the briefest moment Elena wondered if the PA was in love with him but immediately discounted the idea. She wasn’t an expert on relationships but not once had she felt any vibes that suggested they were anything but boss and employee.

  Maybe the PA disapproved of their farce of a marriage and didn’t think it appropriate to join in with the mock celebrations?

  ‘Please,’ she said, touching her hand and deciding to change tack. ‘We both know the truth about my marriage, there’s no need to pretend otherwise, but that doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy the evening. I won’t know many people here and it will be nice to have a familiar face in the crowd.’

  Anna Maria bit into her lip. When she looked at Elena there was something in her expression that set off a fresh warning of something being wrong. But then she smiled and nodded her head.

  ‘Thank you. That’s very kind of you.’

  ‘Go and make yourself look beautiful.’

  Anna Maria spoke briefly to Gabriele, who sent Elena another wink, then she disappeared from the room.

  Elena continued gazing at him, happy to observe from afar. He looked gorgeous in his black tuxedo and bow tie, a powerhouse of masculinity that perfectly complemented the femininity she could feel racing through her blood.

  Tonight she truly felt like a woman.

  Of all the dresses she’d bought on Liana the stylist’s recommendation, this was the one she’d never had any intention of wearing. For a start, it showed off flesh. Her flesh. Made of silk crepe de Chine that felt heavenly against her skin, the spaghetti straps and low-cut front skimmed both sides of her breasts, making the wearing of a bra impossible. Monochrome swirl prints interspersed with turquoise fell in layers, one side to mid-thigh, the other to mid-calf, and swayed when she walked. And speaking of walking...

  She’d squeezed her feet into a pair of blush-coloured five-inch-high sandals with one simple strap across her toes that was nonetheless crystal embellished, and a thin ankle strap. She’d never felt so tall. Her legs had never felt so shapely.

  A visit to a salon had seen her hair swept into a loose but elegant chignon, her fringe swept to one side and tendrils left loose around her ears and her nape. She’d kept her make-up simple but after weeks of determined practice she was finally getting the hang of it.

  As vain and silly as she knew it to be, she now loved wearing make-up and felt nothing but sadness that she had spent so many years denying this side of her nature, not just denying it but pretending it didn’t exist.

  Gabriele had taken one look at her and wolf-whistled.

  That man...how could the one person she should hate more than any other on the planet be the one to make her look in a mirror and find the real woman beneath the skin?

  With a start she realised she didn’t hate him any more. And when he came over and took her hand in his, she squeezed it, her heart so full, her chest so tight she couldn’t speak.

  ‘That was a lovely thing you did for Anna Maria,’ he said quietly, handing her credit card back to her. ‘I’ve told her to put whatever she buys on the account. I should have thought of it myself.’

  The temptation to reach out and touch his face was strong but some last resistance lay within her and she slipped the card back into her bag, saying, ‘She looked so tired I almost ordered her home.’

  He gazed into her eyes as if he were searching for something.

  The urge to touch him grew and she raised her chin towards his, parting her lips...

  A loud noise from the stage broke the moment and she quickly looked away, trying desperately to regain control of herself.

  ‘The guests are arriving,’ she murmured, glad of the distraction, horrified that she had been about to kiss him, not for show but because at that moment she had wanted nothing more than to feel his mouth upon hers.

  Soon the dance room was filled with guests, all of whom had to congratulate the happy couple. Even though they’d put on the invitations that the only present they required was their guests’ company, many came with gifts, which Elena felt terrible about accepting. She kept staring at the table laden down with beautifully wrapped packages with that same tugging wistfulness in her belly she had felt when she’d walked into the room; that sensation of wishing that this could really be...

  She knew from Gabriele’s body language when her family arrived.

  They were talking to a couple whose names she couldn’t remember when he stiffened and his hold on her hand tightened.

  ‘Elena’s family are here,’ he said politely. ‘We need to go and welcome them.’

  Her heart pounding so loudly it muffled her hearing, she walked with him to the bar, where her father and brothers were standing, champagne flutes in hand, although she would bet that any moment they would be ordering double Scotches.

  The four Ricci men stood in a row facing them.

  It was like a Mexican stand-off and, judging by the looks in their eyes, they were all waiting for her to decide which side she was on.

  How could she tell them that there was no choice and that if she didn’t stay on her side of the invisible dividing line, they would likely all go to prison?

  You don’t know if you even want to return to their side of the divide.

  Fixing a smile to her face, she embraced them in turn, wishing so hard she didn’t feel like such a traitor, not just by her actions but by her emotions too. She had as little control over the latter as she had the former.

  ‘Thank you so much for coming,’ she said brightly, then stood back as Gabriele extended his hand to her father, forcing Ignazio to shake it.

  She winced. She didn’t know who tried the hardest to crush the other but any moment she expected to hear the sound of snapping bone.

  When Gabriele shook her brothers’ hands, it was their turn to wince.

  After the ‘niceties’ had been observed, Roberto, the youngest of her brothers, looked her up and down, a smirk on his face. ‘What’s Mantegna done to you? You look like a girl.’

  ‘More like a whore,’ Franco muttered under his breath, yet audible enough for Elena to hear.

  Her whole body flushed at the insult she had spent her entire life trying to avoid being on the receiving end of.

  Before she could think of a suitable response—her brothers’ guffaws only added to the brain-melting humiliation—Gabriele fixed them all with a stare that stopped their laughter in its tracks.

  He took her hand in his and held it possessively.

  ‘Your sister is a beautiful, intelligent woman,’ he said, undisguised contempt in his voice, ‘and I would appreciate it if you kept any sexist digs you may have in mind out of her earshot and definitely out of mine.’

  All four Ricci men gaped at him, then identical fury flashed over their features.

  Her father elbowed Franco, a silent but painful warning to keep his mouth shut.

  The problem for her father and brothers was that they knew Gabriele had an agenda in marrying her but they didn’t know what it was or how he intended for it to work out. They couldn’t afford to antagonise him any further.

  ‘Excuse us, but some new guests have arrived.’ Gabriele’s tone was like ice but his smile did not falter. ‘I’m sure we’ll have a chance to catch up later. The buffet will open soon so you’ll have much to occupy you.’

  Wh
en he bore her away, Elena didn’t know whether to shout at him for his subtle rudeness or laugh at the memory of her brothers’ gawping faces.

  What she really didn’t want to do at that moment, though, was shed the tears clamouring behind her eyes.

  For the first time in her life she had looked at her immediate family and really seen them. She had seen four squat, overweight men who looked as if they were auditioning for the role of petty gangsters in a Scorsese film.

  And then Gabriele introduced her to someone who made all thoughts of her father and brothers take a back seat.

  ‘Elena?’ said the elegant blonde woman before her.

  ‘Aunt Agnes?’ So shocked was she that she could hardly get the words out. She didn’t have to say anything else for Agnes yanked her into her arms for a tight embrace.

  ‘It is so good to see you,’ Agnes said in perfect Italian. ‘I have missed you terribly.’

  By the time her mother’s sister let her go, the threatening tears had spilled out.

  ‘Are you here alone?’ Elena asked after she’d blown her nose on a tissue Gabriele had thrust into her hands before he’d kissed her neck and whispered that he would leave them to it.

  ‘Henrick is in Canada on business but Lisbeth travelled with me—she’s just changing Annika’s clothes. Did you know she had a baby?’

  Elena shook her head.

  ‘Malin wanted to come too but she’s due to give birth in three weeks herself so she wasn’t allowed to fly, but she sends her love. Is your father here?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Agnes grimaced but didn’t elaborate on her thoughts. Before Elena could ask, Agnes waved over Elena’s shoulder. ‘There’s Lisbeth and baby Annika now.’

  More embraces were shared and then they found a table to sit around and catch up on. Baby Annika was handed to her and Elena gazed down at the chubby little face with awe.

  ‘I can’t believe you’ve had a baby,’ she said in wonderment. ‘The last time I saw you, you were still in a training bra.’