by Lynne Graham
Lizzie sank down at the table in the piazza and the waiter was at their side within seconds, doubtless drawn by one glimpse of Cesare’s sleek sophistication. He had an air of hauteur and command that got them fast service everywhere they went and it was so inbred in him to expect immediate attention that he rarely even noticed the fact, although she was very sure he would notice if he didn’t receive it.
Now she feasted her attention on his lean bronzed face. She was magnetised by his stunning dark golden eyes as they rested on her and wondered what he was thinking. She was always wondering what he was thinking, had to bite her tongue not to ask, but it was hardly surprising that she was living in a state of constant befuddlement because their business-based marriage of convenience had become something else entirely...at least for her...
They had now been in Italy for a solid month. Cesare had made several business trips. He had flown his family and Chrissie in to visit for one weekend and the two days had passed in a whirlwind of chattering liveliness and warmth. Lizzie had never been so happy before and it scared her because she knew she was nourishing hopes that would ultimately lead to disappointment and the stark biting pain of rejection. What? Only possibly? jibed her more truthful self. Lizzie’s emotions had got involved the very first night they’d slept together and she’d wakened in the morning to find herself secure in Cesare’s arms.
For four whole weeks she had been living an idyllic life with an attentive husband, who was also a passionate lover, by her side. He had taken her out sightseeing, shopping, out to dinner in sun-baked piazzas, fashionable squares, and to wander through old churches lit by candles and the sunlight piercing the stained-glass windows. Today they had walked the seventeenth-century ramparts of Lucca. Her fingers toyed momentarily with the slender gold watch encircling her wrist, her most recent gift. If he went on a trip or even noticed that she lacked something he considered essential, he bought it for her. He was incredibly generous in bed and out of it. He was curious about her, knew everything there was to know about her childhood. His interest was intoxicating because she had never seen herself as being particularly interesting. In fact, being the focus of attention of a very handsome, entertaining male had made her see herself in a kinder, warmer light.
In truth, when Cesare Sabatino was faking being a husband, he faked with the skill and panache of a professional, she conceded ruefully. He hadn’t asked her to fall in love with him. It wouldn’t occur to him that bringing an ordinary woman out to beautiful Tuscany and treating her like a much appreciated, highly desirable wife while keeping her in luxury might turn her head. But Lizzie knew her head had been thoroughly turned. She found him fascinating. He was a spellbinding mix of rapier-sharp intellect and disconcerting emotional depth and, of course, she had fallen head over heels for him. Archie now rejoiced in a collar with his name picked out in diamonds and a four-poster bed of his own. How could she not love the man who had given her adored pet those quite unnecessary, ridiculously expensive but deeply touching things?
And the result was that now she was terrified of falling pregnant, fearing that that announcement would ensure that their marriage cooled back down to a businesslike arrangement in which Cesare would expect her to be terribly civilised and behave as if she didn’t give a damn about him. Within days of the wedding she had had the proof that she had not yet conceived and Cesare had just laughed and said that they had all the time in the world, as if it truly didn’t matter to him if it took months to reach that goal.
‘What if there’s something wrong with one of us and it doesn’t happen?’ she had asked him anxiously.
He had shrugged and suggested that they give it a year before seeking medical advice. If for some reason having a child turned out not to be possible, they would deal with it when it happened, Cesare had told her fatalistically while urging her not to stress about getting pregnant.
‘I hope you’ve got something special lined up to wear tonight,’ Cesare mused over their wine. ‘It’s a real fashion parade.’
‘I thought it was a charity do.’
‘In Italy such events are always fashion parades.’
‘I have at least four long dresses to choose from,’ Lizzie reminded him. ‘I won’t let you down. Don’t worry about it.’
‘Ma no...certainly not,’ Cesare cut in, stroking a long forefinger soothingly over her hand where it curled on the table top. ‘You always look fantastic, gioia mia. Why would I be worried about you letting me down?’
‘I’m not part of your world and I never will be. It’s a challenge for me to put on fancy clothes and pretend I’m something I’m not,’ Lizzie admitted in an undertone.
‘You only need to be yourself. You have two, no, three...’ he adjusted reflectively, amusement gleaming in his gilded gaze ‘...advantages.’
‘Which are?’
‘Beauty and class and my ring on your finger,’ Cesare completed with cynical cool. ‘I’m a powerful man. You will be treated with respect and courtesy.’
An involuntary grin lit up Lizzie’s face and she laughed, biting back foolish words of love. What an embarrassment it would be if she were to lose control of her tongue around him now! After all, he was playing a very sophisticated game with her, utilising his charm and a whole host of other extraordinary gifts to make their marriage work as if it were a real marriage. If she were to suddenly confess how she felt about him, he would be embarrassed and appalled to learn that she didn’t know how to play the same game.
‘We should head back soon,’ she commented unevenly.
‘Would that leave us time for an hour or so in bed?’ Cesare sprang upright, dropping a large-denomination note down on top of the bill, smouldering dark eyes flashing over her with a sexual intensity that never failed to thrill.
‘Again?’ There was a slight gasp in her low-pitched response because she had yet to adapt to Cesare’s high-voltage libido. He seemed to want her all the time, no matter where she was, no matter what she was wearing or what she was doing. She thought he was possibly a little oversexed but she didn’t complain because she always wanted him too and, in any case, the whole point of their marriage was for her to conceive a child.
A light hand resting in the shallow indentation of her spine, Cesare urged her back to the Ferrari. As she clambered in beside him he turned his head and closed a hard hand into the tumble of her hair to hold her fast while he kissed her. His mouth was hungry and hot and erotic on hers and every sense was on overdrive by the time he freed her again and started up the car.
The air conditioning cooled her overheated skin but the ache throbbing between her thighs was far less controllable. Cesare skimmed up her skirt to bare her thighs. ‘I like looking at your legs, especially when I know I’m about to part them,’ he husked soft and low, laughing when her cheeks flamed.
Early evening, Lizzie inspected her reflection in a black shimmering dress that delineated her slender figure with a spare elegance that appealed to her. She was learning what she liked and didn’t like in her wardrobe and she didn’t like fussy trims or frills or neon-bright colours that seemed to swallow her alive.
Warmth speckled her cheeks as she thought about the intimacy of the late-afternoon hours. She moved slowly in her heels, a touch of tenderness at the heart of her reminding her of Cesare’s passionate energy between the sheets. In bed, sensual excitement ruled her entirely and she was enjoying every moment of exploring that brave new world.
Even so the image that lingered longest was of Cesare, lithe and bronzed and breathtakingly beautiful, relaxing back against the tumbled pillows and finally admitting how very relieved he was that Athene was now well on the road to recovery, having initially suffered a setback in the aftermath of her cardiac surgery. For days, he had tried to pretend he wasn’t worried sick even though Lizzie had watched him freeze at every phone call, fearful of receiving bad news. That he had finally abandoned that mach
o pretence of unconcern to share his true feelings with Lizzie had meant a lot to her. She valued the little signs that revealed that Cesare was behaving more and more like one half of a couple rather than an independent, entirely separate entity. They had visited his grandmother in her convalescent clinic in Rome several times and Athene’s sparkling personality even in a hospital bed and her strong affection for Cesare had touched Lizzie’s heart.
In the morning they were flying out to Lionos and one day after that Athene was coming out to join them. Cesare had married Lizzie purely to gain that right to bring his grandmother out for a stay on the island and Lizzie regularly reminded herself of that unflattering reality. But she was looking forward almost as much as Athene was to seeing Lionos, which the older woman had described in such charmed terms. She only hoped that the enhancements engineered by the imperturbable Primo lived up to Cesare’s expectations.
A limousine ferried Cesare and Lizzie to the venue for the charity benefit in Florence. It was being held in a vast mansion with every window lit and crowds of paparazzi waiting on the pavement to take photographs of the guests arriving. Lizzie froze in surprise when they were targeted, belatedly appreciating that she was married to a male who, when in his homeland, received the attention worthy of a celebrity for his looks and spectacular business accomplishments.
‘Did you enjoy having your photo taken?’ Cesare asked.
‘No, not at all. I didn’t feel glossy enough for the occasion,’ she confided.
‘But you spent ages getting ready,’ Cesare countered with all the incomprehension of a male who had merely showered and shaved before donning a dinner jacket.
Her hazel gaze roving swiftly over the level of extreme grooming clearly practised by the other female guests, Lizzie suppressed a rueful sigh. She didn’t look perfect and she knew it, reckoned she should have foreseen that the attentions of a hairstylist and a make-up artist would be necessary. But then how important was her image to Cesare? Did he really care? Or would he soon be comparing her, to her detriment, to the women who had preceded her in his bed? Lizzie had done her homework on the Internet and she was uneasily aware that in recent years Cesare had spent a lot of time in the company of fashion and beauty models, invariably the very image of feminine perfection. Possibly she needed to make more of an effort, she conceded, uncomfortable with the comparisons she was making.
As they were surrounded by the leading lights in the charity committee of which Cesare was a director, the crowd parted and an exquisite brunette, wearing a very fitted pink dress overlaid with a see-through chiffon layer that simply accentuated her stupendous curves, approached them. Cesare performed the introduction. ‘Our hostess, Princess Serafina Ruffini...Serafina, my wife, Lizzie.’
‘Welcome to my home, Lizzie.’ Serafina air kissed her on both cheeks and gave her a wide, seemingly sincere smile.
Shock winged through Lizzie and she was furious that Cesare hadn’t warned her that the benefit was being held at his former girlfriend’s home. Impervious to her mood and the manner in which her hand clenched tensely on his arm, Cesare talked about cancer research to an older man who seemed to be a doctor while Lizzie made awkward conversation with his wife, who spoke very little English. Italian lessons were going to be a must in the near future, Lizzie promised herself. Her attention crept back to Serafina, holding court on the other side of the room with a lively group who frequently broke into laughter.
Cesare had described his ex as very beautiful and he had not been kidding. Serafina had almond-shaped dark eyes, skin like clotted cream, a wealth of dark tumbling curls and one of those enviable cupid’s-bow scarlet mouths that men always seemed to go mad for. And, more worryingly, Serafina appeared to move in the same social milieu as Cesare, possibly to the extent that Cesare had not even felt it necessary to mention that Lizzie would be meeting her that very evening. For goodness’ sake, he broke up with her almost ten years ago, Lizzie reminded herself impatiently. How likely was it that he was still hankering after what he had lost?
In conversation with one of the organisers, who spoke great English, Lizzie learned how indebted the charity felt to Serafina, not only for her recent decision to become their patroness but also for allowing her magnificent home to be used for a fundraising benefit. La Principessa, she learned, was worth a small fortune to the charity in terms of the PR and publicity she would bring their cause, which was raising sufficient funds to open a new hospice for terminally ill children.
It was very warm in the crowded room and perspiration began to bead on Lizzie’s brow. She glanced longingly across the room to where several sets of doors stood open onto an outside terrace. As she stood there, a glass of water clasped in one hand, a sick sensation composed of both dizziness and nausea washed over her, leaving her pale.
‘Excuse me, I’m warm and I think I’ll step outside for a few minutes,’ she told her companion and turned away, wondering if she should be taking refuge in the cloakroom instead, but praying that the cooler night air would revive her.
The terrace was furnished with tables and chairs, and lights and candles held the darkness at bay. Lizzie took a seat, gratefully feeling the clamminess of her skin and the faint sickness recede again and breathing the fresh air in deep while she wondered if she was simply tired or if, indeed, she could be in the very earliest stage of a pregnancy. Wonder at that faint suspicion curved her mouth into a ready smile but delight at the prospect was swiftly tempered by fear of what such a development might mean to her relationship with Cesare. Would he back off from their current intimacy? Would he stop treating her like a real wife?
‘I saw you come outside,’ a female voice said lightly. ‘I thought we should get acquainted. I’ve known Cesare for so many years,’ Serafina Ruffini told her with apparent warmth. ‘You haven’t been married long, have you?’
‘No, only for a month,’ Lizzie admitted, struggling to maintain her relaxed attitude in the face of Serafina’s shrewdly assessing gaze.
‘My husband, Matteo, passed away last year. I’m fortunate to have my seven-year-old son to comfort me,’ Serafina confided.
‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ Lizzie murmured, guiltily dismayed at the news that the brunette was a widow. ‘It must be hard for you and your son.’
‘We’re getting used to being a twosome.’ Serafina signalled a waiter hovering by the door with an imperious gesture wholly in keeping with her rather royal air of command. ‘Champagne?’
‘No, thanks.’ Lizzie smoothed a fingertip round the rim of her glass of water while smiling valiantly as the brunette continued to watch her closely.
The champagne was served with a flourish. Serafina leant back in her upholstered seat. ‘Of course, you’ll know about my history with Cesare...’
Lizzie stiffened. ‘Yes.’
‘How honest can I be with you?’
‘As honest as you like but I don’t think Cesare would like us talking about him behind his back,’ Lizzie opined quietly.
‘He’s an Italian male with a healthy ego.’ Serafina laughed. ‘Being wanted and appreciated by women is the bread of life for him.’
‘Is that why you didn’t marry him?’ Lizzie heard herself ask helplessly. ‘You believed he would be a womaniser?’
‘No, not at all. I married for security. I didn’t grow up like Cesare in a comfortable middle-class home,’ Serafina confided, startling Lizzie with her frankness. ‘I came from a poor background and worked very hard for everything I got and I had a great fear of being poor again. Matteo was a proven success while Cesare was only starting out in the business world. I loved Cesare but I’m afraid that the security which Matteo offered me was irresistible.’
Thoroughly disconcerted by that unembarrassed explanation, Lizzie murmured without expression, ‘You made the right decision for you.’
Serafina saluted her with her glass in gratitude. ‘I believe that
I did but once I saw how well Cesare was doing in business, I naturally wished I had had more faith in him.’
‘I expect you did,’ Lizzie conceded tautly. ‘But you had a husband and a child by then and everything had changed.’
‘But I still never stopped loving Cesare and, I warn you now, I intend to get him back.’
‘You expect me to listen to this?’ Lizzie asked, beginning to rise from her seat, having heard enough of Serafina’s self-absorbed excuses.
‘No, don’t go,’ Serafina urged impatiently. ‘I’m sorry if I shocked you but I want you to understand that, right now, Cesare is set on punishing me for what I did to him almost ten years ago.’
Involuntarily, Lizzie settled back in her seat. ‘Punishing you?’
‘What else could he have been doing when he married you? He married you to hurt me. Here I am, finally free and available and he marries you. What sense does that make?’
‘Has it occurred to you that maybe he’s over you and doesn’t want you back?’ Lizzie asked helplessly, provoked by the brunette’s conviction that she would always be Cesare’s most desirable option and reminding herself that she was supposed to be Cesare’s real wife and should be reacting accordingly to Serafina’s little spiel. ‘Your affair ended a long time ago.’
‘You never forget your first love,’ Serafina argued with ringing conviction. ‘He’s even living in the house we planned together.’
‘What house?’
‘The farmhouse. We first saw it as students. It was a wet night and we made love in the barn,’ Serafina admitted, a rapt look in her bright eyes as Lizzie hastily dropped her lashes to conceal her expression.
Too much information, Lizzie was thinking anxiously, an odd pain clenching her down deep inside. She could not bear to think of Cesare making love with Serafina and could have happily tossed Serafina’s champagne into her sensually abstracted face. Serafina had married her older man for security and wealth while still loving and wanting Cesare. Lizzie did not think the brunette had any right to expect to turn the clock back or indeed any excuse to risk upsetting Cesare’s new wife with intimate and threatening images from the past she had once shared with him.
