Hired: The Italian's Convenient Mistress

by Carol Marinelli

  Every word he’d said made seemingly perfect sense.

  Only to Ainslie it didn’t.

  She could sense the shift that had occurred, could almost feel him slipping away…and not just from her, from little Guido too.

  ‘You should go out.’ Enid was utterly insistent.

  Feeling guilty as all hell, Ainslie ducked her face from Guido’s wet kisses so as not to spoil her professionally applied make-up. Wrapped in a bathrobe, so as not to blemish her rapid tan, and a silk scarf to keep her false curls from frizzing, Ainslie fed Guido his turkey and mash.

  ‘It’s New Year’s Eve,’ Enid pushed on. ‘And if you are going to have Guido—well, he’s going to have to get used to the fact you two go out.’

  ‘But we won’t as much.’ Ainslie shivered, trying to say the right thing, but finding it harder with each and every word.

  Elijah’s mobile phone was constantly trilling, and his laptop was always on. Invitations thudded onto the mat as the world caught up to the fact that Elijah Vanaldi was in town. The thought of spreading her wings and fluttering into Elijah’s real world had her dripping in cold sweat, but all that she could deal with—all that she could cope with blindfolded—if Elijah just met her halfway. If the man she had glimpsed, the uncle Guido so richly deserved, might somehow return.

  Dragging her mind back to the conversation, Ainslie knew she was trying to convince herself as much as Enid. ‘We won’t be going out as much. Not now we’ve got Guido to think of.’

  ‘Of course you will,’ Enid huffed in her no-nonsense way. ‘I Googled him.’

  ‘Googled him?’

  ‘Mr Vanaldi—Elijah. So don’t try and tell me that you two don’t love the high life—your life isn’t going to suddenly stop, so off you go and enjoy yourselves. After all you’ve been through you both deserve it.’

  Maybe they did.

  Maybe a night out was just what they needed. Perhaps she was starting to go stir-crazy, confined to the house and the park. Elijah was used to parties and glamour and running on adrenaline. Of course it couldn’t just end because of Guido—he’d work out a compromise, and tonight so would she!

  Staring in the full-length mirror, Ainslie almost had herself convinced! The pale pink raw silk, hand-beaded dress with matching coat had looked appalling on the hanger—like some rosé impersonation of the Christmas tree in the lounge. But once on—once set against a backdrop of spiralling blonde curls and a necklace to die for, with indecently high soft grey stilettos and lashings of silver eyeshadow—somehow, somehow it worked.

  Unlike them.

  Everything they’d found at Christmas seemed lost. The hands that had adored her hadn’t been near her in days, the mouth that had kissed her derisive now, and she truly didn’t get him—couldn’t fathom that he would consider leaving for Italy so close to Social Services making its decision. That he should simply walk away from something he insisted he wanted.

  ‘You look lovely!’ Enid beamed as Ainslie tripped down the stairs. ‘Tony’s in the kitchen—I’m just making him a cuppa.’

  While we wait for Elijah.

  She didn’t say it, of course. It wasn’t really the housekeeper’s place to point out that Prince Charming was late for the ball.

  Ainslie was so distracted she forgot Elijah’s instructions not to answer the phone. She picked it up unthinking on the second ring, to find there in her hand and in her ear Elijah’s real world: a throaty, sexy voice, talking in rapid Italian, purring like a kitten as Ainslie attempted to find her own voice.

  ‘Elijah isn’t here.’

  ‘And you arrrre?’

  She dragged her rrr’s, Ainslie noted. The kitten showing its claws?

  ‘Ainslie.’

  ‘Oh—the stand-in!’ A peal of laughter pierced her eardrum. ‘Don’t worry, Elijah told me about the old housekeeper, and that I must be careful.’

  Something died a little inside Ainslie as Enid came out and placed a mug on the hall table.

  ‘I can be discreet when I have to. Where is he? His mobile is off.’

  ‘Who are you?’ It was the bravest, yet possibly the most stupid of questions—one she’d already envisaged the answer to, even before it came.

  ‘It’s Portia!’ came the confident reply—as if she should already know, as if she really shouldn’t have been so stupid as to think that a guy like Elijah came with his wings already clipped. ‘His real girlfriend.’

  After arriving home with about two minutes to spare, not even bothering to apologise, Elijah had washed and changed in a matter of moments, cursing as he did up his tie and combed back his hair. Dousing himself in cologne, he neither commented on her looks nor her mood.

  But he noticed.

  Could see her taut and pale in the mirror, more beautiful and fragile than he had ever seen her.

  He didn’t want to ask how she was, because it would kill him to hear.

  Didn’t want another row. Didn’t want to justify going out when he didn’t want to either.

  He hated that he was going tomorrow.

  Hated that he was making her stay.

  Only he didn’t want her to leave either.

  ‘Come!’ He offered his hand, knowing she wouldn’t take it. ‘Let’s go.’

  Elijah’s friends were as awful as her mood. She hardly caught their names, and then they were chatting loudly and rudely in Italian as the driver whizzed them the couple of miles to their destination—a luxury residence with glittering views of the river, champagne flowing and a discreet procession of waiters bringing around the most delectable of finger food. But no amount of champagne could console her, and food, no matter how delectable, couldn’t give her comfort tonight.

  Elijah had introduced her to a small group, given her a glass and then disappeared, as if dropping a dog off at the kennels, leaving her standing amongst his yapping social set, who were a different breed entirely. She tried to fit in, tried to blend and make small talk, but she was out of kilter—not just a step behind this glamorous, jet setting crowd, but lapped again and again. She listened without interest to talk of skiing holidays and nannies who had the nerve to want the night off on New Year’s Eve!

  And they all adored Elijah.

  Ainslie had to grit her teeth as she attempted conversation, while out of the corner of her eye she watched as female after female came to offer him their condolences. Rather like the line-up Elijah had declined to take part in at the funeral. He consented now, accepting their kisses. Some were moved to tears—though not enough to mess up their make-up, Ainslie noted bitterly. But, hell, she felt bitter.

  Bitter with him, bitter that these people, these awful, obnoxious people, could mean so much to him—that the man who measured up in so many departments failed so miserably in the one that mattered most.

  ‘Come.’ As the hands of the clock crept towards midnight he graced her with a dance, but it was way too little and way too late. He’d ignored her all night, too busy chatting up his rich banking friends to even bother chatting up her. She had tried not to be jealous, tried to remember she was here for Guido’s sake. She’d tried to remember it wasn’t his job to care about her. But after she’d seen him so relaxed and carefree in the expensive surroundings, seen the glitter of want in other women’s eyes, her self-loathing was toxic—because, despite herself, despite everything, still she wanted him to.

  Wanted him in way she had never wanted another.

  Wanted not just a piece of him, but exclusive rights—something she was sure he was incapable of giving.

  She knew that soon he’d tire of her—just as he had with Guido.

  His hands were loose around her waist as they swayed, and it appalled her how much she wanted to rest in his arms, on his chest, to hold him, to smell him, to feel him just one more time. But she fought it, held back when she wanted to give in, ignored each pleading beat of her heart and resisted the call of her body.

  ‘At least try to pretend you’re enjoying yourself,’ he hissed in her ear.


  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why?’ His single word was shot with incredulity and frustration.

  ‘These people are awful—I’ve tried talking to them—and you’ve ignored me all night…’

  ‘Ainslie,’ Elijah interrupted, ‘you’ve got all the symptoms of postnatal depression without actually having given birth. And I’ve told you—I have to talk to these people.’

  ‘To Portia too?’

  His hand twisted on her elbow, guided her out to the freezing balcony, and his palpable anger was enough to have the remaining smoker take his last gasp before midnight then stub it out and run in.

  ‘She rang tonight.’

  ‘I have told you not to answer the phone.’ Elijah shrugged. ‘It’s hardly my fault if you choose to ignore my instructions. Thank you for passing on the message.’

  ‘I haven’t yet.’ Her voice twisted with bitterness. ‘She said she’s your real girlfriend—that’s what she told me. I guess it’s your job to convince me otherwise.’

  ‘Do you really think I didn’t have a life before this happened?’

  ‘Is she the reason you’re going to Italy?’

  ‘Portia?’ He had the audacity to laugh. ‘You think I am going for Portia?’

  ‘Is that who you’ve been on the phone to all week?’

  ‘You’re jealous?’

  ‘Yes!’ Ainslie roared. ‘And I’m sorry if I’m not worldly enough or sophisticated enough to say it doesn’t matter that you’re sleeping with her as well as me. But tell me this, Elijah, would your real girlfriend get up to your nephew at night? Would your real girlfriend love Guido the way I do? Would your real girlfriend—?’ She stopped herself there—stopped because she didn’t dare tell him she loved him, couldn’t give him any more ammunition to fling at her when she was spent already.

  ‘I never got round to finishing things with her.’

  She winced at his disregard, knew that when her time came she’d be treated just as brutally.

  ‘You are so ready to think the worst of me.’ Elijah shook his head at her reaction. ‘Between the hospital and the undertaker and the lawyers and the funeral I forgot to tell the woman I had been seeing for all of two weeks that there was no place in my life for her. Ainslie, believe me when I say I have not given Portia a thought. I rang her yesterday and told her what had happened. But I was giving her an excuse, not a reason—and I was also trying to find out some information. You are right—Portia could never come close to all you have given…’

  She could feel his breath on her cheeks, see the anger, the passion in his eyes that matched hers.

  ‘In this hell I never expected to be happy. I feel guilty that I can smile, that you make me laugh, that I can hold you and forget when my mind should be on Guido, on my sister. That with all that is happening every hour I want you!’

  And then he kissed her—kissed her because he couldn’t make her leave, kissed her because, no matter how much he wanted her gone, still he wanted her here. His mouth claimed hers, because it was his, but she fought it, tightened her lips. His tongue probed and, like a hot knife through butter, they parted. He tasted of champagne and he smelt of reckless danger. Hot, hard kisses didn’t belong in this argument, this passion that blurred the lines over and over, this want that made her weak.

  She could hear the chant of the crowd, counting down to the New Year, and all it did was terrify her. She wanted him one last time before she gave up the addiction that was Elijah. She didn’t want twelve o’clock to strike, didn’t want it to be tomorrow—because then she’d have to give him up.

  His hands weren’t loose on her waist, as they had been on the dance floor, they were pulling her right into him. His mouth was pressing on hers and she was kissing him, loving him and hating him all at the same time as every chime of Big Ben rang in the NewYear. This celebration was nothing in Australia, but it was massive here. Everyone, from the party inside, to the people on the balconies below and in the street beneath, was breaking into ‘Auld Lang Syne’, and still he kissed her, his erection pressing into her as he pushed her into the wall behind. He could have taken her there, and the fact that she wanted him to take her, that with every twist of the kaleidoscope somehow she always wanted him, made her loathe him all the more.

  ‘I hate how you make me.’ She was crying the more he kissed her, but still she kissed him back.

  ‘You love how I make you.’ His mouth consumed hers, his tongue lashing hers, flailing her with every stroke.

  He kissed the breath out of her all the way in the taxi back home, kissed her up the steps and through the front door, kissed her all the way into the hall and up the stairs.

  She’d give up first thing, Ainslie promised herself as her fingers coiled in his hair, as she kissed him back with a frenzy that matched his, as they made it to the bedroom but not to the bed.

  He was pushing up her dress as he sucked at her neck, unleashing his fierce erection and then tearing at her knickers. Rough fingers were parting her thighs, and even though she was in killer heels he had to lower himself to enter her. It was uncomfortable as he stabbed inside her, but somehow it was tender. This raw need that consumed them both would soon would be soothed with sweet release. His palms pressed into her hips, his fingers digging into her bottom, holding her, supporting her as he warmed her core. With each thrust he satisfied her yet had her wanting more—more of him. Her orgasm dragged him in deeper, and she was clinging on tighter with each intimate beat as he pulsed inside her, a heady rush consuming her as he groaned out her name.

  When it was over—when later they were lying in bed, waiting for the morning that would take him away—he said the words she’d dreaded.

  ‘Marry me…’

  Under any other circumstances it wouldn’t have hurt to hear him ask—only this wasn’t about love, and it wasn’t uttered in a moment’s liberation post-orgasm. Ainslie knew that. This was about Elijah moving his pawns into place, Elijah thinking ahead, Elijah working the board to claim what he considered his. Two little words she had somehow known were coming from a man who knew how weak she was for him. She was terrified that she’d say yes, wondered how she could possibly find the strength to say no.

  ‘Don’t answer yet.’ He hushed her troubled mind with his lips. ‘We’ll talk when I return.’

  And, because she was at his bidding, Ainslie didn’t know whether that gave her a few hours or maybe a few days to come up with her answer.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  ELIJAH’S impeccable work ethic didn’t quite translate to his home life. There was no call to check on Guido, and he certainly didn’t ring to check on Ainslie. And wherever he’d left the message for Ms Anderson it hadn’t been delivered!

  ‘This really is most irregular.’ Less than impressed, Ms Anderson had checked on a sleeping Guido and was now grilling Ainslie in the formal lounge.

  ‘He has to work,’ Ainslie defended. ‘He has things that need to be sorted. He left everything when the accident happened, so he’s taking a couple of days to clear things up so that he can come back and concentrate on Guido.’

  ‘Which will be when?’ Ms Anderson pushed. ‘I want to see him with his nephew—see how they’re interacting.’

  ‘Elijah should be back in a couple of days,’ Ainslie said firmly,

  ‘Well, make sure that he is! The Castellas are going to be most upset, and frankly I don’t blame them. If he can’t be with his uncle, surely he should be with the rest of his family.’

  ‘Guido’s at home here…’ Ainslie swallowed, trying desperately to remain assertive. ‘To move him now, for a couple of days while Elijah is away, would just unsettle him.’

  ‘I know that,’ Ms Anderson snapped. ‘I hope your fiancé realises that if it wasn’t for you, if it wasn’t for the fact you’re his fiancée and are presumably going to have a large part in Guido’s life, I’d have no hesitation in allowing Guido to spend some time with his other relatives—and I’ll be telling the Castellas that. You can tell Mr Vanaldi
too. His money doesn’t impress me—I do not want this little boy raised by a string of hired help when there’s a loving family who dearly want him.’

  Keeping in her sigh of relief when Ms Anderson picked up her bag and made to leave, Ainslie saw her to the door. ‘I’ll have him ring you as soon as he returns.’

  ‘See that he does!’

  ‘Her bark’s worse than her bite!’ Teatowel in hand, Enid found Ainslie letting out her breath against the closed door.

  ‘Is it?’ Never had she been more grateful for Enid’s solid presence. Bone-tired from it all, Ainslie let herself be taken to the kitchen. She sat in the womb-like refuge Enid offered and sipped on tea and dunked biscuits. Like fighter pilots scrambling, her brain tried to locate its target.

  Only it kept moving.

  ‘Maybe she’s right,’ Ainslie said finally, and Enid stopped unloading the dishwasher and came and sat down. ‘I mean, if Elijah can miss such an important appointment because of work what else is he going to miss? The Christmas play? Parent-teacher interviews? Bathtime?’

  ‘He’s got things to sort out…’ Enid soothed, but Ainslie shook her head.

  She’d Googled him too—and any doubt she’d had that Portia might be the reason Elijah had gone to Italy had been quashed. Elijah, it would seem, didn’t even stretch to dinner and a hand-hold to dump a girlfriend—from the bitter interviews she’d read, several women would have considered themselves lucky if they’d even got a text message. Which left work the only reason he was there. And that didn’t fare any better with Ainslie, because if commitments had to come first, then where did that leave Guido?

  And where did it leave her?

  A convenient wife?

  She could almost glimpse it, and it terrified her.

  She was terrified that she’d accept his diamond crumbs, accept his lifestyle, accept his lovemaking, accept all he would offer, if it meant he would come home to her—while all the time knowing that if circumstances had been different he’d never have given her a second glance.