The Evermore Series II: Books 4, 5 and 6

by Connelly, Clare

  The words were calm, unbothered. He ignored the sense of surprise at that. What had he expected? Tears? Ridiculous. This was exactly why their marriage worked. She got it.

  “A few days. Not long. I have a few tests to oversee – I should have done them six months ago, but Alfredo’s arrival made it almost impossible to focus on my work as I should have.”

  She nodded, sipping her coffee again.

  “You could come with me?” Where the hell had that come from? This was a work trip. His Seattle penthouse was hardly set up for a child.

  “No, that’s fine,” she shook her head. “I’d prefer to keep Freddie in his routines here a while longer.”

  Disappointment sharpened in his gut. Dissatisfaction, too. He ignored both. “Good.” His nod was abrupt. “Can I bring anything back for you?”

  “A space needle poster,” she teased, shaking her head. “Just don’t be too long.” She stood then, moving around to his side of the table, sitting on his lap. His whole body jerked in response. He’d never known this kind of physical desire before. It didn’t matter how often they were together, he wanted her always.

  And she was always ready for him. She wrapped her arms around his neck now, her smile reaching all the way into her eyes, so he couldn’t help but smile back.

  “Three nights,” he promised. “Max.”

  * * *

  Things didn’t go smoothly in Seattle. On his seventh night, he felt like he was going to punch something or someone. He’d made a serious mistake in not bringing Cleopatra with him.

  He missed her.

  He ached for her.

  His whole body was in a state of torment, desire flooding through him. He needed her.

  He reached for his phone, mentally doing the calculations in the time zone differences. It was late in Italy. Too late to call?

  He typed out a text instead.

  Hoping to finish up tomorrow. How are you?

  He sent it, wincing a little at the prosaic nature of his message. Why couldn’t he type what he wanted? Because he had no idea what to say. That he couldn’t sleep for dreaming X-rated things about his wife? Hardly the stuff of romance.

  The thought pulled him up way short.

  Romance?

  Why should he care about that? They weren’t dating. He wasn’t trying to ‘romance’ his wife.

  He liked sleeping with her, that was all. He’d become used to it, to her.

  We miss you.

  We miss you. We. Freddie. His heart did a funny little lurch as he thought of his godson, and then of Cleopatra. It was like he’d woken up and suddenly had a family. Every bone in his body railed against that.

  It was just make believe. Nothing about this was real.

  Freddie had been thrust upon him, God how he wished that hadn’t been the case. Jack and Veronica deserved to see their little boy grow up, they deserved to be a part of his life. But they’d passed away, and Freddie had become his responsibility.

  And Cleopatra was now a part of that. Heat shimmied through his veins. Pleasure crested in his gut.

  He dropped his phone beside the bed and rolled over, unsure what to reply, unsure of everything, in that moment.

  * * *

  I’ve been thinking about you.

  He smiled when he read the message on his phone the next morning, remembering that he’d stopped messaging Cleopatra abruptly. Only the message wasn’t from Cleopatra. He blinked to erase the grogginess from his eyes, looked at his screen properly and saw the name at the top and something like fury burst inside of him.

  Melinda.

  He’d deleted her contact information from his phone but he knew her number by heart anyway.

  He stared at her message, and all the messages – from over a year ago – just above it. His gut twisted as he re-read them now, the exchanges that were so uncharacteristic, how much of himself he’d laid out for her, the way he’d been so open and… loving. Why?

  What was it about Melinda that had made him forget who he was? Why had he ever thought himself in love with her?

  She was beautiful, but so were many women. She was intelligent, but no, that hadn’t been it either. He shook his head, anger surging through him. For whatever reason, he’d convinced himself he loved her, and he’d fought to keep her – a fight he’d lost. Anger at that, at her betrayal, her duplicity, renewed inside him. She had no business messaging him now.

  He stared at the screen before deleting all of the messages in the thread and this time, he blocked her number for good measure. Benedetto had legendary self-control, but he didn’t really need it. It wasn’t difficult to wipe Melinda from his life this time.

  * * *

  Excitement was buzzing in Cleopatra’s belly. Freddie was asleep, the house was filled with flowers Cleopatra and Freddie had gathered from the markets that morning, and she’d spent the afternoon cooking – lobster ravioli with rosé sauce. Freddie had helped roll the pastry and stuff the ravioli.

  Cleopatra was buzzing.

  Benedetto would be home soon, nine nights after he left, and she couldn’t express the level of anticipation and longing that was filling her.

  She poured a glass of champagne and took a sip, a smile curving her lips. Would they make it to dinner? To bed? Unlikely. She wanted her husband with a ferocity that was impossible to deny.

  She’d denied it for over a week, by necessity, and she wouldn’t any longer.

  Her eyes kept straying to the clock. She paced into the living room and cast a gaze over her reflection in the large mirror that hung at the end of one wall. She’d showered as soon as Freddie had fallen asleep, massaging moisturiser over her body, drying her hair so it fell in soft waves around her face, and she’d chosen to wear a silk negligee instead of clothes. Why bother getting dressed into actual clothes? It was an apricot colour and fell to the floor, but being cut on the bias, it hugged every curve of her body lovingly. A panel of lace formed a vee between her breasts, showing the valley of her cleavage.

  Her cheeks grew pink as she imagined what they’d be doing – soon – just as soon as he got home. Impatience sparked inside of her so when she heard his key in the door a few minutes later, she began to move towards it on feet that barely touched the ground.

  “Hello? Ben?” A woman’s voice called out, and Cleopatra froze. Nothing made any sense. “Benny?”

  Only concern that the woman might wake Freddie had Cleopatra moving once more, curiosity driving her into the corridor to confront whoever the heck this was.

  "Hello?”

  The woman’s face paled as Cleopatra swept into the corridor but it did little to detract from her beauty. Tall and slender with skin pale like butter and hair that was a glossy raven’s black, lips that were pouty and the deepest of reds, she moved with an innate elegance and an air of possession that skittled over Cleopatra’s nerves.

  “Who the hell are you?” The woman spoke in Italian.

  Cleopatra responded in kind. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

  The woman shrugged out of her fur coat and draped it over one of the hooks in the corridor, an action she did with the confidence of repetition, as though she had done it before, many times. The figure Cleopatra had presumed to be slim was actually curvaceous, in all the right places.

  “Where’s Ben?” The woman swept past Cleopatra and a fog of alcohol went with her.

  Cleopatra pulled a face, and fell into step behind her. In the lounge room, the woman strode to the drinks cabinet and poured herself a measure of scotch. “You want?”

  Cleopatra tried not to resent being offered a drink in her own home. She gestured across the room, where her barely-touched champagne flute sat. “No, I’m fine, thanks.” She took a breath, calming her nerves. This woman wasn’t a crazy axe-murderer, here to kill everyone in the house. She clearly knew her way around. Suspicion began to form in the pit of her stomach.

  “Where’s Ben? I told him I was coming over.” She pouted, and Cleopatra was struck by the other woman
’s beauty, but also by the fact Benedetto was expecting her here and hadn’t thought to tell Cleopatra.

  “He didn’t say anything,” Cleopatra murmured, thinking of the dinner she’d prepared, and how desperately she wanted to be alone with her husband.

  “Who are you?” The other woman pressed. “I don’t know you.”

  “No,” Cleopatra shook her head. “You don’t.”

  The other woman threw her drink back, wincing and then refilling the glass. Cleopatra’s eyes narrowed as she looked more closely. The woman was drunk. It was unmistakable.

  Jesus.

  “So? I presume you’re the latest woman in Benedetto’s bed then?” Her sneer was unmistakable.

  Cleopatra compressed her lips. “Actually,” she said, but the other woman cut her off.

  “You know it’s just sex, right? He’s only ever loved one woman.”

  “Melinda?” The penny dropped and Cleopatra saw the pleasure that curdled on the other woman’s face.

  “I see he’s mentioned me. Good.”

  “Yes,” Cleopatra agreed, her curiosity renewed. Jealousy, too, fired in her bloodstream.

  “Excellent.” It was a purr. “So long as you understand you’re only temporary, there’s no need for us to scratch each other’s eyes out.”

  Cleopatra stared at her in shock for several seconds. “Aren’t you married?”

  “Separated.” The woman lifted her hand, showing it to be devoid of jewels. A rock settled deep down in Cleopatra’s belly. She spun away from Melinda, pacing across to her champagne and taking a sip to fortify her jangling nerves.

  As if sensing she had the advantage, Melinda took a long drink of her scotch and then prowled across towards Cleopatra. Her legs weren’t steady though, and she stumbled a little, so Cleopatra braced to have to catch the other woman. “In fact, perhaps we could give Benedetto what he really wants tonight.”

  “And what’s that?” Cleopatra intoned flatly.

  “Me, in his bed.” Melinda’s eyes flicked with disdain over Cleopatra’s body. “You go home, little girl, and leave him all to me.”

  Cleopatra opened her mouth to say something – she was furious and jealous and despite what Melinda had said, felt perfectly capable of scraping the other woman’s eyes out. But before she could frame any kind of response, Melinda’s eyes fluttered and she began to slump towards the floor.

  “Crap!” Cleopatra swore, reaching her hands out and managing to catch Melinda’s head just before she connected with the unforgiving tiles.

  She stared at the woman, and even though she hated her, she felt a surge of worry too. Clearly, she’d been drinking heavily, and now she was passed out. Except she was breathing heavily, a snore grating into the room. With a groan, Cleopatra stood, and moved to the sofa, grabbing a soft cushion and carrying it back the woman Benedetto had loved – or thought he’d loved. She arranged the pillow beneath Melinda’s head and then took a step backwards, her heart racing so hard she felt like it might leap from her body.

  Less than an hour later, Melinda still loudly asleep on the lounge room floor, Cleopatra heard the key in the lock. She moved towards the corridor with a strange sense of unreality filling her up.

  The second he stepped through the door, everything inside of her jolted into place and a sob threatened to well inside of her – one she wouldn’t give into.

  He looked good enough to eat, and his eyes were eating her up, staring at her as though she were his reason for living. He stalked through the corridor, but before he could do what he clearly intended, she lifted a hand, keeping him still.

  “Stop. No.”

  He froze, but his breath was ragged, as though he needed this more than he could express. Doubt and jealousy and hurt were grating her insides. She didn’t know what was going on, but she knew she needed to protect herself. Hurt was already slicing against her heart, and she felt vulnerable in a way that was raw and exposed. She didn’t want to feel like this.

  “Cleopatra?” He frowned, but kept walking, and now, he lifted a hand to her face, holding her still. “What is it?”

  She swallowed, tears in her throat making it impossible to speak. Instead, she looked towards the lounge room pointedly.

  He frowned and then followed her gaze, but by then, she’d jerked her face back to his, so she saw the instant he recognised Melinda like some kind of Sleeping Beauty on the floor. She saw the way all the colour drained from his face, she heard his rasped curse, and then felt the full force of his gaze turn on Cleopatra, so she had only a second to form a mask to conceal the hurts she’d felt.

  “What the hell is she doing here?”

  And then, it all came bursting out. “She was drunk. She said she messaged you to tell you she was coming.”

  Surprise flared on his face and when he spoke, the words were measured, as though he was trying to keep a hold on deep, dark emotions. “She did message, a few nights ago. I blocked her. I have no idea if she contacted me again after that.” He grimaced. “I didn’t want to hear from her. I sure as hell didn’t want to see her.”

  The explanation made sense, but it didn’t help. Cleopatra felt completely churned up. “She passed out.” And then, she couldn’t resist adding, “Right after she told me I could leave because you’d much prefer to return home and find her in your bed.” She spun away from him, hating how much those words stung, hating that she couldn’t separate her academic understanding of a jealous, bitter ex from a woman who may well have been speaking the truth.

  “For Christ’s sake, damn her to hell,” he snapped, the words rich with condemnation. He glared at Melinda, shaking his head. “Why would she come here?”

  “She’s separated from her husband,” Cleopatra swallowed back her fears and jealousy. “I think she’s here because she wants you back.”

  Chapter 13

  CLEOPATRA DOVE INTO THE water as though she were a hooked fish being cast back to sea. She dove into the water with gratitude and panic, her body striking away from the wall, her legs kicking to move her with speed and fluidity from one end of the pool to another.

  It had been a hot day, but that was not why she swam so fast, nor so gratefully.

  Panic was filling her up leaving little room for anything else. Not breath, not hope, not happiness. She felt only a sense of drowning, suffocating desperation.

  Melinda was here, and she was single, and despite what Benedetto might say, it was clear that the other woman had been important to him. Beneath the water, a sob bubbled from her lips, because Melinda wasn’t ‘the other woman’; Cleopatra was. She was the outsider, a bride for hire, and while their relationship had developed in a physical sense, that didn’t mean Benedetto would ever choose her.

  It didn’t mean he would want this.

  Sex was sex. Nothing more. He’d made it clear on a number of occasions he could easily separate the chemistry of what they shared from anything more meaningful.

  And her? What did Cleopatra want?

  She moved through the water, summersaulting when she reached one end, so she could swim back to the other side. She broke the surface briefly to suck in some warm night air, and then duck-dived beneath the surface once more, silently, swimming softly, her mind completely absorbed.

  What did she want?

  This.

  The realisation was like lightning in her bones.

  She wanted everything to stay just like this – like it had been for the two weeks before Benedetto went to Seattle. She wanted their marriage to feel like a real one, she wanted their arrangement to feel like a real family.

  She wanted this to be real.

  She pushed up out of the water so she could drag some air into her lungs, surprise making her body tremble.

  She loved Alfredo, with all of her heart, and Benedetto was… what? He was determined not to fall in love, he’d made that clear again and again. But that did little to change how she felt.

  “Oh, God.” She swam to the pool coping and pressed her chin to it, her
eyes roaming the city without seeing its beautiful details.

  There was no way she loved him. No way. That’s not what this was.

  And if he chose Melinda?

  If he asked Cleopatra to leave?

  Her eyes burned with unshed tears. Would that happen? Could it?

  Fear burst through her but she quelled it with the sheer force of her determination. She’d been through this before. Not exactly this, but being pushed away, being made to remember she was an outsider. In fact, after her mother had died, that had been the bulk of her life’s experience. From foster home to foster home, and finally to adoptive parents who had made it apparent every day that her only value to their family was as a child-minder. Even professionally, she’d been shunted from pillar to post at other people’s convenience.

  So if it were to happen again, she’d cope. This would be harder, a more real and raw pain than she’d ever known, but somehow she’d get through it. She had to. Because there was only one thing worse than being stupid enough to fall in love with a man like Benedetto di Fiori, and that was losing all your pride because of it.

  * * *

  BENEDETTO STARED DOWN AT Melinda, fast asleep in one of the guest rooms, so beautiful, and felt a thousand and one things, none of them good. She had no right to be here, no right to be here so drunk he could do nothing but let her sleep it off in a guest room. He stared down at Melinda and the hand that was just as Cleopatra had described it: naked, devoid of the wedding ring she had begun to wear towards the end of the affair. How he’d hated that ring – another man’s visible mark of ownership. He’d ached to see her like this, bare, for him alone.

  And now that she was?

  He spun away from the bed, stalking to the door and standing in it for a moment.

  “I love you.” Her words were slurred, and when he jerked his gaze towards the bed, her eyes were still shut, so there was no way of knowing if she had any idea of what she’d said and to whom. He cared surprisingly little.