Читать книгу Summer Loving - Ким Лоренс, Cathy Williams - Страница 12

CHAPTER FOUR

I SHOULD NEVER have married you.

Ava stabbed the trowel deeper into the soil, oblivious to the heat and sweat cascading down her face. A grim smile stretched her lips as she recalled the horror on Lucia’s face when she’d asked for the gardening supplies.

But it had been that or go mad from replaying that statement in her head over and over. Agata Marinello’s endless text messages every two seconds hadn’t helped to improve her disposition either.

Hard physical labour was what she needed. Bone tiredness meant she would collapse exhausted into bed at night and fall asleep without torturing herself with thoughts she had no business thinking.

For the past week, Cesare had stuck religiously to the schedule they’d set out on her return. He spent time with Annabelle in the morning while she met with the Marinellos; she took over in the afternoons and they had supper with their daughter before they took turns giving her a bath and putting her to bed.

Living under the same roof as Cesare was going smoothly. The truce was working. She should’ve been happy.

She wasn’t. A very unladylike snort escaped her throat. How could she be when she was constantly in knots over Cesare’s behaviour? The man had proved himself a champion at avoiding her, yet she could feel his presence as closely as the air on her skin. Could sense his gaze on her from his window when she played at the pool with Annabelle or when they went down the jetty to watch the luxury boats sail by. What was frustrating her most was the longing she could sense in his gaze.

Cesare yearned to spend more time with his daughter, but he was keeping away because of her. Had she really got it so wrong? Had her need for a family blinded her to the fact that she was setting up that family with a man who didn’t want the full package?

Pain ripped through her and her fingers stilled as she tried to recall for what seemed like the millionth time, when things had started to change.

Cesare had been shocked by her pregnancy, even though he bounced back almost immediately. Hell, she was sure he’d been ecstatic.

He’d been a godsend during her pregnancy. Unbelievably, the sex had been her favourite part of being pregnant—the seemingly innocent back rubs that had often reached very pleasurable conclusions.

A flush suffused her face in recollection of the times he’d only had to whisper back rub in her ear to make her pulse race.

Then Annabelle had been born. Cesare had taken one of his rare trips to visit Roberto. And then, seemingly overnight, everything had changed.

She slammed the trowel into the soil.

‘Careful there, cara, or you’ll petrify the seeds before they get a chance to grow.’

‘Careful there, Cesare, or you’ll lose a foot if you annoy me.’ She silently cursed him for his ability to move so quietly despite his impressive size. If it’d been one of her brothers, she’d have had no compunction in biting his head off. In fact, she’d done so many times with Nathan, the youngest of her three brothers.

But her emotions were too raw, too close to the surface to risk losing control in front of Cesare. She took a deep breath.

‘Bene poi, since I value my foot way too much, I’ll stay out of harm’s way.’ Droll amusement tinged his voice and she gritted her teeth not to react to it.

‘What do you want?’ Her surly voice matched her mood.

‘You mean aside from checking that my land isn’t being desecrated by your vicious digging?’ he asked.

She sat back on her heels and glared at him. ‘You own more than your fair share of land in Italy and the western world. I’m sure you won’t miss a six by ten foot square piece.’

He shrugged, disgustingly unperturbed by her censure. ‘Lucia tells me you’re growing oranges. You do remember we have oranges delivered fresh every day from my orchard in Tuscany, don’t you?’

‘These are miniature oranges,’ she replied, trying not to let her eyes wander over the stunning perfection of his lean, hard-packed frame.

From her disadvantaged kneeling position, he seemed even more devastating, more domineering in a way that made her struggle to hide a small shiver of desire.

‘Ah,’ he retorted. ‘So you prefer your oranges small?’

‘The oranges aren’t small, only the trees—’ She stopped when she saw the mocking smile that flashed across his face.

He was making fun of her. Disconcertingly, she wanted to grin in response. She bit her lip hard to hide its Judas twitch.

‘What do you want?’

He held out her phone. ‘It’s been pinging text messages every few minutes. I thought they might be important.’

She took it and flung it on to the grass. ‘Agata Marinello and her unending demands can go to hell. Was that all?’

He didn’t answer immediately. In fact he remained silent for so long that she glanced up at him.

The trace of a smile had vanished. His gaze was disturbingly intent as he stared down at her. Her throat dried as she experienced a sudden, inexplicable feeling that he was about to tell her something she wouldn’t welcome.

‘We have a guest coming to dinner this evening.’ The notice was delivered with little warmth and no pleasure.

She frowned. ‘You seem unhappy about it.’

His lips pursed. ‘I’d prefer not to have any company but it is what it is.’

‘Tell them not to come then,’ she said simply. ‘What would be worse, begging off hosting a dinner or exposing the guest to an unwelcome reception?’

‘It would be discourteous of me since I myself arranged it a...while ago.’

Her heart lurched unsteadily as it occurred to her that Cesare’s displeasure didn’t stem from having an unwelcome guest, but from Ava’s presence at the dinner table. ‘You mean before I decided to bring myself and my daughter back home unannounced?’

‘Something like that.’

She cleared a sudden painful constriction in her throat. ‘Is it a business dinner?’

‘No, Celine is a friend of the family and is...important to me.’

‘Celine?’ Why had her insides suddenly gone cold despite the sun’s intense heat?

Cesare had invited a woman to dinner. Big deal. But she couldn’t stop the sudden tension making her fingers tighten around the trowel. Dull pain shot up her arm. Even then she couldn’t let go of the tool.

Cesare had friends. Not that she knew many of them. Theirs had been a jealously guarded courtship, preferred by both of them because she didn’t have to share Cesare with her disapproving family and he’d been based in London at the time with easily ignored business acquaintances.

She’d met his parents at the wedding, although not his younger brother, Roberto. She’d also been introduced to the smattering of uncles, aunts and cousins that Italian families abounded with—a family she’d been desperate to become a part of. A family that had on face value welcomed her—until Cesare’s gradual distance had quickly become a family-wide phenomenon.

Her memory wasn’t faulty enough to have forgotten a Celine. And certainly not one who was important to Cesare.

‘Ava?’

She realised she’d missed his question.

‘Sorry—what?’ The words were forced through stiff lips.

‘I asked if seven-thirty was okay with you,’ he repeated slowly, as if making allowances for her sluggish brain.

Was seven-thirty okay with her? ‘No.’ It slipped out before courtesy or caution could stop it.

‘Perdono?’

‘You asked if the time was okay, I said no. It’s obvious you don’t want her here now I’m back. Use me as the excuse. Tell her not to come because the time is not okay with me.’

This way, she’d never have to meet the important Celine, never have to endure her gut twisting in knots the way it was now at the prospect of meeting the woman who might one day replace her and wear the famous di Goia wedding ring Cesare had presented to her with such dignified pride the day he’d proposed to her.

Cesare’s clear disbelief at her response almost made her laugh out loud. Almost.

‘As much as I appreciate your selfless efforts, unfortunately it doesn’t work that way.’

‘Well, can I be excused? She is your guest, after all.’ Why did she have to break bread with the woman?

Anger laced his movements as he shoved his hands in his pockets. ‘You will be dressed appropriately and ready to greet our guest at seven-thirty, Ava. Do I make myself clear?’

‘Ooh, I love it when you go all domineering and masterful,’ she purred, only to gasp as he sank down to her level, bringing six feet two of bristling masculinity up close and very personal.

‘Did the consequences of last week teach you nothing about challenging me?’ he asked in a deceptively soft tone.

Ava knew she was playing with fire, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself from testing the depths of the flames. ‘You mean pushing us both to the edge before withdrawing? I don’t know, you tell me. I’m still digesting your I should never have married you. How long does blue balls last?’ she taunted.

‘Che diavolo—’ His jaw actually slackened before he managed to clench it tight again. When he spoke again, it was between gritted teeth. ‘Just be ready at seven-thirty. Capito?’

‘If I must.’ She raised the trowel in a mock salute and watched him stalk away, shoulders stiff with tension.

With renewed vigour, she dug into the earth. In a few hours she would meet Cesare’s important guest.

Maybe the gods would be kind and make Celine short, fat and dumpy as all hell.

* * *

The gods granted her one wish.

Celine was short.

But fat and dumpy she was not. She was the original pocket Venus, with the kind of fragility that made men want to instinctively take care of her, in a way that made Ava, with her five foot seven frame and the three-inch heels she’d slipped into as an added confidence booster, feel like the Leaning Tower of Pisa as she reached out to shake Celine’s proffered hand.

Celine di Montezuma reeked cute perfection from the top of her expensively styled gleaming black hair to the pointy toes of her designer heels. What grated the most were her open friendliness and genuine, pleasant smile she directed at Ava as she removed her silk wrap and handed it to Cesare.

‘I’ve heard so much about you,’ she said to Ava.

‘Really? I hadn’t heard so much as a peep about you until four hours ago.’

Ava ignored the warning glint in Cesare’s eyes as he straightened from cheek-kissing Celine.

Their guest’s warm laugh echoed in the vast hallway. ‘He didn’t just drop my visit on you, did he? Don’t you hate that about men?’

‘Hate is too mild a word.’

She laughed again and tucked her arm through Ava’s. As much as Ava wanted to hate her, she grudgingly, painfully understood Cesare’s attraction to the vivacious Celine.

The feeling increased all through Lucia’s superbly prepared dinner of egg and salmon frittata starter, followed by slow-cooked lamb in herb sauce and diced potatoes. Which she hardly touched.

The lump that had lodged in her chest since Cesare announced her arrival grew with each second she watched the warm interplay between the two Italians.

For the first time since her return, Ava saw Cesare smile with genuine affection at another adult. The whites of his teeth gleamed in the subdued lights of the dining room as he responded to some joke Celine made.

Picking up her glass, she drained the last of the white wine she’d nursed throughout the meal.

Cesare slid her a narrow-eyed glance.

What? she wanted to blurt out. If he was callous enough to force her to watch him and his new paramour enjoy each other, then she could damn well get drunk doing it.

As if sensing the change in the air, Celine turned to her with a slightly wary look.

‘How is Annabelle?’ she asked.

Had Cesare tensed just then? Unfortunately Ava’s head had started to swim from the sudden intake of alcohol and she couldn’t be sure. Certainly, his fingers seemed to cup his wine glass a little tighter. Her gaze darted to his face, but his expression reflected arrogant calm.

Ava answered. ‘She’s fine, thank you for asking.’

‘Is she adjusting well to being back home?’

‘Sun, lake, swimming pool and all the toys a little girl could have, thanks to a suddenly attentive and over-indulgent father. What’s not to like?’ She couldn’t quite curb the sarcasm that emerged with her answer.

Celine’s smile slipped another notch.

Watch it, Cesare’s gaze warned.

Drop dead, she threw back. He shouldn’t have invited her if he expected her to play nice with his girlfriend.

‘I was hoping to see her this evening,’ Celine said, breaking into the tense silence.

Surprise and more than a little anger surged through Ava, until she remembered she wasn’t supposed to have been here when Cesare invited Celine to dinner.

Was that what he’d planned all along? Had he made plans to get rid of her and spend the summer with Annabelle and Celine?

The sheer scale of Cesare’s anger at her arrival suddenly fell into place.

Pain swiftly replaced surprise. Calmly she placed her wine glass on the table. She didn’t think the crystal was safe in her hand any more because the sudden urge to throw it at Cesare’s head had gained astronomical proportions.

How dared he arrange for Annabelle to meet his girlfriend...without consulting her?

She shot him a glance. His cool, composed expression told her the same story it had since she’d got to know him. Cesare answered to no one. He did what he wanted when it suited him. And if he wanted to introduce his mistress to his daughter tonight, that was exactly what he would have done.

Except he hadn’t. They’d put Annabelle to bed together with no mention of her meeting his guest.

‘She’s asleep. We put her to bed over an hour ago,’ Ava responded since Cesare didn’t seem inclined to.

‘Oh.’ Celine’s disappointment made Ava experience a small fizz of gleeful satisfaction. ‘Perhaps I can just look in on her?’

Glee and satisfaction evaporated. ‘You want to look in on her?’

Again Cesare didn’t seem surprised by the odd request. When Ava glanced at him, he merely shrugged and carried on twirling the stem of his glass between his fingers.

Ava swallowed down the heated Over my dead body that sprang to her lips. It was clear Celine was very much a fixture in Cesare’s life. Whether it was tonight or another night in the very near future, Celine and her daughter would meet.

But it didn’t have to be tonight, an irrational pain-filled voice whispered in her head. It might happen, but it didn’t have to be right now!

‘I don’t think it’s a good idea—’

Cesare pushed back his chair, and rising to his feet, halted her words. ‘Come, Celine. I’ll take you.’

‘No you won’t!’

His smile brushed the outer fringes of courtesy. ‘Don’t worry, Ava. She won’t be disturbed. I’ll make sure of it.’

He rose and beckoned Celine. The other woman’s clear discomfort made Ava cringe inside but she forced her chin up and smiled despite the tide of acid anxiety that swallowed her whole.

‘Make sure you don’t. If she wakes up she’ll be impossible to put back to sleep.’

Cesare didn’t turn around as he escorted Celine out of the dining room, their footsteps echoing in tandem down the hallway.

Ava sat frozen in her seat, unable to stem the ever-increasing tidal wave of despair. A small part of her hadn’t quite accepted it when Cesare told her Celine was important to him. Even through the ordeal of dinner, a small part of her had hoped that she was nothing more than a fond family friend.

But would a family friend insist on seeing Annabelle after being told she was asleep?

Of course not. Which meant, the woman whom her daughter might soon be calling stepmother was now upstairs, looking in on her precious daughter...

...while she sat here, clutching her figurative pearls like a tragic, overdramatic Victorian heroine.

Swift burning anger propelled her upright. She reached the sweeping staircase before she remembered she’d discarded her shoes under the dining table.

Whispered voices as she reached halfway up the marble stairs made her thankful for her bare, silent feet. Her hand curled over the smooth wood of the banister, her heart in her throat as she froze on the step.

‘How long are you going to keep this from her?’ Celine questioned passionately.

Cesare responded in Italian, his delivery too quick for Ava to follow, but she sensed it wasn’t what the other woman had expected to hear.

Another burst of Italian, this time from Celine, resulted in Cesare’s heavier footsteps heading towards the landing, and Ava.

‘No. It’s impossible,’ he responded in an implacable voice.

Ava held her breath as they both came into view, Celine’s short steps quickening to catch up with Cesare’s longer strides.

‘It’s painful, I know, but you have to tell her. She deserves to know what’s going on.’

Cesare reached the stairs, saw her and froze. A second later, Celine spotted Ava too. Her eyes widened with alarm before they shut in dismay.

Cesare’s mouth opened but no words emerged. His hands balled into fists and his piercing eyes bored into hers with a mixture of anger and frustration.

Ava tried to swallow, but the throat muscles required wouldn’t comply. Her fingers tightened around the banister and she prayed desperately that her legs would support her for just a little while longer.

‘Ava...’ Cesare finally rasped.

But her pain was too sharp, too decimating for her to stand there, listening to whatever explanation his astute brain had swiftly concocted for her.

‘Save it, Cesare. I may be slow on the uptake, but I’m not stupid.’

His colour faded considerably beneath his tan. A look, curiously close to alarm skittered over his face as he braced a hand on the post next to him.

‘So...you know?’

The depth of his reaction to her discovery only increased her despair. She glanced at Celine, who stood clutching the rail—as white as a sheet.

For a second Ava wondered whether she would go all out and add to the overly dramatic scene by performing a Victorian swoon, perhaps save herself the embarrassment of a confrontation by fainting. But Celine stayed on her feet, even though her hand managed to find Cesare’s arm and grip it.

Tearing her gaze from that proprietorial display, she addressed Celine. ‘I know you’re sleeping with my husband, if that’s what you’re so anxious for him to tell me.’

Cesare sucked in a swift breath. ‘Dio mio—’

‘But as long as we’re still husband and wife, you’ll stay away from him and from our daughter. Do you understand?’

Celine shook her head. ‘No! Per favore, Ava—’

Ava raised her chin. ‘It’s Signora di Goia to you. Now, get out of my house.’