Читать книгу Notorious - Emma Darcy - Страница 12

Rome

One Week Later

JENNY stood in the bedroom assigned to her in Dante’s palatial apartment and stared at her reflection in the mirror, barely recognising herself. She had been transformed into someone else—the Isabella Dante wanted to present to his grandfather. It was incredible what money could do; incredible, fascinating and frightening. It had the power to make anything possible.

She now had a passport in Isabella’s name, an entire wardrobe of fabulous designer clothes—some acquired in Sydney while they waited for the passport, the rest bought during a stopover in Paris—a face that had been made over by a beautician, her once thickly tangled mass of hair cleverly cut into a tousled cascade of wild sexy curls, newly applied perfect fingernails, polished in a natural tone, plus a whole range of fantastic accessories to complement her new look—belts, bags, shoes, jewellery.

She’d flown halfway around the world in a private jet, been waited upon hand and foot, eaten food she’d never been able to afford, stayed in penthouse suites at the Gondola Hotels, and any minute now Dante would come and collect her for the helicopter flight to Capri. A different life, she thought. A totally different life which still didn’t feel quite real to her.

This image in the mirror was Dante’s puppet, moving and acting to his will. Even how it was dressed …

‘Wear the Sass and Bide outfit,’ he’d instructed. ‘This first lunch at the villa will be informal, and the design is something fresh and individual. Lucia would not have seen it anywhere. She’s not into Australian fashionistas.’

Lucia … Bella’s other cousin.

Every time Dante mentioned her it was with a cynical twist. He didn’t like her. Jenny had the strong impression he wanted his Isabella creation to outshine Marco’s real grand-daughter. Which felt terribly wrong to her, but maybe there was some good reason behind his antipathy towards his cousin. It was not her role to make judgements on the Rossini family. She had to follow Dante’s edicts or … A convulsive shudder ran through her at the thought of imprisonment in a women’s jail.

She couldn’t face it. The rigid discipline of the orphanage still haunted her in nightmares. Being subjected to that kind of uncaring authority again—the unrelenting system of punishment for any infringement of the rules, fighting to survive with some sense of self intact—anything was better than suffering through another soul-destroying environment.

Somehow for the next two months she had to think herself into Bella’s skin, be as true as she could to what her friend had told her about her life. If her presence helped Marco Rossini to die peacefully, maybe the deception wasn’t such a bad thing. Whatever happened, this was Dante’s choice, Dante’s family, so he had to deal with the outcome. Though she was irrevocably tied to it.

No way out, she thought, hating the sense of being trapped, frightened of failing, frightened even more of never regaining her freedom. Two months … two months of a life she knew too little about. Would this incredible makeover Dante had orchestrated really help to blind the Rossini family to seeing she was not one of them?

The Sass and Bide outfit was startling, fascinating in its creative use of fabrics. The patchwork on the blue denim vest was quite wild with bits of lace, decorative buttons, braiding and embroidering. The short-sleeved white T-shirt underneath ended in jagged handkerchief points, just lapping over the matching blue denim hipster jeans which also had embroidery running down the legs, and buttons detailing the short side splits at her ankles.

She wore embroidered rope sandals on her feet, decorated with tiny lacy shells, and a matching rope handbag was slung over her shoulder. But that was where the trendy casual image ended. Dante apparently scorned costume jewellery. Sapphires went with blue denim; sapphire and diamond drop earrings and a gold chain watch with a sapphire face and diamonds marking the hours. In short, she was wearing a fortune, and the woman in the mirror could have stepped out of a magazine featuring incredibly wealthy celebrities.

‘Ready?’

Her heart jerked. He even had a string on that, Jenny thought as she swung around to face the all-powerful puppeteer. She’d left the bedroom door open for his manservant to collect her luggage which was all packed and ready to go. The man moved in behind Dante to do precisely that while his master—her master—strolled towards her, his gaze taking in her appearance from head to toe, making every nerve in her body twang with the need to be approved.

She took a deep breath, stiffened her spine and answered, ‘As ready as I’ll ever be.’

He smiled, apparently satisfied with how she looked, his dark eyes glittering with a sexy appreciation of the woman he’d fashioned to suit what he wanted. ‘You look beautiful, Isabella,’ he purred at her, and her whole body seemed to vibrate with self-awareness.

She’d never bothered much about her appearance. Clean and tidy was all she’d cared about, buying most of her clothes in charity shops, shying away from spending money on non-essentials because she might need it for living. Being dressed like this, being looked at as Dante was looking at her, evoked feelings she’d never felt before and she wasn’t comfortable with them.

‘I guess fine feathers make fine birds,’ she muttered mockingly, thinking he always looked superb. He probably never glanced at a price-tag to see how much anything cost. He hadn’t while shopping with her. No doubt the blue jeans and white sports shirt he wore carried designer labels. They certainly showed off his top-of-the-line physique—mega-male, oozing classy sex appeal.

‘Don’t duck your head,’ he instructed, lifting a hand to her chin, tilting it up, forcing her gaze to meet his. ‘Hold it high. You’re proud to be Isabella Rossini. You’ve led an independent life and you won’t kowtow to anyone. You’re here because your grandfather invited you and that gives you every right to be treated as a respected member of the family, not Cinderella. Understand?’

It was difficult to find breath enough to speak when he was this suffocatingly close. ‘Yes,’ she choked out.

His thumb stroked her cheek. The hard ruthless gleam in his eyes softened to a wry appeal. ‘I may not be allowed to stay at your side. If Nonno wants you to himself … be kind to him, Isabella. Put him at ease with you. I want him to be happy that you’ve come.’

Panic undermined the seductively soothing intent of his caress. Being left alone with Marco Rossini was a terrifying prospect. If Dante wasn’t there to pull the strings … if she made a mistake … if she unwittingly revealed a different person to the one she had to portray …

Dante was frowning at her.

‘I’ll do my best,’ she promised in a rush.

‘There’s nothing to fear,’ he assured her, still frowning, his dark eyes stabbing his own indomitable confidence into hers. ‘I’ve paved the way for this meeting. Nonno will not be testing you about your identity. He’s an old man, facing a painful death, wanting the pleasure of making your acquaintance. All you have to do is respond to him as warmly as you can.’

He made it sound easy. Maybe it was, though the deception still weighed on her mind. She scooped in a deep breath, trying to calm her jangling nerves, and lifted her chin away from his touch, needing to feel some independence. He had taken over her life to such an extent, it was difficult to be confident of standing alone, without his all-pervasive support.

‘I’ll do my best,’ she repeated, and meant it, not wanting to be a source of distress to a dying man.

‘It’s in your best interests to do so,’ he reminded her.

‘Yours, too,’ she said with a flash of resentment at the ruthless power he had wielded.

He smiled, amused by her counter-thrust at him. ‘Yes. We’re in this together, aren’t we? You could say it forms an intimate bond.’

The hand he had dropped from her chin took possession of one of hers, fingers interlacing, gripping hard, enforcing a physical bond that burned like a branding iron, linking her inexorably to him. Jenny’s heart fluttered wildly as the heat from his hand spread through her entire body, igniting a mad desire for an intimate relationship with Dante Rossini that was not based on deception.

‘Time to go,’ he said.

And Jenny went with him, once more a slave to his command, tugged along by his hand while her mind, which he couldn’t completely dominate, was in a helpless whirl over the shocking realisation of finding herself actually wanting him to want her as a woman.

This situation was playing some weird sexual havoc on her. She’d been almost constantly in his company for a week, compelled into his world, and she supposed it was natural enough to have her normal, sensible self seduced by how beautiful and powerful and masterful he was—the kind of man that featured in foolish, romantic dreams, turning a Cinderella into a princess.

But this prince was not being driven by any desire for her.

She knew that.

He was determined on making his plan work, nothing more, nothing less.

It had to be these extraordinary circumstances causing her to be affected like this. They were thrown together by a conspiracy that probably bred a sense of closeness—a very temporary sense, she sternly reminded herself. When Dante no longer had any need for her co-operation, he’d cast her off as quickly and as ruthlessly as he’d picked her up.

To allow any attachment to him to develop was sheer stupidity. She had to keep remembering that Jenny Kent was not and would never be a person of serious interest to Dante Rossini. All he wanted of her was a brief impersonation of his cousin. If she played that role well enough, she’d be free to go at the end of it. That was what she had to aim for. Feeling swamped by this man’s magnetic attraction could only create a problem for her and she had problems enough.

So don’t go there.

Ever.

Dante was sharply aware of steel sliding into Jenny Kent’s backbone as he walked her down to the car that would take them to the heliport. She held her head high, straightened her shoulders and adopted an aloof air, ignoring the fact that he was still holding her hand. He briefly wondered if the idea of having some blackmail power over him was inspiring the change. Or was she simply taking courage from his assurances?

For the most part, she’d given him passive obedience since he’d forced her to take on the role of Isabella. The only rebellion she’d staged was her refusal to talk about her own life, flatly telling him he didn’t need to know. He wanted her to be Isabella and that was his only claim on her.

Oddly enough, it wasn’t easy to shrug off his curiosity about Jenny Kent, probably because most of the women he met were only too eager to tell him about themselves, courting his interest, wanting him to know them. Of course, none of them had been an unwilling captive in his company, but he was willing to bet that a week of being pampered with luxury, beautified, outfitted with ‘fine feathers’ would normally thaw any resistance they might have to giving him whatever he wanted.

Not his manufactured cousin.

She didn’t even speak unless spoken to. She soaked up what he told her about the Rossini family and offered nothing about herself. He wished there’d been time to have Jenny Kent investigated. He was taking a risk in trusting her to fulfil the role he’d insisted upon, trusting her fear of the alternative. His gut instinct told him she would deliver, which was all he should care about, yet it was definitely tantalising that she held herself so rigidly apart from any personal connection to him.

It gave him a perverse kind of pleasure to take possession of her hand. The urge to break her passivity kept niggling at him. But she didn’t fight the contact, didn’t respond to it in any way, just waited until he released it when she was stepping into the car, then sat with both her hands linked on her lap—a pointed picture of self-containment.

She did not so much as glance his way on the drive to the heliport, staring out the side window, apparently immersed in the sights and sounds of the streets they travelled. Dante felt himself challenged by her silence, by her stubborn determination to ignore him.

‘What do you think of Rome?’ he asked.

‘It doesn’t matter what I think,’ she said dismissively, still not turning her head towards him.

‘Nonno will ask. You might as well practice a reply.’

‘Then I’d sound rehearsed. Better that I don’t.’

‘I’ve been rehearsing you all week. Why stop now?’

‘Because time’s up. I’m about to go on stage and stuffing any more into my head at this point will only make me more anxious about my performance.’

It was a fair argument so he let his frustration with her slide. Whoever Jenny Kent was, she was far from stupid. Not only did she have street smarts, but also quite an impressive natural intelligence, making his task of coaching her into meeting any expectation of Isabella a relatively easy one. Her life experience was obviously a far cry from his, yet he was confident she could now fit in to the family without feeling too much like a fish out of water.

In fact, she wouldn’t just fit in, she’d shine. He’d been right about how she could look. Nonno was going to be proud to own her as his grand-daughter. She was beautiful. Quite enticingly beautiful. But he couldn’t afford to think of her like that. Nonno might see it in his eyes. Just one slip—revealing that she stirred a devilish desire in him—and the deception might unravel.

They arrived at the heliport. As Dante escorted his newly found cousin across the tarmac he watched his pilot’s reaction to her. Pierro was standing by the opened door of the helicopter, waiting to greet them and help them to their seats. He’d seen Dante with many beautiful women in tow. ‘Isabella’ lit up his eyes with a look that said ‘Wow! Knockout!’ in no uncertain terms.

Pierro couldn’t do enough for her, fussing over getting her comfortably settled in the helicopter. It won him a smile and sweetly appreciative words, neither of which had come Dante’s way all week. It was absurd to feel a twinge of jealousy, but damn it! He’d done a hell of a lot for her and she was barely civil to him.

You’ve done it to her, not for her, he reminded himself, but he was still piqued that with him she wrapped herself in a cool dignity he couldn’t penetrate. But he would. It was only a matter of time, and he’d make sure he had plenty of that with her while she was on Capri.

They landed at the villa just before noon.

Lucia, of course, was hot to meet her Australian cousin and size her up, actually coming down to the helipad instead of waiting in the shade of the colonnaded walkway. Dante felt the rush of adrenaline that always fired him up for critical meetings.

Game on! he thought, and hoped ‘Isabella’ was up to it.

‘Your cousin, Lucia,’ Dante murmured as he took Jenny’s arm, holding her steady for the high step down from the helicopter.

Jenny had already mentally identified her. Due to the shopping experience with Dante in Paris, she instantly recognised French chic. Lucia Rossini personified it: short black hair artfully cut in an asymmetrical bob; a gorgeous scarlet-and-white dress that skimmed her slim, petite figure; elegant white sandals with intricate straps around her ankles. She also carried herself with the same arrogant confidence that Jenny now associated with great wealth.

Without Dante’s intervention in dolling her up, she would have felt like dirt beneath the other woman’s feet. The style he’d chosen for her was very different, but it had more than enough unique class to make Lucia look quite miffed as she eyed her newly arrived cousin. It made her wary as Dante moved her forward for introductions.

‘Lucia, how sweet of you to welcome Isabella so eagerly!’ he drawled, his lightly mocking tone putting Jenny even more on guard.

‘Well, naturally I’m curious about a cousin I’ve never known, Dante,’ she tossed back at him, a flash of venom in her dark eyes.

Certainly no love lost between these two, Jenny thought.

‘You’ve had her to yourself for a whole week. Now it’s my turn,’ Lucia said, re-arranging her expression into a smile which didn’t quite reach her eyes. ‘Welcome to Capri, Isabella. I aim to make you feel at home here very quickly.’

She stepped forward, put her hands on Jenny’s shoulders and air-kissed both cheeks. Jenny instinctively reared back, not used to people invading her personal space and not liking the over-familiarity, particularly since she felt no warmth coming from this cousin.

‘Thank you,’ she muttered. ‘Very kind.’

‘Isabella is Australian, Lucia,’ Dante dryly reminded her. ‘She’s not accustomed to the Italian style of greeting. A hand-shake is more their style.’

‘Oh! How stand-offish!’ Lucia shrugged. ‘I thought Australians were known for their open friendliness.’

Jenny flushed at the implied criticism. ‘I’m sorry. I guess I’m feeling a bit strange at the moment. All this is very new to me.’

‘Well, you’ll have to learn to be Italian, too, if you want to fit into this family.’

The sheer arrogance of that statement stung Jenny’s deep resentment at being forced into this situation. ‘Maybe I won’t want to fit in.’ The words were out in a flash and she didn’t regret them. In fact, it gave her a fine satisfaction to see Lucia’s eyebrows shoot up in unplanned astonishment, as though being in the Rossini family was the most desirable thing in the world. It wasn’t, as far as Jenny was concerned. ‘I didn’t ask to come here,’ she added for good measure.

Lucia turned an arch look to Dante, her eyes glinting with malicious glee. ‘This must be a first for you,’ she drawled, ‘running into resistance from a woman, not having her falling on her knees to please you. Nonno should have sent me to collect Isabella. I would have done a better job of it.’

‘I doubt your brand of sly sniping would have achieved anything,’ he replied sardonically. ‘But then you wouldn’t have wanted to, would you, Lucia? Isabella is too much a wild card for your liking, coming in at the death, so to speak.’

‘Oh!’ She feigned hurt shock. ‘That’s such a mean thing to say! Don’t take any notice of him, Isabella.’ A cajoling smile was directed at her. ‘That’s just a payback for being teased about his famous charm. I’m delighted that you’re here for Nonno.’ She waved an open invitation. ‘Now do let’s go up to the villa. It’s so hot out here.’

Jenny glanced back at the helicopter, wishing she had never set foot in this place.

‘Pierro will bring in our luggage,’ Dante quickly assured her, taking her hand again, pressing it hard to remind her there was no escape, not until he allowed it, and that would be no time soon.

She hated him in that moment, hated having no choice, hated being thrust into such foreign territory, hostile territory if Lucia’s attitude was anything to go by.

Capri was supposed to be a romantic place, a paradise for lovers. As they moved from the open heat to the shade of a colonnaded walkway, Jenny couldn’t help thinking there was at least one serpent in this Eden.

How many more would she have to meet?

She was imprisoned on this island as surely as she would have been in a women’s jail, having to work out how to deal with the other inmates and survive. The luxury of it was supposed to sweeten her term here, but wasn’t there a saying—wealth is the root of all evil?

She yearned for her own simple life.

And hated Dante for forcing her into his.