Читать книгу The Helen Bianchin Collection - HELEN BIANCHIN, Helen Bianchin - Страница 48
ОглавлениеAYSHA reached for her glass and took a sip of iced water, and cast the table’s occupants a quick, encompassing glance.
Her eyes rested briefly on Nina, witnessed her hard, calculating glance before it was quickly masked, and felt a shiver glide down the length of her spine.
Malevolence, no matter how fleeting, was disconcerting. Envy and jealousy in others were unenviable traits, and something she’d learned to deal with from a young age. It had accelerated with her engagement to Carlo. Doubtless it would continue long after the marriage.
She wanted love... desperately. But she’d settle for fidelity. Even the thought that he might look seriously at another woman made it feel as if a hand took hold of her heart and squeezed until it bled.
‘What do you think, Aysha?’
Oh, hell. It wasn’t wise to allow distraction to interfere with the thread of social conversation. Especially not when you were a guest of honour.
She looked at Carlo with a silent plea for help, and met his humorous gaze.
‘Luisa doesn’t agree I should keep our honeymoon destination a surprise.’
A second was all it took to summon a warm smile.
‘I need to pack warm clothes.’ Her eyes gleamed and a soft laugh escaped her lips. ‘That’s all I know.’
‘Europe. The snowfields?’ The older woman’s eyes twinkled. ‘Maybe North America. Canada?’
‘I really have no idea,’ Aysha declared.
Dessert comprised individual caramelised baskets filled with segments of fresh fruit served with brandied cream.
‘Sinful,’ Aysha declared quietly as she savoured a delectable mouthful.
‘I shouldn’t, but I will,’ Luisa uttered ruefully. ‘Tomorrow I’ll compensate with fresh juice for breakfast and double my gym workout.’
Teresa, she noted, carefully removed the cream, speared a few segments of fruit, and left the candied basket. As mother of the bride, she couldn’t afford to add even a fraction of a kilo to her svelte figure.
It was half an hour before the hostess requested they move into the lounge for coffee.
Aysha declined the very strong espresso brew and opted for a much milder blend with milk. The men took it short and sweet, added grappa, and converged together to exchange opinions on anything from bocce to the state of the government.
Argue, Aysha amended fondly, all too aware that familiar company, good food, fine wine all combined to loosen the male Italian tongue and encourage reminiscence.
She loved to listen to the cadence of their voices as they lapsed into the language of their birth. It was expressive, accompanied by the philosophical shrug of masculine shoulders, the hand movements to emphasise a given point.
‘Giuseppe is in his element.’
Aysha mentally prepared herself as she turned to face Nina. One glance was all it took to determine Nina’s manner was the antithesis of friendly.
‘Is there any reason why he shouldn’t be?’
‘The wedding is a major coup.’ The smile didn’t reach her eyes. ‘Congratulations, darling. I should have known you’d pull it off.’
Aysha inclined her head. ‘Thank you, Nina. I’ll take that as a compliment.’
There was no one close enough to overhear the quiet exchange. Which was a pity. It merely offered Nina the opportunity to aim another poisoned dart.
‘How does it feel to be second-best? And know your inherited share in the family firm is the sole reason for the marriage?’
‘Considering Carlo is due to inherit his share in the family firm, perhaps you should ask him the same question.’
Successfully fielded. Nina didn’t like it. Her eyes narrowed, and the smile moved up a notch in artificial brilliance.
‘You’re the one who has to compete with Bianca’s ghost,’ Nina offered silkily, and Aysha waited for the punchline. ‘All cats are alike in the dark, darling. Didn’t you know?’
Oh, my. This was getting dirty. ‘Really?’ Her cheeks hurt from keeping a smile pinned in place. ‘Perhaps you should try it with the lights on, some time.’
As scores went, it hardly rated a mention. And the victory was short-lived, for it was doubtful Nina would allow anyone to gain an upper hand for long.
‘Aysha.’ Luisa appeared at her side. ‘Teresa has just been telling me about the flowers for the church. Orchids make a lovely display, and the colour combination will be exquisite.’
She was a guest of honour, the focus her wedding day. It was easy to slip into animated mode and discuss details. Only the wedding dress and the cake were taboo.
Except talking and answering questions merely reinforced how much there still was to do, and how essential the liaison with the wedding organiser Teresa had chosen to co-ordinate everything.
The invitation responses were all in, the seating arrangements were in their final planning stage. According to Teresa, any one of the two little flower girls and two page boys could fall victim to a malicious virus, or contract mumps, measles or chicken pox. Alternately, one or all could become paralysed with fright on the day and freeze half-way down the aisle.
At ages three and four, anything was possible.
‘My flower girl scattered rose petals down the aisle perfectly at rehearsal, only to take three steps forward on the day, tip the entire contents of the basket on the carpet, and run crying to her mother,’ recalled one of the guests.
Aysha remembered the incident, and another wedding where the page boy had carried the satin ring-cushion with such pride and care, then refused to give it up at the appropriate moment. A tussle had ensued, followed by tears and a tantrum.
It had been amusing at the time, and she really didn’t care if one of the children made a mistake, or missed their cue. It was a wedding, not a movie which relied on talented actors to perform a part.
Her mother, she knew, didn’t hold the same view.
Aysha glanced towards Carlo, and felt the familiar pull of her senses. Dark, well-groomed hair, a strong shaped head. Broad shoulders accentuated by perfect tailoring.
A slight inclination of his head brought his profile into focus. The wide, sculpted bone structure, the strong jaw. Well-defined cheekbones, and the glimpse of his mouth.
Fascinated, she watched each movement, her eyes clinging to the shape of him, aware just how he felt without the constriction of clothes. She was familiar with his body’s musculature, the feel and scent of his skin.
At this precise moment she would have given anything to cross to his side and have his arm curve round her waist. She could lean in against him, and savour the anticipation of what would happen when they were alone.
He was fond of her, she knew. There were occasions when he completely disconcerted her by appearing to read her mind. But that special empathy between two lovers wasn’t there. No matter how desperately she wanted it to be.
Did he know she could tell the moment he entered a room? She didn’t have to see him, or hear his voice. A developed sixth sense alerted her of his presence, and her body reacted as if he’d reached out and touched her.
All the fine hairs moved on the surface of her skin, and the back of her neck tingled in recognition.
Damnable, she cursed silently.
It was after eleven when the first of the guests took their leave, and almost midnight when Teresa and Giuseppe indicated an intention to depart.
Aysha thanked their hosts, smiled until her face hurt, and quivered slightly when Carlo caught hold of her hand as they followed her parents down the steps to their respective cars.
‘Goodnight, darling.’ Teresa leaned forward and brushed her daughter’s cheek.
Aysha stood as Carlo unlocked the car, then she slid into the passenger seat, secured her belt, and leaned back against the headrest as Carlo fired the engine.
‘Tired?’
She was conscious of his discerning glance seconds before he set the car in motion.
‘A little.’ She closed her eyes, and let the vehicle’s movement and the quietness of the night seep into her bones.
‘Do you want me to take you home?’
A silent sigh escaped her lips, and she effected a rueful smile. ‘Now there’s a question. Which home are you talking about? Yours, mine or ours?’
‘The choice is yours.’
Was it? The new house was completely furnished, and awaiting only the final finishing touches. Her own bedroom beckoned, but that was fraught with implication Teresa would query in the morning.
Besides, she coveted the touch of his hands, the feel of his body, his mouth devastating her own.
Then she could pretend that good lovemaking was a substitute for love. That no one was meant to have it all, and in Carlo, their future together, she had more than her share.
‘The penthouse.’
Carlo didn’t comment, and she wondered if it would have made any difference if she’d said home.
An ache started up in the pit of her stomach, and intensified until it became a tangible pain as he slowed the car, de-activated the security system guarding entrance to the luxury apartment building, then eased down into the underground car park and brought the vehicle to a halt in his allotted space.
They rode the lift to the top floor in silence, and inside the apartment Aysha went willingly into his arms, his bed, an eager supplicant to anything he chose to bestow.
It was just after nine when Aysha eased the Porsche into an empty space in an inner city car park building, and within minutes she stepped off the escalator and emerged onto the pavement.
It was a beautiful day, the sky a clear azure with hardly a cloud in sight, and the sun’s warmth bathed all beneath it with a balmy summer brilliance. Her needs were few, the purchases confined to four boutiques, three of which were within three blocks of each other.
Two hours, tops, she calculated, then she’d meet her bridesmaids for lunch. At two she had a hair appointment, followed by a manicure, and tonight she was attending an invitation-only preview of the first in a series of foreign films scheduled to appear over the next month.
Each evening there was something filling their social engagement diary. Although last night when Carlo had suggested dining out she’d insisted they eat in... and somehow the decision hadn’t got made one way or the other. She retained a vivid recollection of why, and a secret smile curved her lips as she slid her sunglasses into place.
Selecting clothes was something she enjoyed, and she possessed a natural flair for colour, fashion and design.
Aysha had three hours before she was due to join her bridesmaids for lunch, and she intended to utilise that time to its fullest potential.
It was nice to be able to take time, instead of having to rush in a limited lunch-hour. Selective shopping was fun, and she gradually added to a growing collection of glossy carry-bags.
Bags she should really dispense with before meeting the girls... which meant a walk back to the car park to deposit her purchases in the boot of her car.
Lianna, Arianne, Suzanne and Tessa were already seated when Aysha joined them. Two brunettes, a redhead, and a blonde. They’d attended school together, suffered through piano and ballet lessons, and, although their characters were quite different from each other, they shared an empathy that had firmed over the years as an unbreakable bond.
‘You’re late, but we forgive you,’ Lianna began before Aysha was able to say a word. ‘Of course, we do understand.’ She offered one of her irrepressible smiles. ‘You have serious shopping on the agenda.’ She leaned forward. ‘And your penance is to relay every little detail.’
‘Let me order a drink first,’ Aysha protested, and gave her order to a hovering waiter. ‘Mineral water, slice of lemon, plenty of ice.’
‘What did you buy to change into after the wedding?’ Arianne quizzed, and Lianna pulled a face.
‘Sweetheart, she won’t need anything to wear after the wedding except skin.’
‘Sure. But she should have something sheer and sexy to start off with,’ Suzanne interceded.
‘Honest, girls, can you see Carlo helping Aysha out of the wedding gown and into a nightgown? Come on, let’s get real here!’
‘Are you done?’ Aysha queried, trying to repress a threatening laugh.
‘Not yet,’ Lianna declared blithely. ‘You need to suffer a little pain for all the trouble we’re going to for you.’ She began counting them off on each finger. ‘Dress fittings, shoe shopping, church rehearsals, child chaperoning, in church and out of it, organising the bridal shower, not to mention make-up sessions and hair stylists practising on our hair.’ Her eyes sparkled with devilish laughter. ‘For all of which our only reward is to kiss the groom.’
‘Who said you get to do that?’ Aysha queried with mock seriousness. ‘Married men don’t kiss other women.’
‘No kiss, we decorate the wedding car,’ Lianna threatened.
‘Are you ladies ready to order?’
‘Yes,’ they agreed in unison, and proceeded to completely confuse the poor young man who’d been assigned to their table.
‘You’re incorrigible,’ Aysha chastised as soon as he’d disappeared towards the kitchen, and Lianna gave a conciliatory shrug.
‘This is a feel-good moment, darling. The last of the great single-women luncheons. Saturday week you join the ranks of married ladies, while we, poor darlings, languish on the sideline searching for the perfect man. Of which, believe me, there are very few.’ She paused to draw breath. ‘If they look good, they sound terrible, or have disgusting habits, or verge towards violence, or, worst of all, have no money.’
Suzanne shook her head. ‘Cynical, way too cynical.’
They ordered another round of drinks, then their food arrived.
‘So, tell us, darling,’ Lianna cajoled. ‘Is Carlo as gorgeous in bed as he is out of it?’
‘That’s a bit below the belt,’ Arianne protested, and Lianna grinned.
‘Got it in one. Hey, if Aysha ditches him, I’m next in line.’ She cast Aysha a wicked wink. ‘Aren’t you glad I’m your best friend?’
‘Yes,’ she responded simply. Loyalty and integrity mattered, and Lianna possessed both, even if she was an irrepressible motor-mouth. The fun, the generous smile hid a childhood marred by tragedy.
‘You haven’t told us what you bought this morning.’
‘You didn’t give me a chance.’
‘I’m giving it to you now,’ Lianna insisted magnanimously, and Aysha laughed.
She needed the levity, and it was good, so good to relax and unwind among friends.
‘What social event is scheduled for tonight? Dinner with family, the theatre, ballet, party? Or do you just get to stay home and go to bed with Carlo?’
‘You have the cheek of old Nick,’ Aysha declared, and caught Lianna’s wicked smile.
‘You didn’t answer the question.’
‘There’s a foreign film festival on at the Arts Centre.’
‘Ah, eclectic entertainment,’ Arianne sighed wistfully. ‘What are you going to wear?’
‘Something utterly gorgeous,’ Lianna declared, her eyes narrowing speculatively. ‘Long black evening trousers or skirt, matching top, shoestring straps, and that exquisite beaded evening jacket you picked up in Hong Kong. Minimum jewellery.’
‘OK.’
‘OK? I’m in fashion, darling. What I’ve just described is considerably higher on the scale of gorgeous than just OK.’
‘All right, I’ll wear it,’ Aysha conceded peaceably.
They skipped dessert, ordered coffee, and Aysha barely made her hair appointment on time.
‘No dinner for me, Mamma. I’ll just pick up some fruit. I had a late lunch,’ she relayed via the mobile phone prior to driving home. With the way traffic was moving, it would be six before she reached Vaucluse. Which would leave her just under an hour to shower, dress, tend to her hair and make-up, and be at Carlo’s apartment by seven-fifteen.
‘Bella,’ he complimented warmly as she used her key barely minutes after the appointed time.
Aysha could have said the same, for he looked devastatingly attractive attired in a dark evening suit, snowy white cotton shirt, and black bow tie. Arresting, she added, aware of her body’s reaction to his appreciative appraisal. Heat flooded her veins, activating all her nerve-ends, as she felt the magnetic pull of the senses. It would be so easy just to hold out her arms and walk into his, then lift her face for his kiss. She wanted to, badly.
‘Would you like a drink before we leave?’
Alcohol on a near-empty stomach wasn’t a good idea, and she shook her head. ‘No. Thanks.’
‘How was lunch with the girls?’
A smile lifted the edges of her mouth, and her eyes gleamed with remembered pleasure. ‘Great. Really great.’
Carlo caught hold of her hand and lifted it to his lips. ‘I imagine Lianna was at her irrepressible best?’
‘It was nice just to sit, relax and laugh a little.’ Her smile widened, and her eyes searched his. ‘Lianna is looking forward to kissing the groom.’
Carlo pulled back the cuff of his jacket and checked his watch. ‘Perhaps we should be on our way. Traffic will be heavy, and parking probably a problem.’
It was a gala evening, and a few of the city’s social scions numbered among the guests. The female contingent wore a small fortune in jewels and French designer gowns vied with those by their Italian equivalent.
Aysha mingled with fellow guests, nibbled from a proffered tray of hors d’oeuvres, and sipped orange juice with an added dash of champagne.
‘Sorry I’m a little late. Parking was chaotic.’
Aysha recognised the light feminine voice and turned to greet its owner. ‘Hello, Nina.’
The brunette let her gaze trail down to the tips of Aysha’s shoes, then slowly back again in a deliberately provocative assessment. ‘Aysha, how—pretty, you look. Although black is a little stark, darling, on one as fair as you.’
She turned towards Carlo, and her smile alone could have lit up the entire auditorium. ‘Caro, I really need a drink. Do you think you could organise one for me?’
Very good, Aysha silently applauded. Wait for the second Carlo is out of earshot, and... any minute now—
‘I doubt you’ll satisfy him for long.’
Aysha met that piercing gaze and held it. She even managed a faint smile. ‘I’ll give it my best shot.’
‘There are distinct advantages in having the wedding ring, I guess.’
‘I get to sleep with him?’
Nina’s eyes glittered. ‘I’d rather be his mistress than his wife, darling. That way I get most of the pleasure, all of the perks, while you do the time.’
The temptation to throw the contents of her glass in Nina’s face was almost irresistible.
‘Champagne?’ Carlo drawled, handing Nina a slim flute.
The electronic tone summoning the audience to take their seats came as a welcome intrusion, and she made her way into the theatre at Carlo’s side, all too aware of Nina’s presence as the usherette pointed them in the direction of their seats.
Now why wasn’t she surprised when Nina’s seat allocation adjoined theirs? Hardly coincidence, and Aysha gritted her teeth when Nina very cleverly ensured Carlo took the centre seat. Grr.
The lights dimmed, and her fingers stiffened as Carlo covered her hand with his own. Worse was the soothing movement of his thumb against the inside of her wrist.
So he sensed her tension. Good. He’d sense a lot more before the evening was over!
The theatre lights went out, technicolor images filled the screen, and the previews of forthcoming movies showed in relatively quick sequence. The main feature was set in Paris, the French dubbed into English, and it was a dark movie, noir, with subjective nuances, no comedy whatsoever. Aysha found it depressing, despite the script, directorship and acting having won several awards.
The final scene climaxed with particular violence, and when the credits faded and the lights came on she saw Nina withdraw a hand from Carlo’s forearm.
Aysha threw her an icy glare, glimpsed the glittering satisfaction evident, and wanted to scream.
She turned towards the aisle and moved with the flow of exiting patrons, aware, as if she was a disembodied spectator, that Nina took full advantage of the crowd situation to press as close to Carlo as decently possible.
They reached the auditorium foyer, and Aysha had to stand with a polite smile pinned to her face as the patrons were served coffee, offered cheese and biscuits or minuscule pieces of cake.
‘Why don’t we go on to a nightclub?’ Nina suggested. ‘It’s not late.’
And watch you attempt to dance and play kissy-face with Carlo? Aysha demanded silently. Not if I have anything to do with it!
‘Don’t let us stop you,’ Carlo declined smoothly as he curved an arm along the back of Aysha’s waist. Tense, definitely tense. He wanted to bend his head and place a placating kiss to the curve of her neck, then look deep into those smoky grey eyes and silently assure her she had nothing whatsoever to worry about.
A slight smile curved his lips. Nina saw it, and misinterpreted its source.
‘The music is incredible.’ She tucked her hand through his arm, and cajoled with the guile of a temptress. ‘You’ll enjoy it.’
‘No,’ he declined in a silky voice as he carefully disengaged her hand. ‘I won’t.’
Nina recognised defeat when she saw it, and she lifted her shoulders with an elegant shrug. ‘If you must miss out...’
His raised eyebrow signalled her departure, and she swept him a deep sultry glance. ‘Another time, maybe.’
Aysha drew a deep breath, then released it slowly. Of all the nerve! She lifted her cup and took a sip of ruinously strong coffee. It would probably keep her awake half the night, but right at this precise moment she didn’t give a damn.
‘Carlo, come stai?’
A business acquaintance, whose presence she welcomed with considerable enthusiasm. The man looked mildly stunned as she enquired about his wife, his children, their schooling and their achievements.
‘You overwhelmed him,’ Carlo declared with deceptive indolence, and she fixed him with a brilliant smile.
‘His arrival was timely,’ she assured him sweetly. ‘I was about to hit you.’
‘In public?’
She drew in a deep breath, and studied his features for several long seconds. ‘This is not a time for levity.’
‘Nina bothers you?’
Aysha forced herself to hold his gaze. ‘She never misses an opportunity to be wherever we happen to go.’
His eyes narrowed fractionally. ‘You think I don’t know that?’
‘Were you ever lovers?’ she demanded, and a faint chill feathered across the surface of her skin as she waited for his response.
‘No.’
The words tripped out before she could stop them. ‘You’re quite sure about that?’
Carlo was silent for several seconds, then he ventured silkily, ‘I’ve never been indiscriminate with the few women who’ve shared my bed. Believe me, Nina didn’t number among them.’ He took her cup and placed it together with his own on a nearby table. ‘Shall we leave?’
He was angry, but then so was she, and she swept him a glittering look from beneath mascaraed lashes. ‘Let’s do that.’
Their passage to the car wasn’t swift as they paused momentarily to chat to fellow patrons whom they knew or were acquainted with.
‘Your silence is ominous,’ Carlo remarked with droll humour as he eased the Mercedes into the flow of traffic.
‘I’m going with the saying... if you can’t find anything nice to say, it’s better to say nothing at all.’
‘I see.’
No, you don’t. You couldn’t possibly know how terrified I am of not being able to hold your interest. Petrified that one day you’ll find someone else, and I’ll be left a broken shell of my former self.
The drive from the city to Rose Bay was achieved in a relatively short space of time, and Carlo cleared security at his apartment underground car park, then manoeuvred the car into his allotted space.
Aysha released the door-clasp, slid to her feet, closed the door, and moved the few steps to her car.
‘What are you doing?’
‘I would have thought that was obvious. I’m going home.’
‘Your keys are in the apartment,’ Carlo said mildly.
Dammit, so they were. ‘In that case, I’ll go get them.’
She turned and stalked towards the bank of lifts, stabbed the call button, and barely contained her impatience as she waited for it to arrive.
‘Don’t you think you’re overreacting?’
There was something in his voice she failed to recognise, although some deep, inner sixth sense did and sent out a red alert. ‘Not really.’
The doors slid open and she stepped into the cubicle, jabbed the top panel button, and stood in icy silence as they were transported to the uppermost floor.
Carlo unlocked the apartment door, and she swept in ahead of him, located the keys where she’d put them on a table in the foyer, and collected them.
‘Your parents aren’t expecting you back tonight.’
It didn’t help that he was right. ‘So I’ll ring them.’
He noted the proud tilt of her chin, the firm set of her mouth. ‘Stay.’
Her eyes flared. ‘I’d prefer to go home.’ Nina’s vitriolic words had provided too vivid an image to easily dispel.
‘I’ll drive you.’
The inflexibility evident in his voice sent chills scudding down the length of her spine. ‘The hell you will.’
His features hardened, and a muscle tensed at the side of his jaw. ‘Try to walk out of this apartment, and see how far you get.’
Aysha allowed her gaze to travel the length of his body, and back again. He had the height, the sheer strength to overcome any evasive tactics she might employ.
‘Brute force, Carlo? Isn’t that a little drastic?’
‘Not when your well-being and safety are at stake.’
Her chin tilted in a gesture of defiance. ‘Somehow that doesn’t quite add up, does it?’ She held up her hand as he began to speak. ‘Don’t.’ Her eyes held a brilliant sheen that was a mixture of anger, pride, and pain. ‘At least let there be honesty between us.’
‘I have never been dishonest with you.’
She felt sick inside, a dreadful gnawing emptiness that ripped away any illusions she might have had that affection and caring on his part were enough.
Without a further word she turned and walked towards the front door, released the locking mechanism, then took the few steps necessary to reach the bank of lifts.
Please, please let there be one waiting, she silently begged as she depressed the call button.
The following twenty seconds were among the longest in her life, and she gave an audible sigh of relief when the heavy stainless steel doors slid open.
Aysha stepped inside and turned to jab the appropriate floor panel, only to gasp with outraged indignation as Carlo stepped into the cubicle.
‘Get out’
Dark eyes lanced hers, mercilessly hard and resolute. ‘I can drive you, or follow behind in my car.’ The ruthlessness intensified. ‘Choose.’
The lift doors slid closed, and the cubicle moved swiftly down towards the car park.
‘Go to hell.’
His smile held little humour. ‘That wasn’t an option.’
‘Unfortunately.’
The flippant response served to tighten his expression into a grim mask, and his anger was a palpable entity.
‘Believe you wouldn’t want me to take you there.’ His drawl held a silky threat that sent shivers scudding down the length of her spine.
The doors whispered open, and without a word she preceded him into the huge concrete cavern. Her car was parked next to his, and she widened the distance between them, conscious of her heels clicking against the concrete floor.
Carlo crossed to the Mercedes, unlocked the passenger door, and held it open. ‘Get in.’
Damned if she’d obey his dictum. ‘I’ll need my car in the morning.’
His expression remained unchanged. ‘I’ll collect you.’
Aysha felt like stamping her foot. ‘Or I can have Teresa drop me, or take a cab, or any one of a few other options.’ Her eyes were fiery with rebellion. ‘Don’t patronise me, dammit!’
It had been a long night, fraught with moments of sheer anger, disillusionment, and introspective rationalisation. None of which had done much to ease the heartache or the sense of betrayal. Each of which she’d examined in detail, only to silently castigate herself for having too high an expectation of a union based solely in reality.
Worse, for allowing Nina’s deviousness to undermine her own ambivalent emotions. Nina’s success focused on Aysha’s insecurity, and it irked unbearably.
Carlo watched the fleeting emotions chase across her expressive features and divined each and every one of them.
‘Get in the car, cara.’
His gentle tone was almost her undoing, and she fought against the sudden prick of tears. Damn him. She wanted to maintain her anger. Lash out, verbally and physically, until the rage was spent.
Conversely, she needed his touch, the soothing quality of those strong hands softly brushing her skin, the feel of his mouth on hers as the sensual magic wove its own spell.
She wanted to re-enter the lift and have it transport them back to his apartment. Most of all, she wanted to lose herself in his loving, then fall asleep in his arms with the steady beat of his heart beneath her cheek.
Yet pride prevented her from taking that essential step, just as it locked the voice in her throat. She felt raw, and emotionally at odds.
Did most brides suffer this awful ambivalence? Get real, a tiny voice reminded her. You don’t represent most brides, and while you have the groom’s affection, it’s doubtful he’ll ever gift you his unconditional love.
With a gesture indicating silent acquiescence she slid into the passenger seat, reached for the safety belt as Carlo closed the door, and fastened it as he crossed in front of the vehicle. Seconds later he fired the engine and cruised up the ramp leading to street level.
‘Call your parents.’
Aysha reached into her purse and extracted the small mobile phone, and keyed in the appropriate digits.
Giuseppe answered on the third ring. ‘Aysha? Something is wrong?’
‘No, Papà. I’ll be home in about fifteen minutes. Can you fix security?’
Thank heavens it wasn’t Teresa who’d answered, for her mother would have fired off a string of questions to rival the Spanish Inquisition.
Aysha ignored Carlo’s brief encompassing glance as the car whispered along the suburban street, and she closed her eyes against the image of her mother slipping on a robe in preparation for a maternal chat the instant Aysha entered the house.
A silent laugh rose and died in her throat. At this precise moment she didn’t know which scenario she preferred... The emotive discussion she’d just had with Carlo, or the one she was about to have with Teresa.
Aysha had no sooner stepped inside the door than her mother launched into a series of questions, and it was easier to fabricate than spell out her own insecurities.
She justified her transgression by qualifying Teresa had enough on her plate, and nothing could be achieved by the confidence.
‘Are you sure there is nothing bothering you?’ Teresa persisted.
‘No, Mamma.’ Inspiration was the mother of invention, and she used it shamelessly. ‘I forgot to take the samples I need to match up the shoes tomorrow, so I thought I’d come home.’
‘You didn’t quarrel with Carlo?’
Quarrel wasn’t exactly the word she would have chosen to describe their altercation. ‘Why would I do that?’ Aysha countered.
‘I’ll make coffee.’
All she wanted to do was go to bed. ‘Don’t bother making it for me.’
‘You’re going upstairs now?’
‘Goodnight, Mamma,’ she bade gently. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’
‘Gianna and I will meet you for lunch tomorrow.’ She mentioned a restaurant. ‘I’ll book a table for one o’clock.’
She leaned forward and brushed lips to her mother’s cheek. ‘That sounds nice.’
Without a further word she turned and made for the stairs, and in her room she slowly removed her clothes, cleansed her face of make-up, then slid in between the sheets.
