Читать книгу The Revenge Collection 2018 - Кейт Хьюит, Эль Кеннеди - Страница 34
ОглавлениеIF ELENA’S NERVES got any tighter she would go springing across Piazza del Duomo.
Gabriele, who had earlier massaged her shoulders in an effort to relieve her tension, rubbed her wrist with his thumb.
‘I’m sure your family will behave themselves,’ he said. In the five-minute walk to the hotel they were throwing the party at, he’d made a variety of assurances at least seven times.
‘It’s not their behaviour that concerns me.’ She was only half lying. Over one hundred people would be attending their ‘celebration’. Every single one of them knew of the animosity between her father and her husband.
The media furore had died down in the past week, but today talk of their wedding celebration was everywhere. Rumours had circulated of paparazzi offering thousands of euros for an invitation. All anyone seemed to care about was who would hit who first—her husband or her father...?
Since when had she started thinking of Gabriele as her husband?
There was no time to ponder this strange turn of events as they’d arrived at the hotel.
A media scrum greeted them but the hotel had beefed up its security and cordoned the media away from the hotel steps.
Clinging tightly to his hand, she climbed the stairs under a hail of flashing bulbs and shouted questions.
Hotel staff greeted them in the foyer, welcoming them with glasses of champagne. Gabriele had booked the whole hotel, one of the oldest and most prestigious in Florence, for the evening, bedrooms and all.
Anna Maria was in the dance room waiting for them. Gabriele left them to it while he went to greet the band, infamous hell-raisers who’d had half a dozen global bestselling albums and who had flown in from America especially for the evening. While they milled by the free bar, their roadies were setting up on the stage.
‘What do you think?’ Anna Maria asked.
As Elena gazed around the room, taking it all in, she couldn’t help the wistfulness that raced through her. The high vaulted ceiling and frescoed walls were magnificent on their own but the tables decorated with silver balloons and the scattering of tiny silver horseshoes, the streams of ribbon twisted around the pillars in the room’s corners, gave it a romantic effect that made her ache that this was all a lie.
‘It looks beautiful,’ she said.
She looked over at Gabriele, deep in conversation with the band’s singer, and wished...
Wished for what? That this could be real? That their marriage could be born out of love, not hatred and vengeance?
He caught her eye and made a drinking motion, asking if he could get her anything.
Touched, she raised her still-full glass of champagne.
He winked and indicated he would be with her in a moment.
Shaking off the wish that he were with her right now, she turned her attention back to Anna Maria, taking in the creased trouser suit she wore. ‘Are you going to change soon?’
‘I’m only here to oversee events,’ the PA replied.
‘That’s what the hotel management’s for,’ Elena said. ‘Take the evening off and join us.’
‘I can’t.’
Rooting through her small clutch bag, Elena found her credit card. ‘There’s a boutique and a hairdresser here in the hotel. Take this and buy yourself something. I’m sure the hotel will have a room you can get ready in.’
Anna Maria shook her head, now looking ill at ease. ‘I truly can’t.’
‘You can. I insist. I’ll clear it with Gabriele for you.’
At the mention of his name, something flickered on Anna Maria’s face.
For the briefest moment Elena wondered if the PA was in love with him but immediately discounted the idea. She wasn’t an expert on relationships but not once had she felt any vibes that suggested they were anything but boss and employee.
Maybe the PA disapproved of their farce of a marriage and didn’t think it appropriate to join in with the mock celebrations?
‘Please,’ she said, touching her hand and deciding to change tack. ‘We both know the truth about my marriage, there’s no need to pretend otherwise, but that doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy the evening. I won’t know many people here and it will be nice to have a familiar face in the crowd.’
Anna Maria bit into her lip. When she looked at Elena there was something in her expression that set off a fresh warning of something being wrong. But then she smiled and nodded her head.
‘Thank you. That’s very kind of you.’
‘Go and make yourself look beautiful.’
Anna Maria spoke briefly to Gabriele, who sent Elena another wink, then she disappeared from the room.
Elena continued gazing at him, happy to observe from afar. He looked gorgeous in his black tuxedo and bow tie, a powerhouse of masculinity that perfectly complemented the femininity she could feel racing through her blood.
Tonight she truly felt like a woman.
Of all the dresses she’d bought on Liana the stylist’s recommendation, this was the one she’d never had any intention of wearing. For a start, it showed off flesh. Her flesh. Made of silk crepe de Chine that felt heavenly against her skin, the spaghetti straps and low-cut front skimmed both sides of her breasts, making the wearing of a bra impossible. Monochrome swirl prints interspersed with turquoise fell in layers, one side to mid-thigh, the other to mid-calf, and swayed when she walked. And speaking of walking...
She’d squeezed her feet into a pair of blush-coloured five-inch-high sandals with one simple strap across her toes that was nonetheless crystal embellished, and a thin ankle strap. She’d never felt so tall. Her legs had never felt so shapely.
A visit to a salon had seen her hair swept into a loose but elegant chignon, her fringe swept to one side and tendrils left loose around her ears and her nape. She’d kept her make-up simple but after weeks of determined practice she was finally getting the hang of it.
As vain and silly as she knew it to be, she now loved wearing make-up and felt nothing but sadness that she had spent so many years denying this side of her nature, not just denying it but pretending it didn’t exist.
Gabriele had taken one look at her and wolf-whistled.
That man...how could the one person she should hate more than any other on the planet be the one to make her look in a mirror and find the real woman beneath the skin?
With a start she realised she didn’t hate him any more. And when he came over and took her hand in his, she squeezed it, her heart so full, her chest so tight she couldn’t speak.
‘That was a lovely thing you did for Anna Maria,’ he said quietly, handing her credit card back to her. ‘I’ve told her to put whatever she buys on the account. I should have thought of it myself.’
The temptation to reach out and touch his face was strong but some last resistance lay within her and she slipped the card back into her bag, saying, ‘She looked so tired I almost ordered her home.’
He gazed into her eyes as if he were searching for something.
The urge to touch him grew and she raised her chin towards his, parting her lips...
A loud noise from the stage broke the moment and she quickly looked away, trying desperately to regain control of herself.
‘The guests are arriving,’ she murmured, glad of the distraction, horrified that she had been about to kiss him, not for show but because at that moment she had wanted nothing more than to feel his mouth upon hers.
Soon the dance room was filled with guests, all of whom had to congratulate the happy couple. Even though they’d put on the invitations that the only present they required was their guests’ company, many came with gifts, which Elena felt terrible about accepting. She kept staring at the table laden down with beautifully wrapped packages with that same tugging wistfulness in her belly she had felt when she’d walked into the room; that sensation of wishing that this could really be...
She knew from Gabriele’s body language when her family arrived.
They were talking to a couple whose names she couldn’t remember when he stiffened and his hold on her hand tightened.
‘Elena’s family are here,’ he said politely. ‘We need to go and welcome them.’
Her heart pounding so loudly it muffled her hearing, she walked with him to the bar, where her father and brothers were standing, champagne flutes in hand, although she would bet that any moment they would be ordering double Scotches.
The four Ricci men stood in a row facing them.
It was like a Mexican stand-off and, judging by the looks in their eyes, they were all waiting for her to decide which side she was on.
How could she tell them that there was no choice and that if she didn’t stay on her side of the invisible dividing line, they would likely all go to prison?
You don’t know if you even want to return to their side of the divide.
Fixing a smile to her face, she embraced them in turn, wishing so hard she didn’t feel like such a traitor, not just by her actions but by her emotions too. She had as little control over the latter as she had the former.
‘Thank you so much for coming,’ she said brightly, then stood back as Gabriele extended his hand to her father, forcing Ignazio to shake it.
She winced. She didn’t know who tried the hardest to crush the other but any moment she expected to hear the sound of snapping bone.
When Gabriele shook her brothers’ hands, it was their turn to wince.
After the ‘niceties’ had been observed, Roberto, the youngest of her brothers, looked her up and down, a smirk on his face. ‘What’s Mantegna done to you? You look like a girl.’
‘More like a whore,’ Franco muttered under his breath, yet audible enough for Elena to hear.
Her whole body flushed at the insult she had spent her entire life trying to avoid being on the receiving end of.
Before she could think of a suitable response—her brothers’ guffaws only added to the brain-melting humiliation—Gabriele fixed them all with a stare that stopped their laughter in its tracks.
He took her hand in his and held it possessively.
‘Your sister is a beautiful, intelligent woman,’ he said, undisguised contempt in his voice, ‘and I would appreciate it if you kept any sexist digs you may have in mind out of her earshot and definitely out of mine.’
All four Ricci men gaped at him, then identical fury flashed over their features.
Her father elbowed Franco, a silent but painful warning to keep his mouth shut.
The problem for her father and brothers was that they knew Gabriele had an agenda in marrying her but they didn’t know what it was or how he intended for it to work out. They couldn’t afford to antagonise him any further.
‘Excuse us, but some new guests have arrived.’ Gabriele’s tone was like ice but his smile did not falter. ‘I’m sure we’ll have a chance to catch up later. The buffet will open soon so you’ll have much to occupy you.’
When he bore her away, Elena didn’t know whether to shout at him for his subtle rudeness or laugh at the memory of her brothers’ gawping faces.
What she really didn’t want to do at that moment, though, was shed the tears clamouring behind her eyes.
For the first time in her life she had looked at her immediate family and really seen them. She had seen four squat, overweight men who looked as if they were auditioning for the role of petty gangsters in a Scorsese film.
And then Gabriele introduced her to someone who made all thoughts of her father and brothers take a back seat.
‘Elena?’ said the elegant blonde woman before her.
‘Aunt Agnes?’ So shocked was she that she could hardly get the words out. She didn’t have to say anything else for Agnes yanked her into her arms for a tight embrace.
‘It is so good to see you,’ Agnes said in perfect Italian. ‘I have missed you terribly.’
By the time her mother’s sister let her go, the threatening tears had spilled out.
‘Are you here alone?’ Elena asked after she’d blown her nose on a tissue Gabriele had thrust into her hands before he’d kissed her neck and whispered that he would leave them to it.
‘Henrick is in Canada on business but Lisbeth travelled with me—she’s just changing Annika’s clothes. Did you know she had a baby?’
Elena shook her head.
‘Malin wanted to come too but she’s due to give birth in three weeks herself so she wasn’t allowed to fly, but she sends her love. Is your father here?’
‘Yes.’
Agnes grimaced but didn’t elaborate on her thoughts. Before Elena could ask, Agnes waved over Elena’s shoulder. ‘There’s Lisbeth and baby Annika now.’
More embraces were shared and then they found a table to sit around and catch up on. Baby Annika was handed to her and Elena gazed down at the chubby little face with awe.
‘I can’t believe you’ve had a baby,’ she said in wonderment. ‘The last time I saw you, you were still in a training bra.’
Lisbeth laughed. ‘The last time I saw you, you called me a silly girl and pulled my hair.’
Elena winced.
Lisbeth took her hand. ‘I forgive you,’ she said, so earnestly Elena smothered a laugh.
‘I feel so bad that I haven’t kept in touch,’ she confessed a short while later.
‘That wasn’t your fault,’ Agnes interjected. ‘I take responsibility for that. I never should have suggested to your father that you come and live with us.’
‘Did you?’ Something else she hadn’t known.
‘When you were twelve. You were so unhappy and I—rightly or wrongly—thought it unfair of your father to lock you away as he did. I thought he would be happy for you to have some female guidance but he thought...otherwise.’
‘Is that why we stopped seeing you?’ They had never seen a huge amount of her mother’s family, just the odd family party here and there, but it had stopped completely around the time of Elena’s early adolescence.
‘You know what your father’s like. He rules with an iron fist and does not appreciate dissent, especially from a woman.’
Elena gazed at Gabriele, standing with a crowd of men, all of them roaring with laughter.
Gabriele would never treat a woman as anything but an equal. And he would never lock a child away. He might have stipulated that no child they had be allowed anywhere near her father or brothers but once a child came he would change his mind if he could see it would be in the child’s best interests.
She kissed baby Annika’s sweet scented head.
A pang rippled through her to think of the child she and Gabriele would have together.
There might be a little cluster of cells in her that very second, steadily forming into an embryo that would be part her and part Gabriele.
He had done this for her. He had brought her family over from Sweden without her knowledge. He’d given her back the family she hadn’t known how much she needed.
It was the best present she had ever had.
Agnes followed her gaze. A smile tugged at her lips. ‘I think your husband could not be less like your father. He must love you very much.’
No. He didn’t love her. Gabriele could never love someone with Ricci blood. But what he’d done in bringing her family to Italy...
But of course this went unsaid. Elena forced a smile to her face and took a sip of champagne.
A few minutes later he was at their table.
‘Excuse me, ladies, but I need to borrow my wife. It’s time for us to say a few words to our guests.’
Taking his hand, Elena got up, promising to continue their talk later.
‘Can you give me a minute to use the bathroom?’ she said, wanting some time to compose herself and fix her face.
‘Of course.’ He rubbed a finger up her cheekbone and smiled, his eyes flashing. ‘You really do look incredibly beautiful. You are incredibly beautiful.’
She wanted to thank him, not just for the compliment, which she truly believed he meant, but for what he’d done in bringing her family here. But her throat had closed and she couldn’t get the words out.
‘I’ll wait for you by the bar,’ he said before placing the softest of kisses to her lips.
Diving into the ladies’, she went straight to the mirror and took a deep breath.
What was happening to her? Her emotions were all over the place, pulling her in directions she knew could never lead anywhere.
Was she suffering from a version of Stockholm syndrome? She’d heard of kidnapped women falling for their captors and making excuses for them but had never understood how such a thing could happen.
But she hadn’t fallen for Gabriele, she told herself stubbornly. She’d just come to accept he wasn’t the complete bastard she had thought him to be. He was much more complex than that.
And so were her emotions.
Satisfied her face was repaired as well as it could be, she left the sanctuary of the ladies’ to find her father waiting for her.
He opened his arms and she gratefully slipped into his embrace.
How could she have such doubts about him? He was her father. He’d raised her alone and while he had certainly made mistakes he’d only ever done his best by her.
Hadn’t he?
‘You are happy, Elena?’ he asked, stepping back a little but keeping a tight hold on her arms to peer at her closely.
What was he looking for? Signs of her doubt?
The disloyal thought made her feel even worse.
‘Mantegna, he treats you well?’
‘He treats me very well and I’m very happy with him.’ And as she spoke the words she knew them to be true.
She was happy with Gabriele.
There were times—many times—when she forgot why she was with him and would feel full to the brim. And he treated her better than she had ever been treated in her life. He listened to her. He took her opinions as seriously as he took his own. He made love to her as if she meant something to him.
If he could treat her, a Ricci, like that, she could only imagine how he would treat a woman he was in love with.
His ex-fiancée needed her head examined. If she’d been Sophia she would have fought to clear his name. She would never have doubted him.
Her head began to swim.
‘When are you coming back to work?’ her father asked, still holding her arms. ‘Your staff miss you.’
‘I need to sort some things out,’ she said, avoiding a straight answer. Because what her father hadn’t mentioned was that she hadn’t stopped working. She might not have physically gone to work since marrying Gabriele but she communicated with her staff daily and dealt with any problems as and when they occurred. Which was rarely. ‘I’m sure I’ll be back in the office soon.’
Back in the office, running myself ragged around Europe, trying desperately to justify why I have the position I worked so hard for but which is ultimately worthless.
These weeks away had forced her to see the truth. Her job was nothing but a sop. She was nothing but a highly paid supervisor. The divisions she managed didn’t need her. They were well run by their individual management teams and functioned perfectly well without her.
She didn’t even enjoy it!
Why had it taken her so long to see the truth?
But what else could she do?
She wasn’t qualified to do anything else.
‘I’ll let you know very soon,’ she promised, kissing his cheek and gently extracting her arms from his hold.
‘If he hurts you...’
‘I know.’ She nodded wryly. ‘I’ll tell you. But he won’t hurt me.’
‘What does he say about me?’ he asked as she made to move away.
She had dreaded this question, had been certain that when confronted with it the temptation to confess all would be too great, that she wouldn’t be able to lie to him.
It was the look in his eyes that made her keep her confessions to herself.
He was worried about something.
And it terrified her to think what that something could be.
She was saved from having to answer by the singer of the band doing a call-out for her from his vantage point on the stage. Gabriele was standing by the stage, his arms folded and a mock-scowl on his face.
She gave her father one last impulsive hug, cleared the lump in her throat, and made her way through the laughing crowd to the stage.
Gabriele watched his wife walk to him, so much flittering over her face he couldn’t discern one distinct emotion. Until she looked at him that was, and all her features softened and something flickered in her eyes he’d never seen before.
He didn’t think he’d ever seen a more beautiful woman than Elena that night. When she finally reached him and took his hand, a tightness pooled in his gut that almost doubled him over.
The singer from the band said a few words then handed the microphone to Gabriele, who jumped straight into his thanks to everyone for attending and apologised for marrying in such haste.
‘You know what it’s like,’ he drawled, pitching his speech between humour and sincerity, ‘you meet someone and within a day the life you know is gone and you find yourself signing the rest of your life away.’
He waited for the laughter to subside before continuing. ‘But that’s what love does to you. It turns everything on its head and marks you to the person you’ve fallen for.’
His intention had been to direct those last words at Ignazio, to hammer home the message that Ignazio’s beloved daughter had got into bed with the enemy, but he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from the woman who wore his ring.
He thought of Ignazio’s right-hand man, who was on the brink of defecting to him with all the incriminating documents. He thought of how Elena would react when she learned of this and learned that he still intended for her father to spend the rest of his miserable life in prison.
But then he thought of his own father, dying within days of Gabriele being incarcerated, knowing full well that his only son was innocent and the man he’d considered a brother had betrayed him in the most heinous way.
He thought of his mother, so full of life if a little forgetful when this nightmare had started, the stress of seeing her son imprisoned and the sudden death of her husband accelerating the loss of her mental capacity at an alarming rate.
That was all Ignazio’s doing.
It came to him that he hadn’t added Sophia to that list.
But then Sophia paled in comparison to Elena. Elena would never have abandoned him. She would have been one of those wives who visited every weekend, the first to arrive and the last to leave. She would have believed in his innocence.
She did believe in his innocence. After everything he was doing to her, she believed him.
If he took the proof to the FBI as he intended then she would never believe in him again.
It would devastate her.
Could he really do that to her?
Hadn’t she suffered enough?
The cheers from their guests brought him back to the present.
His silence had been so long they clearly assumed he’d finished. He couldn’t remember the rest of what he was going to say anyway.
The band started playing again.
‘Shall we dance?’ he said.
Her hand was still in his. She gave one of those shy smiles he adored so much and nodded.
He led her to the centre of the dance floor and took her into his arms.
Smiling, she looped her arms around his neck and sighed, gazing up at him. ‘Thank you for bringing my family here.’
He knew she didn’t mean the Mantegnas.
‘You’re welcome. They seem like nice people.’
‘They do.’ Her eyes shone. ‘Thank you.’
She moved closer to him, their legs touching, his groin pressing into her abdomen, even with the height of her sandals giving her an extra lift. And then she raised herself onto her toes and, her eyes still gazing into his, pressed her mouth tentatively to his.
He stilled, unsure whether this was a kiss of gratitude or something more.
Only when she tightened her hold around his neck and parted her lips did he dare believe it was something more.
Her sweet breath suffused him. Her sweet scent filled him. The softness of her lips...
He forgot that only weeks ago this party had been arranged with the sole purpose of showing Elena off on his arm in front of her father and letting him know in no uncertain terms that she belonged to him.
None of that mattered.
Elena was kissing him with feather-light movements and the tiniest darts of her tongue, and it was the most erotic, moving kiss he had ever experienced.
Running his hand up her spine, he captured the nape of her slender neck and kissed her back with the same languidness she kissed him.
When she eventually broke away, she buried her head in his shoulder and gave a muffled laugh.
He squeezed her tightly, adoring the feel of her pressed so close to him. And wished that everything could be different.
