Читать книгу Secret Prince's Christmas Seduction / The Queen's Baby Scandal - Maisey Yates, Carol Marinelli - Страница 13

THE CHRISTMAS ROSTER was definitely the main topic of conversation over the next couple of days.

Antonietta was training in the Oratory, which was unusually quiet, but whenever she entered the staffroom it was all that was being discussed.

‘It’s not fair,’ Chi-Chi huffed. ‘Even Greta has got Christmas off and she only started three months ago.’

‘She has children, though,’ Antonietta pointed out.

‘How come you are off, Vincenzo?’

‘Because I live in Florence, and if I am to spend any time with my family then I need adequate time to get there.’

‘But it is the Old Monastery’s first Christmas,’ Chi-Chi said. ‘Surely the head of PR should be here and tweeting…or whatever it is you do.’

‘I do rather more than play on my phone,’ Vincenzo said, and then looked to Antonietta. ‘How are things in the Oratory?’

‘Quiet…’ Antonietta sighed as she peeled the lid off a yoghurt. ‘It’s fully booked for next week, but the place was dead yesterday and it’s almost empty today. I think people must be saving up their treatments for Christmas.’

She looked up as Francesca came to the door.

‘Ah, there you are Antonietta. Could I ask you to service Signor Dupont’s suite? I know you are meant to be doing your training in the Oratory today—’

‘Of course,’ Antonietta said, and went to get up.

‘Finish your lunch first,’ Francesca said. ‘He has asked that it be serviced at one o’clock.’

‘I’m glad she asked you and not me,’ Chi-Chi said, the very second Francesca had gone. ‘I’ve been working there the past couple of days, and he might be important, but he’s also mean.’

‘Mean?’ Antonietta frowned.

‘He told me to refrain from speaking while I do my work.’

‘Well, I expect he has a headache,’ Antonietta said, without adding that she certainly did when Chi-Chi was around.

Vincenzo looked at the time and then stood and brushed off his suit, smoothing his already immaculate red hair in the mirror before heading back.

‘For someone so vain, you’d think he would have noticed that he’s putting on weight,’ Chi-Chi said the moment he was gone. ‘His jacket doesn’t even do up any more.’

‘Leave him alone,’ Antonietta snapped.

But Chi-Chi would not, and carried on with her grumbling. ‘He’s only got Christmas off because he’s a manager.’

‘No.’ Antonietta shook her head. ‘Francesca is working. I’d better go.’

‘But you’ve barely sat down.’

She was happy to get up. Antonietta was more than a little bit fed up with Chi-Chi’s rather grating nature.

‘I need to get the linen ready to take up to the August Suite.’

Fetching the linen was one of Antonietta’s favourite tasks. Here at the Old Monastery the linen was tailor-made for each bed and was washed and line dried without a hint of bleach.

Antonietta breathed in the scent of fresh laundry as she walked in. Vera, who worked there, must be on her lunch, so Antonietta selected crisp linen and then walked across the stunning grounds.

A guest who had just arrived that morning had told her that it had been raining and grey in Rome when they’d left. Here, though, the sky was blue, and it was a little brisk and chilly, with cold nights.

The guard checked her ID and actually addressed her. ‘He will be back by two, so please make sure you are done and out by then.’

‘Certainly.’

Given that it took well over an hour to service the August Suite to standard, guests often went for a stroll, or down to the Oratory for a treatment, or to the restaurant while the maids worked. Usually she was relieved when the guests were out, but today she felt a stab of disappointment that she chose not to dwell on.

Of course she knocked before entering anyway, and when there was no answer she let herself in and stood for a moment, looking around. The place was a little chaotic, and she was wondering where to start when someone came in from the balcony.

Certainly she had not been expecting to see him.

‘Buongiorno,’ she said, and then immediately lost her tongue, for Rafe was dressed in black running shorts and nothing else.

‘Buongiorno.’ He returned the greeting, barely looking over. ‘I’ll be out of your way soon,’ he added.

Indeed, Rafe had fully intended to go for a run—his first since the accident. But now he glanced over and recognised the maid from the fog of his first morning here. ‘You’ve had some days off?’

‘No,’ Antonietta said. ‘I haven’t had any days off.’

‘So why did they send me Chi-Chi?’ he drawled, and rolled his eyes.

Antonietta almost smiled, but quickly recovered, because even if Chi-Chi drove her insane she would not discuss her colleague with a guest. Instead she answered as she headed into the bedroom. ‘I’ve been working in the Oratory.’

She paused for a second to let him speak, as she should any guest, but truly she wanted to flee, for her cheeks were on fire and she hoped that he had not noticed. He did not reply.

‘I hope you have a pleasant day,’ she said.

‘Thank you.’

Antonietta put down the list that she always worked from and immediately started stripping the vast walnut bed. She worked quickly, but the exertion was less out of necessity and more to match her heartbeat, which had tripped into a rapid rhythm at the sight of him semi-naked. And when he came into the bedroom to collect his trainers she had to force herself not to look—or rather not to stand there and simply gape.

‘You work in the Oratory?’ he checked. ‘So you are a therapist?’

His voice caught her unawares; for she had not expected the terse gentleman she had met a few days ago to initiate a conversation.

‘I’m training to be one,’ Antonietta said, and glanced up from the bed.

And then it ceased being a glance, for she met his eyes and the world and its problems seemed for a moment to disappear.

‘You look better,’ she commented, when usually she would not, but the words had just tumbled out.

‘I’m feeling a lot better,’ he agreed. ‘Although I still look as if I’ve been paint-bombed.’

She couldn’t help but smile, for indeed he did. Those bruises were a riot of colour now, from blue to brown right through to a vivid pink, and they were spread across the left side of his torso and down to his shoulder and arm, and there were savage lines across his shoulder. Rafe’s left eye looked as if he was wearing violet eyeshadow.

Yet he wore it well.

In fact, paint-bombed or not, Rafe looked stunning.

And as her eyes briefly travelled over his body, to take in his comment, she found that they wanted to linger on the long, yet muscular arms, and on his broad chest with just a smattering of black hair. More, she found that they lingered on his flat stomach. It was not bruised, so there was no real reason to look there. But Antonietta just found that she did, and a glimpse of that line of black hair had her already hot cheeks reddening as if scalded.

She wanted to ask, What happened to you?

Were those bruises from a fight? Or had he been in an accident? For once she wanted to know more, and yet it was not her place to ask.

‘I shan’t be long,’ Rafe said, though usually he did not explain himself to maids, or even particularly notice that they were near.

Crossing the room, he took a seat by the bed she was making and bent over to lace his trainers.

Antonietta did her best to ignore him and not to look at his powerful back and the stretch of his trapezius muscles as he leant forward. Never had her fingers ached to touch so. To reach out with her newly trained therapist’s fingers and relax the taut flesh beneath. Only she was self-aware enough to know that that kind of desire had precisely nothing to do with her line of work. He was so very male, and she was so very aware of that fact in a way she had never been until now.

Confused by this new feeling he aroused, Antonietta hurriedly looked away and resumed making the bed. But as she was fitting a sheet he must have caught the scent, and he made a comment.

‘The sheets smell of summer.’

Antonietta nodded as she tucked it in. ‘They smell of the Silibri sun. All the linen here is line-dried.’

‘What about when it rains?’

‘The stocks are plentiful—you have to make hay when the sun shines,’ Antonietta said. ‘Nico, the owner—’

‘I know Nico.’

Rafe’s interruption said a lot. Nico was prominent, and Rafe had not said I know of Nico, or I have heard of him. And then he elaborated more. ‘It was he who suggested that I come to Silibri to recover.’

That admission made her a little more open to revealing something of herself. ‘Aurora, his wife, is my best friend.’

‘You are chalk and cheese.’

‘Yes…’ Antonietta smiled. ‘I am drab in comparison.’

‘Drab?’

‘Sorry,’ she said, assuming he didn’t know that word. ‘I meant…’

‘I know what you meant—and, no, you are not.’

Rafe met a lot of people, and had an innate skill that enabled him to sum them up quickly and succinctly.

Yesterday’s maid: slovenly.

The concierge, Pino, who had this morning suggested a running route: wise.

His assessments were rapid, and seldom wrong, and as he looked over to the maid he recalled asking her name that first morning. That morning he had not been able to sum her up in one word.

Admittedly, he had been concussed, and not at his best, but today he was much better. So he looked at those sad eyes, and, no, he still could not isolate that word.

Their conversation paused, and yet it did not end, for instead of heading out of the balcony and down the private steps to the grounds below he watched as, having made the bed, she headed to an occasional table, where she picked up her notepad and ticked off her list.

‘So you are training as a therapist?’

‘Yes,’ she nodded. ‘Although I’m not allowed to be let loose unsupervised on the guests yet. Well, I can give manicures, but that is all.’

‘I loathe manicures.’

There were two types of men who had manicures, Antonietta had learnt. Those who chose to and those who had been born to. He had been born to, she was quite, quite sure.

She resisted the urge to walk over and examine his hands, but instead looked down at them… Yes, they were exquisite, long-fingered, with very neat, beautifully manicured nails.

‘I find sitting there boring.’

‘Then why bother?’ Antonietta asked, and then pulled back the conversation. ‘I’m sorry—that was personal.’

‘Not at all,’ Rafe said. ‘I ask myself the same thing.’

‘You could always listen to a podcast while your nails are being done,’ Antonietta suggested.

‘Ah, but then I wouldn’t get to speak with you.’

It was a silly little joke but she smiled.

The girl with the saddest eyes smiled, and when she did she looked glorious, Rafe thought. Her black eyes sparkled and her full red lips revealed very white teeth. She had a beautiful mouth, Rafe thought, and watched it as she responded to his light jest.

‘I would not be allowed to treat a guest in the August Suite.’

He was about to say What a pity, but he rather sensed that that would have her scuttling behind the wall she had erected, which was just starting to inch down.

She rather fascinated him, and it was a relief to focus on their gentle conversation rather than deal with the problems he must face. He had intended to go for a run, just to clear his head. Yet instead he carried on chatting as she worked her way through the suite.

‘You grew up here?’ he asked.

‘Yes, I left a few years ago.’

‘For how long?’

‘Five years,’ Antonietta said. ‘And though it was wonderful, I came to realise that you cannot drift for ever. Home is home—though it is very different now, and the hotel has changed things. There are more people, more work…’

‘Is that why you came back?’

‘No,’ Antonietta said, and cut that line of conversation stone-cold dead.

It usually took an hour and fifteen minutes to service the suite to standard. Today it took a little longer, although they did not talk non-stop, just made gentle conversation as Antonietta got on with her work, diligently ticking off items in turn to ensure that nothing had been missed.

‘Do you have family here?’ Rafe asked, curious despite himself.

‘Yes.’

Again she closed the topic, and headed into the lounge and dining area. There had been no fire lit last night, and no meal taken, but she dusted the gleaming table, then topped up the cognac decanter and replaced the glasses.

Tick.

He was leaning on the doorframe, watching her. Usually to have a guest watching her so overtly would be unsettling, yet it didn’t feel that way with Rafe. She found him relaxing. Oh, her heart was in her throat, and beating way too fast, but that was for other reasons entirely.

She liked it that he did not demand elaboration. So much so that as she put the stopper in the decanter she revealed to him a little of her truth.

‘We are not really speaking.’

‘That must be hard.’

‘Yes.’

The candles in the heavy candelabra were new, and didn’t need replacing.

Tick.

She checked that the lighter worked.

Tick.

But she paused for a moment and wondered how used to luxury he must be not to light them each night. Not to need the stunning suite bathed in candle and firelight.

‘The August Suite is my favourite,’ Antonietta admitted. ‘You should use these candles. I am sure it would look beautiful.’

‘I’ll keep that in mind.’

‘I mean…’ She was flustered, for she was not used to idle conversation. ‘I’ve always wondered what it must look like.’

‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ Rafe said again, and this time she flushed. ‘Which is your favourite view?’ he asked.

‘The one from the dining room. From there you can see the valley.’

‘Show me.’

As easily as that, he joined her at the window.

‘When I left,’ Antonietta said, ‘that whole stretch of valley was black and scorched from wild fires.’ She pointed to a large clearing atop a hillside. ‘My family’s property is up there.’

‘Was it razed in the fires?’

‘No, the fires stopped short of Silibri, but in the next village, where I also have family, there was a lot of damage. It’s hard now to remember that it was so dead and black. I came back in spring, for Nico and Aurora’s wedding, and the whole valley was a riot of colour. I have never seen it so alive. I find the view soothing. It reminds me that, as terrible as the fires were, they were good for the land.’

‘So you stayed on after the wedding?’

‘No,’ Antonietta said. ‘I went to Rome for a year, but I wanted to be back here for Christmas.’ She gave him a tight smile. Certainly, she was not going to reveal that right now a happy family Christmas was looking less and less likely. ‘I had better get on.’

‘Of course.’

Nothing was left unchecked.

No cushion left unturned or unplumped.

And still Rafe did not go for his run. Instead he made a couple of phone calls, and it turned her insides to liquid to hear his deep voice flow in the language she loved.

‘You are French?’ she asked, after the second call had ended, although usually she would not pry.

‘No,’ Rafe said. ‘But it is the language of my home.’

‘Oh?’

‘Tulano,’ he added. ‘It is between Italy and France…’

‘I know where it is,’ Antonietta said. ‘I visited there once. Only briefly, though.’

His eyes narrowed a touch. In truth, Rafe did not believe she didn’t know who he was. The maid yesterday had slipped up and called him by his full first name—Rafael—and the concierge had done the same when recommending a trail to run.

Soon, he was sure, his location would be leaked and the press would be here. The brief respite from the world would be over.

He asked her a question. ‘Do you speak French?’

‘Some—although not as much as I would like. I was there for four years,’ she said, and then switched to French and told him that his Italian was better than her French. ‘Votre Italien est meilleur que mon Français.’

And he responded. ‘Ta voix est délicieuse dans les deux langues.’

She had been away from France for over a year, and it took her a moment to translate it, but as she did a heated blush crept up her neck.

Had he just said that her voice was delightful in both languages?

Were they flirting?

And if they were then why wasn’t she halting it?

Why wasn’t she running for cover, as she usually did whenever a man, let alone a guest, got a little too close?

Only Rafe wasn’t too close for comfort. And Antonietta looked at the eyes that held hers as she responded. ‘Ainsi est le tien.’

So is yours.

It was the tiniest nod to his effect on her, and yet it felt rather huge to Antonietta.

There was another phone call for Rafe, and this time he answered in Italian, taking it out on the balcony.

Though she did not eavesdrop, his low voice reached her and it was clear that he was speaking with Nico. She felt a little flip of disappointment when she heard him state that he would not be staying for much longer.

The call ended and she looked over to where he sat, his long legs stretched out on another chair, his dark eyes scanning the grounds as a prisoner’s might, as if looking for a way to escape. She could almost feel his restlessness, Antonietta thought as she headed out onto the balcony to finish her work.

‘That was Nico,’ he said, though he had absolutely no need to do so. ‘Checking that I’m being looked after. He suggests that I take a wander into the village.’

‘There are nice cafés there,’ Antonietta said, and deliberately kept her voice casual. But there was a flip in her stomach at the thought he might be bored. ‘Have you been down to the temple ruins?’

‘No—that is where Pino suggested I ran.’

‘And the ocean is glorious,’ Antonietta said, and then stopped herself. It was not her job to sell the village to a reluctant guest.

‘You live in the village?’

‘No. Nico and Aurora have been very good to me. They knew coming back would be difficult…’ She briefly closed her eyes, instantly regretting revealing so much, and then hurriedly spoke on. ‘So they gave me a cottage in the grounds.’ She pointed in the vague direction of the helipad, over to the far side of the Old Monastery.

‘That must be very…’ He hesitated, not wanting to say isolated.

Already, for Rafe, no matter how spacious and luxurious the August Suite, no matter how glorious the grounds, cabin fever was seriously hitting. This place really was in the middle of nowhere, and he’d been considering checking out later today.

Yet he was starting to change his mind.

Rafe wanted more of her smile, of her conversation—much, much more of her.

It was not as simple as that, though.

If their relationship were to evolve, then she needed to sign a non-disclosure agreement. She would have to be be vetted by his security staff and her phone would be confiscated before they so much as went out for dinner.

It could be no other way.

Yes, he had had a couple of relationships without such arrangements, but they had been with titled women and potential wives. This Antonietta could never be that. And he must test the waters to find out how she felt.

‘That must be very quiet,’ Rafe said.

‘No,’ Antonietta refuted as she watered the jasmine. ‘I can hear the waves, and I am by the helipad so there are helicopters coming and going. Believe me, they are loud when they’re overhead. But most of the time it is nice and peaceful.’

‘Still…’ Rafe said, and his voice was low as his eyes commanded hers to meet his. ‘One can have too much tranquillity.’

Their eyes met and his words travelled through her like a current. Looking hastily away, she saw the slight shake of her hand as she watered the flowers and felt the devilish pull of his smooth voice.

Something told Antonietta that her response mattered, for his statement had felt like a question. More…it had felt like an invitation.

One she rapidly chose to decline.

‘I am all for tranquillity,’ Antonietta said rather crisply.

And instead of meeting his eyes, or thinking of something witty to add, she went back to her list and added a tick.

The flowers were watered, his suite was done and she gave him a smile—only this time, Rafe noted, it was a guarded one.

‘I hope the rest of your day is pleasant,’ Antonietta said, and let herself out, exhaling a long-held breath once the door between them was closed. She felt a little giddy.

When she entered the elevator to go down, she walked straight into Francesca.

‘There you are! What on earth took you so long?’ Francesca scolded the very second she clapped eyes on Antonietta, but then she must have regretted her tone, because she said, ‘Oh, Antonietta, I apologise. I forgot that Chi-Chi has been working there for the past couple of days. The place must have been in disarray.’

It was Antonietta who was in disarray, though. Had Rafe been suggesting something?

There was little she could pin on his words, and yet there had been a wicked edge in their delivery—she was almost sure of it.

But she’d had no experience with men.

Not good ones, anyway.

For all Sylvester’s attempts, his kisses and gropes had never, not once, made her feel the way that Rafe did with just his voice, just his eyes…

She was not only inexperienced in the kissing department, but in the flirting one too. And they had been flirting. Or was she romanticising things? Antonietta pondered as she went about her day. Certainly she was innocent, but she wasn’t naïve, and she knew from her work in other hotels that Rafe might have been suggesting ‘in-room service’, so to speak.

She managed a soft laugh at that thought, for if that were the case Rafe was certainly wide of the mark.

And yet he had buoyed her up in a way she could not properly explain…