Читать книгу The Platinum Collection - Эбби Грин, Maisey Yates - Страница 36

CHAPTER FIVE

LIZZIE FASTENED THE cropped trousers and straightened the lilac cashmere sweater she wore with it. Her feet shod in flat ballerina pumps, her face lightly made up, she bore not the smallest resemblance to the woman she had been a mere week earlier.

Of course she was now in possession of a vast wardrobe and owned a choice of outfits for every conceivable occasion. Most probably many of the garments would never be worn because she could not imagine Cesare taking her sailing or out to dinner or indeed to the kind of dressy venue where she would require a full-length gown. The wardrobe was totally wasteful in its size and probable expense but she had already learned that once Cesare had instructed his underlings that she was to be dressed from head to toe in designer fashion, his orders were carried out without question.

A pity she was a little more rebellious in that line, Lizzie acknowledged wryly. A lifetime of counting the pennies meant that extravagance made her feel guilty. Breakfast in bed made her feel even guiltier although, to be honest, any excuse to escape the ghastly prospect of having to breakfast alone with Cesare had been extremely welcome.

After all, she had made a huge fool of herself the night before, hadn’t she?

Lizzie inwardly cringed, colour marking her cheeks afresh. It would be a very long time, if ever, before she contrived to forget how she had writhed in ecstasy in Cesare’s bed. But mercifully, they hadn’t actually got as far as having full sex, she reminded herself bracingly, and she assumed that that reality would make it a little easier for her to reinstate normal boundaries between them. She was no natural wanton, never had been, had simply let alcohol, curiosity and temptation steer her briefly in the wrong direction. She wasn’t like her mother either because she was not prone to sudden blinding infatuations. For years, there had been no other man for her but Andrew, a reality that had made the slow death of their relationship all the more painful to endure because it had started out with such high hopes.

It offended her sense of decency, however, that the intimacy she had shrunk from exploring with Andrew, whom she had loved, could be so very tempting when offered by a male like Cesare Sabatino, who had no respect for her at all. Cesare didn’t give two hoots what happened to her or how she felt about any issue. Cesare merely wanted to use her to regain the island of Lionos and he thought that paying her richly for the privilege should take care of any doubts she might have.

‘Mr Sabatino is in the office at the end of the corridor,’ Primo informed her as she reached the foot of the grand staircase.

Almost sick with self-consciousness, Lizzie found the door ajar and walked in without knocking. Cesare’s arrogant dark head flew up from his laptop, subdued fire flaring in his dark, glittering eyes at the interruption until he realised who his visitor was. A well-bred smile lightened his darkly handsome features and curved his hard mouth as he leapt upright, his attention automatically pinning to the lissom curves revealed by the casually elegant outfit she wore. In startling comparison a pink and white X-rated image of Lizzie splayed across his bed erupted at the back of Cesare’s mind and he ground his teeth together as his body leapt in response to the provocation. Not for the first time he regretted the interruption that had left him burning with sexual frustration.

When he had last called Celine, he had grasped that he had a problem he had not foreseen. Aware that he was getting married, his French lover no longer wished to be seen in his company. Celine guarded her reputation because the clients who paid her a small fortune to advertise their exclusive perfume were conservative and Cesare had perfectly understood her determination to put her career first. It was, nonetheless, a challenge for him to work out how he was to cope for the next few months being married and not married at the same time.

He had not gone without sex for more than a couple of weeks since he was a teenager. Was he now supposed to sneak around seeking a discreet outlet? Without a doubt, he would have to avoid being seen consorting with any woman other than his wife or their marriage would appear dubious and, after going to such lengths to bring about the marriage, that was not a risk he was prepared to take. Whether he liked it or not and whether anything came of it or not, Lizzie was his only option for the foreseeable future, he acknowledged grudgingly.

‘You look terrific, cara,’ Cesare told Lizzie truthfully, politely tugging out a chair for her to use. The jasmine scent of her perfume flared his nostrils and before he could suppress the memory he recalled the wild, hot sweetness of her response. No man could easily forget that kind of passion, he reasoned, exasperated by his stubborn libido and the effect those turbulent hormones had on his usually cool intellect.

‘Thanks but it’s all fancy packaging, not really me,’ Lizzie parried uncomfortably, because he was towering over her and close enough that she could smell the citrusy cologne that overlaid the erotic undertones of clean, warm male. Her colour fluctuating, she sat very straight-backed in her seat.

‘Learn how to accept a compliment gracefully,’ Cesare advised softly. ‘You have a great figure, gorgeous hair and a beautiful face. Clothes merely provide an effective frame for the looks that nature gave you.’

Lizzie dealt him a pained half-smile. Unlike her, he was a master of the ready word and the right thing to say and had probably never been stuck for a quote in his entire gilded life. She evaded his shrewd gaze because she felt vulnerable, almost naked in his presence, stripped as she was of her usual working clothing and countryside assurance because his privileged world was so foreign to hers. She loved the way good clothes that fitted perfectly made her feel, but she wondered if he would still want her without that superficial gloss, a thought that made her feel inadequate and a little pathetic. In short, the spectacular luxury of his home, the costly garments and the preponderance of staff made Lizzie feel out of her depth and drowning. All she had required to crown her discomfiture was that ill-judged sexual episode that morning. ‘I want you to sign these documents.’ Evidently impervious to the unease afflicting Lizzie, Cesare extended a slim sheaf of papers. ‘I need your permission to make alterations to the villa on Lionos.’

Her brow furrowed in surprise. ‘Alterations? But you haven’t even seen the house yet.’

‘Because we won’t be married until Friday,’ Cesare pointed out drily. ‘While we’re on our honeymoon in Italy, my grandmother will be having her surgery and recuperating. As soon as she is strong enough we will fly out to Lionos and stay in the villa with her.’

‘I didn’t realise we were having a honeymoon.’

‘It will only be a honeymoon in the eyes of the outside world,’ Cesare qualified wryly.

‘And your grandmother falls into that category too?’ Lizzie checked.

‘I’ve already explained that,’ Cesare reminded her. ‘For all that Athene’s strong, she’s an old lady. I don’t want her to guess that our marriage is a fake. If she knew the truth she’d feel responsible and unhappy.’

‘I can understand that.’ Lizzie studied him uneasily. He emanated sleek, expensive elegance in a black business suit that outlined his broad shoulders, narrow hips and long, powerful legs to perfection but, unfortunately for Lizzie, she was still seeing him in his form-fitting boxers, an energising image of him half-naked and rampant with masculine potency. She chewed hard at the soft underside of her lower lip, fighting her awareness and her disobedient and thoroughly embarrassing thoughts.

‘Before we can stay at the villa, however, some improvements must be made to the accommodation and for that I require your permission as the property belongs to you and your sister.’

‘What sort of improvements?’ Lizzie prompted with a frown.

‘I want to send Primo out to the island immediately with a team of kitchen and bathroom specialists. The house needs to be brought up to date before we can live there and I want to ensure that Athene enjoys her stay.’

‘But won’t she be sentimental about changes being made to the house where she grew up?’ Lizzie asked in surprise.

‘That’s a fair point but times have changed since she was a girl and I believe she’ll recognise that. She’s a practical woman and she likes her comforts.’

‘From what my mother said, most of the soft furnishings will need to be replaced as well,’ Lizzie told him in wry warning. ‘Drapes, beds, sofas. I don’t think it’s possible to achieve so much within such a short time frame and if you don’t watch out...once you start removing fitments, the villa will quickly become uninhabitable.’

His supreme assurance untouched, Cesare dealt her an amused smile. ‘Believe me, if I’m prepared to throw enough money at the problem, someone will accept the challenge, cara.’

Lizzie shrugged because it was immaterial to her what he chose to have done to a house that she had never seen and would only briefly visit. But it was a painful reminder that Cesare only wanted her because she owned the island and could sell it to him if he married her and nobody, but nobody, could make a relationship out of that, she told herself wretchedly. None of her anxious feelings showing on her face, she dutifully scribbled her signature in the indicated places and provided her sister’s address for the documents to be couriered to her.

A wholehearted smile softened her taut mouth when Archie poked his head round the door and trotted across the polished wooden floor to greet his mistress.

Cesare watched the dog receive a warm welcome and decided it was educational. Archie looked pathetic with only three working legs and the fourth in a cast and the dog played his advantage for all he was worth, rolling his tummy up in the air to be petted and then struggling pitifully to get up off the floor again. Cesare bent down to lift the terrier and help him upright again. In reaction to his sudden proximity, Lizzie rammed her chair back out of the way, her nervous response setting Cesare’s teeth on edge as he straightened again.

Lizzie collided with stunning dark golden eyes fringed with black velvet lashes and forgot how to breathe, feverish tension snaking through her every muscle as she rose hurriedly from her chair again and moved towards the door, keen to be gone.

‘Your father and your sister will be attending the wedding?’ Cesare sought confirmation.

‘Yes...’ Lizzie coughed to clear her convulsed throat. ‘And I’ll ring Chrissie now to explain about the papers she has to sign.’

‘I doubt if I’ll see you again before we meet at the church on Friday,’ Cesare imparted softly. ‘Somehow try to practise not leaping away when I come close. It’s a dead giveaway that our relationship is a sham.’

Lizzie flushed with mortification. ‘Then practise keeping your distance,’ she advised.

Well, that was telling him, Cesare conceded grimly. She was angry with him. He had been less than diplomatic after that phone call that interrupted them earlier that day. He ground his even white teeth together. He had only told the truth. Did women always punish men for telling the truth? If their arrangement was to work, however, he would need to make more of an effort to sustain their relationship, he acknowledged grudgingly. Women were emotional creatures. Her anxious, uneasy attitude towards him had just underlined that unwelcome reality.

Furthermore, Lizzie might be a gold-digger who had chosen money over ethics when given the choice, but how could he blame her for that when she had lived in poverty for so many years? It was not a crime for her to seek to better herself. And how could he fault her avaricious streak when, without it, she would have sent him and his proposition packing? It was unjust of him to view her in the same unforgiving light as the many mercenary women who had shared his bed, he conceded wryly. Serafina, after all, had made a straight-up choice to ditch Cesare and marry a man who had been much wealthier, even though he was also much older. He had to be less judgemental and more generous to Lizzie. In any case, as his wife and potentially the future mother of his child, Lizzie was also the equivalent of a long-term project. Somehow he would have to make her happy and keep her happy, because if he didn’t all his plans could still come to nothing.

* * *

‘You look totally amazing!’ Chrissie exclaimed as Lizzie spun to show off her wedding gown, slender shoulders and arms sheathed in the finest see-through lace, her tiny waist accentuated by the fullness of her skirt.

‘My brother’s a closet romantic. He’s going to love that dress,’ Maurizia forecast as a knock sounded on the door and she and Sofia went to answer it.

‘I’m having so much fun. I wish I hadn’t put that exam ahead of attending your hen do,’ Chrissie lamented, a slight willowy figure in the topaz-coloured bridesmaid dress that she and Cesare’s sisters all wore.

Lizzie gazed fondly at her sister, thinking that she was the real beauty in the family with her perfect features and superior height.

‘A pressie for you from Cesare,’ Sofia announced, placing a jewel case in Lizzie’s hands.

A gloriously delicate diamond necklace and drop earrings met Lizzie’s stunned appraisal and a chorus of admiration rose from her companions. Of course, Cesare was playing to the gallery, assuming the role of besotted bridegroom for his siblings’ benefit, Lizzie guessed. She put on the necklace and the earrings and realised that she was rather pathetically wishing that her wedding were the genuine article. She loved Cesare’s family and would have given just about anything for them to be her family as well. Instead she had to live with the unlovely truth that she was deceiving them and would soon be deceiving Cesare’s grandmother as well.

‘You’re really sure about doing this?’ Chrissie whispered in the church porch as she made an unnecessary adjustment to Lizzie’s gown while their father hovered, looking irritable. ‘Because it’s not too late to change your mind. All I have to do is call a taxi and we’re out of here.’

‘Are you trying to cause trouble? Of course, she’s not going to change her mind!’ Brian Whitaker declared in exasperation. ‘That Sabatino fellow has to be the best thing that ever happened to her! At least he has an ounce of sense between his ears.’

‘We certainly think so,’ Paola piped up without hesitation. ‘But sometimes the bride does get cold feet.’

‘Not this one,’ Lizzie countered steadily, smoothing over the awkwardness that had settled over the bridal party with her father’s tactless words.

Cesare turned to look at Lizzie only when she reached the altar. Eyes the colour of melted bronze assailed her and she stopped breathing, gripped by the ferocious force of will in that appraisal. He had no doubts, she interpreted. He knew exactly what he was doing, had come to terms with the drawbacks and was concentrating on the end game. She had to do the same, she told herself urgently. She had to stop trying to personalise their relationship and stop wondering whether or not he would kiss her after they had been pronounced man and wife. Such treacherous thoughts were far removed from businesslike behaviour and utterly inappropriate, she scolded herself in exasperation.

‘You look fantastic,’ Cesare murmured softly while he threaded the wedding band onto her finger and she followed suit, copying his manoeuvre with less cool and more nerves.

Indeed, Cesare was taken aback by just how fabulous she looked. The effect she had on him was ever so slightly unnerving. It was his libido, he told himself impatiently. As long as he stuck to his rules of never getting tangled in anything that smacked of an emotional connection, he would be fine and perfectly happy.

And then the deed was done and they were married and there was no kiss, nor indeed any instruction to kiss the bride. Her hand trembling on Cesare’s arm, she walked down the aisle, seeing a sea of smiling faces on every side of her. It was not her idea of a small wedding because the big church was crammed with guests. Out on the steps, Cesare escorted a tiny woman with vibrant brown eyes set in a round wrinkled face to meet her.

‘Athene...meet Elisabetta, known as Lizzie,’ he murmured quietly. ‘Lizzie, this is my grandmother.’

The two women stood chatting about nothing in particular for several minutes beneath Cesare’s watchful eye. Athene grinned at Lizzie. There was an astonishing amount of mischief in that unexpected grin and she squeezed Lizzie’s hand. ‘We’ll talk later,’ she promised cheerfully.

Later became much later once the bridal merry-go-round took over. The bride and groom greeted their guests at the country house hotel chosen to stage the reception, dined in splendour while being entertained by a famous singer, listened to the speeches and danced the first dance with Lizzie stumbling over her own feet. In the circle of Cesare’s powerful arms and surrounded by so many well-wishers, Lizzie had to struggle to remember that their wedding was a fake.

In fact when Cesare lowered his darkly handsome head and kissed her, Lizzie was so unprepared for the move and so taken back by it she fell into it like a child falling down a bottomless well. His mouth moved on hers and his tongue darted across the roof of her mouth and excitement leapt so high inside her she felt dizzy and intoxicated, her head tilting back, her hands tightening round his neck, fingertips flirting with the silky strands of his black hair. It was heavenly and devastating; heavenly to glory in her womanhood and appreciate that she had now discovered her sensual side and devastating to register that the wrong man was punching her buttons, simply to impress their audience.

In passionate rejection of that belittling image, Lizzie jerked her head back and pressed him back from her. ‘Enough...’ she muttered unsteadily.

‘Dio mio, not half enough for me, bellezza mia,’ Cesare rasped in a driven undertone. ‘I want you.’

Lizzie had become as stiff as a board. ‘We talked about that and decided that it wasn’t sensible.’

‘To hell with being sensible!’ Cesare shot back at her with smouldering dark golden eyes framed by black velvet lashes, so breathtakingly handsome in that moment that he took her breath away. ‘Passion isn’t sensible...don’t you know that yet?’

No, but he was teaching her what she had never wanted to know. Experimentation was acceptable to Lizzie as long as she remained in control. She didn’t want to be out of control, didn’t want to risk getting hurt or making a fool of herself again. Suddenly all her worst fears were coalescing in the shape of Cesare Sabatino and she had only gone and married the guy!

Sofia approached her. ‘Athene wants you to come and sit with her for a while. I expect she wants to get to know you... Cesare is by far her favourite grandchild.’

Lizzie rolled her eyes in sympathy. ‘He’s the only boy.’

‘She practically raised him—that’s why they’re so close,’ Sofia explained. ‘Cesare was only four when our mother married his father and although he was supposed to come and live with our parents straight away, he and Athene kept on putting it off and Papa didn’t like to interfere too much. Cesare’s never been easy—he and Papa are so different.’

‘Goffredo is a pet,’ Lizzie said warmly. ‘You’re so lucky.’

‘Cesare’s too clever for his own good,’ his sister opined. ‘Papa was in awe of his brain and he was such an argumentative little boy.’

A smile of amusement tilted Lizzie’s mouth. ‘I can imagine. He likes everything his own way.’

Athene patted the comfortable armchair beside her own. ‘Tell me about yourself. I’m a typical nosy old lady,’ she confided. ‘You talk and I ask the questions.’

Naturally there were questions about Lizzie’s mother, whom Athene had met while Goffredo was dating her.

‘My son could not have made her happy.’ Cesare’s grandmother sighed with regret. ‘Francesca was always dissatisfied and she was disappointed that Goffredo already had a son. I wasn’t that surprised when she broke off the engagement.’

‘She wasn’t happy with anyone for very long,’ Lizzie admitted quietly.

‘That must have been very difficult for you and your sister when you were growing up. The things that happen when you’re young leave scars,’ Athene remarked wryly. ‘I believe that’s why it’s taken so long for Cesare to put Serafina behind him where she belongs...’

‘Serafina?’ Lizzie queried tentatively, wondering worriedly if this was some family story that she should have been acquainted with and if her ignorance would strike the older woman as suspicious.

‘I didn’t think he would’ve mentioned her to you,’ Athene told her with a wry smile. ‘Cesare hides his vulnerabilities very effectively.’

Lizzie resisted the temptation to admit that she hadn’t believed he had any.

‘Cesare fell in love with Serafina when he was a student. He wanted to marry her but she said she was too young,’ Athene related, her wise old eyes resting on Lizzie’s absorbed expression. ‘In her first job, she met a very rich man in his seventies and within weeks they were wed.’

Lizzie froze in consternation. ‘That must’ve been devastating for him,’ she muttered ruefully, thinking that she had unkindly misjudged Cesare when she had assumed he simply had no heart and no room in his life for anything but business and profit.

‘But today I know that he has finally put Serafina back where she belongs in the past,’ his grandmother proclaimed with satisfaction and patted Lizzie’s hand. ‘Today I am joyful that Cesare has married you and changed the whole course of his life for the better.’

Lizzie suppressed a groan of disagreement. She was discovering where Goffredo’s optimistic outlook came from—he had inherited it from his mother. It was a source of wonder to her that Cesare had grown up surrounded by people with such sunny natures and yet contrived to retain his cold, unemotional attitude to life. Yet he was also careful to maintain a certain distance from his loving family, she conceded reflectively, wondering if he secretly feared that his family loving softness might dull his own ruthless cutting edge.

A couple of hours after that, Lizzie boarded Cesare’s private jet. Her feet, shod in spindly high heels, were killing her. Even the short walk through the airport had been too much and she collapsed into her leather upholstered seat and kicked off her shoes with intense relief.

‘You did very well today,’ Cesare pronounced, disconcerting her as he took his own seat opposite. ‘I don’t think anyone suspected the truth.’

‘Your father knows,’ she reminded him uncomfortably.

‘He’ll believe the truth for all of ten minutes. Give him a few weeks and he’ll persuade himself that we fell madly in love within hours of getting married,’ Cesare forecast with sardonic bite. ‘That’s the way Goffredo functions.’

‘You have a lovely family,’ Lizzie countered, colour springing into her cheeks. ‘Don’t be so critical. They love you very much and they aren’t afraid to show it.’

Cesare stiffened until he recalled his father-in-law’s behaviour throughout the day. Brian Whitaker had turned down the opportunity to make a speech, had kept to his own company in the midst of the crowd and had steadfastly managed not to smile even for the photographs. ‘Your father’s...different,’ he conceded quietly. ‘Not the demonstrative type.’

‘When my mother left him, it soured him on life,’ she muttered ruefully. ‘And life has been tough for him ever since. He’ll be more content living in the house he’s hoping to rent in the village. I think it will be a relief for him not to be looking out of windows at the farm and fretting about the jobs I’m not getting done.’

‘Isn’t it a relief for you as well?’ Cesare prompted, thinking of the long and gruelling hours of work she must have endured while she endeavoured to keep the farm going without help.

Lizzie compressed her lips and frowned reflectively. ‘From dawn to dusk I worried about everything and anything and I’m not sorry to be free of that stress. The bank threatening to withdraw the loan was our biggest fear but then the rent was raised...and, that was a body blow, totally the last straw,’ she confided honestly. ‘That was followed by Chrissie announcing that she was going to drop out of uni and come home because we were having such a struggle. I couldn’t let that happen. She needed to get her education.’

Cesare was listening intently. ‘So that’s why you suddenly changed your mind and agreed to marry me?’ he breathed in a tone of disconcertion. ‘I had no idea that you were under that much financial and emotional pressure.’

‘But you said you knew our situation,’ she reminded him in surprise. ‘I assumed you’d used a private investigator to check us out before you came to visit.’

Level dark eyes gazed back at her, a frown line pleating his ebony brows. ‘No, I didn’t. I didn’t know about the bank loan, the rent rise or your sister’s plans to drop out. I only knew about your father’s ill health and that you were trying to keep the farm afloat on your own.’

‘Well, you know the whole story now,’ Lizzie commented mildly. ‘I was ready to sell my soul for thirty pieces of silver.’

‘No,’ Cesare contradicted, his sibilant Italian accent vibrating in the silence to send a current of awareness travelling down her slender spine. ‘You were desperate to protect your family, regardless of what it might cost you personally. That’s loyalty and I admire that trait.’

As the silence stretched, Cesare went back to work at his laptop. Driven by something stronger than he was, he found himself glancing up to watch Lizzie leaf through a glossy fashion magazine, pulling faces whenever she came on a picture of any garment she considered too extreme while absently fondling Archie’s ear beneath his balloon collar. She was so very natural. What you saw was what you got from Lizzie Whitaker and he had totally misunderstood her. It was a sobering discovery for a male who prided himself on his ability to read others. He had made all too many assumptions about Lizzie, not least that she was a gold-digger, and now that he had discovered that she had been driven more by desperation than greed his innate curiosity about her was finally set free.

‘Why did you dye your hair brown?’ he asked her abruptly.

Lizzie twined a shining silver strand round a self-conscious finger and winced in evident embarrassment. ‘Andrew didn’t like my hair. He thought it attracted too much attention and that it looked white and made people think I was an old lady at first glance,’ she told him uncomfortably. ‘I could see his point.’

‘Did you really want to please him that much?’ Cesare pressed. ‘Your hair’s beautiful, unusual but undeniably beautiful, cara.’

Lizzie shrugged but her face glowed at the compliment. His lean, darkly handsome features held her intent gaze and she switched her attention back to the magazine, a pool of liquid heat gathering in her pelvis that made her squirm with chagrin. He was so very, very good-looking, it was natural for her to stare a little, she told herself ruefully, but she had to keep her feet on the ground and learn to distinguish between what was real and what was more probably fake.

The limousine that collected them from the airport in Italy wended its way along winding roads and through some spectacular scenery. It was late spring and the fields were green with fava beans and wheat dotted with yellow broom. Medieval villages in picturesque hilltop locations were ringed by vineyards and olive groves while the rolling hills were covered with groves of cypresses and umbrella pines. Lizzie was enchanted and plied Cesare with questions.

‘You still haven’t told me where we’re going,’ she complained.

‘We’re almost there.’

Lizzie stared out at the rustic stone farmhouse on the ridge of the hill and blinked because it was not what she expected. Cesare was so sophisticated that she had been convinced that they were heading for some exclusive spa. ‘It just doesn’t look like your style,’ she breathed helplessly.

‘I love old buildings. When I first saw it I was a student out hiking with friends. The roof had fallen in, the first floor had gone and the end wall had collapsed. We took shelter in the barn during a thunderstorm,’ Cesare explained as the driver turned down a dirt track that steadily climbed the hill. ‘I watched the sun go down over the valley and swore I’d buy it with my first million.’

‘Your first...million?’ she exclaimed.

‘It was a money pit,’ Cesare told her cheerfully, his dark eyes gleaming with rueful amusement. ‘I learnt that the hard way.’

The car drew up in a paved courtyard ornamented with urns full of tumbling flowers. As they climbed out, a rotund little woman in an apron hurried out to greet them. Her name was Maria and she was the housekeeper and, seemingly, Cesare’s biggest fan. Ushered into a great vaulted hall, Lizzie looked around herself with keen interest, glancing through to a gracious drawing room rejoicing in a vast pale stone fireplace and an array of vibrant turquoise sofas. The outside might be antique and rustic but the inside was all contemporary elegance.

Maria led her upstairs and into a glorious light-filled bedroom with a window overlooking the valley below. Lizzie fingered the fine white linen bedding and admired the beautifully draped bed while wondering where Cesare was planning to sleep. The driver brought their cases up, closely followed by Cesare, lean and lithe in khaki chinos and an open-necked shirt that screamed Italian designer style.

‘Where’s your room?’ Lizzie asked quietly.

‘We share,’ Cesare told her without skipping a beat.

‘I’m not sharing a bed with you!’ Lizzie gasped in consternation.

‘We’re supposed to be married. Let’s stay in role,’ Cesare fielded. ‘Having gone this far, it would be stupid to take risks by using separate bedrooms.’

Lizzie kicked off her shoes and mulled over that argument. ‘Maria’s not going to talk.’

‘She’s not the only member of staff with access to the upper floor,’ he shot back drily.

‘OK...’ Lizzie stood at the foot of the bed, prepared to admit that it was huge, but she was still doubtful that she could lose him in it. ‘But you have to stay on your side of the bed.’

‘Are we five years old now?’ Cesare quipped, studying her with incredulity. ‘You’re making a fuss about nothing.’

Lizzie settled glinting witch-green eyes on him. ‘I’m not used to sharing a bed. It’s not nothing to me.’

‘We’ll discuss it over dinner,’ Cesare decreed.

Lizzie threw her arms wide in emphasis, her temper mounting. ‘I don’t want to discuss it...I just don’t want to do it!’

‘Only forty-eight hours ago, you did,’ Cesare countered, lean, strong face hard, dark golden eyes smouldering with recollection and unforgotten hunger.

Lizzie reddened. ‘I was wondering how long it would take you to throw that back in my face. I was drunk, for goodness’ sake,’ she protested.

‘At least you know what you want when you’re drunk,’ he riposted.

Lizzie slammed shut the door lest they be overheard arguing. ‘That’s a horrible thing to say!’

‘Whether you like it or not, it’s the truth. You want me every bit as much as I want you. You just won’t admit it.’

Lizzie was so enraged by that arrogant statement that she walked into the bathroom and closed the door behind her to escape him. The fixtures took her breath away. An antique tub took up prime position by the window while rustic stone walls and a pale marble floor provided an effective frame.

‘And hiding in the bathroom isn’t going to persuade me otherwise!’ Cesare completed loudly outside the door.

Lizzie threw open the door again and marched out with compressed lips to drag one of the cases across the beautiful oak floor. ‘I was not hiding.’

Cesare snatched up the case and planted it on the bed, helpfully springing the locks for her.

Lizzie hovered, her colour high, her eyes veiled.

Cesare stalked closer like a predator about to spring and she tensed from head to toe. ‘Look at me, bellezza mia,’ he urged.

Almost involuntarily, Lizzie lifted her head, platinum hair flying back from her heart-shaped face. ‘Why?’ she said flatly.

Lean brown hands lifted to frame her cheekbones and turn her face up. A muscle pulled taut at the corner of his wide, sensual mouth. ‘I want to make a baby with you the normal way. I don’t want to use artificial insemination. If we’re going to become parents, let’s try the natural approach first.’

He had taken her entirely by surprise. Her entire face flamed and even worse the heat darted downward to engulf her whole body. ‘But that’s not what we agreed.’

‘We didn’t agree anything. You made a suggestion. I didn’t like it but I wasn’t prepared to argue about it at that point and turn you off the whole idea of marrying me,’ Cesare admitted without hesitation.

His sheer honesty bemused her and then touched her deep. I want to make a baby with you. The very words made Lizzie melt and she tried to squash her reaction and deny it. It would not be safe or sensible to have actual sex with Cesare Sabatino because it would smash the barriers she had carefully erected. But the prospect of undergoing some cold scientific procedure in a fertility clinic was, she suddenly appreciated, even less attractive to her.

‘I’ll think about it,’ Lizzie mumbled half under her breath. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get changed into something more comfortable.’

‘I’ll go for a shower,’ Cesare told her, peeling off his shirt without an ounce of inhibition.

Her heart hammering, Lizzie averted her gaze but the enthralling image of his bronzed, muscular torso was still seared across her vision. She pulled an outfit out of the case, nothing fancy for she had had her fill of fancy outfits that day. She caught an accidental glimpse of Cesare striding naked as the day he was born into the en suite and she almost groaned out loud. They were so different, so ill matched. He had seen it all, done it all, while she had only dreamt of the seeing and the doing. If she slept with him, she would develop feelings for him and she would get hurt because he wouldn’t respond. Or maybe she would discover that she was the kind of woman who could have sex without getting more deeply involved, she reasoned abstractedly. She might not get attached to him at all, might be grateful to wave goodbye to him after a few months. How could she know how she would react?

When the shower was free, she made use of it and removed most of the heavy make-up she had worn for her big day. Applying only a dash of lipstick and blusher, she pulled on a stretchy maxi skirt and a sleeveless silk top, thrusting her feet into flat sandals. When she reappeared, a maid was in the bedroom hanging their clothes in the built-in closet and Lizzie went straight downstairs.

Cesare strode out to the marble-floored hall. ‘Let me show you around before dinner,’ he suggested.

‘Where’s Archie?’ she asked.

Cesare held a finger to his handsome mouth in silencing mode and pointed into the drawing room. Archie was stretched out on a shaggy rug, his contented snores audible.

As dusk was folding in fast, Cesare showed her the outside of the house first. Lizzie stood on the covered stone terrace where Maria was fussing over a table covered in a snowy white cloth and admired the stunning view of the valley, which was overlooked by a superlative infinity pool. ‘The views are out of this world. I’m not surprised you fell for this place,’ she admitted, the tension of the day slowly seeping out of her.

Without warning, Cesare reached for her hand. ‘This marriage can be as real as we want it to be, bellezza mia,’ he pointed out quietly.

Her fingers flexed within the firm hold of his and her colour heightened. Real didn’t mean for ever, did it? But then how many marriages truly lasted for ever? They were together now and would stay together until a child was born. The child she longed for, she reminded herself ruefully. Surely the closer she and Cesare became, the easier it would be to share their child both now and in the future?

Her lips parted almost without her volition, green eyes wide and anxious as if she was stunned by her own daring. ‘I’ll give it a go,’ she told him softly. ‘But I can’t make any promises.’

Cesare smiled. It was a brilliant smile that illuminated his darkly beautiful features and enhanced his stubborn, passionate mouth. ‘I’ll try to make sure you don’t regret it, cara.’