It Happened In Rome: The Forced Bride / The Italian's Rags-to-Riches Wife / The Italian's Passionate Revenge

Raf was lounging on a sofa, staring into the newly replenished fire.

She said curtly, ‘You do realise there’s no television here? No computer or fax machine either. ‘

‘You feel that is a problem?’

She shrugged. ‘It’s hardly the streamlined, high-tech, luxurious environment you’re used to. You can hardly test the world’s financial pulse from here.’

‘Oh, I think the patient will live without me.’

‘But can you live without the patient?’

‘For a while, certainly.’ He stretched indolently. ‘And it will be good for me to relax completely. It does not often happen.’

‘You’ve forgotten the negotiations.’

‘I have forgotten nothing,’ he said and resumed his scrutiny of the leaping flames, leaving her to retire, baffled.

Emily beat the eggs with a fork and poured them into the hot pan, watching them with an eagle eye to ensure they did not become leathery. But they looked pretty good, fluffy and golden, she decided with satisfaction, as she divided them up, giving Raf the lion’s share.

‘This is excellent,’ he commented after his first mouthful. ‘You have hidden talents, mia cara.’

She kept her eyes fixed on her plate. ‘Let’s hear it for Sister Mary Antony.’

She had to force down her own portion against the nervous tightness of her throat, but somehow she managed it. Because it was important not to show she was on edge in front of Raf. Shock and anger at his unexpected arrival were permissible—just—but being scared was not.

Cool indifference, she thought, was the thing to aim for.

The meal over, she refused politely his equally courteous offer to assist with the washing-up. The idea of Rafaele Di Salis with a tea towel in his hand was too ludicrous to contemplate, she decided, her lip curling. More importantly, the kitchen was indeed far too cramped for easy sharing. Especially with him.

When she went back into the living room, she saw, with surprise, that a bottle of wine and two glasses had appeared on the small table in front of him.

‘Did you bring that too?’ she asked.

‘I did not have to. Marcello keeps a small store in the cellar for his own visits.’ He poured the wine and handed her a glass. ‘He gave me the key to the cupboard.’

‘The kind of friend to have,’ Emily said with constraint.

She didn’t want to sit drinking with him, yet to refuse might send out the wrong sort of signal. So she took a cautious sip and put the glass down.

My God, she thought bitterly, this—ambush had been carefully planned. But it was becoming plain that it couldn’t have succeeded without Simon’s active connivance, and that this was only one of the ugly truths she might have to accept.

In spite of herself, she couldn’t forget the missing items in the drawing room at High Gables and Simon’s casual dismissal of her query.

If he was short of money, why didn’t he turn to me? she asked herself almost despairingly. Why pretend he was a high-flying entrepreneur working from home, when she was bound to find out the truth eventually?

‘You look angry, carissima. Is the wine not to your liking?’

‘It’s fine,’ she said. ‘However, it doesn’t make your invasion of my privacy here any more acceptable.’

He shrugged. ‘But then you have never made me particularly welcome, Emilia, wherever you happened to be.’

‘Well,’ she said, ‘that hardly matters. I’m sure you’re greeted with open arms everywhere else.’

And could have bitten her tongue out. Because she’d just broken her own cardinal rule and made a reference, however veiled, to the other women in his life.

But Raf did not pick up on it immediately, as she’d feared. He leaned back against the cushions, drinking his wine, his glance meditative. ‘It did not occur to you, mia cara, that deliberately running away from me might seem—a form of enticement? That I would be bound to follow?’

She stiffened. ‘No.’

‘How little you know of men,’ he murmured.

She tossed back her hair with a fierce gesture. No point in hedging any more and to hell with the consequences. ‘I certainly know about you, signore,’ she said bitingly. ‘And I’d have thought you had enough—enticements in your life already.’

She took a deep breath. ‘So why don’t you say whatever it is you came here for, then get back to your real world? And leave me in peace.’

He looked at her for a long moment, then he got to his feet, picking up his glass and the bottle. ‘I suggest we resume this conversation tomorrow,’ he said. ‘When perhaps you may be more—amenable. More prepared to listen to reason.’ He paused. ‘Now, am I permitted to take a bath, perhaps, before I retire?’

‘Yes, of course.’ It was only a small respite, but, as things were, she was thankful for anything. ‘You—you’ll find extra towels in the airing cupboard, I think.’

‘Grazie.’ He inclined his head courteously. ‘I understand that the hot water supply is limited, so I will try not to use it all.’

‘I’m sure it’s fine,’ she returned quickly. ‘And your friends obviously manage.’

‘Ah,’ he said, casually. ‘But then they bathe together.’ He sent her a swift, impersonal smile, then went unhurriedly up the stairs and out of her sight.

That, thought Emily, furiously aware that she was blushing, was altogether too much information.

Once again, Raf seemed to have caught her on the back foot. And with very little effort on his part.

Why did I think I could ever take him on? she asked herself despondently. I should have hired myself a legal team of my own and let them battle it out.

Only it was too late for that now. He was here, by his own admission, to make her see reason. In other words, to meekly submit to his particular point of view, she thought, biting her lip.

Well, she was damned if she would. She’d fight him every step of the way.

And if he’d imagined that breaking the news of Simon’s callous betrayal of her would undermine her strength of will, then he could think again.

When Simon had walked out on her three years ago she’d been devastated, convinced her life was over. Wasn’t that why she’d yielded to her father’s urgings and agreed to a marriage of convenience with Raf—because she hadn’t really cared what happened to her? Wasn’t it?

Now it seemed that Simon had really gone for ever. But, instead of the devastation of pain she might have expected, she felt numb—hollowed out inside.

I should be weeping, she thought, her mouth twisting in self-mockery. Maybe I’m just too young for a broken heart.

And, after this, I won’t be looking for another man either. Once I’m free of this marriage, I’m going to starting living for myself.

She picked up her neglected wine. ‘To me,’ she said and drank deeply.

But the fact remained that she was still sharing her living space with Raf, for tonight at least. And, in spite of herself, she found she was sitting on the edge of the sofa, senses finely tuned to the signs of his presence upstairs. That she was tensing as she heard the bath water eventually running away. Listening for the opening of the bathroom door and the soft pad of bare feet going along the passage. Then, at long last, his bedroom door closing.