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

‘I agree,’ Rafaele told her cordially. ‘Which is why I made an excuse and left at once, without the coffee I had been promised.’

She glared at him. ‘Or anything else, presumably. Is that why you decided to ruin my time with Simon, signore—because you’d missed out with Jilly?’

He said gently, ‘That, mia cara, is a vulgarity not worthy of you.’ He paused. ‘I look on your father as my friend, Emilia, and I would try to prevent anything that would distress him. And the discovery that you had agreed to a secret liaison under his own roof would be a serious blow to him. You must know that. Your young man should have more regard for your honour.’

Emily flung back her head. ‘It so happens, signore, that Simon and I are engaged to be married. We were meeting tonight to—to discuss our plans for the future, and not for the sordid reason you imagine.’

His stride towards her was so quick and purposeful that she didn’t have a chance to step backwards. And, before she could defend herself, his hand had snaked out and pulled down the zip on her robe almost to the waist. The edges fell apart, revealing to his gaze the flimsy black triangles that barely concealed her nipples.

He said contemptuously, ‘It seems I am not the only one with a sordid imagination, signorina. Let me tell you that you are too young and far too lovely to require such tawdry adornment. You disappoint me.’

‘How dare you?’ Her voice was a strangled croak as she struggled to cover herself again, her fingers made clumsy by haste and shame. ‘Oh, God, how dare you—touch me? Insult me? You call yourself Daddy’s friend? He’ll throw you out of the house when I tell him…’

‘When you tell him—precisely what?’ Rafaele Di Salis cut impatiently across her stumbling words. ‘What you were doing here? Why you were dressed as you are?’ He shook his head. ‘No, Emilia, I recommend that you hold your peace about tonight, as I shall. Now, go to your room,’ he added almost wearily. ‘And I will lock up here.’

She did not wait to argue, but fled. In the quiet of her room, she threw herself across the bed, burying her face in the covers, as shock and misery overwhelmed her.

I want to die, she told herself passionately, a sob rising in her throat. Just to die. Because then I’ll never have to see Rafaele Di Salis again.

But, for the time being, she had to go on living—enduring the terrible memory of his condemnatory gaze and the harsh dismissal of his words.

And, somewhere among all of that, was the realisation that Simon had tamely given up and gone home, which, she discovered wretchedly, didn’t seem nearly as bad.

She spent a miserable and restless night, with the covers pulled over her head, and it was a pale, hollow-eyed Emily who went reluctantly down to breakfast the next morning to confront her tormentor the best she could. She’d rehearsed a number of dignified and cutting speeches in case he should make some ill-chosen reference to the night’s events, but they proved unnecessary.

Because he wasn’t there, and when she forced herself to ask her father about their guest’s non-appearance, she was breezily informed that Rafaele Di Salis had left first thing that morning to catch a flight to New York.

‘Isn’t that rather sudden?’ She managed to pour her coffee with a reasonably steady hand.

Sir Travers looked surprised. ‘No, my dear. Raf always planned to leave immediately after Boxing Day. Didn’t I mention that?’

‘Actually, no,’ said Emily.

‘Well, he’s gone, anyway.’ Her father paused, then smiled. ‘And he asked me to pass on his good wishes for your future happiness.’

‘How kind,’ Emily said woodenly, and applied herself to her scrambled eggs.

Strange, Emily thought, shifting uneasily in the big chair, that even after the passage of three years, she should have this—instant recall, as if it had all happened yesterday. But maybe unpleasant memories stayed longer in the mind than the cheerful variety.

Not that there’d ever been any really joyous moments to glean from any part of her strange relationship with Raf Di Salis.

The celebration would come when he signed the papers to set her free. And allow her, at last, to marry her first love and put all the pain of separation and misunderstanding behind them.

Her mouth tightened as she remembered how, in the aftermath of that disastrous night, she’d waited in mounting desperation to hear from Simon. But forty-eight endless hours had passed without a word and, as the time lengthened, her pride would not allow her to contact him and demand to know what the hell was going on.

She’d been in the village, parking her bicycle outside the general stores, when Jilly Aubrey had emerged.

‘Well, hi,’ she drawled, giving Emily the usual disparaging once-over. ‘Where’s that gorgeous Italian who was staying with you? I want to invite him to our New Year bash, if he’s going to be around.’

Emily gave her a cool look. ‘I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed. He’s gone, and he won’t be coming back for New Year, or any other time.’ If my prayers are answered…

Jilly shrugged. ‘Don’t sound so pleased, honey, because you’re in the same boat. Simon’s staying on in London, according to Mother.’

‘London,’ Emily repeated before she could stop herself.

‘You mean you don’t know?’ Jilly’s eyes glinted with malice. She lowered her voice confidentially. ‘Dad found out over Christmas that he’d been borrowing money from Ma again, and there was a massive explosion, chez nous. Fall-out everywhere, my dear. So pretty Cousin Simon’s been sent off to seek his fortune, or find a job that will enable him to pay a few of his debts, anyway. If such a thing exists,’ she added with a faint sneer. ‘Whatever, he won’t be allowed back until he’s gainfully employed, so I’d look around for another boyfriend if I were you.’

‘But I’m not you,’ Emily said quietly. ‘I believe in Simon and I’m prepared to wait.’

The other girl shrugged again. ‘More fool you,’ she retorted. ‘Don’t say you weren’t warned.’ And she walked down the street to her car and drove away.

Simon could have told me, Emily thought forlornly as she queued for her stamps at the post office counter. In fact, he should have told me.

And we didn’t even get the chance to say goodbye because of that bloody Rafaele Di Salis.

Even the slightest mention of his name seemed to have the power to make her burn with rage and humiliation, although she’d done her damnedest to put him out of her mind.

But she was still haunted by the way he’d looked at her that awful night, and it was galling beyond belief that he should be the first man to see her even semi-naked.

One of her first acts after his departure had been to wrap that horrible underwear in newspaper and add it to the incinerator in the garden where the last of the dead leaves were burning.

Gone, she’d told herself. Over and done with. Only, somehow, it didn’t seem to be that simple, and she didn’t know why.

She tried to give her thoughts a more positive turn as she cycled back to the house, telling herself that it was a good thing that Simon was looking for work—the first step towards the future they were planning. Although it didn’t mean, of course, that her father would fall over himself to give them his blessing. But it was a start.

And as for Jilly’s remarks—well, Emily decided, she shouldn’t give them credence. Simon’s cousin had been spiteful over their relationship from the start. And her disappointment over Raf Di Salis hadn’t sweetened her disposition either.

Over dinner that evening, she said, ‘We aren’t having visitors for New Year, by any chance, are we?’

‘No one. Why, is there someone you wish to invite?’ her father asked.

‘No,’ Emily said too vehemently. ‘Absolutely not. I was just—checking, that’s all.’

Sir Travers examined the wine in his glass. ‘Did you hope, perhaps, that Rafaele might be joining us?’

‘On the contrary,’ Emily denied quickly.

He gave her a long, steady look. ‘Why do you dislike him?’

‘Does there have to be a reason?’ Her tone was defensive.

‘I suppose not,’ he said. ‘But I would prefer it if you were friends.’ There was a quiet, almost stern note in his voice that Emily knew of old. ‘I expect him to be a regular guest here, and as his hostess, my dear, you will make him welcome.’

Emily’s heart sank, but she managed a neutral, ‘Yes, of course.’

At the same, she surreptitiously crossed her fingers that there would be no return visit from the Count until she was safely back at school.

And it seemed her luck was in, because Raf Di Salis continued to stay away and Emily found the latter part of her holiday truly enjoyable, in spite of Simon’s absence.