Chapter Twelve
‘YOU AREN’T WEARING your engagement ring.’
Meeting Vito’s curious stare from across the other side of the table, Flora quickly glanced down at her bare finger.
To be honest, she’d completely forgotten she wasn’t wearing it but probably explained why her left hand felt so delightfully liberated this morning.
‘Oh, I took it off yesterday when I was helping Mafalda make focaccia—’
‘You were helping Mafalda make bread?’ he elucidated, his surprise apparent.
‘Yes. She’s a brilliant cook and she’s offered to teach me. She practises her English and I practise my Italian—and all the time I’m getting insights into Italian cuisine and life. And it means I’ve got something to do while you’re working all the hours god sent,’ she remarked, without rancour.
‘Vero,’ he agreed, picking up his newspaper and using it as a clear deterrent not to progress with this particular topic.
Faced with the black-and-white barrier of financial news, Flora pushed her plate away, knowing she hadn’t been completely transparent with him.
She could have explained that not only was the ring too heavy for her finger, or that the stone would have become encrusted with dough—she also felt it was a bit vulgar—when all Mafalda wore was a narrow wedding band which somehow seemed a lot more meaningful than the expensive gem she sported.
Or that she’d been in a store the other day and seen someone covetously eyeing up the glittering rock, and had been terrified they might try and cut her finger off and make away with their prize.
And yes, one of Vito’s bodyguards had been standing at a discreet distance away, but even so—it had rattled her.
Why hadn’t she told Vito the truth—that she had never really liked it?
She knew why and the reason was making her feel increasingly uncomfortable. Because the easy honesty she’d once enjoyed with her ex-boss had slipped away, like sand trickling through an egg-timer, and Flora knew the precise moment when it had happened.
When they’d started having sex again.
Because sex was about so much more than release.
It was about power, and bargaining and control. Those were the downsides…
The upsides were the incredible vulnerability and intimacy which flooded through her whenever she was lying next to Vito, skin on skin.
When she felt as close to him as she could possibly be and revelled in the blossoming confidence of her own sexuality.
When she started wondering if this strange relationship of theirs could go the distance. Or if it could ever turn into love.
She bit her lip, alarmed by her residual foolishness and resolving to push it to the edges of her mind. Because what was the point of going there?
The room was flooded with pale sunshine which turned Vito’s thick hair blue-black, and the air was richly scented with coffee.
On the table were bowls of fruit, creamy yoghurt and freshly baked cornetti and Flora was aware that the scene could have been lifted straight out of a romcom film about a newly married couple who were expecting their first child together.
Except that they weren’t married and they weren’t a couple.
Friends with benefits, yes—and she wasn’t complaining about that aspect of their relationship.
Why would she? She got to sleep with Vito every night and wake up next to him.
And sometimes, during those private hours of darkness she was exposed to aspects of his character which would never have revealed themselves in daylight.
Occasionally his hand would skate across the faint curve of her belly and Flora would hold her breath, waiting for words about the baby which never came.
The elephant wasn’t in the room so much as in her stomach, she thought wryly.
Only then, he would start making love to her again and she would be able to think of nothing but his touch.
Yet sometimes he made space for her in his busy diary and they did things together, and those were the days she treasured above all else.
He showed off his adopted city and the surrounding areas and she grew to adore Italy.
They ate in amazing restaurants or drove out to Lake Como or Bergamo, and Vito seemed to enjoy her bemusement when they explored the more avant-garde collections in Milan’s many art galleries.
All this was intoxicating stuff—but in the most unexpected of ways.
When a man like Vito was helping you on with your coat and enquiring solicitously if you felt okay, it could be just as mind-blowing as when he had his head between your thighs and was exploring you with the evident enjoyment of someone flicking their tongue over an ice cream cone.
Just like sprawling on sofas reading, or watching something on TV, or having the Italian tycoon massage the soles of her feet before bedtime could make Flora’s heart want to burst with joy.
It could feel worryingly like a real relationship and it wasn’t.
He had warned her against that from the get-go.
And he had demonstrated that in other ways too, hadn’t he?
—deliberately erecting barriers intended to keep her at an emotional arm’s length.
Those confidences he had shared about his family were a thing of the past and every follow-up question she’d dared ask had been shut down with a cool and icy precision.
He was adept at wearing a mask of indifference, just as he’d been doing since he’d first come downstairs this morning.
Did she sigh? Was that what prompted his next question?
‘Is everything okay, Flora?’
She shrugged. ‘I suppose so.’
Vito lowered his newspaper as he suddenly became aware that her gaze was burning a hole in it.
As her green-gold eyes regarded him unblinkingly, he felt his throat grow dry—a familiar frisson of surprise rippling over his skin.
Because even though she’d been living in his apartment for almost a month and they ate breakfast together most mornings, it still came as something of a shock to see her sitting there in the cold light of day.
‘Sure?’ he persisted. ‘You seem a little preoccupied this morning.’
‘No. Everything is fine,’ she said.
He nodded, running his gaze over her, satisfied that scooping her up and rescuing her from that crummy little flat in Ealing had been for the best—because wasn’t the evidence sitting there and glowing before his eyes?
Pregnancy had made her bloom, he thought, with a beat of satisfaction.
Her hair had never looked more lustrous, nor her skin so fresh and clear.
At first he’d wondered if the knowledge that she was pregnant with his child would destroy his sexual hunger for her, but to his surprise, his desire for her remained as powerful as before.
And didn’t the darkness provide a welcome respite from the thorny questions about what was going to happen in the future?
Throughout their passion-filled nights, it was easy to forget how much remained unsaid.
His mouth hardened.
So much unfinished business.
The date for her departure and his role—if any—in the life of their child were still to be decided, and he sensed they were both reluctant to raise a subject which could destroy this fragile compatibility they had created.
Sooner or later they were going to have to confront it.
But not today.
‘So how are you planning to spend the morning?’ he questioned idly.
She dabbed at her lips with her napkin. ‘Amy’s calling me in a while for a chat.’
‘How is she?’
‘She’s fine. Loves Brisbane. Likes her new job. Brett’s teaching her how to surf. All good stuff.’ She folded the napkin and put it on the table. ‘Then later, there’s a baby shower for Luisa and Arianna is giving me a lift there.’
‘Eccellente. Enjoy,’ he said indulgently, rising from his chair and walking round to her side of the table to bend his head to kiss her.
Flora watched him go and something about the perfunctory kiss he deposited on top of her head made her feel slightly indignant.
As if she were some sort of appendage, rather than a person!
‘I’ll do my best,’ she said, a little pointedly but naturally, he didn’t hang around to continue the conversation—he was already out of the door on the way to the office. His beloved office!
She slipped on a light cashmere jacket which matched her new linen dress—because her wardrobe had expanded, although her baby bump was still barely noticeable.
She was now almost sixteen weeks pregnant and Professor Aldini had pronounced himself delighted with her progress.
Even Amy had seemed mollified during their last phone call, comforted by the fact that her big sister was living in unbelievable luxury in one of the most gorgeous cities in the world, and that Vito was ensuring she was well-cared-for.
But she hadn’t told Amy what she was only just beginning to admit to herself.
That she wasn’t sure how much longer she could carry on like this.
Hiding away her true emotions behind an air of pragmatic calm.
The guilt and the fear which ambushed her at random times and eroded the excitement she felt at the thought of having Vito’s baby.
Knowing that the birth would be the beginning, but also the end and they couldn’t carry on pretending that the future didn’t exist.
She knew they ought to address when she was actually going to leave, but it was easier to put off discussing a subject which filled you with horror.
Easier to pretend there wasn’t a bomb ticking away in the background and that some time she was going to have to think about going back to London. Alone.
Flora did her best to push these mixed-up thoughts from her head, endeavouring to be good company as Arianna drove them to Luisa’s home—a charming eighteenth--century house in the Brera region, although the usual stunning view of the botanical gardens was partially obscured by a sea of pink balloons and ribbons.