Chapter Thirteen
Two weeks later
‘THE ROOF REPAIRS will be finished by next week, the slate loss wasn’t as bad as they thought. And the interior decorators are starting on Monday. They wanted to run a few things by you about the cornices in the East Wing ballroom.’
‘That’s fabulous, thanks, Ellie. Send me the details and I’ll take a look.’ Tali beamed at her acting estate manager through the video link. ‘You’re doing an amazing job, and I really appreciate the daily updates.’
‘And I really enjoy you making sure I’m not mucking anything up.’ Ellie grinned. ‘How’s the honeymoon going? It’s all so romantic. I still can’t believe you married him so quickly. It’s so exciting. And he’s so handsome.’
Tali felt her face heat—at the memory of their lovemaking that morning. After two weeks, her sexual connection with Dario had only got hotter. But more than that, Dario had turned out to be a surprisingly attentive and involved fake husband, out of bed, too.
Each day—after they’d both checked in with their work—he had some new excursion to suggest. They’d been snorkelling in the villa’s lagoon and taken out his sailboat most days—as he tried, and comprehensively failed, to teach her how to sail.
He’d insisted on escorting her on a couple of day trips to Ana Capri, a delightful and surprisingly quiet town less than a mile away, where they had whiled away hours exploring the shops or lunching at the local trattorias, binging on homemade pasta—before they drove home on his motorbike to binge on each other again.
He enjoyed her company, as well as the sex.
And she adored discovering all the reasons why he loved this place so much.
And if her attempts to explain why she felt the same way about Westwick hadn’t exactly persuaded him, it was all good, because whenever the subject of the Wiltshire estate came up, he usually insisted on diverting the conversation with mind-blowing sex.
She’d come close a couple of those times to blurting out how long she’d lived at Westwick, because she wanted him to know she understood his reluctance to return to the estate, that she knew how hard those months had been for him after the accident.
But she’d stopped herself, deciding it felt like poking at a wound she had no right to poke at.
He hadn’t shared more about himself, about his thoughts and feelings, since their conversation on their first night here.
In fact, he’d kind of avoided talking about anything deep with the same diligence and determination with which he made love to her…
But she refused to worry about it. They were getting on so well, it felt like more than enough—for now.
‘Will you guys be living at Westwick once the honeymoon’s over?’ Ellie’s enthusiastic question cut through Tali’s latest revelry…
She cleared her throat. It wasn’t the first time Ellie had asked the question—no doubt her assistant thought it was beyond odd Tali was still keeping her position as Westwick’s estate manager when she was now supposedly married to the owner.
But this time the standard reply she’d been giving Ellie, and everyone else—that nothing had been confirmed yet—got stuck in her throat.
She hated lying to her staff about the relationship, perhaps because their marriage had begun to feel like more than a fake arrangement to her, too.
Every time Dario touched her with that hot glint in his eyes that told her he needed her.
Each time he clasped her hand in his while they were sightseeing, or shopping, or simply lying on the estate’s private beach enjoying the sunset.
Whenever he praised her faltering Italian or kissed her with enough passion and purpose to make her yearn for the hard drive of his body into hers.
Every time he insisted on showing her some new place, or looked at her as if she fascinated him, or pressed his lips to her knuckles while teasing her, the tender gesture in sharp contrast to the fierce intensity with which they always ended up making love…
She became that little bit more invested, that little bit more convinced that something real was happening between them.
But how did she make him acknowledge that this was more than either of them had intended, if their relationship still had an end date…and she didn’t even have the guts to have a conversation with him about returning to Westwick for a few days, like they’d agreed?
She was beginning to realise she needed to soon, more than ever.
Because as much as she’d loved the past two weeks, which had flown by in a haze of pheromones and intimacy, how could this be more when the marriage—and her life here—was still effectively a stunt to fool the Trustees?
She had to bring herself back down to earth to figure out if her growing attachment to Dario was more than just the adrenaline rush of great sex and having his undivided attention.
Because there was no doubt about it, the man was intoxicating, especially now she was getting more tantalising glimpses of the boy he had been before his mother’s death—wild and free, his spirit undimmed by his father’s neglect and judgement.
But he was still so unwilling to even think about Westwick, her updates on the Hall’s progress always instantly dismissed. And he still hadn’t contacted Mia and Sante, to heal the rift with his best friend the rest of the way…
She sighed. ‘Honestly, Ellie. I’m not sure where we’ll be living in the long term. But I’m heading back to Westwick on Monday.’ She pushed the words out, knowing that if she made it official, it would force her to talk to Dario. It was past time for her to call in that promise.
‘Oh wow, really? That would be amazing. Will Mr Lorenti be coming with you?’
‘Ummm…’ The left-field question had the bubble of hope pushing against her breastbone again. It would be amazing if Dario came with her. Not only would it show a commitment to the Hall, but it would also be a commitment to her. To them… Whatever they were.
But then she got a clue. Dario hated Westwick… The priority now was to stop letting Dario have everything his own way. And to give herself space to figure out what was really going on between them.
Because she was afraid she was already more than halfway in love with her fake husband… And she still didn’t really have a solid idea how he felt about her.
Going back to her real life, regrouping, rebooting, giving herself a purpose again—beyond the pursuit of endless pleasure—if only for a few days, would give her that much-needed perspective.
And standing up to Dario might finally give her the courage and the confidence to tell him about the past they shared…and how much their fake marriage was starting to mean to her.
‘The Trustees signed the papers necessary to give you full ownership of the property and the estate two hours ago, as per the terms of your father’s will.
Congratulations, Mr Lorenti. The palazzo should be yours officially by this time tomorrow when all the necessary documents have been filed with the court. ’
Dario nodded, as the head of his legal team in London smiled at him as if he had just won the lotto. But the euphoria he should be feeling eluded him.
‘There is no chance they will renege on this position?’ he asked.
The solicitor frowned. ‘They can try if they want, but the property is yours now, not much they can do about it. I guess they could sue, but it would be a lengthy process, and costly. And I doubt they’d want to risk their own money on any further legal action against you. Why do you ask?’
Because the marriage is not real.
It felt too easy, after seven years of legal wrangling, to have the Trustees release their stranglehold on the palazzo after only a month.
The deception had given him what he had wanted.
But the very first thought that came into his head was not how easily he had bested those old fools in the end—it was disappointment at the thought he would now be able to release Tallulah from the terms of their agreement sooner than planned.
He would not divorce her until the end of the year. He might own the palazzo, but he did not want to encourage a lawsuit, if the Trustees realised they had been duped into signing over the property.
But there was no tangible reason to remain here, pretending to have a honeymoon. No reason why his ‘wife’ could not return to her life in England, and he to his home in Milan in the next few weeks.
The only problem was, every single cell in his body rebelled against the idea of letting her go…
It’s the sex. It has to be.
He still had not had his fill of her. That was all.
Even though they had been making love every morning and night and so many snatched moments in between for two weeks now, he still wanted her, incessantly—to the extent that even when they were not making love, he enjoyed being with her.
She fascinated him and enchanted him. He felt like a teenager again, the boy who had been starved of affection, and now he wished to gorge on it to his heart’s content. Because Tallulah was just so kind…
He swallowed, the thought of how artless and engaging and delightful she was, both in and out of bed, even more disturbing than the thought of letting her go.
She was so open. So tender. So compassionate. So genuine. He’d never before met a woman so positive and honest and undemanding. And because of that, she had become a fire in his blood.
Of course, this fire would burn out eventually.
He already suspected sometimes when she looked at him, she wished for more from him.
And a part of him understood, as he held her late at night, while she slept beside him, her open and tender heart would become bruised eventually when she fully accepted there could never be more between them.