Chapter Six
ETTORE LIFTED HIS glass of perfectly chilled Prosecco, savouring the first kiss of tiny bubbles.
Personally, he preferred the Verdeca produced on the estate.
But Prosecco was arguably the star of Italian wine exports, beloved of people all over the world who were looking to celebrate or commemorate or commiserate.
His eyes tracked across the terrace, moving between his relations. He wondered what they were here to do today. Obviously, typically, a meal to meet a new addition to the family would be a cause of celebration.
But his family was not like other families.
Ever since his grandfather’s death, and his own father’s elevation to the status of Duke, his uncle and his cousins had been circling at the sidelines.
They were tempered somewhat in the presence of Edoardo, but they shared a sense of aggrievement at having missed out on the top prize.
Not that it stopped any of them living their lives exactly as they pleased whatever the cost or the consequences.
And they all loved a party.
Ettore glanced over at where his father was talking to his sister-in-law and sipping a glass of Prosecco.
He wasn’t meant to be drinking, but then neither should he be hosting a party.
But that hadn’t stopped Edoardo from issuing a last-minute dinner invitation to his entire extended family to meet Dulcie.
And here they all were. Ettore’s uncle Frederico, his aunt Constanza, his cousins, Francesco, Giorgio and Beppe, together with the current iteration of interchangeable model or wannabe actress girlfriends who his cousins chewed up and spat out on a bi-monthly basis.
Francesco, his uncle Frederico’s oldest son, older, in fact, than him by three weeks, was gazing lazily across the terrace, glass in hand, but he could sense his cousin’s curiosity.
It was why Francesco was there. Why all his relations were there.
Aside from himself, a short attention span was a family trait.
They were like babies. They liked the novel and the random.
And nothing could be more random than Ettore turning up with a wife out of the blue.
‘I have to say, you’re full of surprises, fra.’
His cousin’s mouth pulled into a shape that was somewhere between a jeer and a pout. ‘I mean, a wife.’ He puffed up his cheeks and blew them out, mimicking an explosion.
‘It’s not that surprising, Checco.’
‘So where is she, then? Your English rose.’ He made a small, mocking bow. ‘My bad, I meant La Marchesa?’
Ettore felt his spine stiffen infinitesimally. The answer to that question, or rather its un-answerability, made his pulse thrum through his limbs as if he were prepping for a race. Or a fight.
Another fight, he thought, and he had to stop himself from striding back into the castle and straight into her room to finish the one he’d started yesterday at the bottom of the stairs. Although it would be quite the fight. Dulcie had looked as if she wanted to strangle him.
But she’d had no right to be angry. No understanding of what it had felt like to turn and see the bike rear up and her body fall backwards, to hear that shattering sound of metal hitting wood.
Even as he’d run towards her, he’d known, logically, that she shouldn’t be badly hurt.
But it hadn’t stopped his limbs from feeling light and airless.
Or his brain from replaying the moment when his brother’s bike had flipped over.
Feeling scared, feeling anything, was not supposed to be a part of this arrangement and so he’d lashed out, sought refuge from his panic and fear in anger. And he had still been angry when she’d noticed he was bleeding.
Glancing down at his shirt, he could see the faint outline of the plaster covering the wound on his stomach. It wasn’t quite the scratch he’d made it out to be. The wire had snagged on his skin and punctured it as he’d wrenched the bike free.
But he wasn’t the only one hurting.
He’d been brusque with her. Too brusque.
And now she was punishing him.
She had joined him for dinner last night. Smiled, laughed, touched his arm, looked into his eyes. It was her best ever performance. Anyone watching would have thought she was so in love with him that she could hardly see straight.
And then they had gone upstairs, and as he’d closed her bedroom door, it was as if a switch had flipped. The smile had faded and her voice had flattened as she’d said goodnight.
At breakfast, she had turned back into a smiling, nodding doll. Lunch had been a near identical performance. And it was driving him insane. Only he could hardly demand that she be herself, could he?
His groin hardened as he remembered that kiss in his hotel room and how her hand had been pushing and pressing against his chest as if she hadn’t been sure what she’d wanted to happen. But her mouth had been sure.
Right now, though, he wasn’t entirely sure that Dulcie would even show up.
Pushing that thought away, he smiled at his cousin. ‘She’s just getting ready.’
Or shinning down the ivy again, only this time with her suitcase in tow.
‘Apparently she is ready,’ Checco said, and Ettore felt his cousin, felt the entire gathering, shift direction minutely.
The flow of conversation receded like a wave pulling away from the shoreline and the terrace seemed to shrink inwards, centring on the woman in the simple V-neck, sleeveless dress.
Ettore felt his throat constrict. He never tired of looking at the castle or the land around it. Every day he marvelled at the majesty and beauty of his surroundings. But Dulcie was so beautiful she made all of it disappear.
His gaze moved hungrily over the cornflower-blue floral fabric that clung to her breasts and waist before flaring out to a skirt that skimmed her mid thighs.
The stylist had chosen well, but Dulcie wore it better.
The dress had a hint of sixties flowerchild that matched the challenge in her blue eyes.
It was what had first attracted him to her.
The women he knew, the women he’d dated before her, were like hothouse orchids, trained from birth to aspire to perfection.
Dulcie was more like the wildflowers that breached the estate’s stone walls and pushed up through the earth to cluster around the base of the vines. Nothing would ever keep her down for long, he thought with relief. She would always push back, fight for the light.
He heard Checco whistle softly between his teeth, but he was already moving towards her.
As he stopped beside her, he hesitated then leaned in and kissed her softly on the mouth. ‘You look beautiful.’
‘Thank you. Sorry, I’m late,’ she murmured, her voice just loud enough for those nearby to hear. ‘I just couldn’t get my hair to do what I wanted. Valentina had to help me.’
Her hair was swept up into another updo, this one more elegant than the previous. But a few rebellious curls still framed her face. Despite that, she looked every inch the perfect wife, the perfect marchesa.
‘Aren’t you going to introduce us?’ Checco appeared at his elbow; his dark brown eyes were narrowed in approval.
He held out his hand and when Dulcie held out hers, he lifted it to his mouth.
‘Sono incantato,’ he said softly. ‘I’m Francesco, Ettore’s cousin, but everyone calls me Checco.’
‘Dulcie. But I guess you know that already.’
‘I believe this is your first time to Fiana.’ Ettore’s uncle stepped forward smoothly.
‘Yes, it’s beautiful.’ Dulcie smiled. ‘I feel like I’m dreaming. I keep having to pinch myself.’
‘It has that effect, I’m told. Obviously, we’re all so used to it.’
Ettore moved to rest his hand lightly around Dulcie’s waist. ‘This is my uncle, Frederico. My father’s younger brother.’
‘Younger but no less deserving.’ Frederico smiled languidly. ‘We’ve all been so excited to meet you, Dulcie. I think maybe you have bewitched my nephew. He’s always been so critical of our impulsiveness. And yet all along he’s had a secret wife.’
‘It wasn’t a secret, Zio,’ Ettore said calmly. He was used to his uncle pushing buttons.
Frederico raised an eyebrow, doing confusion. ‘Did I miss the wedding invitation?’
‘It was very small. Just the two of us and the witnesses. We didn’t want to turn the wedding into a circus.’
‘But you did keep it a secret after that.’ His uncle persisted. ‘For two years. I wonder why that was.’
Beside him, he felt Dulcie stiffen minutely.
It was a version of the question Dulcie had asked him in London when she came to his hotel room.
His answer was simple. Stick to the truth.
Don’t elaborate. Only then the mood had shifted.
They had talked a little, and in talking, the tension between them had eased, and then…
And then they had kissed.
The memory of her lips on his swelled inside him, and suddenly it was all he could think about. Not just the kiss, but the realness of it and the truth of what happened in his hotel room and before when he and Dulcie had split up. How he had wanted to bury the pain of her rejection.
‘It’s not that complicated. We split up,’ he said quickly. ‘It was hard, harder than we both thought it would be, to unpick our lives, and it became an issue between us, and one day we argued, and it got out of hand.’
He had spent most of his life hiding his emotions, his disappointment, his hurt. But now he let himself sound a little uncomfortable.
‘But that doesn’t explain why you didn’t tell us later.’ His uncle frowned, doing confused again. ‘I can understand wanting the wedding to be private, but if the marriage was over, why keep it a secret then?’
‘Because it wasn’t over, and I thought any family involvement, however well intentioned, would only complicate things further.
I needed to figure out if we could fix things on our own terms. I was trying to safeguard our chances of reconciliation by keeping it private until we had a clearer path forward. ’