Chapter Eight #2
‘The castle? It survived the Roman Empire, pirates, the Ottomans, Mussolini and Second World War bombers. I think it can keep standing for a few days without me.’
‘I meant running the estate, and all your noblesse oblige stuff.’
‘Gianni is perfectly competent, and my family can pick up the slack. As for my obligations, I intend to focus all my attention and resources on you.’
Her pupils flared, and he felt his own body snap to attention.
‘And if we need to get back for Oscar, I will take you.’
She wasn’t sure. He could see the conflict in her eyes, the battle between self and other, safety and risk, sense and desire. He had fought the same battle, and desire had championed. As he heard her soft ‘okay’ he lowered his mouth to hers with a soft groan of relief.
‘It’ll be okay. He’s in good hands.’
‘He’s been through so much.’ Her voice stumbled. ‘And he doesn’t have anyone looking out for him, except me.’
‘He has us.’
He saw the sheen of tears in her eyes, and he felt a fierce rage with a world that blithely encouraged the goal of marriage and parenthood without adequately equipping people with the skills to make those life-changing decisions work.
Dulcie was such a good person, but she had been forced into making a choice that she should never have had to make as a child.
And the consequences for Oscar were far-reaching and devastating.
And then he had forced her to make a near identical choice.
His stomach twisted. He could still remember how Dulcie had braced herself that day in London when he’d asked her to choose between him and her brother.
Except, he didn’t need to remember it. Growing up, that feeling of tightness in his jaw, neck, shoulders, back, as if his body was tensing up to absorb a blow, had been so much a part of him then that he’d thought it was normal.
By the time he realised it wasn’t, he had developed coping strategies like the ones Oscar’s psychiatrist had mentioned. Ways to block out or numb the pain and the shame of being superfluous, second-best, and, worst of all, saved.
‘Why did I have to lose him? Why couldn’t it have been you?’
His mother’s voice, cracking with pain and despair, reverberated inside his head, and he flinched at the sound.
‘What is it?’
He stared down at Dulcie, his pulse lurching. There was an indent in her forehead, just above her nose, and her eyes were a soft blue that washed over him like a gentle wave. She was worried about him. And the fact that she cared made him lose his bearings momentarily.
Made him momentarily consider telling her the truth. That his father merely tolerated him. Much as he would tolerate an efficient ma?tre d’ who would get him the best table in a restaurant. That his mother had not just blamed him for his brother’s death, she would have preferred him to die instead.
‘Ettore?’
‘It’s nothing. I was just wondering whether or not to tell you where we’re going?’
‘You’ve chosen where we’re going?’
‘I have. But it’s a surprise.’
‘I like surprises.’ She shifted her weight, sliding her leg across his lap to straddle him, and he stared at her naked body, his brain a perfect blank slate, his cock hardening with such speed and intensity that he was glad he was sitting down.
‘I hope it’s not too long a flight.’ She leaned into him, her mouth brushing against his, and his hands moved automatically to cup her breasts, and he felt her breath snatch in her throat as his thumbs made contact with her nipples.
They were already swollen and quivering slightly and now it was his breath that snatched audibly.
‘Any particular reason?’ Heat slid over his skin as her mouth curved up into a sweet, head-spinning smile.
‘Just that I get restless on long flights.’ He felt her hand close around the pulsing head of his cock and her unfaltering touch made him twitch with impatience, his muscles, his breath, his blood swelling and reaching towards her.
‘Really, relentlessly restless.’
The s’s curled over his skin.
‘That’s okay. We’re taking the jet,’ he said hoarsely, his hands sliding down over her body to cradle her bottom. ‘There’s a bedroom on board. You can be as restless as you need.’
Dulcie was in the window seat, but as he heard the clunk of the landing gear, Ettore leaned forward, his gaze tracking over the large urban sprawl as the jet made its descent.
They had been in the air for only two hours.
But despite the shortness of the flight, they had both been restless and almost as soon as the steward had told them that they could unfasten their seat belts, they had retreated to the bedroom.
‘How are you feeling?’ He leaned in to press a kiss on her throat and she closed the guidebook he’d given her on the flight, and turned towards him, her lips parting into that smile, the sweet, curling smile that felt like sunlight on his skin.
‘Tired. Happy.’ She kissed him softly on the mouth. They were kissing a lot. Touching a lot since yesterday.
‘Excited. Happy.’ She kissed him on the mouth again. ‘Hungry. Happy.’ Her gaze shifted to the window then back to his face. ‘I can’t believe we’re going to Paris.’
There was no shortage of honeymoon destinations around the globe.
And he had briefly considered some of them, but his mind had kept circling back to Paris.
Not just because it was a beautiful, romantic city.
It was their city. The place where they met.
The place where they were just Ettore and Dulcie.
On their first visit two years ago, all they had wanted and needed was each other and a king-size bed.
Maybe that was all they needed now to make this work.
Liar.
Coward.
What they needed—what Dulcie needed—was for him to tell her the truth. As she had told him her truth. Silently, he formed sentences inside his head, testing them out, comparing them as if he were actually going to say them out loud.
Liar.
Coward.
How could he tell her the truth? She had loved him once, then hated him, and then hated him some more when he’d turned up in her life and twisted their marriage into something to fit his agenda.
But she had never pitied him. And he couldn’t stomach that.
He could picture her face, how she would avoid his eyes when hers was always the most challenging gaze.
Nothing could change the past, not even the truth. But he could make amends. And that was what this trip to Paris was about. Not unburdening himself to a woman who had shouldered enough burdens in her life.
Let her have Paris. Let her have some unalloyed days without having to worry about yet another dysfunctional man.
‘So, you’re pleased.’ He knew she was, but he just wanted to hear her say it.
‘You know I am. I would have been happy going anywhere with you, but Paris is just perfect.’
It was perfect, Dulcie thought, three hours later as they finally left the hotel.
They hadn’t had a honeymoon two years ago. Somehow, organically, they had decided it would be best to wait and then, of course, they had argued and everything had imploded.
At the time, even more so now, she’d assumed Ettore had wanted to wait because he was trying to process his actions. And she had agreed to wait because she hadn’t told Oscar she was getting married.
She hadn’t wanted to lie to her brother, but their relationship was still so new then.
They had only just reconnected, and Oscar still found it so hard to trust that every day he tested her.
She’d tried to reassure him, but getting married would make him question her commitment, which was why she hadn’t invited him to the wedding.
She’d felt wretched about it. But it was too great a risk because she hadn’t been entirely sure of how he’d react.
Or maybe she’d known exactly how he’d react.
How would he react to this version of her marriage? Her eyes dropped to the ring on her finger and then to the sapphire and diamond bracelet on her wrist.
Before she went to Puglia, she had assumed Oscar would never find out. That the marriage would be over. But if the marriage was over that would mean that Edoardo had died.
The thought made her feel sick with self-loathing.
But if the marriage wasn’t over then she would have to tell Oscar, and that made her feel sick with panic.
‘Where would you like to go first?’
Ettore’s hand wrapped around hers, and she looked up, her heart pounding at the sight of him.
‘Actually, could you choose? My brain is still playing catch-up.’
‘You need some food. Let’s grab some lunch and we can take it from there.’
The sun was front and centre in the clear, delphinium-blue sky and the air seemed to be scented with roses although she hadn’t seen a single one.
It was as if the city were pulling out all the stops to prove it was worthy of the title of ‘City of Romance’. It helped that currently it was host to the most beautiful man in the world, she thought, glancing sideways at Ettore.
He was dressed casually like a typical tourist in jeans and a T-shirt and trainers.
Like every third man they walked past. But that was like saying a house cat was like a jaguar.
There was something about how Ettore moved through the world, the way he carried himself, that made men straighten their backs and women glance over, then again over their shoulders as they passed by.
They were staying in an elegant hotel nestled discreetly off the Place de la Concorde. Le Grand Appartement penthouse suite was as grand as it sounded with velvet-covered sofas, antique furniture and a view across the city to the Eiffel Tower. The restaurant was close by, but equally discreet.
‘Feeling restless yet?’ Ettore leaned over and took a piece of asparagus off her plate.
She nudged her shoulder into his biceps. ‘We only just got up.’
‘It’s our honeymoon, dolcezza. And we’re in Paris. And I’m sharing a suite with the sexiest woman on earth.’
‘So it’s my fault you’re acting like a silverback.’