Chapter Twelve
Allegra San Marino hadn’t just pulled strings to have their dinner served at the pool house. She’d spooled a whole ball of yarn.
Rosaria was overseeing matters, but there was a team of other people, dressed in formal black tie.
A table had been placed on the edge of the water with a long white tablecloth draped over it.
Candles sat not only atop the table, but also on the tiles surrounding the pool, glowing golden against the dusk sky.
And there were more candles still, somehow floating on the surface of the water, bobbing and flickering like little magical sparkles.
A string quartet was over the other side of the water, playing the soft strains of a modern acoustic song, but without the lyrics, and the air was heavy with the intoxicating fragrance of garlic and cheese.
‘Ah, you’re here,’ Rosaria clapped her hands. ‘Sit, sit.’ Her smile beamed.
Charlotte glanced up at Dante, her heart in her throat.
It had been...a week. At every turn, she’d done her best to both perform like a superstar, showing herself to be just the kind of fiancé his grandmother would think worthy, whilst also remembering, and reminding them both, that this was just make believe.
Which was not particularly easy, given how romantic and stunning this part of the world was.
But this was the cherry on top of the impossible pie she’d been managing all week.
She thought she’d hidden her groan but a bemused glance from Dante showed her that in fact, she’d audibly revealed her disbelief.
So much for disappearing into the pool house and pretending to read a book.
‘Have I mentioned that my grandmother is a force of nature?’
‘It’s something I’ve noticed for myself. But this...’ she gestured to the table, grimacing a little.
‘Would you prefer to be alone?’ Rosaria, hovering nearby, had apparently noticed something was amiss.
Feeling rude and ungrateful, Charlotte was quick to shake her head. ‘Of course not. I’m starving.’
‘Ahh, good,’ Rosaria beamed once more. ‘Then please, do sit.’
This time, at her command, they walked towards the table. Dante moved to one of the chairs and pulled it out, gesturing for Charlotte to be seated. She hesitated, something about the moment seeming almost too big for them. Too special. Too...romantic.
‘Va bene?’ His voice was close, his accent deep. Goosebumps lifted over her body.
She realised, when she glanced over her shoulder and looked at him, why the moment was so overwhelming.
While they’d had dinner before, they’d never done something so overtly romantic.
It was like walking into one of those carnival rooms of mirrors, where everything showed as distorted and confusing.
She couldn’t really see what they were any more.
A combination of the week they’d shared, Allegra’s obvious pleasure and acceptance, the looming wedding, the fact their physical connection was anything but slowing down.
.. Charlotte felt as if the world was tilting in the wrong direction.
She sucked in an uneven breath, her eyes holding his.
He shrugged though, his features wearing a mask of amusement.
‘Just...go with it,’ he suggested. But the trivial nature of his comment was completely undermined by the way he leaned down and placed a kiss against the bare skin of her shoulder, making her stomach clench in instant, unmistakable desire.
‘Dante,’ she whispered, his name so much more than two syllables joined together.
It was both a plea and a freak out. A desperate need for reassurance—that everything was going to be okay.
In response, he brushed his hand lightly over her shoulder.
She sucked her lower lip between her teeth, staring at him fully.
‘It doesn’t mean anything,’ he said, with absolutely no idea how those words scored against her skin. After all, he was just reiterating something they’d both said, time and time again. It wasn’t his fault that those words now felt like weapons.
‘Of course not,’ she agreed, pleased her voice emerged so steady and normal.
‘You’re beautiful, Charlotte,’ he said, simply. Her heart skipped a beat and then another, until she felt as if everything was all wonky.
‘No, this is beautiful,’ she said, unevenly, trying, desperately, to hold onto something pragmatic in the face of all this splendour. ‘I’m just me.’
His response was to tilt her chin, lifting her face towards his, then kissing her gently on the lips.
Her heart went into overdrive. She sat down quickly, mainly to escape the intensity of his gaze and the feelings he was so easily stirring inside of her.
Or maybe it wasn’t him, so much as the week they’d shared.
Charlotte felt as if a match had been struck, regardless, and she wasn’t sure she knew how to put out the flames.
As she sat, his fingers brushed her shoulders, like he wanted to reassure himself that she was there. A moment later, he was taking the seat opposite and she tried to smile like everything was normal when inside she was awash with feelings.
‘How long do you think your grandmother has been planning this?’
‘From the moment we told her our news, probably,’ he said, with a rueful shake of his head.
‘Is she okay?’
‘You mean her limp?’
‘Actually, I meant her going to bed early.’
‘Clearly a ruse,’ he pointed out with an arched brow.
‘Right,’ she nodded. ‘Of course.’ She frowned. ‘And the limp?’
He didn’t answer right away. One of the suit-wearing waiters appeared with a very expensive looking bottle of champagne and began to pour the wine into their long stemmed glasses.
Once they were alone again, Dante leaned forward. ‘She’s come a long way since the stroke, but she can’t quite get her left foot to work how it should.’
Charlotte blanched. She couldn’t imagine Allegra having a stroke. The woman was so very vital, so alive, The idea of her brain misfiring, of her potentially losing her body’s mobility and her mind’s agility, just seemed so completely impossible.
‘She was lucky,’ he said, reaching across and putting his hand on Charlotte’s, offering a comfort she strangely really did need.
Charlotte stared back at him and it was like a huge hole had opened up right beneath her. She was in free-fall, with nothing to grab hold of.
‘Dante...’ she said, softly, slowly. This was too much. It was all too much.
‘To fake engagements,’ he said, reaching for his champagne and lifting it towards hers.
He was trying to reassure her, she recognised.
To underscore the thing they’d agreed to all along.
But it did nothing of the sort, because Charlotte could feel the contradiction in that.
This week she’d started to feel that no matter how hard they tried, it was almost impossible to fight the fact that their relationship had some elements to it that were very, very real. In fact...almost all of it was.
She needed to pull herself back from the brink, because she was on a surefire path to heart-break central, if she wasn’t careful. And Charlotte was always very careful.
She could think of one way to douse these romance flames in ice cold water, though she didn’t relish the prospect of what she was about to do.
‘So, the other day,’ she began, reaching for her champagne and taking a sip for good measure. ‘When you were telling me about Jamie...’
She’d expected his whole demeanour to change, like it had in the past whenever mention had been made of his marriage, or divorce. The only change though was a slightly resigned expression that crossed his features.
‘I thought you would have more questions, in time.’
She lifted her brows. ‘And that’s okay with you?’
‘I decided to tell you about us, Charlotte,’ he murmured, with no idea how his casual use of the word ‘us’ to describe his marriage to another woman cut through all her insulation and shielding. ‘I presumed that wouldn’t be the end of it.’
‘Oh.’
‘So,’ he asked, casually now, like he was okay with all of this. ‘What did you want to ask?’
She massaged her lower lip with her teeth. ‘I guess, I’m wondering how she is now. Do you ever talk to her?’
He rubbed a hand over his jaw. ‘I spoke to her about a week ago.’
Something sharpened inside of Charlotte. ‘You did?’
‘Sure.’
‘Okay. It’s just—you say that like it’s normal, to be on those kinds of terms with your ex. A lot of people aren’t.’
‘Our marriage didn’t end because we stopped caring for one another. We just couldn’t be together.’
Charlotte moved one hand beneath the table, so she could fumble with her fingers in her lap, away from his perceptive gaze.
‘I see.’ And she did. Everything about Dante suddenly made so much sense.
She’d known he was still hung up on his ex, in some ways, but she hadn’t realised the extent of how much he loved her.
‘I called to tell her about our engagement,’ he said, gent-ly. ‘I didn’t want to risk that she might hear of it from someone else.’
Charlotte’s heart twisted. That was very fair and very chivalrous. And completely like Dante. ‘Did she take the news okay?’
He hesitated a moment and then nodded. ‘As well as could be expected.’
‘Is she seeing anyone else?’
‘Not at the moment.’
Charlotte thought about that. ‘You told me that you intended to leave your fortune to her and any children she might have.’
He nodded, as if her question wasn’t implied.
‘She doesn’t have children?’
‘No.’
‘So...’
‘She will.’
‘I thought you said she couldn’t?’
‘She’ll adopt.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Because in the end, it’s what she suggested with me.’
Charlotte shifted in her seat, a little surprised by that. ‘And you said no?’
‘I didn’t think it would work.’
‘Why not?’