Chapter Four #2
‘Come, sit down,’ he muttered, putting an arm around her waist simply to provide support, guiding her to the leather lounge suite.
She didn’t argue with him, perching on the edge of the sofa and staring at her knees.
She didn’t speak, and frustration had him crouching in front of her, so they were at eye height. ‘What happened?’ he asked again.
When she blinked across at him, her eyes were wet with unshed tears. ‘I got mugged.’
The words were whispered. It took him a second to hear them, much less process them. Let alone accept that this woman he’d brought to Rome, and left to fend for herself, had been abused on the street.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said as a tear rolled down one cheek.
‘It was my handbag. They wanted it and I—I couldn’t just give it to them.
You’d bought it for me and I’d never had anything quite so nice.
It was stupid. Stupid. My dad always said to hand over anything thieves ask for.
Property is just property. But I was so angry they wanted to take it from me, and when I didn’t give them the bag, they—’
‘Hit you,’ he supplied, anger bursting through him. He stood swiftly, looking around the room. There was a minibar, but it wouldn’t have what he needed. He picked up the phone and dialled down to Reception, ordering a bucket of ice, before returning to her. ‘Did you call the police?’
‘I was going to, but a shopkeeper told me there wasn’t much point. It all happened so quickly, I wouldn’t even be able to give a clear description of them.’
‘The shopkeeper was wrong,’ he said, nostrils flaring. Later, he would ask her for the details of where it happened, and pass it on to his own security team, but this was not the time.
‘I feel so violated,’ she said. ‘And stupid. I wasn’t paying attention to anyone, I was looking around, totally lost in my own world.’
‘And you should have been able to lose yourself,’ he said. ‘This is not your fault.’
‘But my bag,’ she said, lip wobbling again.
He swore under his breath. ‘I’ll get you another damn bag, Amelia.’
‘You already did,’ she said, a watery smile breaking through. ‘You bought me four, in fact.’
‘I’m glad. And if muggers should want each and every one, I expect you to hand them over.’
But guilt was washing over him, because he should have expected at least the possibility of this.
While it was impossible for anyone to yet know that she was a Rossi, he’d turned her, unmistakably, into the contessina she was.
She looked expensive, and he’d left her to wander these unfamiliar streets, not knowing which she should avoid, what to look out for.
The buzzer rang and he strode through the suite, pulling the door inwards.
A hotel staff member stood on the other side, but Massimiliano took the ice bucket with a swift nod of thanks then closed the door, stalking into the kitchenette and tipping half of the ice into a tea towel, which he wrapped into a sort of pillow before carrying it back to Amelia.
He lifted it to her cheek, watching her face as she winced again.
‘Hold this,’ he commanded. ‘I’ll call your grandparents to reschedule dinner.’
‘No,’ she said, eyes lancing him now, so powder blue and pretty that he found himself just staring at them for a beat. ‘I want to meet them. I just need a few minutes.’
‘You can’t go out like this.’
‘You also bought me like a professional-grade make-up kit. I’m pretty sure something in there will be able to deal with this.’
‘It’s highly likely there will be photographs of us taken tonight. The restaurant is high profile, your grandparents well known, and I’m—’
‘I know.’ She nodded once. ‘I can manage.’
She probably could. There was an impressive steel to this woman, a determination that he couldn’t help but admire, particularly given everything she’d been through.
‘You are upset,’ he said, surprising them both by putting a hand on her knee, as if to underscore that.
But it was a mistake. He saw that the second her eyes flared, unmistakably, with something like awareness, and he felt it spark in his fingertips then travel the length of his body. He pulled his hand away quickly.
‘I am upset, yes, but I think the distraction of meeting my grandparents will probably be good for me.’
‘You are sure you feel well enough?’
‘I’d tell you if not.’ She smiled, but it quickly turned into a grimace as the gesture clearly pained her.
‘Amelia,’ he warned, voice deep.
‘I’m fine,’ she insisted. ‘Just…ten minutes.’ She stood, and moved through the suite. She looked so incredibly vulnerable in that robe, so petite, that it was little wonder every single one of his protective instincts had burst to life.
He texted his assistant, Tania, as he waited, asking for his security detail to be put on alert that he’d want to speak to them later that night, and also asking her to inform Amelia’s grandparents that they were a little behind schedule.
And then he waited, staring at the view, in an attempt to blot the image that had scored itself into his brain of Amelia’s damaged face—and the knowledge that, somehow, it had been his fault.
True to her word, Amelia stepped out of the bathroom—which was larger than her entire apartment had been in London—nine minutes later, a completely different woman.
She’d chosen a stunning shimmery silk skirt and black halter-neck top that tied in a bow at her throat, and to complement the complexity of the neckline had bundled her hair into an elegant bun.
Her make-up had taken the longest, but the kit she’d been provided with was exceptional.
There was primer, concealer, both liquid and powder foundation and a setting spray.
She moved as quickly as she could to remove the redness and bruising, and then softened the effect with some shimmering bronzer, a sweep of mascara and lipstick.
When she stood back to study the work, she was pleased.
But nothing compared to the expression on Massimiliano’s face when she stepped into the lounge room and his eyes raked over her, his lips parted on a look of obvious surprise.
She’d snapped a pair of black heels in place at the last minute, and they brought her much closer to his height, as well as giving her body a feminine proportion that was so often lacking in her work gear and flats.
‘You look almost perfect,’ he said, walking towards her without breaking the grip his eyes had on her.
‘Almost?’ She resisted the urge to pout. ‘I have to tell you, I think it’s the best I can do.’
‘This is not for you to do, but rather me.’
She blinked up at him, not following.
‘This is for you to wear, Amelia,’ he said, removing a ring box and staring at it for a beat, before cracking it open and turning it so she could see inside.
‘It’s known as the Moretti diamond, and has been in my family for generations.
’ He slid the ring onto her finger, and Amelia was glad.
She wasn’t sure she could have made her hands work well enough to put it on herself.
The ring was stunning. A canary yellow diamond solitaire that was easily as large as her thumbnail, set in a high four-claw yellow-gold setting. It sparkled as though it were backlit by a thousand lights, showcasing the purity and perfection of the gem.
‘I can’t possibly wear this,’ she said.
‘You must.’
She shook her head. ‘Especially not after today. What if someone tries to steal it from me?’
‘Believe me, I will make sure nothing like that ever happens to you again.’
A shiver ran down her spine at the cold determination in his voice that almost bordered on violent anger.
‘No one will ever touch you against your will, do you understand, Amelia? If I promise you nothing else, let me promise you that.’
Her stomach looped itself into knots, but she did believe him. She felt strangely safe, with those words ringing in her ears.
‘It’s too beautiful. Too old and undoubtedly expensive.’ Her eyes lifted to his. ‘Right?’
‘In truth, it’s irreplaceable.’
Now, Amelia’s fingers did work. She wrapped them around the ring and removed it, passing it to him as though it were a scalding-hot potato. ‘I need something else.’
He frowned.
‘A copycat, perhaps, made of glass or cubic zirconia. I don’t want to spend the next two years living in a state of permanent fear that I’ve lost something that valuable.’
‘It is special, but it is still just a ring…’
‘Not to me, and I don’t think to you, or your family, either. Please, save it for your next wife, someone you marry because you’re in love, and genuinely want to bring into your family. I can’t wear that.’
His expression was shuttered, his lips forming a tight line, as out of nowhere he thought of the first woman he’d intended to marry—with a sense, as always, of betrayal.
‘As far as I am concerned, you are the only wife I will ever have, but if you truly cannot bring yourself to wear the ring, I will have another made for you, instead.’
She breathed out a slow sigh of relief. Not only because he was going to replace the ring with something far less valuable, but because he was showing himself to be reasonable, and the more signs she had of that, the more comfortable she became with what she’d agreed to do.
‘Will you at least wear it for tonight, though?’ he asked, right when she’d thought the matter was closed. ‘I will stay by your side the entire time.’
She wanted to argue, because just the thought of having that thing on her finger for several hours was intensely stressful, but, at the same time, she knew why he was asking it of her.
If there were pictures of her wearing the Moretti diamond, it would immediately convey what they ostensibly meant to each other.
It was all part of the ruse she’d agreed to.
The faster it became known that Contessina Rossi was marrying Massimiliano Moretti, the better.
‘Okay. Just until there’s a cheap replacement,’ she murmured. ‘And only when you’re around.’