Chapter Five
HE SPENT THE entire drive through Rome asking her questions about the mugging, and between mentally reliving those few scary minutes of her life, and the stunning view beyond their windows, she was almost distracted enough not to be so incredibly aware of the man she’d agreed to marry.
The man with his handsome, angular face, broad, powerful chest, and voice that sounded like whisky, gravel and smoke, all at once.
A man who was looking at her with obsidian eyes and that now-familiar determination.
She tried to keep her voice level as she answered his questions, but sitting in the plush limousine with his knee coming within centimetres of brushing her own when they went over a small bump in the road, she found herself wishing for more bumps, and a definite brush.
It was hardly surprising that she should be so aware of him. He was objectively beautiful, and she was almost completely inexperienced. Nothing in her life had prepared her for coming face to face with a man like this, let alone entering into a marriage deal with him.
She trembled as that thought swirled through her mind, and he slipped his phone back in his pocket.
‘Tell me about my grandparents,’ she said, partly because she wanted to prepare, and partly because she wanted to fill the silence.
She was nervous. Nervous to be with this man, to be marrying him, to be knowing that—because of her—that would include sleeping with him, once, as well.
A tension shifted through him, locking his jaw. ‘What do you want to know?’ he said, after a beat.
‘Anything.’
‘I have not been in the same room as them for a long time.’
‘I thought you said your grandfather is friends with them.’
‘Was,’ he corrected swiftly. ‘Your grandparents were amongst the many people my father cheated. Afterwards, they turned their backs on us.’
Her jaw parted at this new—and relevant—information he’d withheld from her. ‘So-o-o-o, they’re not likely to be thrilled about this.’
‘They are thrilled you are back in Italy. I suspect they will harbour some gratitude to me for having been the mechanism of bringing you here.’
Her eyes swept closed against that. The way it made her sound like an item, rather than a person.
The way it neatly skipped over all of her own tumultuous feelings about what being in Italy and back in the bosom of her family meant to her.
The betrayal she could feel whispering beneath her skin, at how her father might feel to know that she’d returned to this place, these people, who’d caused him so much grief.
‘Oh, God.’ She pressed her palm to her stomach as it lurched wildly, her throat constricting with anxiety. ‘This is crazy.’
‘What is?’
‘This. Being here. With you, them. This isn’t my life.’
‘Your life is nothing to fight for.’
She glared at him then, frustration arcing through her. He was right. She knew he was right. She had no family, no friends, no money, and no real prospects. But it was still so new—living in a world without her father. Surely she could be given a period of grace to work things out for herself?
‘Can you not do that?’
He held her gaze, silently inviting her to continue.
‘Don’t sit there surrounded by all your money—and the confidence that brings—and belittle who and what I am.’
He reacted visibly to that, his eyes narrowing and his lips tightening into a hard line. ‘It is not you I judge, Amelia. You are barely a woman. The life you lead is not your fault.’
She flinched again. ‘Don’t you dare blame him.’ Damn it. Tears thickened in her throat, and she could only glare at him as she felt the threat of them grow nearer. ‘Don’t you dare.’
He leaned closer then, surprising her by reaching for her chin to tilt her face his way and hold it there. ‘Your mother and your grandparents all had the means to make your life easier. Yet no one lifted a finger for you. But, yes, even your father, may he rest in peace, could have done something.’
‘He had no money—’
‘I know. But he could have brought you here, Amelia. He could have given you a better life. You are a contessina, a Rossi—’
‘Please,’ she groaned, squeezing her eyes shut. ‘Look at me. I’m neither of those things.’
But she’d temporarily forgotten the makeover, and the way he’d turned her into some kind of glamorous heiress. ‘I am looking.’
‘But this is just superficial. It’s what you turned me into with a click of your fingers and I can’t even think how much money.
It’s not who I am in here.’ She dug her fingers between her breasts, pointing to her heart, but his eyes dropped to the gesture and her breath snagged in her throat.
Because they were close. His fingers on her chin, her hand between her breasts.
And yes, her knee now brushing his, as she’d been hoping it would the entire car trip.
Her eyes fluttered closed as a whole host of new feelings overtook her then, making it hard to remember what they’d been arguing about.
It was as though his body had turned into some kind of black hole, and she were being sucked inside.
When she opened her eyes and blinked up at him, it was impossible to know if he felt it too. If he felt anything.
A moment later, he dropped his hand and settled deeper into his seat, staring straight ahead.
‘Your grandmother is Nicoletta and your grandfather Gianni. They live in a large villa, on the outskirts of Rome, and have done for as long as I’ve known them. I believe Gianni grew up there. They collect art, and antiques. They’ve been selling off their collection for years, though.’
But she was still in the black hole, sinking deeper and deeper into the fabric of the universe, so his words seemed to come from a thousand miles away.
‘Did you know my mother?’
He glanced across at her then. ‘Yes.’
Amelia’s heart sank to her toes. ‘Well?’
‘No. She’s older than I am. At least ten years, I think. But I saw her, at parties, dinners, that kind of thing.’
A question bubbled in Amelia’s chest, but she refused to ask it.
She wouldn’t give her mother the brain space.
And yet it was hard to keep the question ‘what was she like?’ locked inside her, when she was sitting in the car with a man who probably had more useful memories of her own mother than she did.
‘Oh, my goodness.’ The svelte Italian woman, who looked to be in her sixties, crossed her chest as Amelia and Massimiliano entered the exclusive restaurant and weaved towards their table.
Unlike Amelia, Nicoletta Rossi was tall, but they shared the same slender proportions and fair hair.
Amelia had always imagined her grandmother—whenever she’d thought of her—to be a brunette, like her mother.
But that must have come from her grandfather, also in his sixties, who still had a thick head of jet-black hair, albeit with a small amount of silver at the temples.
‘Amelia,’ he said, shaking his head, as if he couldn’t believe it was her.
Nervousness spread through Amelia as she hung back a little, as if there were an invisible barrier preventing her from getting closer to the table. As though they were opposing magnetic fields.
Massimiliano turned to her, his eyes probing, as he reached down and laced his fingers through hers, squeezing her hand as he leaned down and whispered, ‘It will be over soon. But for now, remember, we are in love.’
Her heart twisted. Loneliness splintered through her like shards of ice, but she nodded quickly and forced a smile to her made-up face. It hurt. She hated to think what the bruise on her cheek would be like the next day.
‘Massimiliano.’ Gianni’s gaze lifted to Massimiliano’s. ‘You’ve grown.’
She felt Massimiliano’s whole body tense, including the hand that held hers. ‘It’s been sixteen years,’ he pointed out.
‘Yes.’ The older man’s expression was inscrutable as his gaze dropped once more to Amelia.
‘Amelia,’ he whispered, moving closer. Where Amelia might have taken a step backwards, Massimiliano shifted her way, bringing their bodies close together, as though he sensed she needed that support.
‘You are so like your mother and grandmother. It is remarkable.’
She wanted to tell him he wouldn’t be so surprised if he’d made any effort to be in her life before this.
If he’d so much as called, or sent an email.
But she didn’t. She hadn’t come here to argue with her grandparents.
Besides, Massimiliano was right. They’d been hurt by her mother, too.
What was this if not a chance for a fresh start?
It didn’t mean she had to like them, or ever love them, or even have much to do with them.
But they were family and, right now, that was important to Amelia.
‘Gianni,’ she said, holding her hand out to shake, even when she could tell the older man was moving in for a more affectionate embrace. She wasn’t ready for that, yet.
He hesitated a moment before shaking her hand, his eyes glancing down and noticing the ring she wore on her other hand.
‘The diamond,’ he said, looking to his wife. ‘So it’s true.’
‘Yes,’ Amelia said with a nod. ‘We’re getting married.’
‘Oh, darling girl.’ Nicoletta’s eyes were leaking tears. ‘You have no idea how I’ve longed for this.’