Chapter Seven
Breakfast, taken in the formidably high-tech kitchen, was…
awkward. How could it be anything else? Eleanora wondered.
But she also knew she must do her best. As Sanzio was also so obviously doing.
Both of them acknowledging that the only way to deal with what had happened last night on the car journey back to the apartment—what never should have happened!
—was to behave as if it hadn’t. To ignore it. Blank it. Forget it.
Sanzio, clearly, was only too keen to do so, asking her about her forthcoming appointment at the auction house that morning in nothing other than his usual friendly tone.
‘They’ve said they’ll check the catalogues to see what got sold, and to whom, and find out if the new owners would sell them back,’ she told him. ‘They’ll talk me through it this morning.’
‘Excellent.’ He nodded and, pausing a moment, glanced across the breakfast bar.
‘You look good,’ he said. There was nothing in his voice, or the way he was looking at her, that was different from how he usually spoke to her, but she flushed slightly all the same.
Conscious of needing to make an appropriate impression at the auction house, she’d done her best, pinning her hair less starkly, using a little of the huge vanity-case-full of make-up and skin treatments that Renata had left for her, as well as dressing in the dark blue plissé skirt and blouse which she had so wrongly imagined had been the sole item purchased yesterday, along with the court shoes to go with it.
‘Thank you,’ she said, because she didn’t know what else to say.
He paused a moment. ‘Shall we eat in tonight? After all that gourmet dining last night!’
Her expression lightened. Eating in meant she could stick to her normal appearance. The safe one… The one that could never give her impossible ideas that she was someone who could ever attract a man like Sanzio.
‘Oh, yes, please,’ she made herself reply smilingly. ‘I can pick up some supermarket shopping while I’m out. Is there anything you’d particularly like?’
‘Pasta?’
‘Are you sure? I could run to something more ambitious.’
‘Keep it simple. Pasta is fine.’
‘OK,’ she said, and discussed sauces with him.
It was friendly, it was familiar, the easy way between them that had developed at the Palazzo.
It was the way they needed to be. Resolve filled her.
She had a good working relationship with Sanzio, a common purpose.
She must not jeopardise it with stupid, pathetic yearnings for what could not be.
For what Sanzio had made so very, very clear he did not want to be…
* * *
‘So, how did your day go?’ Sanzio put to Eleanora as they made a start on their pasta that evening, eating, for ease and convenience, at the breakfast bar.
Eleanora had excelled herself again with the sauce and had done some baking as well—tasty sweet pastries for dessert.
She’d also set dough rising for fresh bread in the morning. Home comforts indeed—
I’ll miss them when we go our separate ways—
Was that all he would miss? He set the question aside. It was inappropriate. Besides, there was no reason why he and Eleanora would not remain on friendly terms. Why not?
We get on well.
The same simple, but true, thought that had struck him a while back at the Palazzo came again. They did get on well. It was easy, friendly, companionable.
Which was all the more reason for not jeopardising what they had, although he was having to exert ruthless self-control. His eyes went to her. She’d changed back into her usual casual clothes, removing her make-up, her hair pinned back tight again. But even so—
Nothing can detract from the beauty she possesses. The beauty that bloomed so breathtakingly last night!
He tamped down his thoughts. They had no place here—he could not allow them.
Eleanora was telling him about her visit to the auction house and then the art dealer, and he was glad to focus on it. She’d made progress and set enquiries in motion, gathering useful initial information. It was a good start, and he said as much.
Then he changed the subject. ‘Did Francesca Falcone get hold of you today? Nic phoned me for your phone number—she was asking for it. Oh, and by the way—’ he kept his voice casual ‘—they’ve invited us to dinner the day after tomorrow. Just a small gathering. I’ve accepted—are you OK with that?’
Uncertainty flickered in her face. ‘OK,’ she said, though her voice was guarded. ‘Francesca did phone—I’m lunching with her and Adrietta tomorrow.’
Sanzio smiled. ‘Good. Then, afterwards, I can take you shopping again. You’ll need something for dinner with the Falcones.’
She demurred immediately. ‘Oh, I can wear the amber dress again—’ she started.
Sanzio adopted an expression of exaggerated stupefaction. ‘Wear the same dress they’ve already seen you in? Are you mad? The very idea of it!’
She laughed, and he was glad. Glad, too, when they settled down for coffee on the sofa, to present her with a gilt-edged card he’d placed on the coffee tray. She looked at it questioningly.
‘Do you know the Duchessa Fabrese?’ he put to her.
She looked taken aback. ‘I know of her, hard not to! But I’ve not met her.’
‘Well, this is my invitation to her next charity bash,’ said Sanzio.
‘She’s famous for them,’ Eleanora commented. ‘When is it?’
‘Next week. I’m on her guest list—’ his voice took on a tinge of cynicism ‘—as I donate generously to her causes.’
Eleanora gave a crooked smile. ‘Well, that’s the way the world goes round.’ Her smile became a little more twisted than crooked. ‘I expect my father’s fallen off her list for the reverse reason. I’ve never heard him talk about going to any of her events.’
‘That figures.’ Sanzio’s tone was openly caustic now. He drew a breath, eyes resting on her. ‘I hope you can face coming with me,’ he said.
Her expression changed. ‘Me? The invitation is for you, Sanzio.’
‘It says ‘plus one’. That’s you, Eleanora, who else?’
Uncertainty flickered across her features. He registered it, expected it, but he ignored it deliberately.
‘I hope you won’t turn me down,’ he said now, his eyes holding hers. ‘As I told you, now the Falcones know we’re married, word will have spread.’ He paused significantly. ‘People will expect you to be there with me.’
The uncertainty on her face intensified. ‘Sanzio, I’m not sure.’
He helped himself to her hand, removing the invitation from her fingers. ‘But I am,’ he said. He did not let her gaze drop from his for a second. ‘I am sure. You can do it beautifully! It’s your world, Eleanora, not mine.’
‘But I’ve never—’
‘Then it’s time you did. More than time.
’ He pressed her hand. ‘Time to take your place in the world you were born to.’ He kept his eyes on her.
‘I wanted a trophy wife to crown my climb to the top, and you are that wife. You showed me that when we dined at the Falcone. And you can show all of Rome at the charity gala.’ He changed his tone slightly.
‘The Falcones will be going—I checked with Nic—so you will have Francesca Falcone there, and didn’t she say her sister, your friend, is in Rome, so she’ll doubtless be there too.
’ He paused again. ‘Your world, Eleanora.’
The world her sister had kept her out of.
A dark glint flared in his eyes. The timing of the Duchessa’s gala was perfect—perfect for his purposes…
He let it rest there, pouring out coffee for them both, flicking on the TV. They settled down to watch an old Hollywood movie and Sanzio saw Eleanora start to relax. She was leaving a good space between them, and he was glad of it. Too much proximity, even casual, was—
Dangerous.
He sat back, drinking his coffee. Staying well away from danger. Well away from temptation—temptation he must not yield to.
* * *
Despite her initial nervousness, Eleanora enjoyed her lunch with Adrietta and Francesca.
Their greeting as she arrived at the restaurant off the Via Corso was warm and welcoming.
Adrietta was as exuberant as she remembered, and was agog to hear how Eleanora had come to marry Sanzio Bastoni—especially in the wake of Sanzio and Tonia having been an item.
Eleanora glossed over the situation as Sanzio had, implying that her sister and Sanzio had parted mutually, not referring to Tonia having jilted Sanzio—with her sister opting for her marquis, and herself and Sanzio getting together instead, self-conscious though the latter made her feel.
Adrietta’s expression was speaking. ‘He’s made a loads better choice in you!’ she exclaimed roundly. ‘I know she’s your sister, but Tonia can be a total pain. She’s far too used to having men slavering over her, and it shows!’
Francesca put a restraining hand on Adrietta’s. ‘I know you’re not a fan,’ she said, ‘but—’
Adrietta cut across her. ‘Who is?’ she demanded. ‘No woman, anyway!’
Eleanora remembered what Sanzio had said about her sister being a man’s woman, not interested in other women.
‘Which is why,’ Adrietta was running on, ‘I’m very glad she’s decamping to Paris! Instead of making eyes at every man here in Rome—including,’ she said angrily, ‘our husbands!’
Again, her sister moderated the declaration. ‘I doubt she knows she’s doing it—it’s just her way, really.’
Adrietta rolled her eyes. ‘She knows perfectly well! Mind you,’ she said with satisfaction, ‘she didn’t get anywhere with your Nic—and my darling Pietro is terrified of her! As for Cesare, Carla saw her off promptly. Not that Ces would be the slightest bit susceptible.’
Eleanora frowned slightly at the last two names. Francesca enlightened her. ‘Cesare di Mantegna and his wife,’ she supplied. ‘Did you meet them at Adrietta’s wedding? They’re coming tomorrow night—I’m so glad you and Sanzio will be there as well. Nic will be glad of reinforcements!’
‘Reinforcements?’ Eleanora queried, confused.