Chapter Ten
It was strange to be back in Rome again after the carefree days out of the city.
It was both exactly the same and completely different.
The sameness was the easygoing companionship that they’d brought from the Palazzo—the difference was that Eleanora was no longer in the guest suite. And all that went with that…
That Sanzio will casually drop a kiss on my lips when he gets back from work, or up from the gym, that when we relax on the sofa we no longer sit at either end but I snuggle up with him, that his eyes will glow with desire when he looks at me. And mine for him whenever I look at him.
Happiness was constant in her. Happiness, and that same glow of wonder that she and Sanzio were lovers now. She did not want to think beyond that. Was content only to take the present as it came, day by day. Night by night.
It was all she wanted.
All she dared want…
Happiness—glorious, unhoped-for happiness—had been bestowed upon her. And for that she would be forever grateful. She who had looked for nothing—but now had so, so much.
In Sanzio’s arms.
* * *
Sanzio guided Eleanora as she stepped carefully out of the chauffeured car and into the ducal residence—a grand Renaissance palazzo—as they arrived for the glittering charity gala, paparazzi pressing all around, every man in white tie evening dress, every woman adorned to the hilt in couture gowns and decked with priceless jewellery.
He was looking forward to the evening ahead. Distinctly looking forward to it.
It was why he had brought Eleanora to Rome.
His eyes went to her now. Renata had been summoned to the apartment in preparation and had excelled herself, coaxing Eleanora’s freshly trimmed and tinted hair into an ultra-elegant upstyle, bestowing extra height on her, and applying full make-up with a superb, camera-ready finish, highlighting Eleanora’s spectacular eyes, lengthening her lashes, sculpting her cheekbones, her tender mouth limned with rich coral lipstick.
As for the gown Sanzio had urged on Eleanora, it was the triumph he knew it would be.
On any but the most slender figure the bias-cut, shimmering ivory silk with its demi-train would be punishing, but on Eleanora it was perfection.
The heeled evening sandals gave her yet more height, and around her bare shoulders floated her silver-threaded chiffon stole.
At her throat a single diamond strand—but with diamonds of the finest water—glittered in the light, simple but exquisite, as was the single strand diamond bracelet and the diamond aigrette glinting in her upswept hair.
As with the baroque pearls, he had bestowed the diamond jewellery on her before they’d set off, but this time, as he’d fastened them on her, he had tenderly, sensuously, kissed her naked shoulders, the delicate softness of her inner wrist. She has shivered deliciously, and Sanzio had had to impose considerable self-control not to turn her in his arms and lower his mouth to hers.
Now, as they moved forward in the reception line, he comforted himself knowing that on their return to his apartment that night he would indulge himself to the full in removing from her the gown she looked so breathtakingly fabulous in and claiming her for his own again.
But before that?
Anticipation was building in him. He had planned this evening, and if things went as he expected them to, then…
The Duchessa and her husband the Duca, both in late middle age but both still handsome and stately, were greeting them, offering gracious words to them both, and then Sanzio was guiding Eleanora forward again.
‘There’s Adrietta!’ Eleanora exclaimed, and they made their way towards her through the crowded grand salone with its pilastered walls, niches filled with statuary, and its spectacular frescoed ceiling painted by a Renaissance master.
Adrietta’s husband, the young Visconte Tavalo, was there beside his wife, and Adrietta’s sister too.
‘No Nic?’ Sanzio enquired of Francesca.
‘He’s escaped to New York on business,’ she answered with a wry smile.
‘These bashes aren’t his thing.’ She greeted Eleanora warmly, as did Adrietta, who exclaimed fulsomely over her gown.
She herself was wearing pale blue with an elaborately embroidered bodice, and Francesca was in Grecian-style eau de Nil.
Both wore jewellery which Sanzio expected were family heirlooms. Unlike Eleanora, the sisters had a father who had not recklessly dissipated the family fortune and sold off everything of value.
They chatted easily for a few minutes, then Adrietta, looking towards the reception line, announced, ‘Ah, there they are—I’ve just spotted Carla. Vivid as ever!’
Sanzio glanced back to where the Conte and his Contessa were now approaching them.
The Contessa was, indeed, looking vivid in a full-skirted satin cerise strapless gown, adorned with an antique diamond drop necklace, again, presumably, an heirloom from her husband’s family.
Greetings were exchanged all round, Sanzio honoured with a more-than-merely-civil nod of acknowledgement by the Conte.
Sanzio was glad of it—glad to be so visibly part of this group of highest of high society aristocrats, the Conte and his Contessa the acknowledged leaders thereof.
It suited his purpose ideally. He felt anticipation flicker again within him.
Guests were still arriving, but in fewer numbers now. His glance went to the reception line. So, he realised, had the Contessa’s as he heard her give an intake of breath, saw an angry flash in her eyes and at the same time an expression of almost malicious pleasure appeared on her face.
Her husband noticed it too. ‘Carla—’ There was a warning note in his voice, but his wife ignored it.
‘So,’ the Contessa said, her voice tight, ‘she’s back.’
Sanzio’s eyes went past her, to where the Duca and his Duchessa were welcoming one final pair of guests for the evening. His mouth compressed.
Yes, she was definitely back—and he was about to get exactly what he’d wanted from the evening.
At his side, he felt Eleanora turn.
And freeze.
* * *
Eleanora couldn’t move, rooted to the spot. Shock—dismay—more than both, sliced through her.
Tonia? Here?
‘I thought she was still on her honeymoon…’ she heard herself say, her voice hollow.
‘Apparently not,’ Sanzio answered.
His voice was different. Edged with some emotion.
She wanted to look at him, but her eyes were still glued on her sister, now greeting their hosts, the Marquis at her side.
She felt something knot inside her. Tonia was showstopping.
Her raven hair was piled high on her head in lustrous locks, her face made up like a movie star, her full-breasted bella figura displayed in all its customary glory by the evening gown she was wearing—vivid magenta satin, full skirted, strapless.
With delayed recognition, Eleanora realised it was extremely similar to what the Contessa beside her was wearing.
‘Oh, yes,’ she heard Carla murmur, sotte voce, ‘she just couldn’t resist, could she? And nor can I. Well, let’s call her bluff.’
She glided forward.
Tonia and her marquis were moving into the throng, and Eleanora could see heads turning. The way Tonia’s arrival anywhere always turned heads.
Always.
Inside her, a familiar emotion was making itself felt. The same emotion she’d last felt at Tonia’s engagement party—her sister drawing all eyes, dominating the scene, making every other woman disappear…
Making me disappear.
The familiar, deadly feeling of resignation started to diffuse throughout her. And more than resignation.
Why, oh why, did Tonia have to have come here tonight? Spoiling it all.
I was so looking forward to this evening!
She had wanted, so much, to look the very, very best she could for Sanzio, and right until this moment she’d thought she did. But now—
Then, through her dismay, the shock of seeing Tonia here, she realised that Carla had reached her. Saw her sister’s eyes narrow. Close up, their gowns were almost identical, except in shade.
She heard Carla greet her sister. ‘Tonia, darling, how clever of you to copy my dress,’ she said distinctly, her voice carrying.
A few people nearby laughed, as if the Contessa had made a joke. But Eleanora could see—knew from long experience of her sister’s moods—that Tonia did not consider it as such.
Then Carla was adding fuel to the fire. ‘But you just missed the shade,’ she said. ‘What a pity!’
Carla appeared to see the Marquis for the first time.
‘Do introduce us, Tonia,’ she invited. She held out a hand to him, and the Marquis, as socially correct as her own husband, took it and bowed over it.
‘Enchanté, Madame la Comtesse,’ Eleanora heard him say.
Carla was taking his arm, on the other side of his wife. Leading him forward. Speaking across him.
‘You know, we simply must get our photos taken, Tonia darling, before the evening is out,’ she was saying in the same carrying voice. ‘Just like this—cerise and magenta, either side of your husband. No one would ever think we’re so similar simply by chance.’
Another ripple of laughter was heard, less kind this time. It was clearly well known, Eleanora surmised, that there was no love lost between the new Marquise and the Contessa whose husband Tonia had presumed to make a play for.
Tonia would see him as a challenge—just for the fun of it—and to put Carla’s nose out of joint. Now she’s doing it again—by upstaging her in the same style of gown. Looking better than her.
But Carla had indeed called Tonia’s bluff, deliberately drawing attention to Tonia’s ploy. Exposing it and mocking it.
Eleanora could see Tonia’s mouth tightening, her eyes glittering dangerously. A familiar hollow opened inside her, her body tensing rigidly. Any minute, Tonia would see her.
See me here with Sanzio.
She wanted to bolt, rush away, get away, but how could she? Impossible in this gown, with its demi-train, her high heels.