Food would be good. Food would be adistraction. She really needed that right now. He didn’t take her hand to lead the way again. Just silently escorted her. The dining room was sumptuous. The view from the window showed the pool, the verdant countryside. The table was laden—linen cloth, sparkling crystal and silverware, fresh flowers, somuchfood. Clearly Isabella was an extraordinary housekeeper. Her mouth watering, Phoebe sank into the chair Edo held for her, abandoning both anger and attraction in the need for sustenance. She didn’t speak, too engrossed in sampling every dish.
But Edo talked—about nothing of significance. Seemingly his mood had lifted now all those documents were done. He explained the history of the region, how the dishes they were eating were prepared, the kinds of grapes they grew. He was determinedly charming but Phoebe saw through the facade that it was. He didn’t want to discuss anything heavy or intimate.
But a refuelled Phoebe increasingly couldn’t think of anything else. She couldn’t comprehend themagnitudeof today’s events. She rubbed her hand across her forehead. How had this happened? How had she ended up here? How was any of thispossible? How was she going to survive spending this time married to him for a while when she already liked him more than she should—and how was she going to manage the fact that he didn’t really want any of this at all? Because she couldn’t quite believe that last bit. Because she was a fool.
‘Phoebe?’
She glanced up at his soft change of tone and realised that she’d not heard a word he’d said in the last few minutes.
‘You’re tired.’ His eyes narrowed on her. ‘I’ll show you to your room.’
She tensed, trying to push away the instant knock of disappointment. But of course she would have her own room. They weren’t a couple. They were strangers who’d had wild sex a couple of times. He didn’t guide her physically. There was no hand on her back or across her shoulders, no fingers laced though hers.
‘I thought you’d want your own space.’ He led her into a large room that she couldn’t even look at, because he turned towards her. ‘No?’
She couldn’t break away from the scorching heat now filling his eyes. From the tempting smile curving his lips. The polite dinner facade dropped and she saw his desire. Oh, she was definitely a fool, but shecouldn’t—
‘No?’ he repeated softly with a half-laugh.
Shecouldn’t. Not answer, not resist. When he put his hands on her waist she just curled her arm around his neck and pulled his head down to hers—hungry for the pure, fiery escape again.
‘Are you tired of talking?’ he teased, his mouth an inch from hers. ‘Thank God. So am I.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
PHOEBE RECLINED ONa sofa in the pool house feeling like a sybarite indulging in her favourite things. She had a dish of nuts beside her, a glass of juice and a book in her hands. She’d woken alone—to her disappointment—but in fairness, it had almost been lunch time when she’d finally come back to consciousness. And, with even more fairness, this time Edo had left a note informing her he’d be working in his home office.
She’d gone to the window to check the weather—and the view, and next moment Isabella had gently knocked on her door to deliver a delicious brunch tray. Phoebe’s Italian app had been all vocab, not much verbal practice, but they made it work. She’d offered profuse thanks, babbling with embarrassment.
That was when Isabella had said Phoebe was the first guest to stay the entire time she’d worked there. And she’d worked there for years. That nugget had fuelled within Phoebe a need to move and expend her over-thinking energy. She’d pulled on her bikini and taken a swim in the pool—it was heated and could be used year-round. Then she’d come into the pool house with its smaller, more private feel. She’d been in here for all the hours since—mulling her future.
‘The results of the paternity test are in.’ Edo dropped into the chair beside her.
‘What?’ Phoebe took a moment to put down her book, hiding how her heart leapt at his appearance. ‘That was quick.’
‘They were expedited.’ He picked out a pistachio from the dish. ‘And we’ve been granted a special licence to have a civil service at the family chapel for security reasons.’
Her mind just blanked. ‘You have a family chapel?’
‘It’s on the property.’ He cracked the shell and clarified. ‘It was the chapel for the family I bought the estate from.’
‘So this isn’t a property you’ve had in your family for generations?’
‘No.’
She waited but he didn’t elaborate. Where had he grown up with his family, then?
‘I’m divorced,’ she pointed out eventually. ‘Can I even get married in a chapel?’
‘It’s a venue, that’s all. There will be a civil officiant. Crucially, it’s private.’ He chose a cashew then. ‘The ceremony will be at three tomorrow. Everything’s arranged. You only need to show up.’
Tomorrow?She was aghast.
‘You’ve planned the whole wedding just like that?’ When had he had the time to do that?
‘Vows, paperwork, pretty much everything.’ He fished in the nut dish again. ‘We can change any details you don’t like.’
‘Such as the actual wedding bit?’ she mumbled, disconcerted.
