Erin smiled. The woman hadn’t created a global women’s network without being focused and determined. The staff member she’d passed below deck had asked her what she’d wanted for breakfast and by the time she was at the table on the upper deck, coffee and orange juice and hot pastries were already waiting for her.
She looked at the plates of cornetti and pistachio-filled sfogliatelle that she was becoming addicted to. She sat down just in time to see Enzo emerge onto the deck, dark glasses hiding his gaze, but making the most of the powerful line of his angular jaw. Trim hips encased in dark blue linen and a pale blue shirt, the man combined luxury and beauty to lethal levels.
Instantly she was reminded of the dreams that had kept her tossing and turning all night long. Where his lips had kissed her palm, her neck, her mouth, and where his touch had dropped from her head, to press against the outline of her body. Even now her pulse skipped, at the way in her dream he’d licked—
‘Buongiorno, amore mio, I trust you slept well?’
‘Wonderfully,’ she lied. ‘And you?’
He shrugged and puffed out a breath. ‘Oh, restless. Too much excitement.’
‘From last night?’ she asked thinking of the dramatic and romantic proposal.
‘Oh, nocara. Last night was magical, but it will be the next twelve days that will beexciting.’
‘Really?’
‘Absolutely! Later today we will stop at Isola del Giglio. A friend is throwing a party there. And then tomorrow we set sail for Cannes.’
‘We’re going to France?’ Erin blinked.
‘Absolutely. I have grown bored of the Amalfi Coast,’ he said, sinking into the seat with what Erin considered to be a rather artificial ‘sulk’. ‘And Cannes has thisgorgeouslittle chapel that I thought would be justperfectfor our wedding.’
‘In twelve days’ time,’ she parroted.
‘Yes! Isn’t it wonderful? We’ll make a lazy crossing to get us there in plenty of time. The staff,’ he said, pointing down to a boat that had arrived beside the yacht, ‘are already preparing for our needs.’
Erin bit her lip. Twelve days. Was that all it would take? Twelve days and she could have Charterhouse,ifshe married Enzo Rossetti.
‘Wonderful,’ she lied.
‘Isn’t it just? And tonight we can celebrate our engagement. And I have theperfectthing for you to wear.’
She nodded absently, not really wanting to be under a public microscope with Enzo. For some reason she’d thought that after all the negative press attention he’d had over the years, he might want to keep their engagement private.
But she frowned when her thoughts caught up with his words. ‘Do I not have something appropriate?’
‘Not at all,amore mio. I just picked you up a little something in Positano and have been looking for the perfect excuse to give it to you. I think you’ll lookspettacolare.’
Three hours later as Enzo dressed in his room, Erin glared at herself in the mirror. Oh, she looked spectacular alright. Spectacularlyawful!
Surely, he couldn’t be serious. The dress was hideous. It was an organza creation of pleated material that made her think of origami, with ruffles at the neck and wrists. In some ways itshouldhave been beautiful. Only the colours were absolutely dreadful on her. They seemed to make her appear green to the point of sickness.
Her suspicions were confirmed by the way that the yacht staff she passed on her way to the deck all averted their eyes within milliseconds of catching sight of her. Presumably so they didn’t end up in hysterics.
Oh god.
‘Rin!Bella,molto bella.’
His rapturous response was a little unsettling and when she suggested that she might feel a little morecomfortablein one of her own dresses, he asked, ‘Why? Rin, it is perfect, no?’
And although she very much wanted to say no, she couldn’t risk offending him. Not when everything was so close to her reach.
So although the speedboat taking them from the yacht to Enzo’s friend’s private estate on the Isola del Giglio had to go slower than usual,because of the dress, they disembarked onto a jetty strewn with thousands of fairy lights just as dusk hit.
Enzo held his hand out to help her from the boat and she had to try three times to find it beneath the explosion of organza fanning from her sleeve.
‘Is something wrong,cara?’
