When a man like Vito was helping you on with your coat and enquiring solicitously if you felt okay, it could be just as mind-blowing as when he had his head between your thighs and was exploring you with the evident enjoyment of someone flicking their tongue over an ice cream cone. Just like sprawling on sofas reading, or watching something on TV, or having the Italian tycoon massage the soles of her feet before bedtime could make Flora’s heart want to burst with joy. It could feel worryingly like arealrelationship and it wasn’t. He had warned her against that from the get-go.
And he had demonstrated that in other ways too, hadn’t he?—deliberately erecting barriers intended to keep her at an emotional arm’s length. Those confidences he had shared about his family were a thing of the past and every follow-up question she’d dared ask had been shut down with a cool and icy precision. He was adept at wearing a mask of indifference, just as he’d been doing since he’d first come downstairs this morning. Did she sigh? Was that what prompted his next question?
‘Is everything okay, Flora?’
She shrugged. ‘I suppose so.’
Vito lowered his newspaper as he suddenly became aware that her gaze was burning a hole in it. As her green-gold eyes regarded him unblinkingly, he felt his throat grow dry—a familiar frisson of surprise rippling over his skin. Because even though she’d been living in his apartment for almost a month and they ate breakfast together most mornings, it still came as something of a shock to see her sitting there in the cold light of day.
‘Sure?’ he persisted. ‘You seem a little preoccupied this morning.’
‘No. Everything is fine,’ she said.
He nodded, running his gaze over her, satisfied that scooping her up and rescuing her from that crummy little flat in Ealing had been for the best—because wasn’t the evidence sitting there and glowing before his eyes? Pregnancy had made her bloom, he thought, with a beat of satisfaction. Her hair had never looked more lustrous, nor her skin so fresh and clear. At first he’d wondered if the knowledge that she was pregnant with his child would destroy his sexual hunger for her, but to his surprise, his desire for her remained as powerful as before. And didn’t the darkness provide a welcome respite from the thorny questions about what was going to happen in the future? Throughout their passion-filled nights, it was easy to forget how much remained unsaid.
His mouth hardened.
So much unfinished business.
The date for her departure and his role—if any—in the life of their child were still to be decided, and he sensed they were both reluctant to raise a subject which could destroy this fragile compatibility they had created.
Sooner or later they were going to have to confront it.
But not today.
‘So how are you planning to spend the morning?’ he questioned idly.
She dabbed at her lips with her napkin. ‘Amy’s calling me in a while for a chat.’
‘How is she?’
‘She’s fine. Loves Brisbane. Likes her new job. Brett’s teaching her how to surf. All good stuff.’ She folded the napkin and put it on the table. ‘Then later, there’s a baby shower for Luisa and Arianna is giving me a lift there.’
‘Eccellente.Enjoy,’ he said indulgently, rising from his chair and walking round to her side of the table to bend his head to kiss her.
Flora watched him go and something about the perfunctory kiss he deposited on top of her head made her feel slightly indignant. As if she were some sort of appendage, rather than a person! ‘I’ll do my best,’ she said, a little pointedly but naturally, he didn’t hang around to continue the conversation—he was already out of the door on the way to the office. His beloved office!
She slipped on a light cashmere jacket which matched her new linen dress—because her wardrobe had expanded, although her baby bump was still barely noticeable. She was now almost sixteen weeks pregnant and Professor Aldini had pronounced himself delighted with her progress. Even Amy had seemed mollified during their last phone call, comforted by the fact that her big sister was living in unbelievable luxury in one of the most gorgeous cities in the world, and that Vito was ensuring she was well-cared-for.
But she hadn’t told Amy what she was only just beginning to admit to herself.
That she wasn’t sure how much longer she could carry on like this. Hiding away her true emotions behind an air of pragmatic calm. The guilt and the fear which ambushed her at random times and eroded the excitement she felt at the thought of having Vito’s baby. Knowing that the birth would be the beginning, but also the end and they couldn’t carry on pretending that the future didn’t exist.
She knew they ought to address when she was actually going to leave, but it was easier to put off discussing a subject which filled you with horror. Easier to pretend there wasn’t a bomb ticking away in the background and that some time she was going to have to think about going back to London. Alone.
Flora did her best to push these mixed-up thoughts from her head, endeavouring to be good company as Arianna drove them to Luisa’s home—a charming eighteenth-century house in the Brera region, although the usual stunning view of the botanical gardens was partially obscured by a sea of pink balloons and ribbons.
As Flora walked into the large reception room, she was greeted with genuine affection by some of the women she’d met since she’d been living in the city. Arianna and her friends had shown her nothing but kindness and she liked them very much, although at first she’d been forced to work her way through a minefield of expectation as they asked her questions she couldn’t—or wouldn’t—answer. They seemed to find it incredible that Vito Monticelli was in a relationship at last but Flora couldn’t bear to enlighten them that it had never been a relationship, just a festive one-night stand—with consequences. Terrified of provoking their pity or concern, she couldn’t bring herself to disclose the cold-blooded nature of their arrangement.
She settled down to enjoy a sugar-rush from one of the localcanestrellicookies, along with a cup of peppermint tea. There were several women she hadn’t met before and one in particular seemed eager to chat. Beatrice Maresca was the girlfriend of someone called Alessio Cardini and Flora screwed up her nose because the name rang a bell.
‘I haven’t met him, but I’ve definitely heard of him,’ she said.
‘Yes, you would have done,’ replied Beatrice, in her perfect English accent. ‘Vito goes skiing with Marco and Alessio every Christmas.’ She pulled a face. ‘Only this year they’ve added some extra dates to the diary. Because their ski trip was cut short—poor darlings!—they’ve decided to go salmon fishing in Iceland in October! And October just happens to be when I have my birthday. How outrageous is that?’
It was also when a tiny baby would be barely a month old.
Flora’s fingers crushed her cookie and a shower of fine crumbs was immediately demolished by Luisa’s tiny dog. And now Beatrice was asking was everything okay, because she’d gone sopale? And Flora told her that everything was fine, hoping that her brittle smile was reassuring. Somehow she managed to hold it together during the drive home, though her responses to Arianna were little more than monosyllabic and she heaved a sigh of relief when she reached Vito’s grand apartment, grateful to be on her own.
