The noise of the patio doors opening interrupted my fantasy. Rose appeared, carrying two plates, her plump face wide with a smile. She set down our starters: twice-baked goat cheese soufflés with apple and walnut salad.
"Oh, this looks absolutely stunning. Thank you, Rose."
"You're welcome, Mrs Ferrante." she beamed. "Mr Ferrante."
She bowed as if she were a servant on Downton Abbey, and Alessio and I exchanged an amused smile. At seventy, Rose was from a time gone by that strictly adhered to a more formal display of servitude. Despite encouraging her to use my firstname, she stubbornly refused. At least she'd stopped calling me Ma'am. I was much too young and ordinary for that.
"Thank you, Rose. You've indeed outdone yourself," Alessio complimented.
I picked up my knife and fork and started to tuck in. We were quiet for a moment as we enjoyed our delicious food, yet I was hyper aware of the man in front of me. Every scrape of his knife, every lift of his fork to his mouth, and the way he intermittently took a small sip of his wine or wiped at his mouth with a napkin.
"How are your studies?" Alessio asked once we'd finished and Rose had collected our plates.
I leaned back in my chair as I surveyed him over my wine glass. He'd never really taken an interest in my coursework. A part of me wondered whether he thought this was just a passing fancy of mine to fill time.
"They're going well," I slowly replied, keeping the information purposefully minimal. "Although I am looking forward to the Christmas break."
Alessio nodded, shaking out his hand and fixing a cufflink. "As am I. We'll head to Sicily the day after you break and stay for a week. But don't worry, we'll be back to spend Christmas at your parents' estate."
I cocked a brow at this brand-new information. "You're taking a whole week off or…?"
His lips lifted. "Two weeks," he clarified, shocking me further. He shot me a roguish grin. "What's the point in being the boss if I can't take time off when I feel like it?"
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. "Well, yes, but Christmas is the busiest time of year for your industry. Last year, you only stuck around for Christmas lunch before you flew out to Paris that evening."
He was quiet for a moment as he swirled his drink around, a pensive look marring his handsome features. "I'm learning to let go of the reins a bit. I don't want to burn out too young."
"You're barely thirty," I pointed out.
"Yes, and my father couldn't wait to bow out once I'd learned the ropes and was capable. I took over a lot earlier than he did, and I've worked twice as hard."
Stunned, I searched Alessio's taut features as his gaze remained on his almost-empty glass. His voice was steeped in resentment and heavy in mental exhaustion. I had no idea the strain he'd been under.
Rose chose that moment to serve our main course, and I cursed the interruption. I wanted to pick at his last comment, to understand his world a bit more. But from the way Alessio greeted Rose with a welcoming smile and complimented her on dinner, I knew he wasn't receptive to diving into the topic anymore.
The scent of succulent char-grilled lamb rump with tomato and feta salad tickled my nostrils, and my stomach twisted with hunger, momentarily distracting me. We fell into another shared silence as we ate, although this time, the cloak of awkwardness that soured our entrée had lifted slightly.
"How about your father?" Alessio asked as we were halfway through our meal. "I take it he wasn't present much during your childhood?"
I placed my fork down and dabbed at my lips with my napkin. I was surprised yet pleased that Alessio wanted to continue our previous conversation. I had the slight impression that talking about his father made him uncomfortable.
We were pivoting into territory that stripped a layer off our artificial marriage. Alessio and I had discussed many things, including our upbringing, but it was mainly about ourshared knowledge stemming from our respective aristocratic backgrounds.
"Hmm…he was definitely a workaholic. He was barely home for tea and worked long hours, even during the holidays. It was usually just mum and me and the occasional getaway to our holiday homes in Lake Como or the Alps."
I never realised just how similar my mother's marriage was to mine. I'd always thought that their marriage was good. Not the greatest love story ever told, but good enough. My mother made no demands; she had her charitable organisations that she was a patron of, and her hobbies of tennis and horse riding. She ignored my father's affairs, and I was certain she'd had a few of her own. They were friendly and affectionate toward each other, and I did not doubt that there was a great deal of respect between them.
But for the most part, they led pretty separate lives—more so, now that I was out of the house, and perhaps they did not need to continue the pretence.
I'd wanted more from my marriage with Alessio, and in my head, even though we started out as a business merger, I still thought our marriage was above my parents' cold union.
But perhaps I was the only delusional one in this relationship.
"And you still have no interest in carrying on your father's work? You're more than welcome to spend a day with me if you'd like to see how you feel."
I flicked him an amused smile, knowing he was joking. I still retained thirty per cent of shares as per our marriage contract, and if I wanted to sit my arse in on a board meeting and look pretty, I could. But I was happy to be a silent partner.
"No, thank you. I'm not cut out for the business world. I find you need to carry a little ruthlessness to be successful—not in a horrible way, mind you! But I don't have the stomach for it."
