Simone almost did too.
‘I see this as an opportunity,’ Leo went on. ‘Will that be a problem?’
‘Depends on what opportunity you’re talking about.’
‘It’ll be our first unofficial sighting in Italy, as husband and wife. I’ll ask the driver to park out front rather than driving into the garage, so we can be seen walking into the home together.’
She understood what Leo meant now. Putting on a show. She sighed. They had a busy time in Italy. A few days in Milan where Leo had organised a mystery day out, then a dinner with the Tessitores to introduce Simone as his wife and hopefully discuss a possible purchase of their company. After that, they were heading off on a brief honeymoon in Verona, which she didn’t need but realised was necessary to maintain the narrative their whole marriage was meant to portray. Then, they’d be going back to Milan, rounding off the Italy trip with a charity ball.
Simone rubbed her temple, the thought of it almost enough to give her a headache. They were supposed to present as a loved-up couple fresh from their wedding and she had little idea how to portray that. Her only experience had been with Jace and sherefusedto think about that relationship. How would she even behave now, if really in love? Simone had no idea.
‘Are we talking about simply walking in here? Something else?’ Butterflies took wing in her belly, flapping about violently. Would he ask for a kiss? They didn’t even kiss at the altar, he’d made her laugh instead… Her chest became tight and it was hard to—
‘Breathe, Simone.’
She tried to relax. Took a breath as he’d asked. That almost made it worse because, as on the night of their wedding, Leo smelleddelicious. She chanced a look at him. His lips quirked into a wry yet somewhat concerned smile. At her reaction no doubt. Leo wouldn’t want his new wife swooning because she’d held her breath and fainted at the thought of getting up close and personal with him, even if it was only for show.
‘As I said once before, you’re bad for my ego.’
He’d completely misunderstood her inability to breathe and that was fine because she hardly understood it herself.
‘All I’m asking is that we hold hands. Perhaps touch each other with affection till we get inside. I won’t ever ask what you’re not prepared to give.’
‘So, we touch in a way that could potentially be judged as a breach of Circolo’sWorking Togetherpolicy but not in a way that mandates HR’s immediate involvement.’
Leo laughed, his face lighting up with mirth and some element of self-deprecation.
‘Since most women I’ve spent time with wish to touch me in a way that would flagrantly breach every HR policy available on Circolo’s intranet, and even some decency laws, that’ll do nicely.’
‘Mr Zanetti, your ego clearly remains solidly intact. As I believeI’vesaid once before.’
‘Mrs Zanetti, my expectation is that you’ll attempt to crush it with your ruthlessly efficient shoes at every given opportunity. It would worry me if you stopped trying.’
This would have been the perfect time for her to laugh too, to lighten the mood even further. Instead she glanced down at her black pumps. Boring. Practical. Ruthlessly efficient as he’d said. Simone wished she had another pair of shoes to wear. Like some towering, patent black heels because she loved patent leather, and they’d have added a bit of interest to her otherwise restrained, matte outfit…
‘Are you happy with my suggestion?’ Leo asked. What could she say? Simone nodded and he said something in Italian to the driver. The car changed course slightly, pulling into a side street. The street where his home was situated. Her heart jolted like a horse at a starting gate.
‘Affectionate touching. Holding hands. Got it.’
The car slowed to a stop at the front of the house. A magnificent, semi-detached art deco villa. There wasn’t far to go, a quick walk across the footpath to the front gate, then they’d be behind the vine-covered wall and away from prying eyes. Easy.
‘The photographers are across the road. Wait till I open your door.’
Leo hopped out of the car and stood on the footpath waiting for her. The click of shutters sounded staccato to the left of their vehicle. Simone refused to look over towards them, even though they’d be unlikely to glimpse her through the tinted windows. She began to slide across the seat. Leo ducked his head to peer at her, then held out his hand as if to offer her some support. She took it, his grasp warm and strong as he helped her from the car.
Photographers called his name.Leo!Mr Zanetti!Then to her.Simone, where’s the honeymoon?It was discombobulating, surreal, the world she’d been thrust into. Leo gathered her into him, against his hard body, ignoring the shouts from across the road. It was as if nothing else existed bar them. He leaned down so his lips were at her ear. His breath, a warm caress.
‘Remember to breathe.’
Goosebumps shivered over her. Instead of pulling away, she melted in even further. Something about the role they’d slipped into suddenly became too easy. Seamless.
‘Remember not to breach too many HR policies,’ she whispered, a little breathless, despite his reminder. It was nerves, that was all. He was used to this. The man graced magazines covers, dated movie stars, walked red carpets. She was simply Simone Taylor.
Plain Jane.
Leo chuckled, throaty and deep. The sound rumbled right through her. ‘I’d never dream of it.’
Leo threaded his fingers through hers and squeezed, then walked with her towards the tall, wrought iron gate that led to his property, ushering her through and locking it behind them. They crossed the small front garden and marbled terrace area with its potted olive trees, then through the front door and into the house.
