‘I do come with some benefits.’
She caught him with her stormy gaze, her eyes flicking almost imperceptibly down his body then back up again. Most people wouldn’t have noticed, but with her he saw everything.
Even in this cool hidden corner, heat speared through him potent and fiery. He craved to press her against the chill metal of the railings, kiss her. Hold her close. Hear her moan. There’d been no real kiss at the wedding. Only a peck on the cheek and whispered words in her ear to lighten the moment.
They believe we married for love, when I know you only married me for my choice of cake.
Her favourite flavour, one layer of chocolate hazelnut torte. That had made her laugh, which turned the moment from something that might have looked forced, to something warm and genuine.
Yet she’d made herself clear about not wanting anything further and in his vows he’d promised to honour her. Even if they were promises made in a fake marriage, he’d keep them. He’d spent his youth being dishonourable. He wanted to be honourable now, even though this seemed like a moment full of possibility and impossibility at the same time.
Leo clenched his hands, flexed his fingers. The urge to reach out, touch, hold. Seize the moment to see where it led, almost unbearable. He shut his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath. A reset.
‘The property manager promised refreshments in the rotunda. It’s a beautiful view there, one of the finest on the property.’
‘Another beautiful view? How many can there be?’
Only one. Standing right in front of him, but that was something he couldn’t admit.
‘Countless,’ he said to avoid the truth, in his own mind at least. ‘If you’d like, we could go there, then walk the gardens some more?’
‘Th-that would be lovely.’
‘How about I lead the way?’
Simone nodded and he walked on ahead, the path curving down into the sunshine, to where a gazebo sat, overlooking the lake. There was jug of what appeared to be fresh lemonade, water condensing on the side. A platter of antipasto andpiadinaunder an insect cover. They sat at opposite sides of the solid wooden table in the shade and he poured a drink for each of them as they nibbled on the delicious food.
The mascara below Simone’s eyes had smudged from the dampness, making her look soft. Her eyes appeared smoky, as they did on their wedding day when he felt as though he’d seen her for the first time. She pulled out her phone and flicked through her photos. He took the moment to check his own phone and wished he hadn’t. More problems in Rome. Reminders of the Tessitore dinner. His gut clenched, the food sitting like a rock. He took a sip of his cold, lemony drink.
‘You happy with this one?’ Simone asked and brought up a photo of them laughing. It was a good picture. Natural. Joyous. ‘I wouldn’t mind sending it to my sister and maybe Marchesa too.’
Marchesa was Simone’s assistant, who was doing her job whilst they were away. Simone had been reluctant when he’d first suggested she have help, until he’d reminded her that as his wife, she’d be taking on additional roles so might need someone to relieve her of the administrative work that was now above her pay grade.
‘She can pass it on to PR for us. Saves people wondering why you’re thinking of work on what’s supposed to be your honeymoon. How is Holly?’
‘She’s…okay. Thanks for asking.’
Simone’s brow creased in a small frown, as if she was surprised he might have cared. Yet it was a salutary reminder of the whole purpose for this marriage. Business, not pleasure. He needed to make that his mantra.
‘Our dinner with the Tessitores tomorrow…’
Their first public outing and a shot across the Silvestri family’s bow. Once he’d started modelling, built his business, he’d vowed never to allow anyone to take anything from him again. Owning this famed, heritage brand would cement his reputation and mess with his father and half-brother’s plans.Nothingwas more important.
‘Mmm?’ Simone popped an olive into her mouth. Her glossy lips wrapping round her fingers, licking off the marinade oil. A dart of desire rocketed through him, spearing low.
Business, not pleasure. Business, not pleasure.
Leo cleared his throat.
‘There’s a fine personal shopper in Milan should you want something to wear.’
Simone’s gaze shot up from her phone screen. ‘I won’t embarrass you with my sartorial choices, if that’s what you’re worried about.’
‘That’s not what I—’
‘Yes, you were.Plain Jane. That’s what everyone calls me. Don’t you like it, Leo? Do you think the title reflects badly on you, given everyone calls you the Sultan of Style? Because I’m not like them. I’m not obsessed with appearances instead of the person inside. I’m simply disinterested.’
She stood with her eyes narrowed. The cool grey burning hot with anger. He hadn’t meant any of those things, yet this was like the rush of the waterfall, roaring over the rocks. He didn’t know how to stop it.
