While she knew this arrangement wasn’t personal for him—despite those devastatingly intense looks, which he probably sent to all women—leaving Westwick, agreeing to see new places, to do new things, would push her way outside her comfort zone. And maybe she needed that, just a little.
Until this moment, she hadn’t realised that in many ways she’d been hiding here. Her non-existent love life since college was a case in point…and quite possibly the only reason she was so ridiculously susceptible to those intense looks.
She sucked in a breath and went with her gut instinct, instead of succumbing to the panic making her throat hurt. ‘Okay, I guess I can live with that.’
He nodded, then opened his laptop. ‘Then I will see you in Milan in two days’ time,’ he murmured gruffly.
She turned to go, determined not to be hurt by the curt dismissal. But as she walked out of the library on unsteady legs, she felt weirdly like a completely different person than she had when she’d walked in here—could it really have been less than thirty minutes ago?
She was nowhere near as sure of herself and her place in the world, but maybe she was also a bit less artless and gullible and unsophisticated.
Which had to be a good thing. Because handling this dangerous man and his demands, possibly for a whole year, felt fraught with a lot of risks…
Even if it got her the reward she’d hoped for, for so long.
Chapter Five
Two days later
‘SIGNORLORENTI WILLbe here at six to escort you to the opera, Signora Whittaker. The stylist and her team will arrive at four to dress you.’
Another stylist! Seriously?
Tali tried not to scream, or look ungrateful, but after forty-eight hours of being prodded and poked and told what to do, she was utterly exhausted. And frustrated… And closing in on feeling completely overwhelmed.
She’d arrived in Italy less than an hour ago—on Lorenti Corp’s private jet, which had been disconcerting enough—and then been taken in a chauffeur-driven car to this penthouse apartment, which Lorenti owned in Milan’s Brera district.
As the car had wound its way past the cobbled alleyways flanked by historic terraces built in an eclectic mix of Renaissance and Baroque architectural styles, she’d spotted luxury boutiques side by side with bustling sidewalk cafes and upscale food emporiums. The artsy crowd frequenting them had looked as chic and stylish as their surroundings—and intimidating to a woman who had barely been out of Wiltshire in the past five years.
She hadn’t needed Aldo to tell her this area was one of the most exclusive in the city. The luxury furniture and sleek, expensive design of the huge penthouse apartment, which would be her home for the next ten days, and the colonnaded stone balcony beyond, were even more intimidating.
She wished she could be more grateful. But she felt so far out of her depth at this point, and so anxious and stressed, it was hard to appreciate anything—least of all a visit fromanotherstylist in less than two hours’ time.
The last two days had been endless rounds of appointments with hairdressers, and beauticians, and fashion buyers, and stylists, as well as all the meetings Lorenti had warned her about with his legal team—who had begun to arrive at Westwick Hall less than an hour after she’d made her devil’s bargain with Lorenti, and he’d left.
She had been buffed and plucked and waxed and dressed to within an inch of her life while busy being informed about what Lorenti required of her, and reading and signing a ton of legal documents. In between all that, she’d barely had the time to prepare Ellie and the rest of her team for her sudden departure—not to mention to explain to everyone at Westwick, without lyingtoomuch, exactly what was going on with her and Lorenti. And why she was suddenly leaving for Italy for who knew how long.
Her mum, of course, had refused to buy the love-at-first-sight story which she had hastily concocted—and which had fooled the staff.
‘This happened in the space of half an hour? Really Tali, I know he’s a handsome man, and you were always fascinated with him as a little girl, but that doesn’t sound like a good basis for a relationship, honey.’
Tali had been forced to come clean about the deal she’d struck with the Hall’s owner—and then sworn her mum to secrecy. Because the very first form the legal team had insisted she sign, before the sixty-page pre-nuptial agreement even, had been a non-disclosure agreement forbidding her from divulging to anyone that her marriage to Lorenti was not genuine.
‘Grazie, Aldo,’ Tali said as she dropped her bag onto the living area’s expensive four-seater sofa. That would be the battered rucksack she had packed with a few clothes of her own, to wear in her downtime, when she wasn’t wearing the four suitcases sitting in the hallway full of carefully coordinated outfits the London buyer had supplied her with.
‘Do you know what opera we’re seeing?’ she asked, trying to drum up some enthusiasm for the night ahead…and not freak-out completely at the thought of seeing Lorenti again when she already felt overwhelmed.
She’d never been to an actual opera. Surely tonight would be exciting, once she stopped stressing about how everyone at Westwick was going to cope without her, and whether her mother would keep the secret she’d entrusted her with long enough not to get them both sued. And how on earth she was going to persuade any of the glamourous, stylish people Dario Lorenti probably socialised with in Milan that he would choose to marry a farmgirl from Wiltshire?
‘I do not, Signora, do you wish me to find out?’ Aldo asked, looking apologetic. Lorenti’s assistant—who had been so impatient during their first meeting—had turned out to be surprisingly helpful, carefully co-ordinating her many meetings and appointments in the last two days, so she’d had at least some spare time to do heractualjob.
‘Don’t bother.’ She sighed. Or rather, whatsheconsidered to be her actual job, even if Lorenti had made it very clear during their one meeting that Westwick Hall was no longer her priority. Because being at his beck and call was her job now…
Buck up, Tali, you’re just stressed and confused and hopelessly out of your depth. You’ll adapt, you always do. And this is only for a year. Securing Westwick’s future is worth it.
Although after forty-eight hours of being at Lorenti’s beck and call—without him even being in the same country—she was beginning to realise what an enormous commitment she’d signed up for. Who knew being a fake trophy wife would be this much work? And all of it so utterly vacuous and unfulfilling—because since when was getting your eyebrows threaded or trying on hundreds of designer outfits a viable job?
‘It’ll be a nice surprise,’ she added.
