‘Shall I request the apartment’s chef make you a meal before you leave?’
‘There’s a chef?’ She searched the state-of-the-art kitchen on the other side of the open space—scared a cordon bleu chef was about to jump out and intimidate her even more.
‘Yes, Signora. Your staff live in the rooms below.’
My staff?There was more than one person to wait on her.Oh god!
The anxiety which had been making it hard to breathe for days contracted around her lungs like a vice.
‘I requested they leave you to rest,’ Aldo said gently. ‘But if you would prefer to eat…’
‘No, Aldo, I’m good, really. I’m not hungry.’ Because… Nerves! ‘I’m just going to crash until the stylist arrives. You’ve been amazing. I really appreciate all your help over the last few days.’
The man went a dull shade of red. ‘It is my job, Signora,’ he said, before giving her a stiff bow and leaving.
Good to know one of us has a proper job.
She stared after Aldo as the apartment door closed. Had she embarrassed him? She hadn’t intended to. But she guessed this was just another example of how ill-suited she was to the role Lorenti had hired her for. She knew precisely nothing about navigating this level of privilege, even though she’d grown up on the grounds of a stately home.
Chill, Tali. Having a personal chef isn’t scary… It’s just a bit much. You’ll get used to it…eventually.
Kicking off her shoes, she wandered to the balcony and opened the ornate glass door to step onto the cool marble tiles of a huge terrazzo. Propping her elbows on the stone balustrade, she peered across the rooftops towards Milan’s Centro Storico nearby—and spied the cloistered splendour of the Palazzo Brera art gallery in the neighbouring square which Aldo had pointed out when they’d arrived. She took a moment to ease her breathing, control the anxiety and absorb the sights and sounds of this beautiful, vibrant city.
This was an adventure. She had never been to Italy before, and while the Milanese were intimidatingly chic, she would need to find a way to relax and enjoy this experience—or she’d end up having a heart attack. Plus, Ellie had her on speed dial if she needed her. She’d managed to hire Ellie an assistant which Lorenti was paying for,andshe planned to check in with the Hall’s new acting estate manager every single morning.
She still had no idea why Lorenti had picked her for this job, and maybe that was what was stressing her out. Unfortunately, thinking of Lorenti brought back the memory of his turbulent gaze, and the sensations which had sprinted up her arm and deep into her belly the first—and only—time he had touched her.
She shivered, despite the warmth of the spring day, and folded her arms around her body, then headed into the apartment, intending to take a shower—a cold one.
This was a fake marriage. He and his legal team had made that very clear. He didn’t want more, nor would he, and neither did she. And while the thought of seeing him again in a few hours’ time was making the inappropriate heat in her abdomen glow alarmingly and kicking her stress levels back into the danger zone, surely their first public appearance would be a good opportunity to start establishing their working relationship. And stop her fixating on the weird physical response she’d had to him in the library—which had to be a layover from all the other emotions he’d bombarded her with that afternoon. And nothing whatsoever to do with the awareness in his eyes, which she was convinced now had all been in her far-too-vivid imagination.
Dario used his key fob to enter the penthouse apartment he owned across the square from his own residence, annoyed by the buzz of anticipation in his gut, which must surely be a symptom of his unprecedented reaction to Tallulah Whittaker two days ago. It was a reaction he had spent the last forty-eight hours determined to quash.
He tucked his hands into the pockets of his tuxedo pants, aware of his accelerated heartbeat—not to mention the warmth in his abdomen—at the thought of seeing the girl again.
Assurdo!
What on earth was the matter with him? He had hired the girl on a whim, to fix a problem which had been weighing on him for seven years. Nothing more. She had intrigued him—her passion for her job, that sheen of naivete which clung to her, and her obvious awareness of him—more than she should. Perhaps because his encounters with women over the years had become so jaded, her unguarded reactions had been refreshing. But while she was undeniably pretty, her eyes a striking blue which had reminded him of the sea in Amalfi, her figure had been hidden beneath shapeless clothes, and her appearance hardly remarkable.
Two older women appeared, carrying a garment bag and a box of cosmetics. They must be the team Aldo had hired to prepare Tallulah for her debut as his fiancée tonight.
‘Signor Lorenti,’ one of them said, sending him an enthusiastic smile. ‘Your fiancée is waiting for you on the terrazzo. She wished for some air before your arrival,’ she added, her gaze skating over him, the appreciative twinkle one Dario had become accustomed to from women, young and old, despite his ruined face.
‘Congratulations on your engagement,’ the other said. ‘You will make a very striking couple tonight.’
He gave them both a curt nod as they let themselves out of the apartment, oddly ambivalent at the news of Tallulah’s transformation.
He had told Aldo to hire the best stylists and beauticians in the business in both London and Milan to ensure his ‘bride to be’ would look the part tonight—so he should be glad to hear they had done their job. The engagement announcement had been released two hours ago—with some concocted story about them becoming acquainted on his non-existent trips to his family estate in the UK over the past two years—so there would be no going back on this arrangement.
Even so, a confusing sensation joined the weight in his gut as he walked towards the apartment’s terrazzo—anticipation.
He dismissed the sensation, which reminded him unhelpfully of being a young, untried boy on Capri besotted with the beautiful models and actresses who had frequented his mother’s parties.
He stepped onto the terrace and spotted the young woman standing with her back to him, staring into the sunset. The blue satin dress, which stopped far too high up her thigh, seemed to mould to her bottom, displaying it like an offering, while the jewelled heels she wore made her toned legs look about a mile long.
The idea of those legs wrapped around his waist turned the anticipation to harsh, desperate need. He breathed through the intense reaction.
She wore a matching jacket, her hair piled on top of her head and held with an array of jewelled pins. Diamond earrings sparkled in the dying sunlight. No doubt they matched the ring in a box in his jacket pocket which the stylist had sent over that morning, but which he hadn’t even looked at.
