But how did she make him acknowledge that this was more than either of them had intended, if their relationship still had an end date…and she didn’t even have the guts to have a conversation with him about returning to Westwick for a few days, like they’d agreed?
She was beginning to realise she needed to soon, more than ever. Because as much as she’d loved the past two weeks, which had flown by in a haze of pheromones and intimacy, how could this be more when the marriage—and her life here—was still effectively a stunt to fool the Trustees? She had to bring herself back down to earth to figure out if her growing attachment to Dario was more than just the adrenaline rush of great sex and having his undivided attention. Because there was no doubt about it, the man was intoxicating, especially now she was getting more tantalising glimpses of the boy he had been before his mother’s death—wild and free, his spirit undimmed by his father’s neglect and judgement.
But he was still so unwilling to even think about Westwick, her updates on the Hall’s progress always instantly dismissed. And he still hadn’t contacted Mia and Sante, to heal the rift with his best friend the rest of the way…
She sighed. ‘Honestly, Ellie. I’m not sure where we’ll be living in the long term. But I’m heading back to Westwick on Monday.’ She pushed the words out, knowing that if she made it official, it would force her to talk to Dario. It was past time for her to call in that promise.
‘Oh wow, really? That would be amazing. Will Mr Lorenti be coming with you?’
‘Ummm…’ The left-field question had the bubble of hope pushing against her breastbone again. It would be amazing if Dario came with her. Not only would it show a commitment to the Hall, but it would also be a commitment to her. Tothem… Whatevertheywere.
But then she got a clue. Dario hated Westwick… The priority now was to stop letting Dario have everything his own way. And to give herself space to figure out what was really going on between them.
Because she was afraid she was already more than halfway in love with her fake husband… And she still didn’t really have a solid idea how he felt about her.
Going back to her real life, regrouping, rebooting, giving herself a purpose again—beyond the pursuit of endless pleasure—if only for a few days, would give her that much-needed perspective.
And standing up to Dario might finally give her the courage and the confidence to tell him about the past they shared…and how much their fake marriage was starting to mean to her.
‘The Trustees signed the papers necessary to give you full ownership of the property and the estate two hours ago, as per the terms of your father’s will. Congratulations, Mr Lorenti. The palazzo should be yours officially by this time tomorrow when all the necessary documents have been filed with the court.’
Dario nodded, as the head of his legal team in London smiled at him as if he had just won the lotto. But the euphoria he should be feeling eluded him.
‘There is no chance they will renege on this position?’ he asked.
The solicitor frowned. ‘They can try if they want, but the property is yours now, not much they can do about it. I guess they could sue, but it would be a lengthy process, and costly. And I doubt they’d want to risk their own money on any further legal action against you. Why do you ask?’
Because the marriage is not real.
It felt too easy, after seven years of legal wrangling, to have the Trustees release their stranglehold on the palazzo after only a month. The deception had given him what he had wanted. But the very first thought that came into his head was not how easily he had bested those old fools in the end—it was disappointment at the thought he would now be able to release Tallulah from the terms of their agreement sooner than planned.
He would not divorce her until the end of the year. He might own the palazzo, but he did not want to encourage a lawsuit, if the Trustees realised they had been duped into signing over the property.
But there was no tangible reason to remain here, pretending to have a honeymoon. No reason why his ‘wife’ could not return to her life in England, and he to his home in Milan in the next few weeks.
The only problem was, every single cell in his body rebelled against the idea of letting her go…
It’s the sex. It has to be.
He still had not had his fill of her. That was all. Even though they had been making love every morning and night and so many snatched moments in between for two weeks now, he still wanted her, incessantly—to the extent that even when they were not making love, he enjoyed being with her. She fascinated him and enchanted him. He felt like a teenager again, the boy who had been starved of affection, and now he wished to gorge on it to his heart’s content. Because Tallulah was just sokind…
He swallowed, the thought of how artless and engaging and delightful she was, both in and out of bed, even more disturbing than the thought of letting her go.
She was so open. So tender. So compassionate. So genuine. He’d never before met a woman so positive and honest and undemanding. And because of that, she had become a fire in his blood.
Of course, this fire would burn out eventually. He already suspected sometimes when she looked at him, she wished for more from him. And a part of him understood, as he held her late at night, while she slept beside him, her open and tender heart would become bruised eventually when she fully accepted there could never be more between them.
But this fire had not burnt out yet. Plus, she had agreed to remain on Capri for at least a month, so why end this arrangement prematurely, when they were both enjoying it? It had been years since he’d taken a genuine break from work… And now the estate was his, why should he not enjoy the fruits of the labours to bring it back to life?
‘Good work, Carstairs,’ he said.
‘By the way, our real estate department has a buyer for Westwick,’ the man said. ‘It’s a Saudi investment conglomerate. They want to turn the place into a resort hotel, which would probably mean some substantial remodelling. We’ve looked at the building’s status on the heritage registry, and apparently it’s only the frontage that’s listed, the rest of it can be demolished and rebuilt. Anyway, it’s a great offer. You want me to set that in motion?’
Again, the news should have been like having all his birthdays come at once. The Hall still held so many unpleasant memories for him, those long days spent festering in the bed after his accident. It represented everything about his childhood he had always hated—his father’s searing contempt, the loss of his mother, the loss of his life on Capri, the loss of his freedom… But in the past two weeks, every time Tallulah mentioned the Hall, which she did quite often, he had begun to understand a little more how much the place really meant to her. And there had been other memories that had tickled the back of his consciousness. The little girl who had been so determined to coax him out of his shell, whose presence and bright, lively friendship had eventually made that long, unhappy summer bearable.
It made him feel weak and foolish to remember that girl now, and how much he had come to depend on her daily visits to his sickbed. And in some ways, Tallulah’s love of Westwick made him hate the place more too—because he knew she would want to return there once their time together was over. But could he bring himself to take the one thing away from her that he knew she cared for so passionately?
He had turned himself into a cold and ruthless man over the years, deliberately. So he would never be that scared, lonely boy again. But sometimes, late at night, with her beside him, he had allowed his mind to wander, enough to even question how happy the isolation he had imposed on himself since that summer had made him. After all, letting his resentments, his anger fester, had allowed him to believe his father’s lies about Sante for too long. So long in fact, he now found it impossible to return the calls and messages from both him and Mia, inviting him to return to Sicily.
