Not knowing quite what to say to that, I clear my throat. "So, what should we drink to?"
"You, of course, my beautiful bride."
He raises his glass. I clink mine against it, then take a sip of the crisp champagne.
"I prefer Prosecco," I say as I sink onto the edge of the sofa.
"Me too."
That's another shared preference for me to file away. Maybe this is how I'll get to know my new husband, one meaningless tidbit of information at a time. Leaning forward, I grab a plate and fill it with slices of salami, bresaola and some olives. Damiano sits close to me, close but not touching, and eats slices of meat straight off the platter.
"Lorenzo wasn't at the wedding," I say. "Did you tell him we were getting married?"
"I'll tell him when the deal with your grandfather is struck."
The reminder that a business opportunity lies behind our marriage hits me harder than it should.
"Why not tell him before? Are you afraid he'll be disappointed if my grandfather reneges on his deal?"
"My brother isn't a child, Violetta. He doesn't need me to protect him from things going wrong."
Damiano's words are at odds with what I've glimpsed of his relationship with Lorenzo. His youngest brother is more than capable of looking out for his own interests, but Damiano still protects him fiercely. The only times I've seen cracks in his cold exterior are when he's concerned for his brother and perhaps for their cousin, Olivia. It gives me hope that one day he'll come to care for me.
I clear my plate, particularly enjoying the savoriness of the bresaola, and sip my champagne. I get up and walk to the window to look out over the garden, laid out centuries ago. So many people have lived in this palazzo since it was first built in the 1400s. It probably has another six hundred years of life in it yet. Will someone wonder about me at a distant point in the future, the way I think about those who've come before? I hope so.
Twisting the ring on my finger, I turn to Damiano.
"I wish you'd told me today was the day."
"Why?" He cocks an eyebrow. "Would you have run?"
"No, but I could have prepared myself better."
"How?"
"Well, I'd have worn something more appropriate." I tug at my blouse. "I never imagined I'd get married looking like I was on my way to the market to pick up some tomatoes."
Damiano's mouth twists in what might pass for a grin. "Is that something you do often? Go to the market to buy tomatoes?"
"No. I've no need to go to the market. I'm a terrible cook."
"So how do you survive?"
"I usually eat out. Well, I did before I came here. The food here is excellent."
"I'm glad there's something you like about the place."
I detect something in his tone, a hint of bitterness, maybe. If he's wishing I would say I also like him, he's in for a disappointment. That's something I can't tell him even though it would be true. Beyond all reason, I don't only like Damiano. I'm falling for him. Every tiny glimpse of the man behind the façade brings me closer to loving him.
I fear that would be my downfall.
Before he can read anything into my expression, I turn back toward the window and stare into the fading light. Falling is one thing. Whether it kills me is another.
SIXTEEN
Damiano
I wouldn't needto be a mind reader to know Violetta is disappointed with how we got married. It's not just because I am not the man she would have chosen to be her groom. She deserved to have the things other brides do, a spectacle to match the magnificence of our surroundings.
