The Revenge Collection 2018. Кейт Хьюит
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the heavy Manhattan traffic, Gabriele twisted round to look again at Elena.
The unexpected but very welcome news he’d received that afternoon that a senior member of Ignazio’s closest team could possibly be bought now took second place to the woman beside him.
Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright and there was an air about her he couldn’t put his finger on.
‘You did enjoy it,’ he stated shrewdly. Now they were alone they could go back to being honest with each other.
‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘I hadn’t realised shopping could be fun.’
‘How do you normally buy clothes?’
‘I dive in and out of the shop and hope whatever I’ve chosen fits.’
‘You’re the only daughter from a family with three sons. Why weren’t you dressed as a princess?’
She shrugged. ‘I always wanted to be a boy like my brothers. I hated that being a girl made me different.’
‘Why did it make you different?’
She pulled a face that conveyed she thought he was an idiot for asking.
‘I don’t have siblings,’ he reminded her. ‘All my cousins are boys. Those kind of family dynamics are not something I’ve experienced.’
‘Girls are considered more delicate than boys. Weaker. More prone to tears.’
He considered this. ‘I think the tears thing is true...’
She sucked in an outraged breath.
‘But as for being more delicate, that’s bull,’ he finished. ‘Women are different from men, that’s a biological fact but the kind of delicacy you’re talking about doesn’t exist.’
‘I know that. I’ve spent my entire life proving it.’
‘How? By acting like a man?’
‘How else could I be taken seriously?’ she demanded. ‘The only way I was able to gain my brothers’ respect was by being one of the boys.’
‘So it wasn’t through choice?’
‘I wanted to be like them. I didn’t know how to be a girl and had no interest in learning.’
‘Do you think it would have made any difference if your mother had lived and been there to guide you?’
Her eyes met his. ‘I wouldn’t know. I don’t remember her.’
‘That’s a real shame,’ he eventually replied, remembering the Swedish woman who’d always had a ready smile on her face and a batch of meatballs on the go. Elena could only have been two when she died. ‘She was a nice woman.’
Her brows drew together. ‘You knew her?’
‘Of course. Our families were friends. Our mothers were very close.’
‘I didn’t know that.’ A burst of fire sparked in her eyes and she leaned towards him fiercely. ‘If they were such good friends I would imagine your mother will be very disappointed with you when she learns that you’re forcing me to marry you.’
‘We will never know. She has dementia. My father’s death accelerated the process. There are days she doesn’t even know who I am.’ Something else he absolutely blamed her father for and, by extension, Elena herself.
Her latent beauty might now have pushed to the surface but that was all it was: surface.
Beneath the skin she was a Ricci to her core and he would never allow himself to forget it.
ELENA WAS MIGHTILY relieved to go straight to her father’s voicemail.
‘Hi, Papà, it’s me. I’m in New York, finally taking that holiday you keep nagging me about.’ She injected a false laugh, meeting Gabriele’s eye.
He was watching her from the dining room table, his expression inscrutable.
‘You’ll never believe who I bumped into last night—Alfredo Mantegna’s son.’ She cleared her throat before ploughing on. ‘I’ve decided to stay in New York for the week and do some sightseeing. Christie will be running things for me. Hope you’re well. Ciao.’
Done, she disconnected the call, then, for good measure, turned the phone off and stuffed it in her favourite of the designer handbags Liana had selected for her, then faced him with her chin up.
‘Well? Was that convincing enough?’
‘On a scale of one to ten I’d give it a five,’ he drawled, rising to his feet. ‘Let’s see how you perform this evening—see if we can get it to an eight.’
Tonight they were going to dine at another paparazzi-encamped restaurant, a thought that thrilled her as much as swimming in a shark-infested pool. Since their return from shopping, she’d checked the Internet a dozen times to see if her name was out there but so far, nothing.
Throwing him a brittle smile, which more than spoke the caustic response she wanted to give, Elena slung her handbag over her shoulder and headed to the elevator.
Inside, she surreptitiously checked her appearance.
She was pleased to see the magic Adrian had done to her face was mostly still intact. Scared of damaging his work, all she’d done for their evening out was apply some more of the lipstick she had taken the lid off a dozen times to smell—who knew cosmetics smelt so good?—and spritzed some perfume onto her neck and wrists. She’d changed out of the jeans into a pair of bright red straight-legged trousers and a pair of silver sandals with a low pointy heel, but had opted to keep on the shimmering top she loved so much.
Gabriele’s only remark had been to say, ‘That is a definite improvement on last night.’
Except the look in his eyes had said something else.
For the first time she wished she had some experience with men, something that would allow her to translate Gabriele’s unspoken expressions. All she had was gut instinct but that was becoming unreliable. All she felt when he looked at her was a feeling she couldn’t quite interpret but which she was terrified meant nothing but trouble.
Her response had been a glare and a, ‘I’m delighted I meet your approval.’
She didn’t believe for a second that he was attracted to her.
All Gabriele wanted was what she could give him. He wanted her body. Not her core. Not her soul. He wanted Ignazio’s daughter. If she’d had sisters, any of them would have served his purpose equally well.
Now, catching his eye in the mirror, she quickly looked away, but not before she caught the expression she’d seen earlier, when she’d been presented to him like a fully made-over doll.
That strange feeling stirred in her stomach again.
He doesn’t want you.
And neither did she want him. She could never want someone so cruel.
When they reached the ground floor, he turned to her. ‘Ready?’
‘No.’
‘Good.’ Smiling broadly, he took her hand and led her out into the Manhattan night for the second time.
Her pulse kicked into life.
This was the first time he’d properly touched her skin other than that fleeting kiss earlier.
His hand was enormous, swallowing hers like a giant paw.
His driver was ready for them.
Thankful to be able to shake her hand out of Gabriele’s so she could get into the open back door, she sat down and pressed her hands