The Mills & Boon Christmas Wishes Collection. Maisey Yates
Читать онлайн книгу.
it was very possible that the weird paper was antique like the furniture.
Well, Holly thought as her maid cast open the doors to show her around what appeared to be an entire suite of rooms for their use, she might be keen to share a bedroom with Vito but he might have to move the location of the shared bedroom to make her happy. Natalia beamed and showed her into a large room walled with closets, which she swept open to display the contents.
‘Who does all this belong to?’ Holly asked, recoiling while wondering if all the garment-bag-enclosed items of clothing had been left behind by Vito’s former fiancée, Marzia.
‘Is your gift...is new,’ the brunette stressed while showing off a still-attached label to what appeared to be a hand-embroidered ballgown of such over-the-top glamour that it took Holly’s breath away.
A gift that could only be from Vito. The gift of an entire wardrobe of clothes? Holly fingered through drawers packed with lingerie and nightwear in little decorative bags and stared at the racks of shoes and accessories Natalia was eager for her to see and appreciate. It was a mind-blowing collection and it was just way too much altogether for Holly, after the wedding, the massive palace Vito lived in and his revealing query about whether or not she was willing to share a bedroom with him. What on earth? What on earth kind of marriage was she in that he had told her so little about his life and yet bought her so much? Did he think flashing around his money made up for his failure to explain all the other stuff?
Catching a glimpse of her creased and tousled reflection in one of the many mirrors in the dressing room, Holly almost groaned. She didn’t want to get tricked out in fancy clothes, she simply wanted comfort, and as Natalia opened Holly’s single case on the now seemingly pitiful assortment of clothing that had been her lot pre-Vito, Holly bent down to scoop out her one extravagance: a shimmering maxi dress with an iridescent sheen that skimmed her every curve with a flattering fit. She was relieved to see that while the bedroom belonged to a bygone age, the en-suite bathroom, while palatial, was contemporary. Stepping into a wonderful walled rain-forest shower, she rinsed away the tired stickiness of travel and tried to let her anxieties float off down the drain with the soapy water.
A marriage was what you made of it and she had no intention of underestimating the challenge ahead. They had married for Angelo’s benefit but their son could only enjoy a happy home life if his parents established a good relationship. Holly’s childhood had been damaged by her mother’s neglect and self-indulgence, Vito’s by his father’s indifference. He should’ve warned her about the giant historic house and the extravagant new wardrobe, but she could no more shout at him for being richer and more pedigreed than she had estimated than she could shout at him for his unvarnished generosity.
Dressed, her black hair tumbling freely round her shoulders, Holly explored the connecting rooms Natalia had briefly walked her through earlier. A door stood ajar on the balcony that led off the sitting room and she strolled out, watching the sun go down over the stunning landscape and the manicured gardens below and slowly veil them in peach, gold and terracotta splendour. Sounds in the room she had vacated alerted her to the arrival of a trolley, and the rattle of cutlery fired her appetite and drew her back indoors.
Vito was framed by a doorway at the far end of the room, his suit abandoned in favour of jeans and a white shirt open at his strong brown throat. Her tummy was awash with butterflies as she instinctively drew in a deep breath and savoured her view of him. He stood there, so tall and dark and devastatingly handsome, watching her with the assessing eyes of a hawk.
Vito finally tore his gaze from his bride’s opulent curves, that were so wonderfully enhanced by the fine fabric of her dress, but the words he had been about to speak had vanished from his brain. Holly, he acknowledged simply, was an incredibly sexy woman. Innate sensuality threaded her every movement. It was there in her light gliding walk, the feminine sway of her hips, the swell of her breasts as she straightened her spine and angled her head back to expose her throat.
He had expected Apollo to recognise the sheer depth of Holly’s natural appeal, but he couldn’t be sorry that his friend’s distrust had blinded him because when Vito had seen some of his guests look at his bride with lustful intent, it had annoyed the hell out of him. And that new possessive, jealously protective streak about what was his disturbed Vito, who was immensely suspicious of emotional promptings. He had always chosen women who brought out the rational side of his nature but Holly incited much more primal urges.
Vito’s butler, Silvestro, moved forward to pour the wine with a flourish and light the candles on the circular table. Holly tasted the wine with an appreciative sip.
‘It’s an award-winning Brunello my grandfather laid down years ago. This is a special occasion,’ Vito pointed out as he dropped lithely down into his seat and shook out his napkin.
‘I cut my teeth on wines that tasted like vinegar.’ Holly sighed. ‘I’m not much of a drinker.’
‘Why would you be if it tasted that bad?’ Vito asked with amusement.
‘Why didn’t you warn me that you lived in a vast house your family have owned for centuries?’ Holly asked quietly.
‘It didn’t occur to me,’ Vito admitted with a frown.
‘This place was a shock...as was the new wardrobe.’
‘You were supposed to shop for clothes at the same time as you chose your wedding dress but the stylist said you weren’t interested. So I took care of it for you.’
‘Thank you, I suppose...’
As Silvestro left the room, having drawn the trolley close to enable them to serve themselves, Holly embarked on the tiny delicate parcels on her plate. They were exquisitely displayed, and the oriental flavours tasted phenomenal. The courses that followed were even better. Holly had never eaten such fabulous food before.
‘Who does the cooking here?’ she asked.
‘I have a very well-paid chef on staff. When I’m staying at one of my other properties he travels ahead of me.’
Bemused by the concept of a mobile personal chef, Holly blinked. ‘You have other properties?’
‘Here I have the apartment in Florence and a villa on the shores of Lugano in Switzerland. Those were inherited. But I also own property in the countries I visit most frequently,’ Vito admitted.
Holly was frowning. ‘What’s wrong with hotels?’
‘I don’t like them. I like quiet and privacy, particularly when I’m working,’ Vito advanced smoothly. ‘It’s my sole extravagance.’
‘When I called you a spoilt-rotten rich boy I wasn’t far off the mark,’ Holly dared.
‘Had you ever met my grandfather you would never have awarded me that label. He was a rigid disciplinarian with a punitive approach. He thought my mother was too soft with me.’ A rueful smile brought a gentler than usual curve to Vito’s wide sensual lips. ‘He was probably right.’
‘Your grandfather sounds very judgemental. I don’t think I would’ve liked him very much.’
‘He was a dinosaur but a well-intentioned one. Since he passed away two years ago, however, I have instigated many changes.’
Holly dealt him a sidewise glance and whispered conspiratorially, ‘Our bedroom is a complete horror.’
A flashing grin illuminated Vito’s lean, dark features. ‘Really?’
‘Very dark and depressing.’
‘I think I’ve only been in that room once in my life.’
Her brow furrowed. ‘You mean it wasn’t yours?’
‘No, it’s simply the main bedroom in the house and Silvestro has been trying to move me in there ever since my grandfather departed,’ Vito confided with amusement. ‘But I always resist change and I need the allure of a wife there to entice me.’
Holly compressed her lips as she sipped her wine. ‘I have