One Night In…. Оливия Гейтс
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It was easier to forget. And then there was the—’
‘Forget your own son?’ The words came out before Meghan could stop herself, and she winced as pain shadowed Gabriella’s features.
‘Alessandro was not an easy child—nor, for that matter, is he an easy man. I realise now my own blame in who he became. It is why he is so angry.’ She shrugged sadly. ‘If you make him happy, then how can I complain?’
‘I hope I will,’ Meghan whispered.
‘You will.’ Gabriella shrugged off the serious talk. ‘With your new hair and make-up, in my wedding dress … Da tutti i san! Who could resist you?’
Meghan found herself smiling back. ‘Da tutti i san,’ she repeated. ‘Alessandro says that. What does it mean?’
‘By all the saints. His grandmother used to say it a lot. He was … very close to her.’
Meghan was intrigued by this glimpse into an Alessandro she didn’t know, couldn’t fathom. ‘Did she die?’
‘When he was nine. She lived in Umbria, at the villa.’ Gabriella shot her a quick, speculative look. ‘You know it?’
‘Yes.’ Meghan couldn’t keep a tell-tale flush from warming her face. ‘I thought it had belonged to Alessandro’s father.’
‘Yes, it was my husband’s family home.’
‘And then Alessandro’s brother’s?’ Meghan pressed, seeking more information.
Gabriella’s lips pressed together. ‘Yes, it belonged to Roberto. Now it is Alessandro’s, as perhaps it should have been all along. Enough talk. We must eat. Shopping is hard work. And tonight you can show Alessandro your purchases. He will be pleased, I hope.’
Meghan nodded. Her stomach had turned queasy, roiling with nerves and doubts. The last time she’d seen Alessandro he hadn’t looked pleased at all, about anything.
About her.
Had he changed his mind?
With lurching fear, she realised she didn’t want him to. How had she started to believe in this, in them, so quickly? So much?
Especially when she didn’t even know what them meant— what they would be to each other. How a marriage would work.
That evening Meghan gazed at her reflection in amazement.
The clothes had been put away, she’d had a nap, and she’d awoken refreshed, ready.
And beautiful.
She touched her hair, now highlighted and styled in gentle waves to her shoulders. The hairdresser hadn’t changed her look; he’d just made her better. More herself.
It had taken, Meghan acknowledged wryly, a lot of money to accomplish that.
The make-up she’d painstakingly applied emphasised her golden-green eyes, making her lashes thick and long, sweeping down to delicately tinted cheeks. Her lips were full and sensual without being pouty. She smiled, intrigued by her new self.
She glanced down at herself, dressed in one of the gowns purchased that morning. It was a pale amber, the colour of morning sunlight.
‘It complements your eyes,’ Gabriella had said in approval. ‘Very nice.’
Looking at herself, Meghan had to agree. The dress was simple, pouring over her body like liquid sunshine without being too revealing, too obvious.
Hinting, not screaming.
Promising.
Taking a deep breath, Meghan turned away from her reflection, the image in the mirror having bolstered her confidence enough. It was time to go downstairs and meet Alessandro.
The central staircase of the town house twisted in a spiral down to the foyer, and as Meghan descended the marble steps she saw Alessandro at the bottom, dressed in a navy blue suit, his back to her. One hand was shoved in his trouser pocket, the other raked through his ebony hair.
Meghan paused on the step, silent and watching. Watching him. Was she imagining the vulnerability in his stance? She must be, for every lithe movement radiated power, strength, authority. Control.
Need.
The word came from nowhere; the thought was stunning in its force.
Surely Alessandro could never need anything?
Surely he could never need her?
Need was more than desire.
Need was love.
He turned, and his eyes blazed for a moment, sweeping over her, drinking her in.
Meghan felt heat everywhere his eyes roamed. Treacherous, wonderful heat. It weakened her, made her sway, and Alessandro saw and smiled.
He reached for the banister, gripped it hard, and Meghan realised with a ripple of shock that he was just as affected as she was.
She walked on trembling legs down the last few steps into the foyer.
‘Hello, Alessandro.’
He reached for her fingers, gently pulling him to her. His lips brushed hers, and when he spoke it was a whisper against her mouth.
‘Why don’t you hate me?’
Meghan tensed, startled. ‘Why would I hate you?’
He kissed her again, moved his lips to her temple. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you, gattina.’
Yes, you did. Meghan smiled through the sudden sting of tears. ‘It’s all right.’
‘No.’ His voice was low and almost savage. He kissed her again, hard on the mouth, his fingers digging into her shoulders before he relaxed, his hands softening into a caress. ‘No,’ he said against her lips. ‘But it will be.’
He stepped back, scorching her with one primal, possessive look. ‘You look ravishing.’
He took her hand, linking their fingers as he led her into the dining room.
‘So,’ Gabriella began when they were seated, the food served and wine poured, ‘you say this wedding is next week? Have you made preparations? Secured a church?’
Meghan glanced enquiringly at Alessandro, as curious to know the details as her future mother-in-law.
‘We will be married on Friday, at the San Pietro church,’ Alessandro informed them both. ‘There will be a reception afterwards at the Principe di Savoia.’ He glanced at Meghan. ‘I would have left the arrangements to you, but you are a stranger to this city. I thought it would be easier to arrange it all myself. I hope that is agreeable to you?’
‘Of course,’ she murmured.
‘The Principe di Savoia is Milan’s most luxurious hotel,’ Gabriella informed her. ‘You will be well served there.’ She turned to Alessandro, her thin eyebrows raised. ‘And how many guests are you inviting to this celebration, may I ask? Have you taken care of the invitations as well?’
‘It will be a small affair, as Meghan and I both want. Family only. A few friends.’ He smiled, his voice becoming a drawl. ‘You must invite who you like though, Mamma. I imagine you have plenty of friends who are eager to witness the spectacle … your prodigal son getting married.’
‘Thank you.’ Gabriella clearly chose to ignore the jibe. ‘Chiara is coming?’
‘I spoke to her on the telephone,’ Alessandro confirmed. ‘She can only come for the day. You know how busy she is.’
‘How busy she chooses to be,’ Gabriella agreed. ‘And what of your family, Meghan?’
‘I don’t have anyone coming.’ It came out as a wretched confession. Meghan lifted her chin. ‘I’ve been travelling for