One Night In…. Оливия Гейтс
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does,’ he agreed. ‘The agent gave me the key this morning.’
He led her up to one of the houses—a narrow stone building, with bright shutters and begonias spilling from the wrought-iron balconies.
Alessandro unlocked the door and ushered her inside.
Meghan walked slowly through the rooms. They were generously proportioned without being ostentatious, the wide windows thrown open to the spring sunshine.
She stood in the middle of the gleaming kitchen, the large pine table in its centre testifying to the fact that this was a family’s house.
‘It’s semi-furnished,’ Alessandro told her, reading the details from a brochure. ‘We can pick up more bits and pieces as you like. Four bedrooms upstairs, another on the third floor if we want live-in help. The kitchen, lounge, and dining room on this floor. There is a small garden at the back, and of course the square out in front.’ He looked up at her, eyes glinting. ‘Do you like it?’
‘It’s perfect,’ Meghan said simply. ‘Perfect.’
He strode towards her, snatched her up and kissed her soundly. Meghan laughed in surprise.
‘We’ll have our children here. I’ll teach our sons to play football in the square. It will be so good for us.’
His voice rang with certainty, and yet Meghan heard the desperation underneath, the ragged edges.
They were both trying so hard to believe. To make it real.
Yet it still smacked of a fairytale, a story that had to end— and perhaps not with a happily-ever-after.
They moved in the very next day. Alessandro had linens and towels brought from one of Milan’s exclusive stores, and Meghan had fun shopping for food at the local negozio.
Alessandro came in from work as she made dinner, his gaze sweeping over the simple scene—from the food on the table to Meghan at the stove, a dishtowel tied around her waist.
‘We forgot to buy an apron,’ she said with a little smile, and he pulled her into a long, breathless kiss.
‘I’d just want to take it off you anyway.’ His hands roamed over her, leaving flames of need in their wake.
‘Alessandro, the dinner …’ Her protestation was so weak as to be laughable.
‘We haven’t christened this house,’ Alessandro murmured against her mouth. ‘I’d like to try every room—but we’ll start with the bedroom. I like a soft bed …’
He pulled her upstairs, closing the bedroom door with a soft click, and laid her gently on the bed. Meghan lay there, happy, gazing up at him.
The look in his eyes—as if he were examining a priceless treasure—made her mouth dry. She held out her arms.
‘Come to me.’
Pain slashed across his features so briefly she almost didn’t notice it, but he shrugged off his clothes and fell upon her, and the moment of uncertainty was lost in passion, lost to the exquisite feeling of being touched, treasured.
‘We’ve been invited to a party tomorrow,’ Alessandro told her later, as they ate the reheated pasta, his voice suddenly turning alarmingly neutral. ‘It’s bound to happen as people hear about our wedding. They want to meet you.’
‘A party could be fun,’ Meghan said. She glanced at him uncertainly. ‘You sound like you don’t want me to meet them.’
‘But of course not. I want to keep you all to myself. Any man would.’
‘We can’t hide for ever,’ Meghan said teasingly, and knew immediately it had been the wrong thing to say.
A muscle bunched in his jaw and he set his wine glass down carefully. ‘No,’ he agreed flatly. ‘We can’t.’
What are you hiding? Meghan wanted to ask. Demand. What secrets are you keeping?
But of course she would demand nothing. Because Alessandro didn’t want a wife who made demands.
A wife who loved him.
Too bad that was exactly what he had.
The next evening Meghan got dressed for the cocktail party with a mixture of anticipation and foreboding.
No matter what she’d said, she wanted to hide here with Alessandro for ever. Playing house and forgetting the world outside, the people who waited to meet them, to judge them.
Judge him.
‘I have something for you.’ Alessandro came in the bedroom, his black tuxedo setting off his ebony hair and navy eyes with stunning simplicity. He held a black velvet box in his hand.
Meghan turned, and he took in her evening gown—the amber silk she’d worn the other night, its tear discreetly mended—with an appreciative breath.
‘My sunbeam,’ he said softly. He handed her the box. ‘This will match your gown and make your eyes sparkle.’
Intrigued, Meghan opened it. Nestled on the velvet was a necklace made up of pure topaz, the elegantly cut gems rimmed in gold, each piece daringly designed as if to fit a puzzle, sharp and brilliant.
‘Alessandro, it’s … amazing. Truly beautiful. Is it a Di Agnio piece?’
‘As a matter of fact, yes. When I saw it I thought of you. May I?’ She nodded, and he lifted the necklace from the box, slipping it around her throat.
It lay heavily against her collar-bone, each piece flat, shining. She touched it reverently. She’d never worn something so exquisite, so expensive.
Alessandro’s appreciative smile hardened briefly. ‘Now we must go. The party—and people—await.’
The cocktail party was in one of Milan’s high-rises—a glittering needle of light that pierced the evening sky.
Meghan’s nerves jangled as she thought of the people circulating above them, waiting for their arrival.
‘We don’t need to stay long,’ Alessandro said, and she didn’t know if he was reassuring her or himself. ‘We’re newlyweds, after all. People will understand.’
She nodded mutely, and a valet came to park the car.
Upstairs, guests mingled in a sumptuous penthouse apartment, the room filled with the murmur of voices and the clink of crystal.
Meghan searched the crowd for a familiar face and found none. She felt Alessandro tense beside her, though his urbane smile remained unchanged.
His whole body radiated tension. She wanted to reach out, to hold his hand, to tell him he could do this, they could do this, because she was at his side.
The idea was laughable. He would be furious that she saw his weakness, humiliated by her display. And she was too scared to do it anyway.
‘Alessandro … and your lovely bride!’ A man in his late forties, trim, with grey hair slicked back from a high forehead, came forward with a hard, bright smile. ‘Who would ever have thought a man such as you would get married? It must be true love, eh?’
Alessandro inclined his head in cool acknowledgement. A muscle bunched in his jaw.
The man turned his crocodile smile on Meghan. She forced herself not to recoil from the way his gaze swept up and down her length. ‘What is the trick, bellissima? To capture a man with such a—notorious—reputation with women?’
‘I don’thave any tricks,’ Meghan replied with dignity. ‘Perhaps that’s why I have been successful where so many have not.’
‘Ah, such a fair rose.’ His smile verged on a sneer. ‘Alessandro and I go way back, you know. We’ve shared many … experiences.’ His voice caressed the last word with obvious lascivious intent.
‘Experiences